It was freezing as James parked in his driveway, locked the car and walked into his empty house. Putting his thick coat on one of the row of hooks in the hall, he walked into the lounge and turned on the TV. The Christmas traffic had been awful.
He was home early, which was unusual now he was a manager. He'd had a difficult day and was really tired, so he sat straight down on the sofa without getting changed, not even stopping to loosen his tie. He was about to doze off when there was a light padding sound and Sally, his six month old kitten, jumped on his lamp, purring for attention. Smiling, he picked her up and held her gently in the air. "You're hungry, I suppose?" With considerable effort he heaved himself up and went into the kitchen to get something for her. She was fussy, as most cats are, and preferred fish flavoured food, preferably trout, so he was relieved to find a can of it hiding in the back of the cupboard.
It was just before six on a Thursday evening in early December 1993. He didn't normally go to the supermarket until Friday, and would probably just be able to get by for one more day now that Sally had been fed. She was munching away contentedly, he saw. There was a big steak – over a pound of it – in the fridge freezer, so there was plenty for dinner, and he took it out, together with a pack of tomatoes and some fresh mushrooms. Reaching up to the freezer compartment, he dug out a half-used bag of oven chips and scattered them over a large baking tray.
Turning the oven to 200 degrees and the grill full on, he sliced the tomatoes and mushrooms and put them to one side, while waiting for the cooker to heat up. While doing so, he noticed the Radio Times on the dining table and retrieved it, looking to see what was on. More rubbish, he thought, so after checking that the oven was OK he went back to the lounge and picked the Sky TV magazine up from the floor at the side of the sofa, where he knew it would be. There was always some science fiction on Sky One. He returned to the kitchen and propped the magazine up against the microwave so that he could read it while cooking. There was a faint smell of burning fat. I must clean the oven, he thought.
He heard the faint click which signalled that everything was at the correct temperature, put the chips in the oven, and was just about to stick the steak under the grill when the front door burst open.
"It's bloody cold out there!" Andy walked into the kitchen, dropping his school bag as he did so, and kissed James on the cheek. "Steak! Great! I'm starving."
Andy had been living with James for over six months now. After he'd found out that Andy's father had accepted a job at their corporate head office in Switzerland, and that his parents were going to send him to boarding school, he had offered to look after Andy himself. He didn't really expect them to accept, but to his unconcealed delight they did, almost straight away. He found this a bit odd, really, but knew that they didn't want Andy to go to boarding school any more than the boy wanted to go there himself, so perhaps that was it. What he found even more strange was that although they were scrupulous about ensuring that their son's fees were paid at the excellent and expensive private day school he now attended, they otherwise seemed to have distanced themselves from him a bit. Certainly, he spoke to them on the phone every other Sunday, but that was all. No letters, no presents, no extra pocket money or anything. Crikey, yes, pocket money, thought James. It's almost Saturday. I'd better have ten quid in my wallet! He normally used plastic for everything.
"How's the school play coming on?" They were doing The Merchant of Venice, and Andy had a minor role. It was on next week, the last week of term, and they were rehearsing every night now, which was why he was late home.
"OK. 'Portia' is still forgetting 'her' lines, though!" A boy the same age as Andy would be playing her, typical in a private boy's school, and James was glad it wasn't him. It was always a difficult thing to handle in the playground afterwards.
"I'm looking forward to it. I haven't been to a school play for fourteen years."
"That's the hundredth time you've said that."
"Are you counting?"
"Yes! Hurry up with dinner, Jay." Andy took a can of Coke from the fridge, grabbed the Sky magazine and sat down at the dining table.
"Your shoes are muddy. There's mud on your trousers, too."
"I went through the lane on my way home. Rain's made it muddy. Couldn't help it!" His school was almost two miles away, and Andy cycled there every day, taking mostly side roads and alleyways, usually at full tilt.
"Take your shoes off, then!"
Andy kicked them off under the table. James rolled his eyes. "It's a good job there are two clean pairs of trousers in your wardrobe. Keeping up with you is a full-time job." It was. "I'll clean your shoes later."
"Your job is your full-time job. Er. I'm your part-time job."
"I think it's the other way round, actually, my lad." Andy turned round and grinned at him, and James felt a surge of love.
Fifteen minutes later, James put Andy's dinner in front of him. He had cut the steak in two, giving him the largest piece. The boy was always hungry and ate like a horse, but never put on weight. At 5ft 3in, he was certainly growing, and was only three months away from his fourteenth birthday.
"Thanks!" Andy cut a large piece of meat, covered it in mustard, and shoved it into his mouth. "When are we getting our tree?"
Ah yes, Christmas. "Do you want to choose it?"
"Of course!" the boy mumbled, his mouth full.
"We'll go next Friday, after school's broken up for the holidays. I'll take the day off, drive you to school and pick you up at lunchtime, after your last lesson. We'll go straight to the garden centre."
"Good. I know I won't be getting many presents this year, so I want to make the most of the tree."
James spluttered as a piece of steak almost went down the wrong way. Andy had given him a long Christmas list two weeks before, and he was sure that steam was coming out of his credit card. He had hidden the presents in the attic, but didn't know how effective a place this really was.
"Santa only comes to good boys, remember!"
"Oh please. You're not going to dress up, I hope. Red doesn't suit you." They both laughed, and James reached over to ruffle his hair.
They ate more or less in silence, James reading the evening paper and Andy studying the Sky TV listings intently, looking for good films to watch. Suddenly, the boy looked up. "You haven't spanked me in ages."
James had been wondering when this subject would arise. He shook his head. "It's different now, Andy. We live together and I'm your, er, responsible adult. I can't really go on whacking you like before."
"You could spank me if I get in trouble or get a bad grade in school."
"No. Absolutely not. I'm not going to hit you for real. I don't think I could bring myself to do it, anyway."
There was a moment's pause. "Charlie got spanked by his dad last night!"
So that's what made Andy want to talk about it. "Why?"
"He called the English teacher an 'effing bitch'. She sent him to the headmaster who made him take a letter home about it. His dad was furious and whacked him with his own gym shoe, for a good minute Charlie says. He's tall and has size eleven feet! He showed us his bum, it was still all red and a bit bruised. I've had a lot worse, though!" He had, of course, but it wasn't the same thing.
"What did Charlie think about it?"
"He's angry. Says it made him cry and stuff. He doesn't like his dad much."
"I'm not surprised. That's why there's no way I'm going to spank you as a punishment. It's not right."
"What would you have done, if it was me?"
"You wouldn't swear at a teacher."
"No. But what would you do if I did?"
"Stop your pocket money for a week or two, I suppose. Send you to bed early. I don't know. But not hit you, that's for sure."
"Oh." Andy drained his Coke. "Would you do it to me, though? You know, as a game thing? Spank me exactly like Charlie got it? Please?"
James knew this was coming. He frowned. "I'm not sure, Andy."
"I don't have Games any more this term, I'm rehearsing the play instead, so nobody would see any marks."
"Well.... I'll think about it. Now, clear the table and start your homework!"
"It's just revision again. Maths test tomorrow." Maths was one of Andy's favourite subjects and James knew he'd sail through it.
"Never mind, do some anyway."
"OK, Jay, keep your hair on."
James rinsed the plates and loaded the dishwasher. Andy had stayed at the dining table to do his revision and had his books open in front of him, flipping through the pages rather half-heartedly, and James patted his shoulder as he passed and went into the lounge to watch TV.
Forty-five minutes later, he sighed. Poking his head around the dining room door, he saw Andy looking thoroughly bored. The lad didn't notice him. As quietly as he could, James crept upstairs to his bedroom, fetched a big gym shoe from his now largely disused CP cupboard, and silently padded back down the stairs. Here we go, he thought, and with a deep breath strode into the dining room and grabbed Andy by the scruff of the neck.
"Hey!"
"Come with me, you!"
Pushing the boy in front of him, he frog-marched Andy into the lounge, sat down on the edge of the sofa, and unceremoniously pulled him roughly over his lap, shoving him down so that his backside was at a good angle, with his trousers stretched tight across it. Holding the gym shoe firmly in his right hand, he whacked it down, hard, onto the lower half of the boy's bottom.
"OW!"
Without speaking, James spanked him in more or less the same spot, hard and very fast, for over a minute. Around a hundred times the gym shoe landed, making Andy yelp, tears leaking from his eyes by the time it was half way through.
"OWW OWW OWWWW!"
When the spanking was finished, James was a bit out of breath and his shoulder hurt. He put the gym shoe down and took his hand off the boy's back, where it had held him in position. Andy immediately stood, his hands flying to his bottom, and glared red-eyed at him.
"OW! What did you do that for?"
"You asked me to, an hour ago. That was a real punishment spanking, just like Charlie had from his dad."
"Oh. Yes. I didn't like it."
"Different, wasn't it, from other times I've whacked you?"
"Yeah. Nowhere near as painful, but somehow worse." Andy sat down next to James, wincing slightly. "I know why Charlie is so angry, now."
"You're not angry, are you?"
"Of course not. I asked you to do it. I even said 'please', didn't I? I don't know if I want it again, though, not like that anyway."
"Good. I didn't enjoy it much, either."
Andy brightened, and lay down on the sofa with his head on the arm at one end and his feet on James' lap. Dried mud on his trouser leg flaked off onto the cushions. Sally jumped onto the boy's stomach and started kneading with her paws, and Andy giggled and scratched her head. "Must be something good on. Pass me the remote!"