I suppose I ought to explain why I am writing this. Some might say that I have gone round the bend. Obviously, as will become clear, I do not want this to be read by anyone who may be able to identify me. Indeed, I cannot imagine wanting anyone to read it until I have been dead for some years. And yet I have this great compulsion to set everything down in black and white. I am not sure that I understand that compulsion myself. Perhaps it will become clearer as I persevere with this diary.
Who and what am I? Well, in one sense those questions can be easily answered. I am, at least outwardly, a perfectly normal man of 22. My father is a doctor, a GP in a comfortable country practice. My mother is a housewife who devotes her spare time to good works. I was educated at a minor public school. I did reasonably well at my studies and got into a good red brick university. I graduated this summer, with a tolerably good 2.1 in history. I have just started my career as a master in another minor public school. I have been "going steady" for a couple of years with a girl who was in my year at university. By good fortune rather than management she now lives and works in the town where the school is. So I continue to see her regularly.
I am a tolerably good sportsman. I played competently in my school's first XI at cricket and first XV at rugby. I continued cricket at university, but usually only played for the second XII. I could not claim to be a genius, but I do enjoy my subject (history) and I read a great deal. This is going to be a very frank account of my life and there is no place in it for false modesty. I am aware that I am quite good looking. I am 6' tall, of slim and athletic build. My hair and eyes are dark. I have been fortunate in never having had much difficulty in attracting girls. I lost my virginity at the age of 16, admittedly in a rather clumsy fashion, but I then took to the activity like a duck to water.
So far so normal. But there is one thing about me which no one knows and which could hardly be said to be normal. I can reveal it by explaining why I chose to go into teaching. I must confess that I have no burning ambition to improve the minds of the next generation. I am not saying that I do not recognise the value of good teaching and I certainly strive to teach as well as I can. It is just that, were it not for my secret, I have no doubt that I would have chosen a much better paid career. No, the truth is that I chose teaching for the simple reason that I wanted to be able to inflict corporal punishment on schoolboys.
There. I have said it. Are you shocked? You have every right to be. But read on and you may get close to understanding. In fact, I think that must be why I am writing this. I want to "confess and avoid" as I believe the lawyers say. I want you to understand that I will never allow my enjoyment of corporal punishment to lead to any boy being unjustly treated.
But, before I go further, I ought to attempt an explanation of exactly what my interest is and of how it came about. I suppose I have been aware of having an unusual interest in "whacking" since an early age, certainly long before puberty. I dont think it was due to the way I was brought up. Indeed, there was nothing strange about my upbringing at all. True, I was occasionally spanked by my parents, but certainly no more than other boys were and with no great vigour. But I do remember, even at my pre-prep school, being fascinated by stories of my friends' spankings. When I got to prep school there was plenty of scope for me to indulge my interest. Almost all misbehaviour was routinely dealt with by a slipper or gym shoe right from the beginning. What is more, most beatings were administered summarily in front of other boys. I never failed to be excited, although not in any obviously _s_e_x_ual way, by seeing my friends bending over for a whacking. Even if I was to be a recipient as well, I enjoyed watching those who went before me. The best were dormitory whackings from the ages of 8 to 11. We always had to pull our pyjama trousers down for those and I certainly got a particular thrill from seeing all those white bottoms turning red.
I must have been about 12 (I know I was still at prep school) when it began to dawn on me that whackings aroused me _s_e_x_ually. Fortunately, by then, I was never required to strip for a beating and so my state of arousal, if waiting in a line of boys to be beaten, was not apparent to others. Of course, I was worried by this development but, as time passed, I gradually got used to it and learned to accept it. There was certainly nothing I could do about it. I suppose I was also consoled by the fact that I was also aroused by attractive girls and by the fact that I was, and still am, totally repelled by the idea of any _s_e_x_ual activity with another boy.
When I moved on to public school I discovered the delights of the cane. I have just re-read that sentence and it looks ludicrous. I must make it clear that I never enjoyed being caned. When it happened to me, as it did a fair amount, it was a genuine punishment. I concede that I got some pleasure afterwards, once the pain had worn off, but I always did my best to avoid being beaten in the first place. No, what I really liked was other boys being caned. Sadly, public school beatings were generally not given in front of other boys, unless they too were waiting for the cane. But one could hang around outside ones housemaster's study and hear the swish of the cane from inside and there was also the show afterwards, when the miscreant would show his stripes to his friends. Also, by the time I was sixteen (the last time I was caned) I must have been beaten with friends on at least six or seven occasions. So I was able to witness some canings.
Although I enjoyed university, I greatly missed the delights of corporal punishment. I surreptitiously sought out books which might have schoolboy beating stories. I happened to find myself outside the local grammar school for boys at the end of the school days, desperately hoping to hear boys talking about their punishments as they walked home. As time went by I knew that I had to go into teaching.
I was very careful about the choice of schools to apply to. First, I knew that I wanted to teach boys of public school age. One of the strange things about my perversion is that I dont actually want my victims to suffer unduly. Younger prep school boys, who were not yet used to corporal punishment, were quite likely not to take it as well as older boys. Also, although I would quite enjoy using a slipper or gym shoe, what I really wanted was to use a cane. So I only applied for public schools. I always got their prospectuses and turned immediately to the section on discipline. Some of them proudly boasted that they no longer used corporal punishment. Needless to say, I never applied to them. Some were silent on the subject, but I could usually tell from the tone of the prospectus whether discipline was properly strict. If it was, I would apply. Obviously, I had no hesitation in applying to schools which admitted the use of the cane, unless they specified that only the headmaster could inflict the punishment.
I was offered interviews by four schools. The first was clearly unsuitable. The headmaster, when dealing with discipline, told me that if I had any trouble with boys I could send them to him or to one of the three housemasters to be punished. There was obviously no prospect of a twenty two year old man being appointed a housemaster. So that was out. The second was more promising. The headmaster explained that I would be expected to deal with minor misdemeanours by using a gym shoe. But, sadly, he went on to say that more serious misbehaviour should be reported to him. Still, I did not rule that one out completely. The third was where I struck gold.
The school is fairly small. There are only three hundred boys. They are divided into three houses. Third and fourth formers (thirteen and fourteen year olds) are in the junior house. There are about 120 of them. Fifth and lower sixth formers are in the middle house (again about 120) and upper sixth formers are in the senior house (about 60). The head told me that he was looking for someone who could teach history up to and including fifth form level, who would be prepared to supervise sports for junior boys regularly and who would take a position as one of two house tutors in the junior house.
He emphasised that the position of house tutor was one of great responsibility. Although the housemaster had overall responsibility for running the house, he shared the day to day management with his two house tutors. That meant, said the head, that I would be expected to be in sole charge of the house on every third day. On those days, he went on, I would be expected to handle all disciplinary problems myself, unless I thought them so grave that he, the head, ought to be involved. He then asked me whether I had any objection to using corporal punishment. I, of course, said I did not. He went on to explain that the most frequent punishment in the junior house was caning. I said I could cope with that. As for misbehaviour on the sports field, he said that it should generally be dealt with on the spot with a gym shoe, unless it was so serious that only a caning would do. Again, I said I was happy with that. At the end of the interview he offered me the post. He said I should think about the offer and let him know within a week. I said I would do so.
I did not bother to go to the fourth interview.
I have now been here for about half a term. I seem to be quite popular. The boys like me, I think, because I am young and keen on sport. My colleagues, particularly the housemaster and the other house tutor, like me because I am always prepared to do extra work. I never complain, for instance, if the housemaster or other house tutor asks me to stand in as duty master on one of their duty days.
I have not done a great deal of caning yet because, for half the boys, it is their first term and we are supposed to let them down gently. But I have done some and I hope I am not boasting by saying that I think I am quite good at it. The first was a fourth former of exceptionally striking appearance. I will not give his real name. I will call him Smith. He is just fourteen. He is about 5' tall, slim and very fit. I must admit that I had noticed his long legs and slim bottom on the playing fields and thought that it would be quite fun to cane him. He was sent to me by a prefect for swearing at one of the town boys when out on a walk. There were extenuating circumstances. The town lad had started the trouble and Smith was, I suspect, only trying to stand up for the honour of the school. But swearing at outsiders is clearly wrong. I quite liked doing the telling off first. I sat at my desk and Smith stood in front of it shifting from foot to foot and trying to avoid my eyes. I didnt have a real go at him. I wanted him to leave my study thinking he had been fairly dealt with. This is roughly how the conversation went.
"Smith, I am disappointed in you".
"Yes sir, I'm really sorry."
"I have no doubt you were sorely provoked, but boys in this school are not meant to respond to provocation".
"I know sir, and I really am sorry".
"Now I'm afraid I cannot avoid punishing you."
"Oh sir, I wouldn't expect you to let me off."
"That's a very good attitude young man."
I then slowly rose from my chair and walked deliberately to my corner cupboard. I opened it and removed one of the three excellent canes with which I was issued on my first day. I held it at both ends and bent them towards each other, to demonstrate just how whippy it was. Then I spoke again.
"I am going to be lenient. I propose to give you three strokes. I take it you don't need any tuition in how to bend over for a caning?".
"Oh no sir, I've been swished three times already."
"All right, bend."
He was not wearing a jacket, so there wasn't any problem there. He placed his feet a few inches apart and touched his toes without bending his knees. My heart was beating wildly as I saw his perfect proportions. There is something about a boy's legs, tightly clad in dark school trousers, which I find irresistible. But higher up was even better. His bottom was round, slim and clearly very firm. I took a deep breath and stepped forward to administer justice.
I took my time. I took very careful aim and then slowly pulled the cane back. I counted three (under my breath) and then swung the cane forward with all my might. I heard a sharp intake of breath, but he held firm and steady. I counted three again. Then slowly pulled the cane back and counted another three. Swish, Thwack. The second was another corker. I took the same time over the third and did my best to make it as hard as possible. He still stayed motionless. I waited for a few seconds and then told him he could stand. I just loved the way he rubbed his bottom. His eyes were only slightly moist and he blinked a couple of times to clear his vision.
"OK Smith, the matter is closed. Let us just hope that the town boy was given rather more than three".
Smith smiled at that, turned and left.
Later in the evening, when I went up to supervise the boys as they got ready for bed, I was able to stand just outside Smith's dormitory and see him proudly showing off his stripes. What a sight! I even heard a snippet of conversation.
Smith: "I can tell you lads, he is incredibly fair, but he's also a bloody good swisher when he has to do it."
Another boy: "Well I am not surprised. He is bloody good at everything."
I thought I had better cough and walk in before my head turned at all this praise. Smith hurriedly pulled up his pyjama trousers and blushed a bit.
"Smith been showing off his war wounds has he? I remember that as being the only good thing about getting the cane myself."
I could tell they adored me. My first caning had gone better than I could have dreamed.
I am going to take a break now, but I shall return soon and try to explain the delight I got in caning one of the third formers who had never been caned before.