(Usual disclaimers apply)
The ref blew his whistle to stop the game. He glared at me and I trudged off to the sideline. I was 12 years old, small for my age, but I'd high-tackled an opposing player. While my arms were still locked around his neck, I realised that what I'd done was dangerous play. I deserved to be sent off.
Coach Danny Williams was waiting.
"You idiot! You could have crippled him for life. As it is, you've lost us the game".
The normally placid senior rugby player was very angry with me, and rightly so.
From the field the whistle sounded again. Their star player had kicked the penalty. Another whistle signalled the end of the game. They had won, by two points.
Feelings were running high.
"What are you going to do about HIM, Danny"? Queried our full-back. No prize for guessing who he was talking about.
"I'll think of something". The coach scratched his muscular buttocks. "There is a world of difference between a player being enthusiastic and down-right dangerous. Joe needs to be taught a lesson".
There was a chorus of agreement.
"Off you go, boys. Don't forget the next practice is after school on Wednesday".
A few hours later, I was sitting at the kitchen table trying to make sense of 'Life in Ancient Rome', the Form Two history homework. My parents were going out so when the door bell pealed, I went to let in my sitter.
'Expect it'll be dozy Doreen from next door', I thought as I ran down the hallway. Doreen was 50 if she was a day and always smelled of peppermints.
I flung open the door and Danny was standing there.
"Hello, Joe". The big, burly man looked down at me, smiling. "Auntie Doreen's come down with a cold so you'll have to put up with me, instead".
Danny came inside and I closed the door behind him. My parents were dreseed and ready to leave.
"Don't forget, Danny", my father said, "If Joe causes you any trouble, give him a good hiding".
Why did grown-ups always say that? Doreen used to blush at Dad's little speech, but Danny, the man-mountain, looked thoughtful.
Soon there were just the two of us, in the kitchen. I packed my history book away in my new school satchel. Danny sat down on a hard-backed chair beside the coal range.
"Do you get many hidings from your Dad"? he asked, as though we were discussing the weather.
"Enough", I replied. Truthfully, I was a spoiled brat who had goaded my father a couple of times into administering a few half-hearted smacks to my clothed backside.
Danny seemed to be reading my thoughts.
"Well, I've decided your punishment for the high tackle and losing us the match". His blue eyes looked straight at me. "Suspended for one week".
Suspended! But that would mean missing an away game in a country town. I'd really been looking forward to staying overnight with all my mates.
"Please, Danny," I begged. "I won't do it again".
There was a long silence.
"My old coach would have given you a sore arse and that would have been the end of it".
I gulped at the implication but found myself saying: "I wish he'd been my coach, Danny".
The man looked at me. "A hiding would be a flea-bite compared to the pain of a broken neck but it'd still hurt like hell".
"Yes, Danny".
"Is that what you want? A sore arse and no suspension?"
"Yes, Danny". My voice was little more than a whisper.
The man stood up and unlooped his thick, leather belt.
"Get your shorts off, Joe. And your undies".
I did as I was told. Danny sat down again and held the doubled-over belt in his right hand. My stomach felt like ice.
"Over my knee" he said.
I positioned myself as he had requested and felt his other leg touching the back of mine to hold me in place. Despite my apprehension, I liked being held securely. The fabric of Danny's trousers felt soft and I could feel his warm, muscular thighs.
"Yell if you want" Danny said, equably, as he got to work with his belt.
The few slaps I'd received from my father had not prepared me for a belting, inflicted by a fit young man. I squirmed but he just held me still with his other hand. He leathered my backside hard. I yelled all right - even hit a few high treble notes which would have delighted the college choirmaster.
My poor old bum felt like it was swelling up but Danny showed no signs of stopping. Despite the pain I knew that I deserved every hard lick. My buttocks were tightly clenched against the onslaught but then I relaxed and even pushed my flaming cheeks back up, ready for the next.
Danny must have seen the signs of submission because after a flurry of hard licks which all but knocked the breath out of me, the hiding came to an end.
"Up you get", he said matter-of-factly. I clambered down off his knee and got dressed again.
Danny stood and relooped his belt.
"You OK?"
"Yes, Danny".
He reached out a hand and tousled my hair.
"You're a tough little rooster", he said, affectionately.
I was glad the hiding was over but part of me hoped that wouldn't be the only time my big friend Danny Williams would have to stripe my tail...