I grew up in a rural part of the country. My father died when I was little so our small family was just my mother and a sister and brother. I shared a bedroom with Matt who was eight years older than myself. When I woke frightened after a bad dream it was Matt who switched on the light and cuddled me until I went back to sleep. Sometimes, I had an 'accident' and it was Matt who helped me change the wet bed linen. He was so matter of fact and reassuring. My big brother was my rock and I loved him.
Matt left school when he was 14 and went to work at the local quarry. It was back-breaking work but he was young and fit. When he came home from the quarry I took a basin of warm water out to the porch. He washed off the lime which caked his firm, bronzed flesh. His powerful muscles rippled in the sunlight. Matt's hard labours put food on our table and kept a roof over our heads. He did his best to be both big brother and father to me. He was mature far beyond his years.
When I was naughty Mum gave me spankings. These were feeble affairs which did little more than dust my pants. All that changed when I was 11. A neighbour saw me riding my bike on the busy highway and told my mother. She asked if that was true? I said it was. I answered back, defiant, unrepentant.
That night at the dinner table Mum told Matt what I had done. There was a long silence and then he said in his deep voice: "The boy needs a hiding". Mum agreed. It was decided the sentence would be carried out while Mum and my sister worked for an hour in the local store. They did that every night to give the proprietors a dinner break. I had lost my own appetite.
All too soon the female members of our family left and I was alone with Matt. He looked up from the newspaper and told me to fetch the razor strop from the bathroom. My stomach turned to ice but I did as I was told. The heavy leather took some lifting off its hook. Matt stood in the doorway, waiting. I handed him the strop and walked with him to our bedroom.
My big brother explained that I had to learn that actions can have unwanted consequences. Riding my bike on the highway was dangerous and, on top of that, I had been disrespectful to our mother. There was a silence and then Matt told me to take my pants and jockeys down. I started sniffling but did as he requested. He put two pillows in the centre of my bed and I lay on top of them, my bare bottom sticking up. There was a rush of air and the strop landed on its small target. A broad band of pain made me yell. The leather fell again and again lashing my twin-mounds. I moved, trying to evade the strop but the end of the leather slammed through the cheeks, landing right inside my crease, lashing its very tender flesh.
"AAAGH!" I bawled in response to the hurt. Time was measured by the rise and fall of that leather. Matt ignored my yells and the hiding got even harder. A brief respite while he changed sides but it was short-lived. Nothing else had ever hurt as bad as that leather. Each fresh lick knocked the breath clean out of me.
Finally, Matt decided I'd had enough and he put down the razor strop. I looked up at him through damp eyelashes. He was still my kind, loving big brother. I had paid the tariff for doing wrong. Matt brought a wet flannel from the bathroom and gently soothed my flaming rump with it. His big hands gently parted my swollen bum-cheeks so he could check for any damage the end of the the strop might have inflicted. Matt found a tube of lotion and squeezed the contents into my crease, lessening the hurt. I lay there sobbing my heart out. My big brother also put cream on each mound and then left my side.
I heard bed springs indicating Matt was lying on his bed. The springs set up a rhythmic squeak. I had heard that same sound late at night when Matt thought I was sound asleep. He was out of my vision and I was too concerned with the hurt in my backside to pay much attention. Matt gave a low groan. Then the springs stopped clattering and he got up.
My big brother helped me to my feet and gently pulled my jockeys and pants up over my battered behind. He took the razor strop back to the bathroom.
Later, I went back to the kitchen. Mum and my sister were back. Matt looked up at me over his paper and gave me a wink. I told Mum I was sorry and promised to be good. She hugged me. Then my sister produced a big slice of fruit cake and a glass of milk. All was right again in my small world apart from the thob in my backside.
My big brother had to discipline me often over the next few years. Always with good reason but the hurt was brutal. When a hiding was due I was very afraid when I heard Matt's firm step on the porch but took the bowl of water out to him as usual. I watched him wash his arms and saw those powerful muscles ripple knowing that all too soon his formidable strength would be used to chastise the part of my anatomy mother nature might have designed for the purpose.
After puberty I suddenly understood why big brother Matt's bed springs squeaked after he'd given me a hiding. He got pleasure from hurting which I thought a flaw in his character until I became a father and had to punish boys of my own .......