Dear Readers
HELP... I need advice on parenting, pronto!
Any of you who have read my story about how Matty and I came to meet at school will know that we're a proudly gay couple who enjoy the odd spanking game every now and then. I promised you some stories about our little role plays and I apologise for the delay in posting them here. The reason will become apparent as I proceed.
The immediate problem concerns Matty's nephews, Sam and Nathan. Matty's grandfather in Zimbabwe died last week, so he and his brother, the boys' father, have gone to attend the funeral, staying a few weeks to be with the family.
Unless you have been living in some sort of media vacuum for the past six months, you will know that Zimbabwe is not a particularly safe place to be at the moment and for this reason it was decided that the boys should stay behind in my care. They had never met their great=grandfather in any case, although I think they quietly resent being denied the exotic holiday, notwithstanding the unfortunate circumstances and inherent danger.
I had no hesitation in offering to look after those two. We've always had a good relationship, based on mutual respect and understanding, so I thought it would be a pleasant few weeks. How wrong I was...
They're fantastic kids, very likeable, refreshingly polite for their generation, but they are at that difficult age. Nathan, the elder, is fourteen. A handsome lad with about six concurrent girlfriends and an army of acquaintances, he is a computer whiz-kid who has taught me everything I know about I. T. He's no geek, though: captain of his school soccer team, a champion athlete, his physical prowess more than matches his academic ability. He's growing up quickly and now stands five foot nine, his boyish frame developing manly muscles; fair haired and kinda cute face. Give him a few years and I could almost fancy him myself. (No chance, Danny, worst luck, with that harem he attracts in tow!)
Sam is a different kettle of fish. Small and scrawny, even for his twelve years, he's what one might call "deep". A bit of a loner, he spends much of his day with his nose in some book or another. He lives in Nathan's shadow; you can tell they love each other to bits - the one's always covering the other's back when push comes to shove. You really wouldn't believe that they are brothers, though. Sam is dark haired and freckled, his face incongruously chubby; he looks like some cute kid carol singer of the breed they picture on the front of Christmas cards. Unlike Nathan, Sam struggles at school. I'm sure this isn't down to lack of ability. In his own quiet way, I reckon Sam's the brighter of the two - he writes the most amazing short stories and poetry and his artwork is stunning, though he wouldn't dream of revealing these talents to his teachers. My personal theory is that he finds school work too easy and just gets bored. He is always in trouble for not paying attention and "forgetting" homework but at that age, if you can get by on minimum effort, there's little incentive to endeavour, even if the price is a very sore butt from your dad's belt. I should know.
I'm in no position to criticise the parenting style those two kids have to live with. I've never been a parent myself and I doubt I ever will be; despite recent shifts towards enlightenment within social services here in England, they still have a problem with the notion of gay male couples fostering or adopting. Besides, I believe that discipline is important to a caring, loving upbringing. But there are times when I feel that Matty's brother has way too high expectations of those two kids. And the punishments he deals out are, to say the least, heavy handed.
I'm in two minds about physical punishment. I know it never did me any harm and probably taught me some important lessons. And I certainly don't think that the mom who slaps her screaming toddler at the minimart should be immediately swarmed by sour-faced social workers doing a King Solemon over which institution the hapless child should be removed to. Not that that happens in reality; certainly not here in the UK. Anyone who claims it does is normally covering up for the fact that they're beating their own trembling charges _s_h_i_t_less on a regular basis and the poor kids are too frightened to blow the whistle. That's out of order, big style.
I do, however, think that it should be available as a last resort. The day the government takes away the civil liberty to spank one's kids is the day I'll emigrate to somewhere Islamic. I don't want to live in a police state.
When it comes to Sam and Nathan's upbringing, though, spanking seems to be a primary recourse. Fair enough, they don't get it for making mistakes - it's only for wilful misbehaviour, so they know where they stand. But I do feel so sorry for them at times.
For domestic infractions - back-chat or disobedience - they get the belt. Since they have been seven or eight the prescribed dose is one lick for each year of their life, so these days it's twelve for Sam and a swingeing fourteen for Nathan. The latter is pretty well behaved as a rule, so he normally only gets it when he's covering for his brother. Unfortunately for Nathan, if any dishonesty is involved (and let's face it, covering for your kid brother normally involves the odd white lie) the sentence is doubled. I witnessed that only once (or rather heard it: the sobbing boy was marched down to the cellar to take his licks) on a visit last year when Nathan was thirteen. Twenty six loud cracks resounded through the house, each followed by a pitifully contrite count from the agonised child. He emerged red-faced and tearful and was sent straight to bed, following in Sam's steps, the younger having taken his eleven earlier. Both knew better than to emerge before breakfast the following day.
If the misbehaviour is away from home, the prescribed licks are administered with a razor strop. This fearful instrument hangs over the chimney breast in the living room; a good half-inch thick and two feet long, it serves as a constant reminder to the boys of the consequences of misbehaviour. And that includes misbehaviour at school.
Some weeks ago, I was visiting their house with Matty when Sam and Nathan returned home. I could straight away tell that there was something wrong from the younger boy's demeanour. He is naturally shy, but normally relaxed and relatively outgoing with me. On this occasion, however, he greeted Matty and myself with a thin lipped smile before disappearing up to their bedroom with Nathan. Clearly they were having a conference of some sort. Around half an hour later, he came down, clutching a piece of paper in his trembling hand. The poor boy was palpably terrified.
"Er.. Dad," he said meekly, "I'd better ask you to sign this," and he swallowed hard as he handed Matty's brother the note.
The latter read it, his expression stony. Then he looked up to his son with, "You know what this means, don't you, Sam?"
The boy just looked at the floor, tears welling in his eyes. His father shook his head gravely and handed me the note. "You wouldn't have thought your little friend here was like that in school, would you, Danny?" he said.
I read the letter:-
"Dear parent/guardian,
This is to inform you that your son/daughter has been placed in after school detention tomorrow. This has become necessary due to [hand written] failure to complete homework on time...
I looked up at Sam, his shame precluding a meeting of my gaze. I just wanted to go over and hug him, to tell him I didn't think any the less of him. He'd done wrong, and he would be punished. That was fair enough. But clearly it wasn't enough for his father.
"You'd better prepare yourself, son," he said.
"Please, dad," sobbed the boy, "I promise it'll never happen again..."
"And how many times have we heard that?" retorted his father sternly. "So once again, you are going to promise me..." he headed to the wall from which hung the razor strop "...AND the strap twelve times. Now get ready before I make it thirteen!"
Head bowed, the weeping child headed towards the cellar head.
"Oh, no, Sam," called his father. "This has happened once too often. Don't think you are to be allowed the dignity of a private thrashing!"
The little chap tuned to face his father, his expression imploring. "Please, dad... Not in front of Matty and Danny!"
"Any more whining from you and I'll double it! Now get ready and bend over that chair."
Hurriedly, Sam made his way to the arm chair, his back to me. He took a deep breath and then unbuttoned his grey school trousers, which fell to his ankles. Next he lowered his underpants to his thighs, just far enough for me to see his little _c_o_c_k_ and balls hanging between his legs. Shivering in anticipation, his humiliation all but complete, he bent himself over the arm of the chair, his slight form so vulnerable as he lowered himself, little bare buttocks up, arms outstretched, hands gripping the arm on the far side. "I'm ready, dad," he said meekly, a fearful, shame-ridden tremor in his voice.
Matty and I exchanged glances. I could tell that my partner was as uncomfortable about the scene as I. How awful, I thought, for this boy to have his spanking witnessed by two adults he liked and respected, whose respect and affection he craved. I felt for him so!
Taking his time, Matty's brother lightly brushed the strop across Sam's buttocks. They tensed as he did so and I noticed that they bore the fading marks of a fairly recent licking - distinct though faint stripes across his soft white skin. Though fading, they must still have been quite sore. Then the stop was raised before flying down with a fearsome CRACK of leather against young flesh.
The boy took his first stroke stoically, though his arms trembled as he struggled to maintain his composure. He then lifted his head, drew a breath and spoke clearly: "I promise I will do my homework on time in future."
I had screwed my eyes closed for this first lick; I really didn't want to see the poor kid getting it. A bright red welt had risen across his butt. Jeez, that must have stung some! But this was just the start...
CRACK!
Down came the strop, impacting directly above the first stripe, right at the top of the young boy's buttocks. His little body lurched on contact and he gasped, but managed not to cry out. Never having seen his father administer punishment before, I was a bit shocked at the ferocity of the blows. The man was using his full, not inconsiderable weight behind the cruel leather and the resultant slap of cow hide on the tender ass of the kid was quite deafening.
This time, Sam took about ten seconds to regain his composure. Then, with admirable confidence, he repeated his oath: "I promise I will do my homework on time in future..."
CRACK!
The strop lashed Sam's quivering backside as he completed the sentence and the boy's head rose as his small body writhed in agony. Having heard such beatings on several occasions from the cellar, I knew that by the third lick the poor kid was generally screaming; clearly, he was making every effort to be brave in front of Matty and me. I wish I could have told him that it didn't matter to me if he cried out. The magnitude of the licking was enough to have a grown man begging for mercy. Sam is one tough little kid.
After about thirty seconds he managed to garble his resolve: "I p...promise I will do my homework on time in f...future..."
...Sam held out till the seventh lick before he broke. Six carefully aimed parallel stripes adorning his ass, the seventh came with brutal ferocity in a diagonal across them and knocked the resolve out of the kid.
"Yaaaaoooooow!" he cried, but soon regained his resolve and shamefully tried to utter the required words. "I... I... I..." he stammered, "I p...promise to d...d"
"No!" shouted his father fiercely, "You MUST say the right words, Sam!"
"I... I..."
The boy's head fell into the cushion and he began to sob inconsolably. Can't you see he's had enough, I thought? Have some pity for the child! A full minute of soft sobbing passed before the brave little man mustered the effort:
"I promise I will d... do my h... d... do my home... work on time i... in future..."
CRACK!
"AAAAAHG!!! PLEEEEASE, DAD!!!"
Jeez! The heavy leather strap struck right in the fold at the bottom of the kid's pert little ass! That this man was an experienced administrator of corporal punishment would have been evident had I not known it already. He knew that any further licks to the kid's trembling cheeks would be superfluous at this point. He was starting to make his way down the boy's legs.
Somehow, poor little Sam managed to say his sentence again, though it took him the best part of two minutes to get it right. No more, please, I thought. The kid's taken enough of a licking for anyone.
But no. The man raised the strop once more, in a full sweep behind his back. I practically felt it before it came slapping down right at the top of the squirming child's thighs...
"OOOOOWWWWAAAAAA!!!!"
Some minutes passed before, through his gasping sobs, the boy finally succeeded in saying the words which were to herald the tenth lick of leather: this one aimed high, right at the base of his spine - SMACK!
Sam made no sound for some seconds, then broke into a pathetic whimper. It must have been five minutes before he said his words of admonition and the heaviest lick to date landed in a criss-cross with the earlier diagonal across his bruised and reddened butt... CRACK!
How he squealed! Now oblivious to the presence of Matty and me, the poor little kid let forth a cry from the pit of despair. It was a sound which hit at the root of my being, quite the most agonising yell I have ever heard. But, _s_h_i_t_, for one twelve year old, the experience must have been like standing at the gates of hell. The twelfth and final stroke, we all knew, would be the hardest.
Sam was taking a breather, I could sense it. Don't ask me how he stopped himself reaching back and rubbing his quivering ass. The urge was obviously there: he was gripping the arm of the chair so tight that his knuckles were eight snow=white bumps atop his trembling hands. His whole body was tense, and he breathed in short, sharp bursts.
Finally, he lifted his head to repeat his sentence. His face was tear-stained, screwed in an expression of excruciating agony. I wondered whether he'd kept count, whether he knew that this was the last lick. I expect he did. Just as his father was experienced in administering such lickings, so Sam was an old hand at taking them.
The words came with a clarity which belied the boy's pain, though his voice cracked as he spoke: "I promise I will... do my homework on time in future."
The last lick in a thrashing is always accompanied by a sense of relief, but Sam's father was calculating in his infliction of this punishment. He pause to take aim. I had expected the strop to be delivered to the boy's reddened, quivering little ass once more, but instead he aimed it in the most ferocious blow of all at Sam's slender white thighs. Aimed it accurately, too, for it fell right on top of the earlier blow. Yowch! The kid would have felt it, but it would be some seconds, agonising seconds, before it took full effect. Sam knew it, too, and I could see him tense as the pain rose to its crescendo leaving him gasping, whimpering pathetically as he once again made his promise to his father.
"You may get up and replace your clothes," is all the man said.
Sam did so, and I noticed him wince as he pulled his undies over his ass. I grimaced in sympathy. Then he folded his arms, as obviously he was required to do following a licking. He would have to wait until he was alone before he could tend to his burning butt, poor kid.
"Now get to your room," he ordered, "and I would suggest you get on with your homework," he added - rather unnecessarily, I thought. This was a boy who would not be "forgetting" his homework for some time to come, I figured.
That, then, is the sort of discipline that Sam and Nathan are used to. Which leads me back to my problem.
School finished for summer yesterday. I had been given clear instructions by their father to check their report cards. Apparently, he expects a B-grade average minimum, any falling short of which will result in a licking. Nathan rarely has to worry about it, he tends to pull straight A's but, as you might expect, Sam normally ends up with a sore ass at the beginning of the vacation.
When they got home from school yesterday, I asked to see their report cards. Both boys assured me that said cards had been posted to their house. I didn't really believe this, but not wanting to accuse the kids of lying, I waited until they had gone out to play before going up to the spare room to have a nosy around, as you do.
In Sam's school bag, I found - surprise surprise - his end of term report. I have it here and will reproduce it below:-
English Language: C This boy clearly has ability but must learn to concentrate. English Literature: D Sam would have more success in this subject if he bothered to read the set books! Mathematics: D Lives in a dream world. I feel he is intelligent but have yet to see evidence of this. Religious Education: C Very little effort made. Art: A An alert, capable student. Science: E One can not help liking this boy despite his lazy, slapdash work. Humanities: D I despair of this child. He is bright but wastes his time in school Physical Education: E [Comment illegible] Information Technology: B Good progress this year. Crafts: E His natural ability level is such that there is little scope for improvement.
General: Absent 0 times Late 26 times Conduct: C Sam must learn to come to class on time and to complete homework assignments when required. He is always well behaved and courteous.
Head teacher's comment: Not very encouraging.
I found Nathan's report card too. Straight A's as expected.
On their return, I admonished them for lying to me and then turned to the subject of how to deal with the situation. I told them they had a choice: either I could punish them, or they could wait until their father returns in three weeks. They were both adamant that they would like me to administer their punishment but, folks, I've never had experience of this sort of thing.
Of course, I could insist on letting their father do the dirty work, but it hardly seems fair on the kids to make them go through three weeks with a licking hanging over their young heads. Like I say, I'm in two minds about corporal punishment of kids, so I could take alternative action, but all I can think of is grounding them which is just as much of a punishment for me. I couldn't bring myself to keep them cooped up in that poky little spare room, and I can do without having two kids under my feet 24/7, charming though they are! Besides, if their father believes they deserve a licking, that's just what they'd get on his return, so it would be a double punishment.
Then, to top it all, as I was booting up my computer this morning, it LAUGHED at me! I thought I was going off my trolley, until I tried to work on a file. It refused to load, and the _d_a_m_n_ed machine LAUGHED AT ME AGAIN! Not just minor sniggering, you understand: a fully-fledged hee-haw.
I looked round to see Sam and Nathan watching me, supressing laughter. "All right," I said, "what have you done to my computer?"
Eventually, Nathan admitted he'd run some sort of virus into it. "But don't worry, Danny," he said, brandishing a floppy disc, "I can get rid of it no problem."
I sneered at him, beginning to see the funny side as he put the disc in my drive and re-booted my machine.
However, instead of the old familiar screen, the computer just laughed again. Nathan started to look worried. His worry turned to consternation as up popped the error message:
"You need to reinstall Windows"
"What?!!!" I growled.
Nathan regarded me sheepishly: "Uh, Danny, you're not running on Windows 95 are you?"
"I most certainly am," I replied, "as well you know. You installed it in the first place!"
"Oh _s_h_i_t_," he said. (That in itself would have earned him a belting at home, but I let it go.) "I forgot. NOBODY uses '95 any more..."
That's when I lost it. "I still do," I said, "and you, young man, are not moving from this desk until you've sorted it!"
I then turned to Sam. "Get to your room!" I ordered.
"But, Danny..."
I wasn't interested in excuses. "You, Sam, have performed an illegal operation and will be shut down unless you MOVE NOW!" He got the message.
Well, Nathan has spent most of the day undoing his damage and my system is finally up and running again. Unfortunately, the entire C drive has been wiped, taking with it (amongst many other things) all my stories for this site.
That's why I need your help. The kids tell me that the punishment over the report business is not negotiable for them. For Nathan it's fourteen licks doubled up to twenty eight for lying. Because it's away from home, that would normally be administered with the razor strop.
For Sam the picture is bleak. For lying, his standard twelve licks are doubled to twenty four. For each grade below a B on his report card he gets 1 lick for a C, 2 for a D and 3 for an E. Plus a lick for every 5 lates, rounded up. At 26 lates, three Cs, three Ds and 3 Es I make that 24 licks, making a total of 48.
Well, I guess that's what the kid's got coming to him, so we might as well get it over with. But I need advice on how I should administer them. I have no razor strop for a start, and no armchair like the one his father makes them bend over.
Should I get them to bend down touch-toes style, kneel over the bed or what? I guess they're a little big for OTK.
Then there's the question of what to use. I have, like, hair brushes and stuff, and a variety of footwear, but I don't want the kids getting to think I'm a soft touch. I could always use one of the toys I use in my games with Matty. I have several canes, ranging from a light junior school stinger to a stout rattan of the type once used for chastising older boys in penal institutions. Then there are a few Scottish tawses of various weights, but they really pack a punch, and I don't want to go over the top either.
And what would be a suitable punishment for the computer incident? Should I only punish Nathan, or should they both pay the price, as they clearly planned it together? I am really angry about it, as you can imagine.
Should I let them have their licks all in one go, or give them a break during the process?
Please help by emailing me with your guidance (dannyboy309@email. com). I've told the kids that I'll be seeking advice and that they'll be getting their licks on Sunday after chapel. It doesn't seem fair to leave it any longer than that.
So please advise me before then. All this parenting business is more confusing than I thought. I will, of course, let you know how it goes.
Regards from sunny England,
Danny