Joys of Boyhood


by Realist II

Generally speaking there is no more welcome sound to a twelve year old schoolboy than the clang of the school bell to mark the end of the last lesson of the day. The feeling of exultation which it engenders is even greater when it is rung at the end of the last lesson before the beginning of half term. That was the case one fine Thursday in late May at Richley Grammar School for Boys.

Class 2A had had the misfortune to have double Latin. There were few boys who did not glance, at frequent intervals, at the classroom's clock, desperately longing for it to reach half past three. But, oh how slowly the hands seemed to move. Then, at last, the bell rang. There was a noisy slamming of desk tops as books were put away, not to be looked at again for a whole, glorious ten days. Every face, bar one, was beaming with joy. No one was paying the slightest bit of attention to Mr Lake's pleas for quiet. There was a mad rush for the door.

Simon Jenkins, a good-looking fair haired boy, was as eager as the rest to get out into the clean air of freedom. He made for the door, looking around for his friend Rupert Wilkinson. Then he spotted him. Rupert, though managing a smile, did not look nearly as happy as everyone else, and he was only ambling towards the door. Simon slowed down to wait for his friend.

"Come on Rupes", he urged, "let's get down to the park before the crowd arrives".

"Sorry, Simon", Rupert replied. "I won't be able to get there for at least a quarter of an hour. I'm on Head's Report".

"Bad luck. What are you up for?"

"I skipped detention yesterday."

"Oh well", Simon consoled Rupert, "at least you should only get two for that. Hey, I'll wait in the bogs and you can show me your stripes before we get out of this prison."

"You're a great bloke Sime. There's not many boys would hang around for a chap at the beginning of half term. Look, I'll dash to the Head's study now. With any luck I'll be the first in the queue".

Rupert then joined the throng at the door and, once out, sprinted to the left while everyone else headed right. He was an athletic boy and he ran at a good pace. Even so, he was not the first to arrive. An eleven year old boy from the year below was already standing outside the door waiting for the arrival of the great man. Rupert knew him slightly. His name, he seemed to remember, was Cole. Although he was only in the first year, he had already got a reputation as being a good sport. He was a handsome lad with jet black hair. He stood about five foot tall, was slim with a fine athletic body and had one of those friendly, open faces which can be so useful in getting through life. He gave Rupert a fleeting and rather nervous smile.

"You're Cole aren't you?" Asked Rupert.

"Yeah. I know you're Wilkinson. I saw you play in the Under 13s against Bookham. You were great."

Rupert blushed slightly at this unexpected praise.

"Are you on report?"

"Yeah, I missed detention yesterday."

"Same here. Have you done it before?"

"No. This is my first time on report."

"Well, there's not much to worry about. You'll get a bit of a bollocking and then, cos you're in the first year, you'll just get a couple of whacks with Fred - that's the head's gym shoe. Have you ever had the slipper before?"

"Only two from Whacker Wilson", Cole was referring to the PE master, "but then who hasn't?"

"Well, the head's no harder than Whacker. You'll be feeling right as rain in a quarter of an hour".

Two more boys, from the third form, turned up before Mr Jameson appeared at the end of the corridor, walking deliberately slowly towards his study. The waiting boys stood at attention and stopped talking. Their headmaster walked past them, without giving them a glance, and went into the study. He shut the door. The red light stayed on for a couple of minutes. Then it turned green.

"Ok Cole", said Rupert, "in you go, and good luck".

Cole wiped his clammy palms on the seat of his trousers and then turned the handle and walked in, shutting the door behind him. The three waiting boys remained silent, listening intently in the hope of being able to follow the proceedings inside the dark panelled room. They heard the murmur of a low voice. Mr Jameson's tellings off were always delivered in a menacingly quiet tone. Then there was a pause, followed by the familiar thud of rubber sole on boy's bottom. Then another. Rupert looked at the door handle, expecting to see it turn in a second. But then, to the amazement of all of them, there was a third thud, another pause, and then a fourth. Rupert and the older boys looked at each other in astonishment. As far as they knew (and Cole had already confirmed it to Rupert) the eleven year old had committed no serious previous offences. It was unheard of for a first form boy to get four for missing a detention for the first time. Indeed, everyone knew that first formers only got three for the third offence. Rupert wondered whether Cole had been cheeky to the head, or been found with padding down his trousers. Both seemed highly unlikely. Cole was clearly a sensible boy. He wouldn't be dim enough to answer back to the head. He was known, as I have already said, to be a good sport. It was surely unthinkable that he'd be such a coward as to pad his trousers for a whacking.

Just then the door opened and Cole emerged. He had his jacket over his left arm and was furiously rubbing an obviously sore bottom with his right hand. But he still managed a smile at the others. The light turned green again before Rupert could get an explanation. His heart now beating even faster than it normally did before a caning, he walked forward, turned the handle and entered the room.

Mr Jameson was now back behind his desk, which faced the door from the other end of the room. Behind him was a large window, with the sun pouring in directly onto Rupert's face. He often thought that facing the head in these circumstances was rather like facing a Nazi interrogator during the last war must have felt. There was a moment's silence while the head took in who had come in and turned the pages of the report book to find out what he had done.

"Ah Wilkinson. I'm sorry to see you here. Let's have your excuse first."

Rupert always found this bit difficult. He felt he ought to say something, but there usually wasn't an excuse to be offered. There certainly wasn't this time. He had deliberately missed detention so he could play football with his friends. But he could hardly say that. He resorted to the line favoured by naughty boys for generations.

"I'm sorry sir, I don't know why I did it."

"Nonsense boy. You did it because you didn't feel like paying the penalty for your bad behaviour. Well, you're going to pay it now, aren't you?"

"Yes sir". This said in almost a whisper.

"You will no doubt be interested to learn that I have decided to crack down heavily on boys who miss detention. You have a choice. You can take two with the cane and do two hours detention next Wednesday. Or you can take four with the cane. What's it to be?"

Rupert suddenly understood what he had heard when Cole had been in the room. He felt like blurting out that it wasn't fair to increase the normal punishment without warning everyone first. After all, if he'd known, he might well have decided to give up the football and do the detention. But he was too sensible to make a fuss. He only thought for a second. He realised he wasn't really being given a choice at all. Not only would it be simply dreadful to have to come into school in the middle of half term. There was also the obvious point that everyone would know that he had been too much of a coward to take four.

"I'll have four please sir", he muttered.

"Prepare yourself".

Rupert took his jacket off and placed it over the arm of a chair as he watched Mr Jameson pick up the thin cane from the desk top. He took a deep breath. He had never had four before. He had had three at the end of the last term, for fighting during break, and that had hurt a lot. Four, he thought, would be a lot worse. He prayed he would take it well. Then he walked a couple of paces forwards and turned towards the fireplace on his right. Slowly, he bent over, feet a few inches apart, and grabbed his ankles. He was not a well-built boy. There was no spare flesh on his slim body. But he was strong and fit. His trousers were so tight that Mr Jameson could see the outline of his firm thigh muscles through them. The waiting bottom was slim, round and only slightly protuberant. The lines of his Y-fronts could be seen through the thin material. He looked very vulnerable as he gripped his ankles tighter in preparation for the first stroke.

Mr Jameson looked at his target with an expert eye. He did not actually take any pleasure in beating his charges. But he knew that he did it well and effectively. It was a necessary task and he performed it professionally. He tapped the cane on Rupert's bottom, noted the familiar tensing of the buttocks, pulled it back and then swung it forward with as much force as he could muster. It swished through the air and the crack as it made contact was gratifyingly loud. Rupert's eyes were tight shut. He clenched his teeth together as the pain seared through his bottom. But he made no sound.

Mr Jameson could see a thin line across the boy's trousers where the first stroke had landed. It was right across the middle of the buttocks. A good stroke, he said to himself as he used the line to take aim. This time it would be half an inch higher. He slammed the cane into the waiting flesh. Sure enough, the second line was just above the first. Rupert dug his finger nails into his ankles. The pain was doubled. His bottom was already throbbing. He took another deep breath. Then, with a resounding crash, the third stroke connected. It was just below the first.

Rupert blinked his eyes open and shut to stop them watering from the pain. The grip on his ankles was now tighter than ever. This was going to be the great test. Mr Jameson waited a moment or two longer than he had done between the earlier strokes. Then he swung the cane forward. Swish. Crack. Rupert nearly lost his balance. But he managed to stay in position. He silently uttered as many swear words as he could think of as he struggled to control the pain. A moment or two passed. He heard the head walking back to his desk. Then the dismissal.

"You may go now. Have a good half term".

"Thank you sir".

Rupert slowly stood up, still blinking. His eyes were only slightly watery. No tears had formed. He had made no sound. He had taken four like a man. He picked up his jacket. Like Cole before him, he didn't wait to put it on before heading for the door. Also like Cole, he rubbed his throbbing bottom with a vengeance as soon as he was out of the room.

Greenwood, the next boy in line, gave a querying look to Rupert as they passed. Rupert had assumed that Cole must have explained what was going on. It looked as though he hadn't. But again there was no time for explanations. Desperate though he was to run down the corridor, jumping up and down and clutching his bottom, Rupert thought he ought to explain things to Napley, the last of that afternoon's victims. Before he managed to say anything, Napley spoke.

"What the hell's going on Wilkinson. Why did you get four?"

"Didn't Cole tell you?"

"No I reckon his bum was too sore and he was probably a bit frightened of talking to third formers."

"Well, he's decided to crack down on boys who miss detention. You get a choice of two plus doing a two hour detention in the middle of half term, or four without a detention. If you can call that a choice."

"Bloody hell. The bastard. I mean he could have said something first. _s_h_i_t_. I've already been swished twice this term for skipping detention. Did he say how many you get for a third offence?"

"No, but I reckon it's got to be more than four. Bad luck".

They fell silent as they listened to the four cracks from the other side of the door. Then Greenwood came out, rubbing an extremely sore bottom. Napley gave the two boys a rueful grin and went in to meet his fate.

Rupert's pain was now under control. He was still gently rubbing a still throbbing bottom. But the worst was now over. Greenwood jumped up and down four times, his jacket on the floor and both hands clutching his bottom. Then he stopped and listened. Although Rupert had intended to go straight to the lavatories to meet Simon, he was far too curious about how many Napley would get. He decided to wait too.

The mumble of conversation finished. Then they started counting. Swish, crack, one. Swish, crack, two. Swish, crack, three. Swish, crack, four. Had it stopped? A good ten seconds passed. Then: swish, crack, five. Swish, crack, six.

Napley had actually had six of the best! Rupert knew that third formers could get six, if they were really bad. But it hardly ever happened. Poor old Napley, he thought to himself.

The door opened and a grimacing thirteen year old boy came out. As with the others, Napley was clutching his bottom in agony. But the agony must have been greater in his case.

"_s_h_i_t_, let's get out of here", he exclaimed, "I'm off to the bogs to look at my stripes. Are you coming?"

He didn't wait for an answer as he sprinted down the corridor. Rupert and Greenwood ran after him.

They all arrived at once. Simon was waiting.

"I thought you were going to be first", he said to Rupert, "I've been waiting ages."

"Sorry Sime, but I'm sure you'll understand when I tell you the full story. Or perhaps you know already. Have you seen Cole?"

"Is he that sporty first form kid?"

"Yeah".

"Well, he did come in here, but when he saw me he headed into the changing rooms. Why, what's up?"

Rupert headed to the connecting door to the changing rooms.

"I'll just get him out and then we'll explain everything."

As he opened the door they could see Cole standing by the mirror and pulling his trousers up.

"Come and see a few stripes Cole. I reckon you're one of us now".

Cole, rather bashfully, came back into the lavatories. As he did so, and before any further explanation could be given, Rupert undid his trousers and pulled them down. He turned his back to Simon and proudly pulled down his underpants. Simon gasped.

"You've got four. Why was that. You haven't been done for skipping detention before this term have you?"

Rupert then explained. Soon, all three of the older miscreants were showing off their bottoms to each other and Simon. Rupert had not said anything about Napley's punishment until after the third former had shown his six scarlet stripes to Simon, whose gasp, this time, was even louder. Cole, who shyly revealed, when asked, that his first name was Charles, was immensely impressed by all he was seeing. He had once caught the briefest possible glance of a second former striped bottom (after only two) in the showers, but never had he had the chance to see the results of swishings so closely and at such leisure. He was then extremely gratified to be asked by his seniors to show off his own bottom.

"It's nothing like yours", he said modestly.

"Come on", said Greenwood, "you're only eleven and you've just had four with Fred. I bet it looks great."

Charles took his trousers and pants down and the older boys admired a scarlet bottom, tinged with blue, that seemed almost ludicrously small. The whole surface of both cheeks had been hit, and hit very hard indeed.

"I don't suppose anyone else in your year has ever had such a hard whacking", said Napley, "well done kid".

Charles blushed with pleasure and thought how lucky he had been to have to take his first dose of Fred in the company of such wonderful older boys.

All the boys pulled their trousers and pants back up and prepared to set off for half term. Napley and Greenwood had already arranged to go to Napley's house for tea. Simon and Rupert had, of course, agreed to go to the park. Charles had made no arrangements and was wondering how he might find some other first formers to show off his bruised bottom to. Just then, Rupert spoke.

"Got any plans Charles, or do you want to come with Sime and me to the park? There'll be a crowd of second formers there, but they'll be keen to have you along when they hear about your whacking."

This really was heaven, thought Charles. He had never imagined for a moment that he, a lowly new bug, might ever be invited by second formers to play with them. He readily agreed and the three boys joyfully escaped from the school grounds.

Once reunited with the other members of Class 2A, Simon and Rupert enjoyed centre stage as they explained all about the head's new penal policy in relation to skipping detention. As soon as Charles's experience had been relayed to them, the second formers welcomed him warmly to their gang. The football game which had been under way was temporarily suspended while everyone crept behind the pavilion to look at the bruised bottoms. There was not a single boy who was not enormously impressed by the bravery of the miscreants and there were not a few who did not secretly resolve that skipping detention was now a thing of the past.

As for Charles Cole, well, he had been dreading the end of the last lesson and the thought of half term ahead had not greatly consoled him. Now, everything was different. His beating was over, and he had taken it like an old hand. The pain was almost gone, but his bottom was clearly going to be bruised for some time and he would certainly make sure that as many of his classmates as possible got a good view. He had made friends with some second formers. He had been privileged to see the striped bottoms of one second former and two third formers. So happy was he with the way things had turned out that he almost resolved to miss his next detention as well.

Later that night, after his mother had said goodnight to him and turned the lights out, Charles lay back in his bed thinking of the afternoon's events. As he did so, he felt a stiffening between his legs. It surprised him greatly, and he became more bemused as he realised that it was brought on by thoughts of his own slippering and the other boys' canings. He knew what some, older, boys did when they had this feeling. He had never done it himself.

"But now", he thought, "those older boys said I was one of them. I bet they do it. I don't see why I shouldn't either."

He turned on his left side and tentatively took hold of the now hard organ. He gripped it tighter and moved it up and down. He soon got into the swing of things. After a few minutes it started a fantastic throbbing. Not much came out, but he knew he was now a big boy. He drifted off to sleep with a broad grin on his handsome young face.

Rupert had enjoyed the activity Charles had just discovered on many occasions. He had also discovered that it was particularly pleasurable after he had been beaten, seen other boys being beaten (as happened occasionally during PE) or seen the end results of other boys' beatings. It was not surprising, therefore, that he made no fuss about being sent to bed that night. Before he put on his pyjamas, he looked again at his wonderfully striped bottom. That was all that was needed. He jumped into bed and started the familiar routine. He thought of his own caning. He thought of Napley and Greenwood. He thought of Charles Cole. He was pleased, when he looked at his handkerchief afterwards, to note that it was a lot damper than usual.

Greenwood was asked to spend the night with the Napleys. The two boys shared Napley's bedroom. As they undressed, each noticed that the other was becoming aroused. They decided to see who could keep it going longer. They locked the bedroom door and lay, naked, on top of their beds. For a few moments, neither did anything else as they watched each other become more and more erect. But they couldn't hold off for long. Soon, both were moving rhythmically. Gradually the pace quickened. Napley was first, but the sight of the liquid spurting out brought on an identical reaction from Greenwood. Both said it had been the best of their lives. Each gave the other a vivid description of the girl he had been thinking of. Each wondered whether the other had really been thinking of the punishment of boys.


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