Even wonder how it is that Embassy staff are all spit and polish?
The answer is discipline. I know because I have seen the process in action.
Every country has a diplomatic contingent of young, eager men who are on the way up - and every country has the equivelent of a Marine contingent providing protection on site. I finally found out how that level of personal perfection is maintained one day last fall at the Canadian Embassy.
Roger was a handsome 30 year old mid level diplomat who had made some promises to me that went well beyond his level of authority. The embassy was furious when they found out, and appologized to me for the misstep. To impress upon me how serious they found this, I was invited to be part of the confrontation with Roger - and I was pissed enough to accept willingly.
When the meeting began, I watched a nervous 30 year old diplomat in training given a first class dressing down. What followed, however, is what I want to share with you now.
The Ambassador ordered Roger to report for correction that afternoon at 5PM. Moreover, I was invited to attend the session as well. Roger turned white, but said only "yes sir".
I arrived before 5, and was escorted to a room near the locker room. There was a vaulting horse in the room, and little else. From the other side, the room was entered through a gang shower - and it was through that door that Roger and two marines entered. They were buck naked, still wet, and looked very frightened. They were made to stand at parade rest with their hands behing their back and wait.
Before long, a master seargent enter the room, carrying a cane....and I immediately understood what I was going to witness. Roger, and the two young marines were going to be caned for stepping out of line.
The first marine was about 6 feet tall, dark hair, a nice covering of hair on his body, and when he mounted the horse, displayed a pair of buns that any man would be proud of. He was advised that he had a dozen strokes coming, and you could see his ass clench in anticipation at that news. He took the first two without making much noise, but when the third scorching stripe was landed, he let out a cry - and as each additional welt was raised across that hunky stud ass, he was reduced to a blubbering boy.
When it was over, and he was released, he began to dance like a 12 year old - not knowing or caring who was watching - but only concentrating on his blazing ass and the twelve welts that had been raised across his tender hide. He would carry those welts for several days, and be reminded of this moment when he sat down for some time to come.
The first lad was made to face the wall, hands behind his back and legs apart while the next marine mounted the horse for his stripes. He got only six, but made almost as much noise as his buddy - and I noticed that as each stroke swished through the air and landed on that naked rump, the first marine involuntarily clenched his ass in sympathy; the memory fresh in his mind having so recently felt the heat of each sizzling stroke.
The second lad was released as well, and entertained us with his own dance of pain cluching his blistered ass in his hands, and he too was made to face the wall at parade rest, with his ass on display.
Now it was Rogers turn - and he was white as a ghost. I suspect the marines had felt the cane with some regularity, but it was plain to see that Roger was not use to this method of correction, and probably had not felt the cane for some time.
(continued)