Dear James,
Your e-mail asked how I first became involved in discipline and such without leaving marks or bruises, etc. Truth is always stranger than fiction. Haven't through about it in years, but here goes --
I grew up where others were punished. I knew it and at times saw them get it from Dad, Uncle, gym teachers, etc. Then, much later during some journalistic inquiries I was making in San Francisco, I stumbled across a man with an ad in the "Berkeley Barb," referring to himself as a "225 pound benevolent dictator." I'd no idea what the meant, but in looking at the underground there, I though a discrete inquiry appropriate. After a few phone conversations, I met this old, overweight grandpa type (with a business man son and a daughter in a famous Western ballet company - both older than I). The old guy kept "nude basement slaves." College boys! He made and sold perfume, but one great-looking blond College guy kept in that tenement basement "dungeon" on Polk Street was both beautiful and intriguing with a near perfect physique. Why would the College boy do this? Eat out of a dog dish? Serve an old fat Queen who kept him confined, made him serve strangers like me, and spanked his bare bottom long and hard even in front of me the first night (no one knew me)? The College boy cried and promised obedience and then did exactly what he was told. When he hesitated, he was immediately spanked again.
The Man came to "trust" me (he never knew the reason for my interest or that I was taking notes) -- after I finally agreed, with a great, great deal of reservation to let him tie me on my back one afternoon while he played with my chest (nothing more). Then he opened the flood gates and gave me his correspondence from all over the world! I'd never seen such stuff and couldn't believe most of it!
I spent a lot of time, later, with the blond College Boy (Cornell, Phi Beta Kappa in English Lit. from solid East Coast family of some means) in that basement, talking and listening with him, trying to figure him out. He was exceptionally handsome, his body was perfect, longish flowing blond hair. He was kept naked in that basement room, his pubic hair shaved nightly by the old guy. He was truly gorgeous, seemed very normal, just a nice guy, like a friend with a hell of a lot to offer. So why?
Then this old guy dreamed one night his "meditation master" (?) came to him and told him he "must train a son" to take over from him as he became older and older. The old guy stared at his type of altar that night and was convince I fit that description of the person the vision spoke of and thus I was to be his "successor" (to what exactly I never knew). Immediately he began to talk and talk to me, wanting me to move in (I never did) rather than just visit occasionally to watch his "sessions" with those who came nightly to see him for counsel. Those who came were mostly good looking males, varying ages. All (but me) stripped at the door and presented themselves naked to the man they called "My Master." Some were concerned who I was, but the old guy said only I was his "son and successor." Actors and personalities (some well known)and just good looking young men came and presented themselves naked to ask questions and to receive his answers. Often punishment was prescribed on the spot for things and the guys willing accepted it cravingly, going over his knee or couch to be spanked, paddled,or strapped, and crying themselves out begging, and ultimately leaving claiming a "marvellous release and never having felt better" though their bare bottoms were well blistered and very red! It was bizarre, interesting, 100% California back then,and I stayed, watched, took notes. I was never touched, but I was taught how to discipline a "boy" very effectively, creatively, and very well indeed! The old guy told me (taught me) more than I ever wanted to know and as his "heir" I always had first option to take any "boy" over my lap. When I did, it pleased the old man beyond comprehension. A few guys made the occasional mistake of telling the old guy they wanted his "son" to paddle them. The old man didn't like that and for their "rudeness" (he called it) he would string them up and whip them after I'd spanked or paddled them (almost always to complete tears). It was always his or my choice, never the boy's.
In the midst of all this strangeness that summer, the old guy asked me to join him at a blind pianist's apartment on the guy's birthday and told me the blind guy "had always wanted to spank a nice college guy." (I was 26). I went, not realizing it was me the blind guy had been told about and was fantasizing to spank. Bizarre! Yet, when I saw this thin blind man, heard him play beautifully . . . well, there were the three of us, we had a cake, and when the blind guy made a wish, he asked out loud for a "nice boy" across his lap to spank sometime before he died. It was sad. The guy had had a good career but there he was in a tenement, alone. He reached out and touched my hand,and I caved in, making things up, and saying something like I'd been a bit bad that afternoon, screwed up something or other, and maybe since the old guy (whose name I think was Paul -- actually, yes, it comes back now and it was Paul) had threaten to take down my Levi's and spank me when we got back to his place that he (the blind guy} might want to do me a favour and just give it to me now so I could quit worrying so much about getting it later. I knew the words by then. Paul was radiating -- I'll never forget the look on his face. He was so pleased, but the real excitement was in the blind guy and it was very obvious.
The blind guy asked Paul if he "possibly could spank me for him" and Paul said, "Yes!" I moved close to where he was sitting and the blind guy managed to unbuckle my jeans and pull them down. I recall his going over my body Braille style and then his trying to lecture sternly. He got so excited he was sweating, touching my bottom, came in his pants before he'd even started and I was still in my jockey's. Bizarre! Stupid! Dumb! He immediately lost interest but was extremely happy and excited. Paul was excited too! I thought it a complete waste. (remember: I was 26)
Shortly thereafter, Paul went to Utah and left me "in charge" of the College Guy in the basement. Thus it was I really got to understand him. The first couple of days I went over when I got up and finished my note taking on the correspondence and stuff around the place, and then unlocking his basement "dungeon" would shower and shave him, feed him, take him across my knees for his morning bare bottom spanking and it got more intense during the day. But I also got him to talk about his background, his experiences, why he stayed, etc. He was gorgeous, intelligent, educated, articulate, and I enjoyed his company and he seemed genuinely to enjoy mine. We couldn't really talk with Paul around, but we could now (even though at first he was hesitant and very reserved). The third day I decided the hell with it, taking him back where I was staying. I found his tattered Levi's, way to small but they certainly made him look _s_e_x_y. He was afraid to go with me after I'd got him stuffed in those jeans and I recall yanking him down across my lap and paddling the hell out of his tightly encased denim covered butt for it. It was hot, my first for a real reason, and I followed it by standing him up, telling him clearly how he was going to behave from then on, and then pealing those jeans down to a clump around his ankles and spanking his beautiful bare ass a good one. His pleas, tears, catharsis was complete.
He obeyed and then talked constantly. I forced him to accompany me to dinner at a nice place (dressing him in one of my suits with tie) and I kept him with me. There was more resistance when I told him he was not going to sleep on the floor but in a bed and he earned a nice long spanking for it.
To make a long story short, he had goals, but he lacked resolution and was afraid to proceed. He was surprisingly normal, nice, the kind of guy that anyone would be happy to have around and straight as hell looking and acting, but he wanted and very much needed someone in charge. He didn't like this basement "slave" thing but he didn't know where else to find what he was seeking, needing, feeling and he was not strong enough to move forward.
When Paul returned, the blond was back in his basement, but I'd learned tremendous amount about the care and spanking of such "men or boys," their needs. A light had lit up, as it were. When I returned after the summer from my long trip to California, I stuffed my phone in the College Boy's wallet. I never knew how he got away from Paul -- never asked either-- but I wasn't surprised when he phoned one night. And, as bizarre as it seems, I got him back into graduate school and ultimately guided him (every time he balked, his pants came down and he got spanked until ultimately he made it) through his graduate work with his bottom often nice and red under his jeans as he sat in class in those days. He's now fairly well known and quite successful and a close friend.
While I never wrote anything on this, from Paul's contacts and meeting folk, I realized there were lots of folk into "CP," as some call it. Later, overseas on a remote assignment, I adopted a 14 year old boy who had grown up in an orphanage but, with my last name, had a chance at a future. I could give him that change because I worked with one who had the power to make it happen in that culture and that was the sole reason I did it. In that culture, I then learned that if a "father" does not "beat" his son, it shows he doesn't love him and wants him to leave. (I am not making ANY of this up!) My first attempt, a yell when he dropped a glass he was drying after dinner, was humorous, from my perspective, but he did exactly the cultural acts my colleagues told me teenagers do there. Then, he came alive with real fear when I dragged him crying down the hall into his bedroom, lectured him on being more careful, pulled down his shorts, and took him screaming and crying (in a language I really didn't understand)over my lap and proceeded to give his very tight little fanny it's first spanking outside his orphanage (where boys were switched). The more he struggled, the more I really got into it and believe me that first one was a good and long one. He'd never been over a lap, and never been spanked at all. Now he was spanked bare, over my lap, lectured and stood that way in a corner and he knew I'd do it again if he misbehaved.
The next day, after he left for school, my native neighbors commented on what a good father I was. That evening when he returned from school, we had a basic but clear father-son conversation on my expectations. From that moment until I left his country, I spanked him as necessary, typically for school-type reasons as I tutored him and guided him into adulthood. We still have a wonderfully rewarding relationship and he now has a solid job in a foreign embassy he could never have hoped for otherwise.
Although my neighbors used switches or straps on their teenagers there, my right hand and/or the small wooden paddle I crafted for him was all I needed to use. The results were Stirling. His progress academically [14 yrs. thought only in form 3] was so good and his English developed so well that one of my neighbors down the way asked if I would tutor his own son in English and specifically indicated I should not hesitate to use whatever method I wishes, including spanking his son as he knew I did mine!
This man, a judge, had a tall lanky, very handsome son, who was almost seventeen, and although I initially said I didn't have time, ultimately I agreed. "Relationships" with this man made it almost impossible for me to refuse in that culture where I was working.
I'll never forget the night his father, the judge, brought him over with his workbook for his first tutorial. My own boy was in a back room studying that evening and the judge said he'd return in a few hours. It probably wasn't more than a half hour later when I eagerly decided "what the hell," made this lad strip completely and took his sixteen year old bare bottom across my lap to get his complete attention; and get it, I did! He was a beautiful guy to spank! And, I kept him focused on his book and applied reminder warm ups that evening. He learned quickly this was serious business. . . or else!
It wasn't until he left that I realized the judge had been outside on the porch listening for much of the time. Talk about a grateful father! One funny outcome, much much later, the boy told me months later that his father was so impressed with what I'd accomplished in my own boy's schooling that his father questioned him about all the details of how I'd spanked him. Then the boy said his father had tried to spank him like I had, but gave up. When I asked the lad why, he told me his father couldn't distinguish between "beating" him with a stick (which he had grown up with all his life), and "correcting me educationally" (his words). Interesting lad and I still know him today (he a corporate lawyer and very successful with his own family).
This boy came regularly, at his father's direction, and was almost a part of my family. There were others periodically, but things just happened. Most of all, of course, it was my own boy who bore my by then clearly recognized skill in spanking his bare bottom and getting results. And with no TV., etc. I increased his education, turning my orphan, legal son, into a rather sophisticated gentleman. I never spanked him except for a reason and yes, my neighbors came to view me as "strict," but in helping a boy with his school work, it is rare indeed if a point of understanding cannot be naturally reinforced with the boy sunny side up for some natural correction and education.
It works and both boys in question and I came to mutually know it, even though it initially took a long time for them to realize it. Over the years, I have never had an unpleasant incident and I still maintain contact with many of those I've tutored and spanked and often with their parents as well. I've never been cruel and I've never spanked a lad without a solid reason, a firm discussion, and mutual respect. I could introduce you to a good number of successful folk today with their own families. I've not done "scenes" or games.
I suppose truth is always stranger than fiction, but you asked. I enjoy helping people when I can -- certainly not limited to CP. I've been referred to as a cross between "Mother Theresa" and "Mr. Chips." Whatever. Lots of people have helped me in business in lots of ways or I would never have succeeded either.
Often men ask me how I find my "boys?" But, the point is I don't and I don't look. It just happens. Truth is always stranger than fiction, but better, too!
Your turn. I just hope I haven't bored you to death, but quite honestly no one has ever asked that question before! So, I'm out of here, as Americans seem to say, for dinner and to listen the good looking American waiter after he gets off later tonight who suggested "a drink." I'll be in the US for Christmas and catch you later. Regards, Cal