I had a conventional childhood, with parents who provided for all my material and educational requirements. But, at the age of sixteen, just like in the books, when I could leave school, I did, and ran away to sea. I think it had always been in my imagination that that was the way for a real male to enter adult life, but whatever my motivation that was what I did. I packed a few clothes in an old rucksack, pinched my passport from my father's desk, stole a little money from my mother's handbag, and hitched down to Southampton, which was what I thought was the centre of British sea-going activity. I intended to look for work on a ship.
I can certainly say that I learned a few lessons from my experience. Now that I've been back on land for five years I find it difficult to give you an idea of what it was like only ten years ago in Her Majesty's Merchant Navy. I was in it for five years, and travelled literally round the world several times. I served in the same ship from start to finish, under the same Captain and First Officer ....but I'm running ahead of myself.
I arrived in Southampton, having hitched a lift on an HGV, at about five o'clock one summer Tuesday. It had been a five hour ride from my home, and I was starting to feel guilty about my parents and what they might be thinking. I hadn't changed my mind about my intentions, (although if I'd known what was going to happen to me in the next twenty four hours, I might well have done) but I went over to a public telephone box, put in a coin and called my home. My father answered, recognised my voice, and was immediately extremely angry. I decided to say nothing other than 'I'm safe' and 'I'm going away for a while.' Although I didn't yet know it, the first part of that was wrong and the second turned out to be a significant understatement. I put down the phone.
Looking back on it it actually took me quite a long time to find a job. Everywhere I went they either said I was too young, or had no experience, or there was no work going. I finally fetched up at the far end of the docks where there was a run-down office on the quayside with the name 'TransPacific' over it. There were no ships to be seen, and there was nobody in the office. I almost walked on past it to the last building, when a man's voice called to me 'What are you looking for, boy?' I couldn't see where he was; the sun was quite strong by now. I looked all round me. 'Do you want a job?' Now I could see him, sitting in the cab of a station wagon right behind me directly in the sun: he was wearing a denim jacket and a baseball cap so it was difficult to guess his age, but he sounded fortyish. 'Yes, sir' I said. 'What are you looking for?' the man said. Impulsively I said 'I don't mind. I just want to go to sea. I'll do anything you want me to.' 'Well,' he said, 'that's quite a proposition. Come over here where I can have a look at you.'
[The boy was still growing, fair-haired and beardless. He was looking very dishevelled, and had probably been sleeping rough, but his face held an alert intelligence. He couldn't be more than seventeen, but that would still put him in the legal bracket for casual labour. He was clutching a battered, almost empty rucksack. He was running away from something.]
'How old are you?' 'Nineteen' I replied. He said nothing to that, but just looked at me, and then 'Have you worked on a ship before?' With my previous lack of success I decided that it was time to be more creative and said 'Yes, sir.' 'You don't look very strong; what sort of work were you doing?' Now that I was making it up as I went along, I decided I had nothing to lose. 'I worked on a passenger ship as a cabin attendant, but I didn't like being at their beck and call all the time. I'd like something more interesting.' 'Have you got a passport?' I nodded eagerly. I was conscious of being closely inspected, and then he seemed to make up his mind. 'A big ship named 'Transco' will dock here in an hour and a half and will be leaving at twelve midday for Panama. My name's Mr Adams, and I'm the First Officer. I'm looking for someone to do odd jobs around the ship. Do you want to try it?' By this point I would have agreed to anything, so I immediately said 'Yes.' 'OK, lad. You're hired. I shall want some more details about you later on, so you'd better start thinking what you're going to tell me.' His eyes hardened, and he turned back to the wheel of the pickup. 'I want you washed, tidy and on board by eleven.' Without saying anything more, he drove off, leaving me standing staring at the sea.
I looked at my watch. It was just before eight o'clock. I had to get myself sorted out quickly. By the time I'd finished it was nearly eleven o'clock, and I raced back to the TransPacific office.
The scene had changed completely. Where there had been just an empty vista of the sea there was now a huge oil-tanker, the mass of which shut out the sun from the quayside ....I remember being completely dwarfed by it. I could hear engines running and there were many vehicles drawn up to it, although it didn't seem to be involved in any loading or unloading of cargo. As I walked along it I could see the name 'Transco, Hong Kong' on the back, and a companionway which led from the quayside into the side of the ship, but there was nobody around I recognised. I walked up to a couple of men who were checking boxes off one of the trucks. 'Hey' I said. 'Can you tell me where to find Mr Adams?' They both looked at me. 'Are you the new lad?' I nodded. 'Just go on board and ask anybody you see.'
As I walked up the companionway, I had a few quick thoughts about whether I was doing the right thing, but then ....the sun was shining, I was sixteen, and the whole world was mine.
Inside the ship was even darker than the outside to begin with. A man at the entrance asked me for my name, and my passport; I could see him looking for my name on a list, and then he said 'You're Mr Adams' new boy are you?' 'Yes, sir.' He ticked a blank box at the bottom of his list, wrote down my passport number, and said 'He won't want to see you at the moment. Has he told you what you're doing?' I shook my head. 'Well go and just sit over there till we tell you.' I sat down on a metal bench, in the artificial light. This was not what I'd imagined life at sea to be like. The pace of activity was amazing, and everybody seemed to know what they were doing. I sat, and sat. Suddenly there was a huge clang and the lights dimmed for about twenty seconds. Next I could hear the background sound of the engines become much more prominent. A few minutes later there was a grinding sound, and then it all went much quieter. I looked at my watch again, and saw that it was just after twelve: we must be moving.
Another four hours must have passed like this. Several times I asked what I should do, but each time I was told to stay where I was. I was incredibly hungry. I hadn't eaten since leaving home the night before. I was also very tired, but somehow my anticipation was keeping me awake. What happened next was a total surprise.
[Mark looked down at the sleeping boy. 'Poor little sod' he thought, 'if he only knew what he's let himself in for ....but maybe he'll get some good out of it.']
I had probably dozed off, because suddenly I was being shaken. I glanced at my watch: it was seven o'clock. 'Are you the new boy? Mr Adams wants to see you now. Leave your bag here.' The sailor was probably only a year or two older than me, but looked tanned and very fit. Like me, he was just in old 501s and a white T-shirt. 'What's your name?' 'Simon, sir.' 'I'm Mark. You don't have to call me sir.' As we left he said 'If you take my advice you'll watch your step with Mr Adams. He's not an easy touch, and he doesn't suffer boys easily.' We went to an elevator, which was currently at Level -8; he punched in Level 1. When the doors next opened I could see daylight again. At the end of a passage there was a deck, and beyond the handrail was open sea. 'Can I have a look?' I asked. 'Be quick.' The sea was grey, and the sky was overcast. In the far distance aft I thought I could make out some white cliffs, but otherwise there was nothing but sea. Looking forward I could see the spray from the bows being produced by the speed of the huge tanker through the water, but there was little other sensation of motion. Mark was beckoning me, and so I turned and followed him through a succession of doors and passages. We finally stopped in front of a door with the plate 'FIRST OFFICER/Chris Adams' on it. 'Knock' I was told.
'Come.' I opened the door. 'Stay outside for a few minutes, Mark, would you please?' I went in on my own. Mr Adams was sitting at a large desk with a variety of electronic equipment on it, including an advanced (for its day) personal computer. He gestured to me to shut the door, and I made my way over to a chair by the desk. He immediately growled 'You'll stay standing while you're in my presence, boy. Let's have a look at you. Stand up straight.' I wasn't used to being talked to like that, but the tone of his voice made me instinctively obey him. 'We need to have an introductory conversation, because there are a few things you need to understand.' He stood up and looked down at me because he must have been six inches taller than me: he also looked very fit, and now he'd taken off his jacket I could see he was well built.
[Adams took in the boy's gangly appearance, inspecting him from foot to head, noting the battered trainers, and also the newly cleaned jeans and T-shirt. He was only about five foot eight and very slim. He was just starting to outgrow the jeans, which were quite tight, and showed his ankles. 'I hope to hell I haven't made a mistake with this one. In this light he only looks about fifteen, and we'll have to kick him off as a stowaway when we get to Panama.']
'Have you ever heard of naval discipline?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Do you understand what it means?' 'Not altogether, sir.'
He sat down again. 'You've been deliberately lying to me, haven't you? Whatever you said to me back in Southampton, you've never been to sea before, have you?' 'No, sir' I mumbled. 'How old are you?' 'Nineteen, sir.' He stood up, and clouted my ear: I was completely shocked. 'I'll ask you once more, and I want the truth this time, how old are you?' I hesitated, and then said quietly 'Sixteen, sir.' 'Do your parents know where you are?' 'Yes, sir, in a manner of speaking.' 'What do you mean by that?' 'Well, I've told that I'm safe, but I don't want them to know what I'm doing.'
['He's frightened, and I think that's scared him into the truth. I'll check his age on his passport and we can always fall back on him lying, if necessary. Let's go for it ....he'll be OK once he's grown a bit.']
'I've already told you that this ship is bound for Panama, first stop. I'm estimating seven days for this leg. When we get there I'm going to give you the opportunity to return home. However until then you're subject to naval discipline and the first fact you're going to learn about naval discipline is that it is, and has always been, very strict, in order to safeguard the safety of the ship against the folly of any of the crew members on board. In view of the lies you've told me, I think you need to be taught a lesson before I let you loose in this vessel. Boys like you who are dishonest and act impulsively and irrationally, as you have done, are a menace to the whole crew, and have to be treated accordingly. You're too young to be locked up, but I think there's a much better way of disciplining you.' I could feel my heart thumping, because I was sure I knew what he was leading up to.
He started to unbuckle his belt. I hadn't noticed it before, but now I looked at it I could see it was about an inch and a half wide, made of thick dark brown leather: it looked very heavy. I was now trembling with anticipation. 'You're going to get a _d_a_m_n_ed good hiding with this belt. If there's any further repetition of your insolence you'll get the rope's end.' I was now frightened out of my life; I knew about belts, but I'd never heard of a rope's end. He was going to hit me with it? As I panicked he pulled out an ordinary chair, the one I'd been going to sit on, and placed it with its back towards me. 'Bend over the back of that and grab the front legs.' I had never been beaten in my life, either at school or at home, although my father had occasionally threatened me with it, so I had no idea what to expect, but the way he was speaking to me it sounded as if it would be very unpleasant.
Something inside me suddenly snapped. I started speaking frantically, hardly knowing what I was saying. 'No, sir, I'm not going to do that. You can't do this to me, and in any case it's illegal.' His eyes went icily cold. 'Don't mess around with me, boy. Don't you realise where you are at the moment. What can you do about it? Nobody is going to come and rescue you, and if you don't get your backside over that chair very quickly, I'll have the crew tie you over it.'
['This is the moment to savour. He's just starting to realise that he can't get out of it. I bet the little bugger's never had a hiding in his life.' He was watching the boy, who was now starting to sweat slightly, and was nervously running his fingers up and down the seams of his jeans.]
Mr Adams was running the belt through his fingers. 'I'll give you another five seconds.' I knew then I was caught and there was no escape. Slowly I walked over to the chair in the centre of the cabin, and bent over the back of it, with my hands grasping the front legs. I looked round and saw him wrapping the belt round his hand so that there was about an eighteen inch length of it hanging out of his hand to act as a whip. I felt cold in my stomach and started to tremble slightly
['This is going to be better than I thought. I'll just let him think about it another 30 seconds.' He could feel himself getting aroused. The target was mapped out on the boy's backside by the back pockets of his 501s. Adams would whip him across and round that target area, but that central part was where he was going to feel it. 'Is that why boys these days wear jeans like these,' he wondered; 'they don't get thrashed any more, so they draw attention to that part of themselves; it's a thought. Anyway ....get on with it.']
He then moved nearer to me, and without any further warning brought the belt down across my backside with what seemed to be all his strength. Obviously I had never felt anything like it before, and I shot off the chair, grasping the back of my jeans. 'You can't do this to me ....you can't do this to me' I kept saying, 'I'm only sixteen.' 'I am doing it. Get back over that chair.' He didn't seem at all moved by my distress, and simply grabbed my neck and pushed me back over the chair. The next stroke landed almost immediately, with even more power behind it. I know now (I have reason to) that the stinging sensation gradually increases with each stroke, but at the time it just seemed to be getting worse and worse. After about six strokes, I became aware that I was starting to get considerably aroused, which was causing me some discomfort inside my jeans over the chair back. 'Ow' I shouted. 'That's more like it' he said, 'We'll make a proper sailor of you yet'
[Mark, listening outside, thought: 'He's going very easy on the boy.' He could hear the muffled sound of the belt hitting the boy's backside, but very little else other than the one cry.]
'You may say you're only sixteen, but that's a good age to start to learn naval discipline. It'll help you grow up.' Another stroke fell. I wanted to start crying, but held it back because I thought he would think me soft. 'I'm going to give you only a dozen this time, but you'd better remember it afterwards.' I thought there would be no difficulty about that. Only a day earlier I had been in my home, with nothing more to think about than girls and motorbikes. Now, here I was, on a ship somewhere in the English Channel, bent over a chair like a Victorian schoolboy, being thrashed with a leather belt by a strong man. By the end of the punishment I was gasping, and asking him to stop. My _c_o_c_k_ was distending the top of my jeans, and I felt, paradoxically, that I would come off in a moment if he didn't stop. I couldn't understand the connection between the pain all over my backside, and the towering erection at the front.
'Right, boy. Stand up again.' I stood up slowly, and started to rub my backside, which was not only stinging, but also amazingly hot. 'I expect you to keep to naval discipline from now on. That was just a mild introduction to it.' He started to put his belt back on. 'If I need to remind you about it again, you're going to get it with the rope's end just like ship's boys did in the old days.' He walked over to the desk, and opening one of the drawers he took out a piece of rope about two and a half feet long: it was dark grey in colour, with whipping at each end. 'I can assure you that this will hurt you a lot more than my belt, so just think about it. You'll find Mark outside. He'll show you where to go, and what your duties are. By the way, he knows all about what you've been getting, as does everybody else, so you won't get any sympathy.'
[As the boy got up, he immediately noticed the swollen front of his jeans, and as he walked out, he watched him rubbing his small backside. It was encouraging that he hadn't cried out a lot, especially as he had really laid on the last six.]
Mark didn't say anything to me as he led me through the crew quarters to a small cabin. Opening the door, he switched on the light. The cabin was very bare, with just a wash basin and a porthole. I saw somebody had put my bag on the bed. Mark was carrying a notebook, and gestured to me to sit on the bed. With my bum feeling as it did, I decided not to while he was still there. 'From what I could hear, that was a mild introduction to what Chris can do to you if you're not careful.' He looked at the front of my jeans: 'Particularly if it has that effect on you. Believe me, I know about it. I've been there myself.' He opened the notebook: 'I've been told to get your details for the ship's log. I hope you're not going to be too imaginative, as Chris will be checking them later.' In my mind's eye I could still see the rope's end, so it seemed a good idea to restrict my invention. I gave him my real name, Simon Clark, but, impulsively, a false address.
After some food, I was left alone and almost immediately fell asleep. It could have been twelve hours later when I woke, I couldn't find my watch, but the door of the cabin had been thrown open and the light turned on, and Mr Adams was standing there. He was holding the notebook in which Mark had written down my details. 'Are you particularly stupid?' he said 'or are you just a typical product of modern education?' I had fallen asleep on top of the bed face down in my clothes, so I staggered to my feet rubbing my eyes. 'Did you really think that we wouldn't check on your address to inform your parents where you are?' I couldn't think of anything to say. 'I want you to think very carefully about how you're going to behave over the next seven days. I've already warned you what would happen if you obstructed me again. I've a _d_a_m_n_ good mind to thrash you again here and now, but it can keep till morning. I've got more important things to worry about at the moment than sixteen-year-old boys who need their backsides thrashing. You can think about it till then.' He turned round and left.
I was trembling again. My bum was still warm from the belt. I didn't know what to do. There was no way I could escape what was going to happen to me unless I jumped off the ship ....I thought about that for a moment. Again I could mentally see the rope's end, and as I thought about it, and what he'd said about how he dealt with ship's boys, I got all excited again and had to bring myself off. Amazingly enough, under the circumstances, I then went back to sleep, but I suppose you can do that at that age.
Again there was hammering at the door. Mark put his head round. 'You're in real trouble, Simon. Mr Adams wants to see you on the bridge at ten o'clock. That's always serious. I'd put on some pretty thick trousers if I was you.' It was seven thirty. I was completely dishevelled, and dirty as only a sixteen year old can be. 'Where can I get a wash, and get sorted out?' I asked. A couple of hours later, when I'd had some food, and been introduced to the rest of the crew, of whom there were only eighteen, I was shown the work I was to do, cleaning the officers' cabins and running errands from place to place around the ship. It didn't seem very romantic, but I had more on my mind than romance as the clock steadily moved round to ten o'clock.
Like I've written, I had then no experience of corporal punishment other than the belting which Mr Adams had given me the day before, which had hurt like hell. I didn't know what it might be like to be on the receiving end of a rope's end, but I was in no doubt that that was what I was going to get. Just before ten I took the elevator to Level 6, which is where the bridge is. Although I'd had a good shower I was still wearing the same jeans and T-shirt I'd arrived in; I hadn't got anything smarter.
The bridge was more like a computer room than part of a ship. There were about half a dozen people in there and I couldn't immediately see Mr Adams; for the first time I saw the Captain, who looked to be Chinese. The view outside was restricted by the heavy rain which was beating against the glass; the only bit I could see was where the windscreen-wipers had cleared an area, and then there was absolutely nothing to be seen other than sea and sky. Again nobody took any notice of me. I wondered what to do. I remembered that in World War II films people said things like 'reporting for duty' and cleared my throat and said loudly 'Simon Clark reporting to Mr Adams.' One of the figures looked up: it was Mr Adams, and he was peering at what looked like a computer screen (but I now know was an early GPS). 'Go and stand over there, and don't touch anything.' I moved over to the far side of the bridge, and waited. I was feeling very exposed and vulnerable and young. I would have given anything to be allowed to wind the clock back twenty four hours and start again knowing what I did now.
['It always a good idea to keep them waiting,' Adams had said to Mark earlier in the morning. 'It keeps them out of mischief because they can't think about anything else, and the interval has a great boost on my own anticipation.']
After about ten minutes of my standing there Mr Adams came over to me and said: 'Last night I asked Mark to get your personal details so that my shipping company could comply with international law about personnel on board. You lied to us, which is why you're here now. I am now asking you myself for the full truth about your home address and telephone number, which I shall then check out.' I was beyond worrying now, with the depth of trouble I'd got into, and as soon as he produced the notebook again, I gave him the full details, this time truthfully. 'Stay where you are' he said. He went over to a telephone and punched in some digits. I remembered it was Saturday, and that my parents would be at home at this time. I could see him talking, and after a while he looked over at me and laughed. He continued talking for another five minutes and then took out a big clip board and appeared to read something off it down the phone. I couldn't hear anything, what with the wind and the rain, and being so far away. He put the phone down, and walked over to me.
'Well' he said. 'That was an interesting conversation. I spoke first to your mother, who was out of her head with worry, and I hope I've reassured her about your actual safety, but then, more usefully to your father. I told him the full details of your behaviour, and when he asked what I was going to do with you, I started by telling him what I'd already done.' I felt my mouth go dry: I knew my father well enough to know how he would have reacted to this. 'I was quite surprised by his support. He actually said to me that he had sometimes regretted his soft upbringing of you, and that you would probably respond to a stricter discipline.' This is exactly what I had thought he would say. 'I then told him about your next piece of insubordination, and what I had previously threatened you with if you continued to misbehave: I am very pleased to tell you that he has given me his full support to deal with you as I see fit. Because we are in the twentieth century I've asked him to fax me his written confirmation of this before I go any further.' I groaned inwardly: my father is a solicitor, and I was sure that there would be no legal loopholes in whatever consent he gave. 'You'd better go back and stand where you were before while the grown-ups get on with more important things.' After another ten minutes or so I could see a fax coming out of the machine on the other side of the bridge. One of the crew tore it off, glanced at it, and then at me, and handed it to Mr Adams. He read it quickly, and then just put it down and went back to looking at the GPS. After leaving me standing for about another twenty minutes, imagining what was going to happen to me, he came over to me and said: 'Right, boy. Do you want to read what your father has sent me?' I didn't know whether I wanted to or not, but to buy time I said 'Yes, sir.' He handed me the fax.
0602 548598 GUY CLARK 10 JUL 1987 1020
To: Mr C Adams, aboard TRANSCO, at sea. INMARSAT 0956374863254
Dear Mr Adams
re: Simon Clark, dob 14.04.71
Thank you for your courtesy in keeping me informed of my son's misbehaviour. I apologise to you and your crew for any annoyance he has caused you.
I am happy to confirm my agreement to your using any method of correction on him which seems appropriate to you under the circumstances, short of causing him permanent physical damage.
As we discussed, I am content to let you and him decide between you what course of action to take when you get to Panama, but if he decides to return to England I will arrange for his air passage if you would be so kind as to notify me.
Please would you remind him that his mother and I would be glad to hear from him from time to time.
With thanks for your consideration
Guy Clark. ___________________________________________________________________________________
'Any questions?' he said. I was quite silent, and shifted nervously from foot to foot. I felt myself wanting to go to the toilet, but knew it would be useless to ask.
[Adams was thinking: 'This would be a good chance to let Mark have his head. He's been on at me for six months to let him deal with one of the young boys.']
He turned to the Second Officer and said 'Get Mark for me, would you?' Another few minutes elapsed before Mark appeared, looking apprehensive. 'Simon is going to kiss the gunner's daughter. Take him to meet her, would you, and I'll be down shortly.' Mark looked relieved. I followed him out of the bridge. We went back in the elevator, and down to Level -12. This was the engine room, automated and totally deserted of people. It was so noisy that nobody would hear what I imagined was going happen to me. He pulled out a sturdy looking metal table. 'Get over that.' I wasn't sure what he meant to begin with, but he pushed me towards the table, and made me bend over it so that my feet didn't quite touch the ground, and my hands were holding the legs on the other side. Once again I felt horribly exposed. He went over to the door. 'By the way, that's the gunner's daughter you're kissing; in the old Navy when they thrashed boys like you they put you over a cannon.' I just lay across the table, once again feeling an erection starting inside my jeans: it was actually quite a stimulating position, but my uncertainty as to what was going to follow was somewhat detracting from it. I was also anxious that somebody was going to come in and see me like this, but on this automated ship I needn't have worried.
After about five minutes, which seemed more like half an hour, the door opened and Mark came back in with Mr Adams. Mark was carrying what looked like the same rope's end I'd been shown yesterday. He shut the door and said to me 'Are you ready for this?' I gaped round at him and said 'Surely you're not going to do this?' Mr Adams said: 'He's going to practice on you with the first twenty, then you'll get the real punishment from me.' As he said this Mark was swishing the rope up and down through the air, making a horribly chilling sound. The only two things I could think of at that moment were the impact of the belt yesterday, and the fax my father had sent authorising correction short of causing me permanent physical damage. What were they going to do to me? 'Hold on' said Mark. 'If you do keep trying to get off we'll tie you down, so just be a good boy, eh?'
['This ought to be put on film' Adams was thinking. He looked at the slim lad lying over the table, and then at Mark, only two years older than the boy, but well-built, confident, and strong. The similarity of their clothes made the scene even more attractive. It was less than six months since Adams had last used the rope's end on Mark, but Mark had suddenly grown up. His years at sea had made Adams something of a philosopher, although he never showed it in public. 'This is the essence of it, and it's probably how it always has been for boys at sea' he thought, 'a boy being given a boy's punishment by a man.']
Mark stepped back a pace, and measured me up. Very deliberately, he raised the rope's end behind his shoulder, and then, very swiftly, brought it down across my backside. This first stroke fell right across the middle of the pockets of the jeans, from one side to the other so that I could feel the tip curl round, and the pain of it caused me to cry out and empty my lungs. I had never felt anything so painful in all my life. 'That was just a ranging shot' he said. I had moved my hands round to try to rub away the pain, but immediately he said, in his young man's voice, sterner now 'Put your hands back on the table legs, unless you want them to be tied to them.' I did as I was told, being also aware of my increasing erection (it was several months later before I worked out the inter-relation between the pain and the arousal). Just as I was complying with his order, I heard a whistling sound again, and felt another stroke across my jeans, this time about just above the top of the pockets, but again right round. This was quite different from the belt the day before, and I knew now that this was a much more severe instrument. Just as I registered this another stroke fell, a further half inch down. He followed this pattern for the first ten cuts, each time half an inch lower, each one making me sob and squirm, until he struck me about an inch below the bottom of my jeans pockets. Then he stopped for about a minute. My bottom felt both bruised and raw where the rope had cut across it.
['I never thought it would be like this' Mark was thinking. 'It's amazing. For the first time in my life I've got command and a sense of power. I've got that kid in my total control. He daren't let go how ever much he wants to, because he knows whatever he tries he's going to get it anyway.' He could feel, as well, that he had by now a gigantic erection, and just wanted to go straight on, but Mr Adams always waited between each ten.]
With no warning the eleventh stroke fell almost exactly where the second had, and then the next nine in the same way down my backside. I had never felt anything like it: it was only the knowledge that they were willing to tie me down that kept me gripping the table legs. One of the strokes seemed to hit me exactly on one of the places where the belt had landed the day before, and the pain of it made me scream. When he'd finished Mark said: 'if you think that was bad, just wait till Chris gets going.' I'd now had twenty strokes, and my backside was throbbing and blazing with heat, and stinging all at the same time. I saw Mark stand back, and noticed that inside his jeans he also had a massive erection. 'You just stay there and think about how good you're going to be for the rest of the week.' I was sobbing, but actually thinking about the size of my _c_o_c_k_, and the effect all this was having on taking me towards a climax.
[Adams was astounded. He'd never seen such an impressive debut, but it wouldn't do to let Mark know that. Watching Mark thrashing the boy was almost like watching a choreographed ballet, in which the grace and power of Mark's movement was combined with the exciting visual effect of the contrasted figures of the two boys in denim, and then underscored by the sound of the deep roar of the ship's engines and the rhythmic crack of the rope across the boy's backside; it produced an almost unbearable excitement in him. At the same time he wondered how much more Simon would be able to take without breaking down; it was a pity Mark had done so well, because Adams had been looking forward to a good work-out ever since he had confronted the boy with the false address. 'However, there'll be plenty more times if I have anything to do with it' he thought.]
'Excellent, lad' said Mr Adams to Mark; 'You've done well for your first time;' he smiled at him, and said quietly 'It must help to know what it feels like.' To me he said 'Right boy, this is where your punishment begins.' He took the rope's end from Mark and walked up behind me. 'While you're bent over there you can think about this. The rope's end is one of the oldest instruments of discipline in the Navy. It's always been thought particularly suitable for punishing boys because it causes intense pain at the time, and leaves a good reminder in your backside for a few days without doing much other damage. I feel sure your father will approve of what I'm about to do to you. Remember that when it goes back in its drawer afterwards it will still be there later if I need to use it on you again.'
I couldn't believe that after the severe thrashing Mark had given me, there was worse to come. When Mr Adams' first stroke landed, I was surprised to find that the pain was quite different from what Mark had inflicted. This was now duller, painful certainly, but if anything more _s_e_x_ually arousing. Mark had obviously used Mr Adams' technique in whipping me, because Mr Adams followed the same pattern, but starting at the top and gradually moving down my backside, except that his strokes were much more exactly targeted, and only about a quarter of an inch apart. I suppose that the muscular power of young Mark had achieved more coarsely what Mr Adams was now doing to me in an exact fashion. Before I knew what had happened I felt my _s_e_x_ual climax arrive, and involuntarily I moaned out loud. I could feel my jeans filling with ejaculate, and being only sixteen, I was intensely embarrassed. It was clear that he too knew what had happened, because he gave me one more stroke, making about twenty in all, and then handed the rope's end to Mark and said to me 'There's plenty more where that came from. I intend to honour your father's trust in me.'
['I must practice that abrupt dismissal' thought Mark. 'And the old man's got a lot more psychology in the way he builds it all up before he lays it on.' He too had noticed that Simon had climaxed; it had happened to Mark as well the first time he was over this table. He wondered whether to say anything to the kid.]
Adams walked out of the engine room. I was still lying across the table, too embarrassed to move, but at the same time, desperately wanting to get up and massage my savaged buttocks. Mark said 'Go on, get up.' He held out his hand. 'No hard feelings, eh? I've had what you just had many times, and I expect one day you'll get the chance to do to do it some other poor young sod. Don't worry about coming off, either, except that you just made it much worse for yourself as far as Chris is concerned. He's going to enjoy singling you out for further treatment.' Almost as an afterthought, he added 'My dad was happy to agree to me getting it too.' An hour or so later, when I had a moment to myself, I took a look at my backside. I was surprised that apart from being a fiery red colour, it was hardly otherwise marked.
Only three days later it happened again. I was cleaning Mr Adams' cabin, when I got a strong compulsion to open the drawer and actually handle the rope's end. All seemed quiet outside, so I quickly drew it out and let it run through my hands. It was about half an inch thick, and surprisingly firm for something which had felt so whippy. I took one and of it and tried whipping it through the air: I found it quite difficult to control accurately. I walked over to the bed and brought it down on the bed cover. It made a satisfying thwack but just as I was about to try again the door opened and Mr Adams stood there looking at me. 'How dare you rifle through my private possessions. You're incorrigible. Can't you get enough of it?' I stood there, with my mouth open. He took the rope's end from me and put it down on the table. 'Get yourself across the end of that bed.' The bed was fixed to the wall about three feet off the ground: at the foot end where he was indicating there was an empty space of about four feet between it and the wall. I bent over the end of the bed. 'I don't think I've ever known a boy like you. I can see I'm going to have to put in some hard work on you.' As he said this he went over to wardrobe and took out a thin leather belt, about half the width of the one he was wearing. Once again he wrapped the buckle end round his hand, and then brought the other end down hard across my backside. At first the pain was overpowering, coming so soon after my previous beating: it went right round my arse, and stung like hell, but as another ten or so strokes fell, I found it was actually becoming quite pleasurable, and clearly turning me on again. The belt was falling all over my backside, making me wriggle deeper and deeper into the mattress. Over the next half dozen strokes I found myself starting to think that I could get to like corporal punishment, when suddenly he stopped and said to me: 'You're enjoying that, aren't you, you dirty little sod? Starting to wank off again, are you? I'll soon wipe that smirk off your face.' He threw the belt on the floor, and picked up the rope's end. My arse suddenly exploded with a deeper pain than I'd ever known. My strange pleasure suddenly changed into extreme fear: I could feel my heart beating wildly. In all my time at sea, this was the most severe thrashing I ever got. He probably gave me about three dozen with the rope's end … I was beyond counting them. When he stopped I was crying out at each stroke, and he was breathing heavily. My excitement had completely evaporated with the pain, and seemed a distant memory. Slowly he put the rope's end back its drawer, and told me to get up. My buttocks and the top of my thighs were stiff and unwilling to move. 'Get out, and grow up' he said.
['I shouldn't have done that; he'll never stop on board after that … How can these boys be so stupid.?' Then Adams thought of Mark, and the many other boys who had been through his hands over the years, and how they had turned out after a year or two of his growing up medicine. He sighed and pulled out a bottle of whisky.]
For the rest of that leg, Mr Adams hardly spoke to me. When we got to Panama, he asked me what I wanted to do.
I didn't reply at first. For the first couple of days after that thrashing in his cabin, when I was reminded at almost every movement of what he could do to my backside, I had decided that there was no way that I was going to stay under his influence for any longer than I had to. Over the next few days, however, as the aching faded the weather was getting warmer, and when we were passing through the Antilles islands I could feel my resolve weakening. I was enjoying the adult company after the schoolboys I had left behind, and growing used to the routine of the huge ship. One of the junior navigators had started to explain the instruments on the ship's bridge to me, and I knew I was becoming hooked.
I found myself saying I would like to stay on board. I could see he was surprised, but then he smiled at me (for the first time) and said 'Are you sure you're grown up enough for it?' I hadn't expected that, but then some of the cheekiness of my age overcame me, and I said 'I'm don't know, sir, but I'm sure you can keep me on the right track.' I thought I'd gone too far, but then he smiled again and simply said 'You can count on that, boy.'
The arrangements were quickly made with my parents, and soon the ship set off through the canal, into the Pacific Ocean, and a new life for me.
I never looked back after that first leg. It was the making of me. I can't say I never got thrashed again, because I did at about monthly intervals for the first two years, mostly for very well-deserved reasons, but never again as severely as that second time in his cabin. Usually he or Mark would take me down to the engine room again, put me across the table and give me two or three dozen with a heavy belt which they kept down there for the purpose, just up to the point where I wanted to cry out. They reserved the rope's end for special offences, and I suppose I only got it another four or five times altogether.
One of them was just after my seventeenth birthday. On the day itself we were anchored off Venezuela and loading oil. I took no part in this specialised operation, and had been given permission to go ashore to the fly-blown town next to the refinery. Without going into detail I got laid twice with different girls, then I got fairly drunk and then I then I must have got very drunk. I just remember being thrown out of the back of a car at the bottom of the companionway of the 'Transco.' I don't know what time it was but it was dark. I lay on my back looking at the stars and singing. Then I went off to sleep. I woke to find myself on my bed in my cabin. I looked at my watch. It was nine-thirty. 'O God' I thought. I had a terrible headache, and then I vomited. I was still leaning over the basin when Mark came in. 'Mr Adams has told me to deal with you. First, I'm going to lock you in here for the rest of the day: we don't want you blundering around the ship.' I was vaguely aware we were at sea again. 'You'll be sent some bread and water.' I was groaning with my headache. 'Tomorrow, when you'll be a better state to remember it I'm going to remind you about naval discipline. You'll report to the engine room at seven a.m. sharp.' Suddenly I vomited again. He walked out and I could hear him locking the door. By the next morning I was in a state of fear like I experienced in Mr Adams' cabin almost a year ago. When I reported to the engine room, I found the table was already in position, but Mark was the only other person there, and he was gently swinging a rope's end. He said 'Mr Adams said he didn't trust himself with you after what you did the day before yesterday. Drunkenness in a ship is considered to be an offence against the ship and its officers, and as such amounts to gross insubordination; you've already suffered for it with your hangover, but now it's time for you to get the ship's punishment. You're going to bend over the table, and I'm going to give you fifty strokes.' At this moment I could see out of the corner of my eye that Mr Adams had just entered quietly; he stood with his back against the door and said nothing. I still felt partly hungover, but knew of course that once again there was nothing I could do to escape my punishment. I felt mutinous, knowing that I was nearly a man, but I said nothing, and stretched myself over the table; I was now a couple of inches taller than a year ago and my feet touched the floor.
['He's not going to take this much longer' Adams realised. 'He's grown up a lot, and he's probably starting to sow his wild oats. He's not going to be a boy much longer. But I can still enjoy this beautiful sight while it's available. I shall never forget these two together.' If he was honest with himself, that was why Adams had delegated Simon's punishment to Mark, and why he was here now.]
The actual punishment was very like my first engine room thrashing, but all of it was given by Mark, with what seemed like all the strength he could muster. He didn't pause at all but went on whipping me with the rope, every five to ten seconds or so, right across my backside, covering the full area of my buttocks. When he'd got to about thirty, I started moaning and rocking, realising that as usual I was being stimulated by the thrashing. He was putting so much effort into it that I could hear him starting to get out of breath.
[Adams wanted to take the rope's end from Mark and lay into Simon himself, but at the same time he couldn't take his eyes off the ballet he'd arranged. Simon didn't know it, but all three of them were in an advanced stage of arousal.]
I came off at about number forty five, a bit later than usual but the pain was more than I was used to. The last five were a blur, and as the last one fell I heard Mr Adams leave the engine room. Mark threw the rope's end on the floor and disappeared behind one of the electrical cabinets where I could faintly hear him moaning. I lay where I was for another minute, and then as I got up Mr Adams came back wiping his brow. Mark reappeared; he looked as if he'd just run a mile.
Mr Adams said to me: 'One of the reasons I delegated this to Mark was because I was so angry with you that I couldn't trust myself to handle you fairly. I thought you were growing up, and then you go and do something so stupid that it defies adequate punishment. Have you even thought of the risks you exposed yourself to, and I don't mean just your wallet. Have you ever heard of venereal disease and AIDS?' He was indeed very angry, almost as angry as that first week on board, and I decided to simply nod my head and say nothing. 'I've a good mind to ask Mark to repeat this punishment at weekly intervals until you appear to have grown some sense.' I was in considerable discomfort, trying not to show it, so his threat horrified me.
He didn't carry it out, but I did get thrashed by him several more times. His heart seemed to be going out of it however. Also, a part of me was getting increasingly rebellious about being treated like a schoolboy. Until then I hadn't really resented it, because I was otherwise enjoying myself so much going about the ship that the thrashings had just became part of shipboard life, as I now know it always was for ship's boys in the past. It usually gave me a big _s_e_x_ual turn-on as well, which was an added bonus, and something I've taken with me into adult life. A couple of months before I was eighteen the corporal punishment seemed to stop naturally.
I never got to give it to another boy myself, although I sometimes fantasised about it.
Eventually I left the Merchant fleet, but I still think of Mr Adams, and his part in my growing up.