This is a short follow-up to 'school report'
From an early age father had punished me and so I had a slight fear of him. I was not always afraid just apprehensive and careful not to upset him. Mother was always kind and soft but never interfered with fathers discipline of me.
After I had cleared the supper table, it was my job to clear the dishes with my mother, and then I went off for my bath. I bathed every night. Father would come into the bathroom and either tell me to get dried and into my pyjamas, in which case I was allowed to go downstairs and read or play until ime for bed.
The alternative was get dried and go to his bedroom. This happened on average once a week and meant that I would have a very sore and red bottom. I dried off in front of my father in his bedroom. Then, completely naked, I would be told to fetch the slipper. This meant going to my room, where it was kept, and bringing it in to hand to him. He would usually be sitting on his bed, he wouod patt his legs and that meant I was to climb over his knee. My upper body would be draped over the bed and my legs would be danging behind, my feet not touching the floor (until I was about twelve years old I guess).
The slipper was then rested on my bottom. Nothing was said. I was to keep quiet and not cry for the duration of my punishment. The slipper was lifted and then suddently whacked into my small defenseless bottom. I always wanted to reach back but I waw more scared of what would happen if I did than of the pain in my small bottom so I resisted the urge and suffered with the stinging pain in my bottom. Father whacked me slowly and methodically. The pain grew and I began kicking my legs as the number of slipper whacks grew. The fire burned on my bottom's skin. When he was finished father told me I could go to my room and get my pyjamas on. I think that after each slippering I cried as I left the room.
This carried on until I was nearly sixteeen. There was no argument, discussion. If he wanted to slipper me that is what happened, it was a fact of life.
On my sixteenth birthday my parents prepared a special meal for me. I received generous prsents but still I was expected to help with clearing the dishes. After the meal Father announced that he had news for me and we would meet in the living room as soon as the dishes were done. Mother looked very nervous and smiled at me. She was so soft and kind. I loved her, and I guess I loved him even though I feared father some times.
I was excited about the news.
When we were gathered my father looked anxious. I thought it was going to be a 'birds and bees' talk, but why was mother there and anyway I knew all about such things from school and my girlfriends. I was a good athlete and all the girs in class liked me. Sometimes I was quite a _c_o_c_k_y guy. I guess you would acall me quite a good looking boy, and I knew I was.
Father then dropped the bomb shell. He and mother had adopted me when I was three.
Suddenly my whole life flashed past me eyes. I had no idea what to say or do so I siad and did nothing.
Later in bed I began to think of the consequences of my new found status. Memories of the good and bad times came into my head and I did not sleep. I thought about how things had been. The man who had been spanking and caning me all these years, stroking my bare bottom, ordering me about and punishing me whenevr he felt like it was really just another guy. Not my dad at all. Had he enjoyed punishing me all those years, what right did he have to behave that way. My school report canings, washing me in the bath, dressing me in clothes he had chosen, slippering me whenever I got my spellings wrong.
The next moring I awoke early, packed a bag and left the house before my parents were up. I walked towards the station and would get the train to London.
In the next story I will tell you about how I became a model at the age of sixteen.