LESSONS AT THE VICARAGE (Part 1)

I was really cheesed off at first, I can tell you. Over two months' summer holidays to do what I liked - I DON'T think! No - my parents, my kind, kind parents, had hired a TUTOR for me. I was thirteen then, nearly at the end of my time at prep school, and would have to do my Common Entrance soon. My report - THEY said - hadn't been good. They read out bits like 'should try harder' and 'often careless', then directed me to the vicarage, where they had made the first appointment with the said tutor.

That was bad news too. I'd heard that Revd Mortimer Truscott had been some kind of ultra-big academic boffin before he came to be Vicar in our backwater, and often took boys for tutoring in the hols. It was also said he worked them hard and was pretty tough all round. So it wasn't in any very happy frame of mind I was shown into the vicarage on that sunny July day all those years ago.

Mr Truscott was younger than I expected, and looked quite pleasant. My spirits rose as, in kindly tones, he explained the programme of work we would follow. But they sank again as he added, 'If you do well you will certainly pass your Common Entrance. But if you do badly you will just as certainly be punished. Any careless, idleness, untidiness or slacking, and you will not be able to sit down for some considerable time! Do you understand?'

I gulped. 'Yes, sir.'

He also insisted that I wear my school uniform to his classes. I never liked wearing my prep school uniform, with its short trousers, during the holidays, but he didn't give me any choice. And those were the days when boys did as they were told - most of the time, anyway. At least, though, he let me take off my blazer on the hot afternoons.

I did my best to keep out of trouble, and managed it for a while. But then… I had gone fishing with a friend, and we had stayed out until it was nearly dark. By the time I got home it was too late, and I was too tired, to do the homework Mr Truscott had given me. But it didn't matter, I thought. I would simply say that I'd left it behind, then I'd have it done by next time.

When I explained, Mr Truscott sat drumming his fingers lightly on the desk, saying nothing. Then he smiled, but not very pleasantly, I thought.

'Never mind, Christopher,' he said evenly, 'I've got plenty of time. Run home and get it now. I can wait.'

Oh, lord!

'Well, um- sir…' I stammered.

Mr Truscott said, still smoothly, 'You haven't done it, Christopher, have you?'

'No sir, but -'

He interrupted, much more sharply. 'So - not only have you deliberately neglected your work, you have told me an outright lie. In other words, you are guilty of gross idleness and deliberate deceit.'

'Sir, I -'

He snapped, 'Are you or are you not?'

'Yes, but - '

Mr Truscott stood up, pulled his chair round to the side of his desk and sat down again. 'Come here, Christopher.'

Unhappily I obeyed, and, to my dismay, he began to unbutton my short school pants.

'Oh, oh - please, sir! I'm sorry, sir!'

I was ashamed to feel my eyes starting to prickle. It was a while since Mum had punished me this way, but I could still remember how much it hurt. And what was worse, getting it like this from someone outside the family would be absolutely awful. It was embarrassing enough when Mum did it. My face burned with mortification.

Sir wasted no time on words. In a moment my trousers and underpants had been skinned right down to my ankles, the rest of my clothes hoisted up high (oh, wow!) then I was sprawled over his knee. I had never felt so bare in my life! I remember squeezing my bot-cheeks together with embarrassment, but Sir sharply told me not to.

I obeyed, and he began. Wow-EE!

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

He had a BIG hand that cracked down right across my bot each time - not like with mum, who spanks from one bot-cheek to another. And that hand was H-A-R-D! I'd resolved not to cry - but in a moment, as my bot began to burn like crazy, I was making just as much noise as when I get at home - and more! And of course kicking like mad too, as my bot got ever hotter - and HOTTER…

SMACK-SMACK-SMACK!! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK-SMACK-SMACK!..

I counted about thirty - but then I felt him parting my bot-cheeks with the fingers of one hand, next he gave me some more smacks with his fingers landing right on the tender place in the very middle. Did that HURT - I'd never screamed so loud in my life! Or kicked so much.

And then it was over - but I wasn't allowed to get up right away, but had to stay and cry over his knee, while he kept my bottom bare. When my noise had died down a little, he said, 'Right now, wriggle the soreness away.'

'Eh - w-what?'

He said sharply, 'I said, WRIGGLE - as hard as you can. It will help you to sit down later - and there's more work to do.'

As if I wasn't mortified enough already! 'I d-don't want to.'

His hand landed on my already burning bot with an almighty smack that made me scream again.

'DO AS YOU'RE TOLD, Christopher.'

So I had to - and, well, I put my best into it - furiously squirming, wriggling and kicking - jerking to and fro, twisting my bot, bumping up and down, wriggling from side to side again… I suppose that he enjoyed the sight of my scarlet bot-cheeks jiggling around on his lap, so I gave him quite a show! And it actually did help a bit - the stinging was a lot less after a while.

Then at last I was on my feet, tousled, wet-cheeked and red-eyed, while he pulled my pants up again, quite gently now. But he said, 'And there's a rule, too, that if I have to spank a boy a second time in a week, he gets it COMPLETELY NAKED. Do you understand?'

'Y-yes, sir' He didn't have to worry, I thought. The shame of getting it like THAT would be awful - there was no chance I'd risk it!

He was kind afterwards, getting me a cushion to sit on and a tissue to dry my eyes. He sent me home not long afterwards, but with some additional work. I was worried, all that day and the next, that he would ring and tell my parents that I'd had to be spanked on my bare bottom. They would have been really ashamed of me - but he explained, on a later occasion, that after a punishment the matter was closed and he didn't refer to it again, to me or anyone else.

But sitting down next day was distinctly uncomfortable, as he'd promised. And the holidays had hardly begun!