'Go straight to your room Paul and I shall come up when I am ready to deal with you.' My twelve year old nephew looked tearfully at me across the room but knew that it would only be worse for him if he argued with me and he left the room quietly. I heard him climbing the stairs and enter his bedroom. I sat down at my desk and thought about the incident that had taken place.
Paul had returned home from a friend's house and while he had been there, he and his friend Matthew had broken a neighbour's windows. Matthew's father had telephoned me to tell me this and had said that while he would be punishing Matthew, he did not intend to punish Paul as that was my responsibility. I knew that Matthew would be likely to be 'grounded' for a week or so as his punishment, his father found this effective and I briefly considered doing the same thing to Paul and then decided against it. Paul understood that punishments were short, sharp and over with and that the incident would not be referred to again unless it should be repeated although this happened very rarely. I have two nephews and as it was part of my own upbringing and I think thoroughly effective, I continue to use corporal punishment with the boys which in my view is the correct and most effective means of disciplining boys and young men. When my brother or I misbehaved we knew that once caught we could expect a firm but quite fair punishment and the incident would then be over with. My own father was brought up like that and he did then, as I do now firmly believe in the lesson of a sore bottom. When my elder brother was born, my father's elder brother gave him a present of a strap and a cane, believing that both were necessary for the stable upbringing of a boy. Both played their part, at first the strap and then as a teenager the cane was the chosen instrument of correction. When my nephews came to live with me, my brother repeated things and gave me a gift of a strap and a cane, again telling me that both things should feature from time to time in a boy's upbringing. I knew that he certainly strapped his own sons when necessary. I remember looking at both implements, the strap was identical to the one my own father had used on my own bottom on so many occasions, 45cm long, 5cm wide, 2cm thick and made of black leather, it was so stiff that it stayed horizontal when held out, the cane was a 90cm long 1cm thick yellow rattan with a crook at the end, again like my father had and similar to the ones that I had also felt at school. I remember putting both implements away wondering if I would ever use them. My father's policy had been the strap until a teenager and the cane thereafter for so long as we were members of his household (to which end he caned me at the age of 21 for coming home drunk while on holiday from university!) and this seemed about right to me although I knew that my brother had exceptionally caned his eleven year old for truancy.
I thought back to the times that my father had sent me to my room and I had waited there for him to come along. The waiting was dreadful, my father always said that he never gave a thrashing that was undeserved and never let us off with one that was, so there was no question of bargaining or hoping for less strokes. Eventually, my father would come to the room, usually within fifteen minutes but it always seemed longer. He would open the door, come in and close the door quietly and then tell us what was to happen, my brother and I both knew to say nothing but to then place two pillows across the middle of the bed, take off trousers and underpants and to lie across the pillows so that our bottoms were raised and our legs were open wide. My father would then administer each stroke which we had to count out loud. If we miscounted or didn't count or moved the stroke would be given again until the count was right.
I sat at the desk thinking back to when I was twelve. I had been sent to my room after coming home and fighting on the way, my shirt was torn and my father was very cross about it. I sat quietly waiting for him to come upstairs with the strap and thought that I was likely to get twelve strokes for this misbehaviour. After what seemed like a long time but what was less than ten minutes I heard my father approaching. The door opened and my father come in to the room. I gasped, instead of the strap he was carrying a cane. I had never had this before but I knew from my brother who had had it a couple of times that it hurt a great deal more than the strap. I had also seen my brother's bottom a couple of days later when it was still covered in red weals.
'Get into the usual position' ordered my father. 'I have decided that as you seem to think that you can go out, fight and damage your clothes that you must feel quite grown up.' I pulled down my underpants without saying a word and lay across the pillows. 'I therefore think that from now on you should expect to be caned when necessary and we will start now. I would have given you twelve strokes of the strap but as this is your first caning I shall only give you eight, as usual you will count each one and if you miscount you will get extra.'
I lay trembling and felt the cane being drawn across my bottom as though my father was judging the best position in which to stand. He moved back slightly and I was aware that he lifted the cane, there was then a swish, a crack and all of a sudden I felt a searing pain across the centre of my bottom, I plunged my buttocks, jerked my legs, gasped for breath but it only seemed to get worse. I remembered to count, 'one' I gasped. I tensed my bottom again trying to stop the pain. 'Relax your bottom and open your legs' ordered my father. Trembling, I tried to do so. I could see him lifting the cane again and again there was a swish and a crack. I howled, another searing line of pain ran through my bottom and out into my whole body. Again I gasped, plunged and tensed my buttocks, kicked my legs and the pain got gradually worse. 'Two' I gasped. 'Relax your bottom and open your legs' ordered my father, 'I will not warn you again.' I got back into position and heard the third stroke coming. If pain could be worse it was as the cane cut another stripe into my bottom, I fought to keep still, 'Three' I yelped as the pain grew worse and worse and I stopped myself rolling over and rubbing my bottom with my hands, it was so sore. The cane swished again and a fourth band of pain was added to the other three and then a fifth. I was still managing to count. The cane swished again and this time it cut straight into my underbottom bringing a whole new and, if it could be, worse pain, I felt my legs jerking and briefly I clenched the muscles of my bottom together, anything to make the pain reduce. 'Six', I cried. I knew what to expect next, my brother told me that my father always made a cross with the last two strokes so as to cut across all the strokes given already, I had certainly seen this on my brother's bottom after a caning. The cane swished and sure enough, as the tip landed low down on my right buttock, I felt the stroke cross to top left, it seemed to set all the previous strokes on fire all over again, 'seven' I gasped and fought to relax my buttocks and keep my legs open for the last stroke. There was the now familiar swish and the cane cut another cross stroke and I yelped as my bottom blazed anew. 'Eight' I gasped and lay still, tears streaming down my face. I was aware that my father moved back from the side of the bed.
'Stand up', he ordered. I did so carefully, the pain was tremendous, I had never felt anything like it. I longed to rub my bottom but was determined that I would wait until my father left the room. 'Put on your gym shorts', he ordered, pointing to the shorts that were lying on the chair, I did so carefully, aware of the ridges that now crossed my bottom, the rough cotton did not feel very comfortable. 'Now', continued my father, 'we will go down to my study'. He waved my out of the door and down the stairs, I made my way slowly, it seemed that each movement set the agony ablaze again. We got downstairs and into the study. My father placed the cane across his desk. 'That was your first taste of the cane', he said, 'I am sure that it will not be your last and for now you will reflect on your behaviour. You will stand, facing the wall with your hands on your head for an hour while I continue with my work, if you move I shall give you eight more strokes.' I couldn't believe this, I was to have to stand in agony, unable to rub my bottom for a whole hour. I didn't dare argue and turned to face the wall, placed my hands on my head and was only too aware of the pain coursing through my bottom.
I opened the desk drawer and pulled out the strap that I would soon use on Paul's bottom. As I stood up, I wondered, Paul was now twelve, his behaviour had been exceptionally bad, was it time he felt the cane? I was nervous as I opened the cupboard where the cane lay, I had never used it before and maybe I should stick with the strap which a I remembered was quite effective. I stopped and thought, the strap was painful but it could not be compared to the cane which gave a very different and lasting sting that took several days to go away, I did not mean to cane Paul until after his forthcoming birthday but the amount of damage that he had done was significant. My mind flashed back over the canings that I had from my father, I had never done the same thing again after a caning and after all I was about Paul's age when my father first caned me. I laid the strap to one side and picked up the cane, it was much lighter, I swished it through the air and it made the once familiar sound, my brother once commented that the cane was almost silent in delivery, unlike the strap but that the recipient was another matter!
Walking up stairs, I thought for a moment or two. I remembered how it felt to be caned across a bed and decided to cane Paul over the chair instead which would force him to keep his legs still and open. I opened the door to his room and went in. he looked up at me and said nothing, then his eye caught site of the cane, I saw him go pale but I was determined to carry on. 'I have decided that your misbehaviour today was serious and to that end have decided that rather than strap you, I should cane you. As this is your first caning, I am going to give you eight, you will count each stroke and if you forget, miscount or move, I shall give you extra strokes until you get it right. Do you understand me,' I asked. Paul nodded. 'Take off your trousers and underpants and bend over the chair, keep your legs astride of the seat and bend right over.' Paul got into position and I could see his buttocks twitching as I drew the cane across them judging my position, the length of the cane plus twelve inches was what I understood, that seemed right as the tip of the cane was just level with the edge of Paul's bottom.
I raised the cane and brought it down swiftly across the centre of Paul's bottom, for an instant nothing happened and then a red weal sprang up, as it did so, Paul howled and gasped 'one'.
I delivered the strokes slowly and methodically, carefully placing each one and just like my father finished off cutting in to his underbottom and with the two cross strokes. By this time tears were streaming down Paul's face as he finally gasped, 'eight'.
I stood back, Paul was still bent over the chair, legs astride of the seat each stroke clearly defined on his chubby young bottom. I remembered the pain but knew that he had just learned an important lesson that would help him grow up to be a responsible adult.
'You may get up', I informed him, slowly he rose and turned to face me, fighting to keep his hands by his side rather than to rub his bottom. 'Come down stairs when you are ready,' I told him, wondering what my father would say if he knew that I had let him off standing with his hands on his head in the study. I left the room and smiled to myself, knowing that no matter what Paul did to try and relieve the pain, he would remember today for a very long time to come.