The Creek


by Naughteboy <Noughteboy@yahoo.com>

The year was 1947. At the age of 12 I was the only member of my family to have survived the bombing of Dresden. After the war I was repatriated to Australia to live with my mother's only brother.

Uncle Kurt was in his late twenties. A friendly, outgoing man, he helped break down strong anti-German feelings, still present in a country which had lost so many of its sons. He married a wonderful Australian girl called Maisie.

Every afternoon after work Kurt and some of his migrant friends of similar age as himself, swam in the creek which bordered our property. This was both a social and cleansing ritual. All the men laboured in quarries or on construction sites. The warm water was both refreshing and cleansing after hard, dirty work.

I learned to swim in that creek helped by Uncle Kurt and encouraged by his friends. Each afternoon we lay naked on the grassy bank while the sun dried us. They spoke in English laced with thick German accent. Old names, and not those which had been anglicized in an attempt to forget the past, were used at the creek.

The men were matter-of-fact about their bodies. I was fascinated by their big penises and firm, jutting-out buttocks. They paid no attention to my scrawny pre-pubescent body.

One day I upset Auntie Maisie by using a very rude Anglo-Saxon swear word. When the kind, loving lady attempted to gently remonstrate with me I turned on her. I was an out-of-control little brat. My uncle took me into their bedroom, bared my bottom and put me across his knee. I waited for the spanking to begin.

"It's no good. I can't do it". Uncle Kurt sounded upset. "Get dressed and we'll go to the creek".

The men were enjoying the warm water.

"Greetings!" shouted Werner. "What kept you?"

"The boy was rude to Maisie".

"Ah!" said Werner, "Show us your red behind, little one".

My uncle shuffled his feet. "I tried to spank him but I couldn't bring myself to do it".

"He's too big for spanking anyway" observed Fritz, inspecting my pink mounds. "He needs a father's belt".

"Or even the cane", suggested Erich. Gunther and Otto nodded their approval.

"A good thrashing, that's what the boy is asking for", said Hans, firmly.

The men climbed out of the creek, water dripping from their muscular bodies, and lay on the grass. My uncle and I splashed around in the creek, unhappily because of the unfinished business between us. Then we joined the men on the bank.

"Your uncle who has been so good to you is upset", said Werner.

"What's it got to do with you, baldy", I snarled at my uncle's big friend. Werner was very self-conscious because he was losing his hair. My words deliberately wounded him.

"That's not a nice thing to say". Hans looked stern.

"I'll say what I want, small dick", I shouted in my clear treble. Hans' modest member shrunk even further.

That was too much for the men.

"Kurt", said Erich, "I must ask you to take the boy home. He says such upsetting things. Better he stay at home while we have our afternoon swims in future".

There was a chorus of agreement from all the men.

My uncle knelt on the ground and pulled me over his thigh. His big hand, powered by muscles which shifted blocks of granite with ease, pummelled my bare backside.

I yelled and squirmed but in my heart knew I deserved every hard swat.

"Any one else want to help me redden this backside?" My uncle held me in place with his big hands.

"Yes"! said Werner. I heard him unlooping his belt from his trousers which were on the riverbank. My uncle positioned me until my bottom stuck right out. Then Werner leathered my quivering hemispheres. Broad bands of pain radiated from my flogged flesh and I yelled my heart out.

There was a pause while the men inspected my red buttocks.

"Coming along quite nicely" said Otto as if I was a piece of furniture he was restoring in his workshop.

"Hans?" my uncle looked enquiringly at the other man I had insulted.

"Yes, please". The 22 year old pulled a thin, whippy switch off a bluegum. He gave my already blazing backside six hard cuts, turning my sore flesh into a raging inferno. My yells had turned to hiccups. Tears flooded my eyes.

"That's enough", said Hans, throwing down the stick. My uncle let me up and I did an involuntary dance from one foot to the other, trying to ease the hurt in my buttocks.

Eventually, I recovered enough to apologise individually to the men. Then the men decided to have another swim. They jumped into the creek.

"Come on in", invited Erich. "The water will be nice and cool for your warm bum". I needed no second invitation. The creek soothed my scorched flesh. Under the water friendly hands gently massaged my sore bottom. Hans ruffled my hair. I was forgiven. We dried ourselves in the sun and got dressed again. Uncle Kurt took me home.

Standing beside the hot range cooking our evening meal was Auntie Maisie. I ran over, flung my arms around her and said: "I'm sorry!"

"That's my good boy". She hugged me to her while my uncle told her about the hiding I'd been given. Her gentle hands touched the seat of my shorts. When she felt the intense heat radiating from my still-fiery bottom she stood up and glared at Uncle Kurt.

"You didn't have to smack him so hard". Her fists pummelled my uncle's own muscular buttocks, making the big man laugh.

The next day at the creek nothing was said about my multi-colored, bruised buttocks with their raised puffy ridges until we were drying off on the grassy bank. Otto looked at the welts and said: "Hans, you hit the boy too much".

22 year old Fritz piped up: "No! Hans uses the rohrstock like a girl!"

"You wouldn't say that if it was your behind", snapped Hans.

Fritz walked over to the bluegums and pulled off off a thick switch which he gave to Hans. Then Fritz bent over, offering up his taut, firm buttocks.

"Gentlemen, some entertainment!" shouted Otto with a grin.

Hans took up his position and then ran in, like a cricketing fast bowler. The stick lashed Fritz's pink mounds with devastating force. We watched as the white line left by the stick filled out into a fat purplish-red weal. Fritz's splendid hindquarters shook uncontrollably.

"What about that?" Hans shouted to Fritz.

Through clenched teeth the man replied: "It just tickled, girlie".

Hans delivered another four stinging cuts. Obviously Fritz was suffering and after the fifth stroke had landed he stood up.

"My arse hurts like hell. Hans, you flogged me like a man".

"Down you get", said Hans. "The boy took six and so will you".

There was a chorus of agreement from the watching men. Resignedly, Fritz bent over again exposing his battered rump. The sixth stroke was diagonal and cut a cruel new path through the forest of weals.

"Aaaaaagh!" shouted Fritz. He stood up, ran and jumped into the creek. I swear his blazing buttocks sizzled when he hit the water. Laughing, Hans and the rest of us followed him into the creek.

No one ever challenged Hans' use of the rohrstock again. Worse, Uncle Kurt completely lost his inhibitions and soundly thrashed my bare bottom whenever I deserved it!


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