Date: Tue, 23 Oct 2001 18:34:07 -0700 (PDT) From: Dadsboy Subject: Seat of learning (Gay authoritarian, M/t spank, T/b anal rubbing I grew up in the 1930s and 40s, a time when boys expected to be kept in order with corporal punishment. It was just a part of everyday life, like having to take a bath EVERY Saturday night! Boys boasted about the terrible hidings they got from their dads. We swam naked in the water hole and out of the dozen or so boys, there was always one with a few faded bruises on his bottom, courtesy of his Dad. Slippers, hairbrushes and belts were the implements most often used in the correction of 10 year old boys. Hidings fascinated me because I was the only boy I knew who had NEVER been spanked. My father died from tuberculosis when I was little and my mother had never so much as laid a finger on me. It must have been a struggle for my mother to bring me up on her own. There was little in the way of government assistance in those days. People in the community were very kind and offered practical help which was gratefully accepted. Then Mum took sick. She was in a hospital where I wasn't allowed to visit her. I now know she'd had a breakdown but I wasn't told that at the time. Once again the community rallied around and, instead of being sent away to a boys' home in the city, I stayed with neighbours. I called them Uncle Pat and Auntie Eileen although we weren't related. He was the town's only policeman. They had three sons, and I shared a bedroom with Michael who was in my class at school. The family were very welcoming to a rather sad and bewildered little boy. Auntie Eileen fed me up with delicious food. The older boys Peter and Herbie let me play with their Meccano set and even a much-prized Hornby train. The boys were kept in line with a police-issue belt wielded by their father. Hidings were carried out in the privacy of the miscreant's bedroom. The sounds were clearly audible in the kitchen. Uncle Pat soon returned and the punished boy some time afterwards. I was more fascinated than ever by the ritual which was accepted by the whole family. In those days every house had a 'front room' which was kept polished and dusted for visitors. Families never used it, preferring the warmth of the kitchen with it's hot stove. One wet Saturday afternoon Michael and I were playing in the front room and I knocked an ornament off the mantelpiece. It shattered on the hearth. Auntie Eileen heard the noise and rushed in. "Go to your room and wait for your father", she told Michael. He trudged off down the hall passage. I followed Auntie Eileen into the kitchen and saw her say something to Uncle Pat. He sighed and put down his paper. He left the kitchen. A few minutes later the sounds of a hiding were heard. I felt very bad that my friend Michael was being punished for something I had done. At the same time very relieved it was not MY bottom on the receiving end of that belt. The chastiser and the chastised eventually returned and life got back to normal. If I had been born with a conscience it wasn't working yet. At afternoon tea time we were all sitting around the kitchen table eating freshly baked scones with homemade strawberry jam. Peter arrived back from Scouts and said to me with a grin: "You can still sit down then Steve? Dad must be losing his touch". He had seen me break the ornament through the open door while he was rushing off to Scouts. Uncle Pat looked very serious. "I think we'd better have a little talk, Steve" he said. We walked in silence to the bedroom I shared with Michael. Alone in that room with my uncle I realised for the first time how big he was. He towered over me. His voice was sad as he explained how wrong I had been not to own up. Instead, Michael had taken the blame and been punished for it. "Steve, while you are here that means you are part of my family. Auntie Eileen and I love you as if you were our own son". I nodded my head. "And being part of this family means we expect you to love us in return. Is that understood?" "Yes, Uncle Pat". "Earlier, right here in this room, I punished Michael for something he did not do. It seems only fair that the boy who really broke that ornament should pay the same penalty". Auntie Eileen's scones had been light as a feather but now felt like lead weights in my stomach. My uncle sat on a bed and beckoned me to him. He unbuttoned my braces at the front and gently turned me around. He undid the back buttons and pulled my pants down. "Kneel on the bed, son" he said. I stepped out of my britches and climbed up onto the bed. Uncle Pat carefully peeled down my underpants so just my bottom was exposed. "Now, lie flat". I did as I was told. "Keep your legs together. Good boy. How old are you?" "10", I said. "Then you'll get ten licks with the belt". I heard him undo the clasp and the leather slithering through the loops of his trousers. He folded the heavy belt, raised it high and cracked it down onto my quivering mounds. A broad river of fiery pain scorched my rump. Tears sprang to my eyes. I managed not to yell but "Ugh!" sprang from my lips. I lost all sense of time. It was being measured simply by the rise and fall of that belt. THUD! "Ugh!" After the eighth lick had landed, not one inch of my buttocks had not felt the leather. Those plump little mounds reacted to the belt like a pair of 'shock-absorbers'. It was the safest site yet there were enough nerve-endings to supply salutory hurt. My uncle was panting with the exertion, "Only two to go". THUD! "Ugh!" THUD!! "UGH!!" The hiding was over. Through my tears I saw in the mirror my uncle thread the leather belt back through his trouser loops. "Kneel on the bed. That's it". My underpants were gently pulled back up over my burning backside. "Now your pants". I climbed into my britches and Uncle Pat buttoned me up. He wiped my eyes with his handkerchief. "That's my brave boy. Come back into the kitchen when you're ready" he said, ruffling my hair. He left the door open. My tears turned to hiccups. The throbbing in my bottom subsided into a warm, glowing sensation. I walked along the corridor and into the kitchen. It was as if the hiding had never happened. No one referred to it again. In these more enlightened times some people might regard the hiding I got as abuse. That, it most certainly was not. Not to teach a boy right from wrong is neglect and, in my book, almost as bad as abuse. I was very lucky to have the security of being accepted - and loved - by a wonderfully big-hearted family. One weekend my adopted family attended a wedding in another village. I was not invited so on the Friday night Uncle Pat dropped me off at a private boys' school in our town. The headmaster and his wife were friends. "See you Sunday night, Steve" said Uncle Pat. I promised to be good. Dr Scoullar was a tall gentleman with a black moustache. His wife was a tiny little lady, who always wore an anxious expression. I was shown to my bedroom in their living quarters. Saturday started uneventfully. It was term holidays so I was the only boy in the school. About 4 o'clock I got restless and went outside into the small garden. There was a gate, and having the natural curiosity of any 10 year old boy I wanted to know what was on the other side. I went through the gate and found myself in the school grounds. I tried the door of the imposing stone building but it was locked. I continued to explore and soon found a window which had not been locked. It only took a moment to push it open and clamber inside. I wandered from empty classroom to classroom. It reminded me of my own school. I went into the boys' lavatory, sat on a toilet and did Number Twos. I wiped myself and flushed the cistern. I ventured out into the corridor again. Deciding I'd seen enough of the school I turned and made my way back to the apartment. Dr Scoullar was snoozing on a sofa while his wife worked at her tapestry. She looked at me and smiled. "There you are!" I shuffled my feet. There was a knock on the door. "Wonder who that could be?" Mrs Scoullar went into the passage and came back a couple of minutes later with a rather frightened looking teenage boy. "Hall! What on earth do you think you are playing at?" Dr Scoullar, awakened from his nap, seemed most put out. "Please, Sir, I came to town for the A & P Show and missed the bus back". "Humph. Does your father know you are here?" "No, Sir". The headmaster sighed and went into the passage. I could hear him talking on the phone. Mrs Scoullar looked at the boy. "It's alright. You can stay here tonight and catch the first bus in the morning. The doctor will ring your father. You'll have to share with young Steve but don't expect you will mind that". I smiled at the youth and he put out his hand. "Cedric Hall". "Steve Palmer". We shook hands. His grip was firm and I judged him to be about 15 years old. Mrs Scoullar gave us a splendid meal. Afterwards, Cedric and I helped with the dishes. Later she found a spare pair of pyjamas for her unexpected guest. "Goodnight", I said to my hosts. "'Night" echoed Cedric. "Get into your pyjamas, boy" the headmaster said to his stray pupil. "I'll be there directly". We went into the bedroom with its double bed. Silently we stripped. In the mirror I could see Cedric had a fine, young body. 'Would mine ever get to be that big?' I wondered, looking at his thick penis with its bush of black hair. Cedric was shaking. "What's the matter?" Cedric pulled up his pyjama pants and said miserably: "He's going to thrash me for all the trouble I caused". Sure enough there was a knock on the door and a very grim looking Doctor came into the room, a three foot length of whippy rattan in his hand. "Stephen. I'd be grateful if you'd wait in the passage while I deal with this wretched boy". Outside the closed door I heard the headmaster say: "Unbutton and bend! Over the bed, boy!" There was a short silence and then the thud! of cane whacking boy-flesh. Silently I counted six strokes and flinched at every one of them. Dr Scoullar came out of the bedroom. "Goodnight, Stephen". I went into the room. Cedric was curled up on the bed, sobbing. His poor bottom was layered with five raised, purplish weals. The sixth had cut a cruel diagonal path through the forest of painful welts. I got a wet flannel from the wash stand and gently placed it on his swollen mounds. "Thanks, Stevie" he whispered. "You're a good kid". After a bit Cedric stopped crying and wiped his face. "You ever been caned?" "No, but I am only 10". "I've been getting it since I was 7. Hurts like nothing else while he's doing it". Cedric looked at me. "You can touch my stripes if you want". I reached out my hand and gently felt the hot, puffy ridges on the youth's tender buttocks. After a while he reached out and pulled my pyjama pants down. "It's ok," he said reassuringly, "I just wanted to have a look at your bum". His big hands cupped each small cheek. "Wow!" he said admiringly. "It's so beautiful". I giggled. Nobody had said that about my bum before. The caressing hands were withdrawn. "Guess we'd better go to sleep. It's too hot to wear pyjamas", he said, and stripped naked. I took mine off as well. We lay on the bed with just a sheet over us and eventually I drifted off to sleep. Some time later I awoke to see Cedric standing beside the bed. He was holding a potty in one hand, half-filling it with a steady stream of urine. He gave a little fart as he finished. Then he got back into bed. I was wide awake and needed to pee. I felt a bit embarassed knowing the youth would be watching me so I put the pot on the floor and squatted on it while I did my business. When I got back into bed I lay on my side and Cedric nestled into me. There was an uncompromising hardness pressing between the cheeks of my bottom. I started to protest but the youth shushed me. "I won't hurt you, Stevie. I just need to spunk, that's all". Slowly Cedric started moving, his thick rod pressed hard inside my crease. His hot breath was on my neck and then he gave a little sigh. I felt wetness, the rod softened and was withdrawn. "Thanks, Stevie". He held me close to him and I drifted off to sleep, immensely comforted by the warmth of his big body. The next morning he was out of bed before I was awake. "Time to get up, sleepyhead!" I looked at my new friend. His penis stuck straight out from its nest of black hairs. He saw me looking at it and laughed. "It's always like that in the morning". Suddenly I understood what had happened during the night. "Does it want to spunk again?" He took that as an invitation. I lay face down on the bed while Cedric ploughed my tight crease with his big tool. Then I felt the wetness. After a bit he got the flannel from the wash-stand and gently mopped up his seed from my bottom. We got dressed but not before I admired his firm, taut buttocks. The flesh was now all the colours of the rainbow. Breakfast with the Scoullars was a cheerful affair. The headmaster seemed keen to put the events of the night behind him. Cedric was respectful and very polite. The telephone rang and Dr Scoullar went into the passage. He returned a few minutes later to announce there had been a change of plans. Mr Hall was driving into town and would pick his son up around 7.00pm. I was thrilled at the prospect of spending another day with my new friend. We went to church. As I squirmed on the uncomfortable wooden pew I thought how much worse it must be for Cedric with his sore bottom. Yet, the youth sat still, his back was ram-rod straight. Afterwards, we stood outside in the warm sunshine while the parishioners talked to Dr and Mrs Scoullar. Then back to the apartment for lunch. Our hosts had a long-standing engagement so Cedric was left in charge. We had the place to ourselves for the afternoon. "Can we go over to the school?" I asked him. "If you want". We made our way over to the imposing building and climbed in the unsecured window. I made a beeline for the toilets. "Have to do Number Twos". "Me too", said my friend. We sat in adjoining cubicles and made satisfying splashes. A rustle of paper and then chains were pulled. We emerged and washed our hands before going out into the corridor. "Come and see where I will be sleeping next term". Cedric took me into that depressing dormitory. There was a partition with a single bed behind it. "I'm to be dormitory monitor". He reached under the bed and retrieved a junior cane. "Heaven help any boy who doesn't get up in the morning or talks after 'Lights Out'. He grinned cheerfully at me while swishing the stick through the air. "Uncle Pat gives me hidings with his belt", I volunteered. "On the bare bum". "Good for him, Stevie". He caned a pillow on the bed, hard. "Cedric, what does the cane feel like?" He looked at me. "It stings. I'll give you one whack if you want". I shucked off my shorts and underpants and knelt on the bed, my bare behind sticking up in the air. The cane touched my mounds. It was no more than a tap and did nothing more than tickle. "That didn't hurt a bit", I told him. Cedric's big hand rubbed my bottom. "The last thing I want is to hurt you". "Please, Cedric. Just one hard whack". The youth sighed and his hand stopped caressing my orbs. "Very well". The stick landed against its small target with such force I toppled over. Agonising pain flooded my buttocks and I yelled. Cedric held me in his arms until the worst of it had passed. Then he rubbed the fiery welt with his hands, like a teacher trying to erase a rude word left on a blackboard. "I'm sorry, Stevie". "It's ok", I whispered. "Now I know what to expect when I go to high school". I clambered off the bed and got dressed. Cedric was very red in the face. The pain in my buttocks had plateaued into a most unpleasant throbbing sensation. "You took six from Dr Scoullar and never made a sound". "He made me cry, though". The youth ruffled my hair affectionately. "You're one tough, little kid". We made our way back to the apartment. When the Scoullars returned we were standing at the dining room table playing 'Snap'. Sitting was now uncomfortable for both of us. Shortly afterwards Mr Hall arrived to pick up his son. He apologised for all the trouble Cedric had caused. "Believe me, I'll be taking it out on his hide as soon as I get him home". My friend flinched. "Really, there is no need", said Dr Scoullar. "I gave the boy a beating last night". "No disrespect, but I have a carriage whip which will be far more effective at correcting a runaway than a few strokes of the cane". Poor Cedric. They said their goodbyes and left. Shortly afterwards my adopted family arrived. I tumbled into the back seat of the Morris, wincing as my sore backside made contact with the hot leather. Cedric had thoughtfully placed his stripe on my sit spot. I'd be feeling it for a good few days. My weekend with the Scoullars had been far more eventful than I could have ever imagined but it felt grand to be going home again. (This is a work of fiction. Comments welcome. Flames ignored. Raisedweals@yahoo.com)