WHAT 'it' IS REALLY LIKE, IF.....
1....You are a 10-year-old Schoolboy First-Timer - SHEER TERROR AND UNDILUTED SHAME
My name is Kevin and I am 10 years old, although, right now, I feel about 5. I'm on my way to the Boss [our Principal] to get cuts and I'm so scared that I'm nearly wetting myself. I've been here for two terms and I've had the strap on my hands a couple of times and on my bum once, but nothing very serious until today; still, it's not just getting a hiding that's worrying me, although that's bad enough, but the way I behaved and the fact that it pushed Mr. Crawley, who's my favourite Master and who likes me, too, to have me punished like this.
You see, getting badly crumpled in my by now very sweaty hand, is a square of red paper with "Class disruption and deliberate insolence" and a big '8' written on it. When he gave it to me, he told me to take it to Mr. Howell's study at big break, so, during short break, I managed to ask Craig, my best friend, what it all meant and I've been terrified ever since. He said that the words were what I'd done, [which was obvious], the '8' was the number of cuts he thought I should get, [which I had suspected] and the colour of the paper showed that he wanted me to 'get it kaalgat' - bare bum the worst punishment possible except for the same thing in front of the whole school at Assembly, when you always get 12 and are expelled straight afterwards. If I can be so naughty in my second term as to deserve to get it bare bum already, how am I going to avoid the other thing during the next five years? It would kill my parents if I was expell- ed, so maybe I should just run in front of a car and save everybody all that trouble.
But, first of all, I've got to get through today and oh _s_h_i_t_, here I am. I can't lift my hand to knock on his door. Maybe if I just stand here, he'll get tired of waiting for me and go out the other door into his flat and by tomorrow both he and Mr. Crawley will have forgotten all about me. Like hell; his voice growls at me, "Travers, if you're there, get in here quickly and don't keep me waiting and if you're not, heaven help you, 'cos then you're late!".
So, I'm dead. The other guys tried to tell me it won't be so bad, but I know they lied. I've seen REALLY big, tough kids of 12 or 13, who could smash my face in with one hand, come out of there after getting cuts from him, with the tears and gob running down their faces, jumping about and trying to rub and squeeze the pain and sting out of their bums and they didn't EVEN get it on their bare arses.
How the _f_u_c_k_ did he know I was there? I'm barefoot, like us little turds mostly are in summer, so he couldn't have heard me coming along the passage!! Is he magic or something? Now I'm REALLY scared of him (of course I don't yet know about the little mirror up by the ceiling, that he can see into from his desk). I go in and close the door quietly - anything to gain time and yet I just want to get it over; now I'm standing in front of his desk, looking at the long brown cane lying on it. I can see from the marks it has made on his green blotter, that it's wet. Surely he's not going to hit my bare bum with that thing? it will cut it to bits. But, of course, I know that he IS; I can already imagine that long, whippy stick slicing into my tail - not really what it will FEEL like, but how it will look when he does it - like a long, sharp sword or a big kitchen knife ripping through my skin and into my arse; it will probably feel like that time they stitched my foot up a bit too soon after the injection, so I felt the needle going into my skin, through my foot and out the other side, although there it was already almost dead. This will be even worse, because there was NO injection at all and the holes in my skin will be long ones and not just spots here and there. My guts are in a knot from fear and I'm glad that my _c_o_c_k_ has got stiff because now I CAN'T pee in my pants.
I can't look him in the face, I'm too ashamed and much too scared, so I look down at the scuff marks my toes are making on his carpet. I wonder if the blood will run down my legs quickly enough to drip on the carpet and if I'll get extra cuts if it does. Now he's asking me what the trouble is and I just give him the red paper and see his face get very grim.....
I'm not sure what he said then; it must have gone straight through my head, because the next I hear is, "All right, my boy, if you can't even explain your appaling behaviour, we'd better get down to dealing with it, hadn't we?" I think I'm going to be sick, or start crying, or go down on my knees and beg him for mercy, but, of course, I don't; I just stand there like a fool and wait for him to tell me what to do next, but nothing happens and after a long time he snaps, "Well, come on boy, get on with it". Now I'm so terrified I AM almost pissing in my pants. I don't know WHAT to do, but I certainly don't want to make this huge man with his long stick any MORE cross with me, so I start babbling like a real idiot, "Yes, sir, Sorry sir, No sir, What sir?" No wonder he looks at me as though I'm mad and says, "No, you don't know ANYTHING, except how to be cheeky to your teachers, do you?" and then he pulls a big chair out into the middle of the room. Its leather is stained dark and I know exactly what it's for, but I still just stand there - I'm frozen until he says, "Take them off and get over here. I have a sudden horrible thought. 'Kaalgat' is how we swim in the dams on the farm, so it can also mean 'bare' - with NOTHING on. Is he going to make me take ALL my clothes off and go naked for the cane? I'll die of shame and never be able to face him again. But he takes pity on me and says, although a bit impatiently, "Come on, my boy, we haven't got all day, take your pants down and get over the back of this chair NOW, if you know what's good for you." I do it as quickly as I can. For some reason, my _c_o_c_k_ is still as stiff as a bit of spring steel and although he doesn't seem to notice, I'm so ashamed of it that I just want to fall through the floor. I can see that the chair is too high for me to get over its back without jumping and I can't do that with my pants round my ankles, so I push them right off with my feet and now I AM as good as that other sort of 'kaalgat', but I needn't have bothered, because he also sees my problem, goes behind me, lifts me by my elbows and puts me down with my hips on the top of the padded back, trapping my stiff _c_o_c_k_ between it and my tummy. It's a bit uncomfortable, but I know that what is coming will be MUCH worse and at least, now he can't see what I'm so shy about, not that there's much to see.
I have never felt so small or helpless in my life. I'm hanging there, bent almost double, with the top of my head just above the seat of the chair and my chin pressing against its back. My bare bum must be sticking high up in the air and I can feel the wind from the open window blowing over it, so I know that all the guys who are out in the playground for break will be able to hear me getting it, so I must really try not to yell or even cry if I can help it.
Now that I am up there, I can feel that the shape of the back of the chair is pushing my legs apart a bit, so I can't clench my bum together and oh _s_h_i_t_, my cheeks must be open enough for him to see right to the back of my ball bag and even down to my arsehole. I can feel my face going red from shame - what if it's dirty? The weight of my legs IS pulling my tail tight, but it's downwards, not across, so it won't help with the pain at all but will actually make it worse. I can see the arms of the chair and I reach out and grab their ends tight. Now, at least, I've got something to pull against when the pain starts; if only I could push my feet against something as well. I feel around, but they are dangling in space; then I force my legs forward and my toes touch the back legs of the chair. By pulling on my arms I am able to hook my toes inside the legs; their corners dig into my shins and that hurts a bit and I can feel that what I've just done has pulled my bum cheeks even more apart, so more of my skin will be hit when I get the cane. Too bad; at least now I should be able to stay there. I wonder if I'm going to be able to take eight without passing out or being sick or screaming so much that I choke or making a fool of myself in some other way. After all, I'm only 10, it IS my first time AND I am bare bum, so maybe he'll go a bit easy on me.
I feel something light and cool lying across my bum. Oh God; it's the cane; he's getting his aim and distance so he can cane my arse. Maybe if I start to scream already, he will let me off, but I can't, can I? So I just hang there with my bare tail up in the air, waiting to feel the worst pain of my life. The cool thing goes away, there's a hiss that turns into a whistle and I actually feel a rush of cool air as the stick gets close to my arse. Then there's a snap, like when you step on a dry stick and it breaks under your foot. I wonder what it hit; it couldn't have been me, because I don't feel anything.
Then, from somewhere else, this tingling feeling starts. It's like when you've had pins and needles from sitting with your leg under you and then your leg comes alive again once you get up; it's not at all bad to start with, but, instead of going away, this time it gets worse and worse. The tingling turns into a sting, as if some wasps have stung me right across the middle of my bum and then it also starts to burn until it feels as if a bit of red hot wire is being pressed deep into the meat right across my backside.
I can't make a sound; all my breath is gone; the sting and burn begin to shoot out from my bum, up my back and along my arms until it feels as if my fingers are burning into the armrests. It also shoots down my legs until I could swear that sparks are flying off my toes down to the floor. Maybe they will set the carpet alight and the hiding will have to stop, or maybe he'll just put it out and give me double? Then the hot wire is taken out of my bum and all that pain goes rushing back into just the one place right across my arse.
I can hear that hiss again. He's surely not going to hit me another time? Am I nuts? I'm there for EIGHT. so of course he's going to hit me again and again and again. The second one hits quite high up, just below my back and where my crack starts to part my cheeks and it hurts from the moment it lands. It is followed quite quickly by the third one, which is low down, just above my legs. Now my whole arse is on fire and I know I can't take any more. There are these strips of red hot metal burning into my arse and making the skin and meat disolve under them. I begin to let go of the arms of the chair, but what Jerry said to me comes back; "Don't get up whatever you do, or he'll start all over again." I remember seeing the thick purple stripes on Jerry's bum one day, a whole week after he got cuts and he wasn't even bare bum for them. I grab the arms again and hang on, but I can't stop myself from yelling out loud as the cane comes down again and my whole arse explodes in flames.
Let me tell you something about being thrashed bare bum that makes it different from a 'pants on' hiding. It's not so much the sting - that is very sore, but it comes and goes quite quickly; it's the terrible heat that burns your bum up. Like any other burn, it just keeps on getting worse and worse, long after you have got rid of what caused it and a bare bum caning feels as if boiling oil is being poured all over your arse, so that you can actually feel it cooking and all that is missing is the smell of roasting meat.
I think I've had four, so there are another four to go. That last one was not the same as the first three, though - it hurt a lot more than even the one near my legs and I am still wondering why when I hear the next one coming. My arse is so hot and tender by now that I feel that rush of cool air on it again just before the stick lands and I realise that this one and the one before it are coming on the slant, across the first three on both cheeks; that's why they're so sore.
But now its amazing, I feel as though I can take another 20. The pain can't get any worse and my bum is burnt to a crisp already. I can even feel my _c_o_c_k_ starting to get stiff between my tummy and the chair again, although I have no idea of when during the cuts I went off bone. I am on the point of really screaming from that fifth cut, but I bite it off in my throat; he's NOT going to make me yell again, no matter how hard, or where on my bum, he hits me. I dig my toes into the chair legs and pull hard with my hands to get my tail muscles as tight as I can for the next three and then it will be over. I nearly go mad, waiting for the sound of the cane on its way back to my arse. I even have time to wonder what my bum looks like by now. I've got that same feeling you get when you're barefoot and you tramp on something sharp - you know you've cut your foot without having to see the blood and I KNOW that my arse has been cut to bits and that it will never look or feel the same again. I wonder what happens to the seniors, if a Grade 6 gets it like this and, oh God, I wish he'd just get on with it. Must I DO something before I get the rest? I sort of gasp, 'I'm ready, Sir' and then he puts his hand on the middle of my back, not low down where it's bare, but on my shirt and I nearly jump off the chair, I get such a fright.
He stays like that for what seems like forever. Is he looking for new places on my bum where he can hit without cutting right into my arse muscles so badly that I won't even be able to walk? or is he just waiting for some of the deadness to go away so that I'll feel the last three worst of all? I'm on the point of screaming at him to finish it off when I hear his voice, from far away, still cross and businesslike: All right, Travers, that will do; you can get down now. I can't believe it - he's letting me off the last three, so maybe HE doesn't think I'm as rotten as Mr. Crawley did.
I let myself slide down off the chair, trying not to move my legs, but still, every movement hurts my bum and makes it burn all over again and suddenly I know I'm going to cry and I do, fighting and gasping for breath, not from the pain, but just because I'm so ashamed of myself and because SOMEONE has been a bit kind to me again. So there we stand, the big man with the long cane in his hand and the small boy with his crying, tear-streaked, snotty face, his red, swollen, ridged tail and his little _c_o_c_k_ still sticking out stiffly in front of him, neither of us really knowing what to do next, until he solves the problem by dropping the cane, stepping over to me and holding me tight against his chest, wet, dirty face and all, while I cry mt heart out and say over and over again how sorry I am for being so awful in class and that I'll never do it again, not because of the caning but because of how much I really like Mr. Crawley.
At last, I almost stop crying and apologising and he lets me go. He sort of grins at me as I put my hands on my arse and take them away quickly, because even touching there is so sore and he says I can go but I needn't put my pants back on yet and he will excuse me from class this afternoon, so I can go along to Matron, for her to put some ointment on to take some of the sting away. I say, yes, thank you Sir, but, of course I can't go and let a woman fiddle around with my bum; also, the one thing I've got to do as soon as I can, is go and say sorry to Mr. Crawley.
I did notice, though, that there was no blood on my hands when I let my arse go. I can't believe that none of those five whacks had broken my skin, because I had FELT my bum being cut to pieces while I was being thrashed. Now I can feel the thick, hard ridges across both cheeks and that my bum is starting to get very stiff and sore and it's beginning to throb and ache, like when you sprain your ankle and they bandage it up tight. My arse is all swollen up already and I'm not looking forward to putting my pants back on, except to hide my _c_o_c_k_, which is still as hard as ever. He pats my shoulder and even though he's looking straight at my stiff _c_o_c_k_, which isn't even nearly covered by my shirt, he makes like he hasn't noticed it and then he sticks his hand out and when I shake it, it's a nice strong handshake, not a soft, little kid one, that makes me feel so much better that I manage to blurt out, "Please don't tell anyone that I blubbed, Sir"
He gives me a funny look and says, "But you didn't." So I say, "But I AM", and then he says, "Oh, that's different......"
He understands. He REALLY understands. I would like to kiss him.
Then he turns round to put the cane away and I manage to get my pants up over my sore arse without its rubbing on the ridges too much and It get out of the room while he's still busy in the cupboard. I am still far too ashamed of myself to want to have to face him or, especially, to have to talk to him. All I can think of is that this man has had me bending over that chair in front of him, with my bare tail [and everything else] totally at his mercy and that the only reason I can even walk now is that HE must have decided that I am just a silly little brat and that it's not worth wasting too much effort on me.
I think about not going back to class, butI know that all the other guys can't wait to see if I could take it and anyway, I need to speak to Mr. Crawley, so I walk back to our classroom as quickly as I can, considering how much it hurts my arse every time I move my legs.
Once I get near to our classroom, I try to walk normally, with my legs going out straight instead of bandy and not taking little short steps any more, even though the way that pulls on my arse muscles makes the whole hiding hurt all over again. The door of our classroom is open so I walk straight in. Mr. Crawley is writing something on the board, the guys are copying it down and my bare feet make no noise on the floor, so I am halfway up between the desks before anyone sees me. Then there is the sort of silence that is so dead that he must have felt it, because he turns round and finds me right there in front of him. I expect him to kick me out of class or something, but he just looks straight through me and waits for ME to say something. So I fight back the tears that are ready to start again and manage to say, "I'm really sorry, Mr. Crawley." and he looks hard at me and says, "I'm sure you are, Kevin," and then he starts to turn back to the board until I say, "No, not because of the cuts but for being so rude" and then he comes over to me and also shakes hands and says its a pity that some boys have to learn the hard way and I must watch my step in future, but now it's all right and I can go back to my desk.
I get a laugh when I ask if I can rather stand at his table for the rest of the class and when he says OK, I know I've been forgiven, but I still had to tell him one more thing, just to be honest and even though I am sick with fear while I'm saying it. "He only gave me 5, sir." I shut my eyes, waiting for him to say then he'd better give me the other 3 himself. I don't think I can take any more, so I don't know what I'm going to do if he says he is going to, but he just smiles and says Mr. Howells must have realised what a menace I am, because he had not expected me to get more than 3 or 4.
What happened afterwards was quite usual. I had to show everybody the marks on my bum and all of them, even Justin Burls, our dormitory monitor, who's 13 and is one of those big tough guys whom I saw crying when he came out of the Boss's study, were so impressed that they agreed that I couldn't help it when I admitted that I had yelled and cried during and after getting it; I'm sure most of them must have heard me, anyway.
Justin has some ointment that he put on the ridges and that took some of the sting away, but nothing can take away the feeling I have that I am marked for life as having been so bad that I had had to get caned on my BARE arse.
Of course, boys are cruel, callous people and it is not too long before I, like my more experienced classmates, come to regard these and all the other lower school executions with indifference and even amusement, and to realise that they will no more permanently scar our immortal souls than the expertly wielded canes do our backsides; but that is all for later and I creep into my bed that night, bare bottomed, to lie on my tummy, sore and sorry for myself, notwithstanding the fairly robust encouragement of some of the others, to join them in celebrat- ing' my 'victory'. I, for one, feel far from victorious and am really in no mood to do something which, in spite of my still having a by now very uncomfortably stiff _c_o_c_k_, means nothing in my life yet and represents little more than a passport to another hiding, if a master or prefect should catch us at it, I am normally a fairly 'game' kid and THAT, more than anything else, is perhaps the measure of the impact that my first bare tailed hiding has had on me and, I'm sure on most other boys, in the same situation, if they are absolutely honest with themselves.
It's not that it really hurt all that much more than getting it with pants on, but just that, because I was as good as naked and had to let someone do whatever he liked to my bare body and watch whatever was happening to it, as if it was just a football to kick around, I feel right then as if I am worth nothing more than a piece of meat in a butcher's shop.