Country Life (1) by Tim Anders (Extensively revised sequel to "Bush Treatment")
Copyright Tim Anders © 1998, 2001 Dad had sorted out my problems with school and with Mum,
or rather, their problems with me. One of the results was some very
tangible attention to my backside, including a rigorous trip up the
bush. The other was a family decision that I should live with Dad
for a while. A couple of weeks later I arrived in this town, which
was to become my new home. My only experience of life in the bush
so far had been that sleepy one-horse place 'Woop-Woop', and I didn't
really know what to expect of life in this larger, much more urban
country town. I did know that life with Dad would be more structured
and disciplined than it had been of late in the Big Smoke and, believe
it or not, that was exactly why I was so keen to come and live with
him. I couldn't have said it in so many words at the time, but I didn't
really like myself the way I was. I didn't enjoy driving everyone
mad, making them angry and frustrated, and instinctively I felt Dad
would somehow sort it out. Ever since I was a little kid, Dad was
the one that pulled me out of the _s_h_i_t_ I kept getting into and
discouraged repetition (or tried to) by inscribing salutory lessons
on my backside. I must have been a very slow learner because I found
myself many times in the same _s_h_i_t_ again, and the lessons became
more resounding every time they had to be repeated. I guess what
I'm saying is, when I asked to live with Dad, I would be pulled into
line quick smart with a hiding whenever required, as a matter of course,
and that's how it ought to be. I genuinely believed Dad's tangible
lessons would help me become a more likeable person and at the same
time restore in me that secure feeling of knowing my bounds and the
consequences if I overstepped them. He definitely succeeded in the
latter. So, here I was, determined to make a new start, with the
prospect of an imminent tanned backside, the last instalment Dad had
held over at the end of our bush trip. To be honest, every time I
thought about it, my little mate kept raising his head, poking through
his cap in anticipation, even though I knew it was going to hurt,
and of course there was always that familiar afterglow, combined with
the feeling of having paid for my sins. Dad picked me up from the
station, and I had that really happy feeling. On our way to his house
at the edge of the town he pointed out the school I was to attend
and some other points of interest. The house was a rambling old place
in a huge garden, and my room was more than twice the size of the
one I had in suburban Melbourne. We had a barbecue that evening,
just the two of us. Afterwards I did the dishes like a good boy, collecting
Brownie points, and after that, we talked a while, me always wondering
how long it'd take till we got to the topic of discipline and my still
outstanding punishment. I asked if there was anything on the telly.
Dad said we could check later, but there was still something we needed
to discuss. I didn't have to guess what that was. "Seeing we're
going to live together for a while," he said, "and after the way you've
been behaving lately, we need to re-establish some rules." "Fair
enough." "Including your punishments if and when you break the rules,
agreed?" Conflicting thoughts were racing through my head, On the
one hand I felt at sixteen I was getting a bit too old for that, on
the other I knew I needed and wanted it. I also remembered Dave telling
me that he still got the cane from his old man, and he was over sixteen
already then. "Yes, I know I've blotted my copy book," I finally said. "That
took you a while," he grinned. "I just want you to really think about
it. You are not a little kid any more and you have to learn to take
more responsibility for your actions." "Yeah, sure, I will." I'd
heard all that responsibility stuff before. "Good," he said, "but
I want more than promises, mate. For starters, I want you to take
an active part in the decisions about discipline." That sounded
a bit intimidating. "How d'you mean, Dad?" "I want you to front
up when you deserve to be punished, and tell me what you think your
punishment should be." "You mean I have to come and ask for it?" "If
you think you deserve it. That's what taking responsibility is all
about." "Geez, Dad. I don't know - " He ignored my hesitation.
"That's what I expect in the future, mate, be a man, not a kid. You
got yourself into a lot of strife lately, and this is the end of it.
I know you can do better." "That's why I wanted to come and live
with you, mate." That should go down well! But apart from ingratiating
myself, I was telling the truth. He put his arm around my shoulder,
"I don't mind telling you now, I was really touched when you asked
for that, mate." Having Dad's arm around me made me feel so safe and
protected, I felt like crying. "I did miss you, you know." "Even
though I've been strict and tanned your backside?" He slapped my bum
and my little mate stirred at the question, "and I'll do it again
if I have to." I swallowed, "I know, Dad. I always deserved it.
But I'm talking about all the fun we used to have together, playing
sports, going fishing, bushwalking . . . I really missed all that,
honest." "Yeah, I'm sorry Tim, but we can retrieve some of that
if you pull your weight and don't louse up your schooling." Dad had
a real hang-up about education because he never finished his course.
The local footy club didn't give a _d_a_m_n_ about qualifications,
he was the best masseur they ever had. He once was a pretty hot football
player himself, too, maybe that helped. "OK, mate, I'll do my best,
promise." "I want you to work really hard," he continued, "you got
a lot to catch up on, and you can do it. You used to be in the top
five of the class, for heaven's sake! I want you back there, you got
the brains. So don't bugger up your last chance, or I'll be down on
you like ton of bricks." "I'm sorry. I guess I just got off the
rails a bit." "A bit? You stuffed up good and proper, son! How's
your bum, still sore?" "No, of course not." "Just wondered." "It's
been two weeks, Dad." "About time for a reminder then, is it?" "What,
already?" I said, half hoping he was joking, but something was stirring
in my jeans. "I've got some proper canes now." "Have you?" My
little mate said 'yippee!'. "Yep, five of them." "FIVE!!?? What
for?" "You know what for." "I mean why so many?" "Why not?" "Where
d'you get them?" "A craft shop in town. I know the owners, Mike
and Josie. Nice couple. You'll meet them on Sunday. We'll be going
there for a barbecue." "Er, - did you tell them what you wanted
them for?" I enquired nervously. "Nah." "Phew!" "Didn't have
to, they knew when I asked could they cut them to the right length." "_s_h_i_t_!!
It'll be all over town, Mark's boy is still getting his bottom caned
at sixteen!" "Don't worry, mate, they said quite a few people have
asked for cut lengths of the stuff." "I don't think I want to go
to this BBQ." "Please yourself, it's a free country. But I know
they'd like to meet you." "I'd be too embarrassed." "Then you'll
meet them next time they come over here. We're good friends." "Great!!"
I said facetiously, "what about all the others?" "What others? It's
just a small group of friends." "Yeah, and they all know, I bet." "This
may surprise you, mate, but in the great scheme of things your bum
and what happens to it is of no consequence, except to yourself. It's
not likely to be a hot conversation topic." "Glad to hear it," I
said somewhat snippily, "anyone my age?" Dad looked a bit impatient,
"No idea, mate, depends who else is coming. Last time there were at
least half a dozen, from about twelve upwards, bloody noisy they were,
too." "And I suppose they all know I get the stick, too!" "Tim,
you're too young to be neurotic. There are plenty of things to talk
about, other than you or your bum. You're not the navel of the universe,
you know.." "I don't mean they'll talk about it, Dad, I mean, they'll
know." "Frankly, I don't know if they do or don't. My guess is they're
probably in the same boat and wouldn't think twice about it. Does
it matter?" "It does to me!" "Look, I massage young blokes with
pink and red marks on their backsides and it's pretty clear how they
got there. Doesn't seem to worry them, even when I mention it." "Dad!
You wouldn't!" "Sure I do. I just joke 'had an argument with the
old man, eh?' Most of them just say 'and how!' or just 'hmm', some
even tell me all about it." "Honest? I couldn't do that, I'd just
clam up or run." "It's no big deal, mate. They're proud how they
took it, even brag how tough they are." "You're making that up!" "Well,
if you won't believe me, I refuse to tell you any more lies, so there!"
An old family joke Dad and Mum used to tease each other with. "I
don't know how they can do it, I'd never tell anybody." "Usually
they don't till I say something, except one, he always warns me as
soon as he gets in, even before he says G'day." My little mate got
very excited. "Really?" "He goes: 'I got stripes on me bum again,
mate, no prize for guessin' what from.' And then he drops his daks." I
just couldn't believe it. "What do you say to him, then?" "I just
grin and say 'makes no difference to me, mate, you probably earned
it,' and he sort of grins back." "Geez, Dad, I'd be soo embarrassed!" "That's
what I'm talking about, son. Relax, it's no big deal, I keep telling
you. I mean, if I see him in the street, or any of the others, d'you
reckon I instantly think of their red bums? My little mate would
have loved to hear more about this, but I couldn't very well ask Dad
for more details. But the thought of becoming a masseur did cross
my mind? Later, Dad showed me the canes he'd bought. They were about
70 to 80 cm long, and about 5 to 8 mm thick. My little mate was getting
excited imagining them connecting with my bum, and I was hoping the
bulge wasn't too obvious. As if he'd read my mind, Dad said "We'll
have to test them, of course." "How?" How d'you think?" "Aw,
Dad!" "Give you some idea what to expect if you step out of line,"
he swished one through the air, making that ominous noise of a cane
just before it stings your buns. "I guess so, but I'm really going
to try hard, Dad, - " "I'm sure you will, but there's still some
unfinished business from our bush trip." "Yes, I know, I've been
wondering about that." I could feel my stomach knotting up. As usual,
what I'd been looking forward to in theory, was about to explode,
and the bulge in my jeans shrank rapidly. "OK, mate, I don't want
this to be any worse than it has to be. You still have to be punished
-" "I know, Dad." " - so we'll combine your punishment with the
testing of the canes." "Now?" "No time like the present," he said,
making the cane sing through the air again. "They're thin, and they'll
hurt like hell." "Yes, Dad." I pointed to one of the canes, "that
one's a bit thicker, by the looks of it." He picked it up, "for
special occasions, if for some reason you can't take your pants off." What
was he talking about? Surely, he wasn't thinking of punishing me with
others around!? Dad interrupted my thoughts, "now, seeing it's been
a while since all this started, I want you to tell me once more, in
your own words, why you're being punished." I have always found
it very difficult to enumerate my sins and offences, while at the
same time worrying about what inevitably has to follow. I said what
I had to say, and I was honestly ashamed of how I had behaved, especially
to Mum. For good measure I stated once again I'd be trying to do much
better in future. "Come on then, bend over for the first two." I
bent over and he whacked the thicker one across my jeans covered bum
twice in quick succession. I yelped and jumped up, rubbing my backside,
"_s_h_i_t_, that hurt, Dad!" "Good, we've hit the spot, as they
say." I hate it when he's 'being funny' while my bum's on fire. "Now,
for the remaining eight, - -" I knew they had to be bare bum so
I took everything off, but as I was about to pull off my shirt as
well, he said "don't worry about that now. Just make sure it doesn't
get in the way." I stood there, and - believe it or not - I could
feel my little mate stirring again, fortunately hidden under my shirt. "The
rest will come as two each with the remaining four canes." I shuddered.
"Dad! I - -" "Last part of your punishment and a taste of what happens
if you don't pull your socks up." "I will, Dad, honest!" "Glad
to hear it. Now, bend over." I bent right down, with my shirt ending
up round my neck. I heard it coming and then I felt a sharp cut across
my naked buns. "OW!" I yelled, and the next one followed so quickly,
I nearly choked. I jumped up, rubbing my bum, "HELL, that hurts!" "I
know," he said, "your grandpa was an expert with the cane, I still
remember the sting." Dad had never told me that before. It didn't
ease the pain but somehow made me feel closer to him. "Come on, bend
over for the next two." And so we tested them all, to the bitter end.
I straightened up after the last one, a bit teary-eyed, Dad put his
arms around me and ruffled my hair. "All over, mate." "I'm sorry,
Dad!" "Course you are, I know that. Now make sure the slate stays
clean." I really felt like a burden was off my back after that,
and I made a real effort to stay on my best behaviour. It took nearly
a month till I felt one of those canes on my backside again. I did
go along to the BBQ, feeling extremely self-conscious, especially
when Dad introduced me to Mike and Josie. I was sure, they gave me
a knowing grin, but Dad said I was imagining things. Nobody ever said
a word, but I had a distinct feeling, everybody 'knew'. There were
four or five guys about my age and they seemed to stick together and
not take much notice of me. Two of them came over after a while, and
we got to talk. Craig was nearly 17, working part-time in his parents'
newsagency, while still struggling through year 11 at High School,
and Dean, a motor mechanics apprentice, had just turned 16, same as
me. We kicked the footy and mucked around for a while, and then Craig
winked at Dean and suggested we shoot through and go over to his place. Dean
winked back at him, "yeah, let's!" He seemed really keen. I was
a bit unsure, but I liked them both, and this BBQ wasn't really my
scene. So, I checked with Dad and he said "fine, just be home for
dinner". The newsagency was closed all afternoon, so we got in through
the backdoor, and then Craig showed us some 'Adult' magazines in a
far corner of the shop. Most of them were sealed, but some could be
easily slipped out of their wrappers. The 'better ones' were harder
to get at, but Craig knew how to undo them. "Just watch out," he
warned us, as we were leafing through the mags, "don't make any marks
on 'em, I gotta close the _f_u_c_k_in' wrapper again and pretend I
never seen 'em. If me old man finds out about this, I'm dead meat." "I
got the friggin' stick this morning," Dean volunteered. "Me last
night," said Craig, and they high fived each other. "What for?"
Dean wanted to know "Me big mouth again," Craig smirked, "can't
help it, he reckons he knows _f_u_c_k_in' everythin'." "Yeah, tell
me about it," Dean sympathised, "mine carries on as if I'm bloody
stupid." "Well aren't ya?" Craig teased. But Dean didn't bite,
except for a mumbled "ah get _f_u_c_k_ed." "Ta, mate! I'll think
about it. I thought yer ole man's shearin' up north?" "Course he
is, I bloody told ya, - " "So Phil blistered yer bum, did he?" Craig
grinned. I felt very left out, but my little mate got excited by
all this talk. I butted in "who's Phil?" "Me brother," said Dean
with an expression on his face that seemed to reflect the agony Phil
had caused him earlier that morning. "Ex-army," said Craig with
some awe. "Army reserve," Dean qualified. "He belted me once too,"
Craig boasted, "packs a bloody punch, mate, no _s_h_i_t_." "Yeah,
we both _f_u_c_k_in' got it then, didn't we, mate?" I was beginning
to envy them, they were so close, so uninhibited with each other,
and I was thinking of Dave again. "Me bum was striped for days,"
Craig kept bragging. "And mine," Dean wasn't going to be outdone,
"I got a lot more than you, remember." "So ye should, ye _f_u_c_k_in'
started it all," Craig teased. "Hey you b- " Dean was about to start
a wrestling match, but Craig pinned his arms down. "Careful, man,
don't break the bloody china!" he laughed as Dean valiantly struggled
to free himself, while I picked up the magazines that had dropped
to the floor. "Arsehole!" Dean spat out, following it up with a
few more choice obscenities. "Now, now, keep yerself nice, mate
- hey, come on, settle down! " Craig was nearly a year older and had
little trouble restraining Dean. "Geez, what're ye so bloody touchy
for? Only joshing ya, mate." Dean stopped struggling and looked miffed
as Craig let go of him. He brightened up when Craig put his arm around
him, and I wondered if they were more than just good mates. Craig
looked at me, "no crap, mate, I got a _f_u_c_k_in' raw arse from Phi,
but he flamin' took it out on Deano coz he's his bloody brother and
I'm not. Wasn't _f_u_c_k_in' fair, no Siree." I wanted to ask more
details about the why and how of their thrashings from Phil and was
still wondering how to phrase my question without raising suspicion,
when Craig asked Dean, "so what happened this mornin'? Missed bloody
church again, did ya?" "Ha-_f_u_c_k_in-ha!! Very funny!" "Well,
what then?" "Caught me in his _f_u_c_k_in' room, didn't he." "Doin'
what?" "Bloody nothin'." "C'mon, mate, he didn't belt ya for just
standin' there. I know Phil." "Yeah, well, I was puttin' one of
his _f_u_c_k_in' porn mags back, wasn't I - " "Ye pinched one of
his mags??" "Only bloody BORROWED it!! You _f_u_c_k_in' deaf or
somethin'? I said I was puttin' it back." "_s_h_i_t_, mate, I'm
not surprised he kicked yer arse. How many did ye get?" "Six with
that _d_a_m_n_ new cane he got. Wasn't bloody funny, mate, bare arsed,
too." "I always get it bare arsed, never less than six, mate," Craig
bragged. "Well, ten's the most I ever got from me ole man but with
him I only pull me shorts down or me jeans, never me underpants." "You're
spoiled, mate." "Ah, stick a stinkin' sock in it - " "So Phil
pulls yer undies off?" "No _f_u_c_k_in' way, mate." "So what happens?" "He
makes me _f_u_c_k_in' strip, reckons that's how they did it in camp." "Real
tough guy stuff - " "He reckons. - I reckon it bloody stinks." "Why?" "Coz
- " "Wimp!" "_f_u_c_k_ yerself!!" "Maybe I should have a _f_u_c_k_in'
word with me mate Phil about all that _f_u_c_k_in' foul language comin'
from ya -" Craig teased. "Real funny, comin' from YOU, mate!" "Maybe
he'll teach yer a long hard lesson with that new stick, maybe he'll
let me watch." "You'd get off on that, wouldn't ya?" Dean looked
a little nervous, as if he thought it wasn't totally out of the question. "Yeah
- - real cool - - " "Yeah, well, forget it, perve!" This was all
in quite good humour but Dean seemed just a bit worried. Then he thought
of a diversion, "hey, perve," he moved to undo his jeans, "wanna see
what he done this mornin'?" But Craig stopped him, "later in the
shed, mate. Don' wanna hang around in here too long." Bugger! I
kept thinking about Dean's striped bottom as we perved through the
mags. They didn't know I was only looking at the guys, but then, maybe
they were too. My little mate was at full attention, and when I surreptitiously
looked at them, their jeans seemed to be a bit more bulged in the
front, too, but as we were all sitting on the floor, I couldn't be
sure. "OK, let's get outa here," Craig declared after a while and
collected the mags. It didn't take him long to put them back in their
wrappers and reseal them skilfully. He was obviously well practiced
at it. We went outside and sat on the big woodpile in the backyard. "That
was real cool, mate, thanks," I showed my appreciation, wondering
at the same time how to steer the conversation back to that fascinating
topic. "No sweat, mate, " Craig said, "just gotta be careful which
ones ye open. Some of them bloody plastic buggers won't seal up again." "Got
quite a thrashing for that once, didn'ya, mate?" Dean asked with some
glee. Far from being embarrassed, Craig beamed, "yeah, me ole man
went ballistic, coz if the cops found out, he'd be up _s_h_i_t_ creek
with the law." "Really?" I tried to keep him talking. "Sure, that's
why he's gotta keep all the real hot stuff in the corner - "friggin'
adults only". Ha!! You're new to this hole, mate, but I'm tellin'
ya, some of the _f_u_c_k_wits go in that corner to perve, I reckon
I'm a lot more bloody adult than them." I snorted, as my admiration
for Craig and his self-assurance grew. As he didn't seem to mind talking
about it, I followed through, "and your old man belted you when he
found out - " "Man, that was bad, real bad," Craig was revelling
in it. Even Dean, although he must have heard it all before, got
excited, "I was pickin' him up for footy practice," he said, "and
as I park me bike, I can hear voices and then him yellin' _f_u_c_k_in'
blue murder from the shed over there." Craig looked a bit uneasy,
maybe he worried about his macho image getting dented, "wasn't that
bad - " "Bad enough, mate, I heard ya - " "Yeah, but that was
one of the worst floggins I ever got. Lucky I didn't dob yer in when
the ole man asked if I done it by meself." "I know mate, I owe ya
one," grinned Dean. "Too right, mate, jut remember - !" Dean turned
to me, changing the focus from himself, "what about you, then?" "What
about me?" I answered, somewhat caught by surprise. "You getting'
it bare arsed too, like him?" his head indicated Craig. "Who says
I'm getting 'it' at all?" I tried to stall, feeling my face burning.
I wasn't ready for this personal turn. "C'mon," said Craig, "Mark's
no wimp. He told me I deserve everythin' I get." "So?" was my inane
response, I had to bite my tongue. Could Craig be the guy Dad told
me about, the one who warns him about stripes on his bottom before
the massage? "So, you're his kid, I bet yer arse gets warmed when
ye step outa line, mate. May's well fess up, mate, Mark takes no _s_h_i_t_!"
I resented him talking like he knew Dad so intimately. Dean joined
Craig in the fishing expedition, "don't tell me he never gave ya a
hidden', mate," he looked at Craig for support. Craig obliged, "sop's
I'll ask him next time I see him. We're good mates, Mark'n'me." I
resented Craig's brash presumption, but I was proud of Dad being held
in such high esteem. I realised I was trapped and gave way, sort of,
"sure I got hidings from him when he was around but he hasn't lived
with us for quite a while. I only just arrived a couple of days ago." "Won't
be long then, mate." "What?" "Till he uses the new stick he bought
for yer bum, mate," blurted Craig. I blushed to a deep red. Only
that morning I had noticed there were still traces on my bum from
the caning I got a couple of days earlier. Dean kicked Craig in
the shins, "shut yer bloody trap, arsehole!" Again they were wrestling
and again Craig got the upper hand in no time. "Ye wanna be more
careful who yer callin' names, mate," Craig hissed as he made a grab
for Dean's balls. "Please, mate, don't," Dean pleaded, "if Phil
finds out I blabbed about the stick, I'm history." "Oh yeah?" "Yeah,
mate, it's not funny." I realised the secret about the canes was
out, someone had 'blabbed', as Dean put it. For once, I showed some
presence of mind, "how about you let me in on the secret you told
Craig, before I ask Phil," I bluffed. "Good one," Craig let go of
Dean's family jewels and looked at me, "ye mean ye don't know?" "I
might," me trying to be mysterious, "tell me what you know and I'll
tell you if you're right." Before I knew it, they were both upon
me, pinning me to the ground. I never was much of a fighter, so I
gave up after a very brief struggle, spreadeagled in the dirt, but
you'd swear they'd rehearsed it or done it many times before. Dean
was holding my arms, Craig the legs, his knee dangerously close to
my balls and pressing, I wished I was somewhere else. What followed
then, was quite bizarre. In spite of my precarious situation I got
on my high horse. "You realise, of course," I bluffed, "I can talk
to Phil, too - " _s_h_i_t_, Craig's knee nudged my balls again, "but
more importantly, just remember, Mark is my Dad and I can talk to
him any time I want." BINGO!!! They say heroes grow out of desperation.
It didn't make me a hero, but it sure worked. They both let go of
me as if on cue, and I just lay there on the ground, grinning from
ear to ear, enjoying the expression on their faces. I got up and
faced them both, "so, tell me what Phil's been saying - " "Umm,
- " Dean was very uncomfortable, probably more scared of Phil than
anything else. I reassured him, "don't worry, I'm not a dobber." "Go
on," Craig prodded. "He - he says when he bought the new cane from
the craft shop, he saw Mark pickin' up a bundle, and he asked Mark
what they were for, but he wouldn't tell him." "We couldn't work
out what he'd do with them," Craig added, "but when you turned up
- " "It all fell into place," I completed the sentence. They looked
at me, waiting for confirmation of their speculations. "OK, you're
right. I've seen them. I've been in a bit of strife before I came
here, and Dad bought them, just in case I need pulling into line.
Happy now?" "So why did Phil tell ya?" Craig looked at Dean. "Search
me, I guess it must of slipped out. He just said it's nobody's business
and to keep me trap shut." "Phil is right," I added sanctimoniously,
"it IS nobody's business. That's probably what my Dad told him." "Well
let's go in the shed and look at our bums," Craig slapped Dean's shoulder,
then turned to me, "wanna come along for a wank? I need one right
now," and he clutched a bulge in the front of his jeans that had now
become very obvious. "Me too," said Dean, rubbing the front of his
jeans. For a moment I was torn, I would have loved to join them,
but I was still uncomfortable about exposing myself, especially my
striped bottom. So I declined, looking at my watch, "I better get
home, maybe next time, eh?" Craig jeered, "worried, Daddy might
use one of them canes, are ya?" "Something like that." I didn't
want to get into another 'discussion'. "Ah well, please yerself,
mate." He took Dean by the shoulder, they turned and walked away. "Sure,
see ya," I called after them. I looked at the two mates, arms around
each other, heading for the shed, ready to inspect each other's damaged
bunz and about to have a wonderful wank together. It reminded me of
Dave again, and tears came to my eyes. I ran all the way home to deal
with my little mate in private while dreaming of Dave and reviewing
the events of the day. That afternoon had turned out to be quite
an eye opener. Listening to Craig and Dean discuss their chastisements
in my presence like last week's cricket score made me wonder if maybe
Dad did have a point and the whole thing was no big deal, after all. to
be continued (Comments are welcome)
More stories by Tim Anders