I sit here at my little desk, petrified with fear. I hear the heavy steps lumbering up the stairs. I grip my pencil trying to write but my hand just trembles. I have no control. I have trouble just controlling my bladder. I wouldnt be the first time that I wet my shorts when awaiting one of my uncles beatings.
The steps grow closer, then stop just in front of my door. I cant breathe, the pencil drops from my icy fingers. There is silence. Why doesnt he come in? I hate sitting there waiting for Uncle Christian and his cane. How bad will it be this time? Will he consider the stripes that still decorate my backside?
At last, after what seemed hours, the door slowly opens. I look up and see the looming figure of my uncle, standing in the opening, cane in hand, looking at me. I stare back, paralised.
Stand up, Alfred, when I enter your room, Uncle Christians voice booms into the silence. I shake off my inertia and jump to my feet. Yes, sir. Im sorry, Uncle Christian, I gasp. One hand is already protectively cupped around my right buttock.
You may sit down. Uncle Christian approaches me from the back and soon I feel his large, heavy hand as he rests it on the back of my neck. Lets see what you have accomplished.
He needs to read only a few lines and his hand moves from my neck to my ear. Gripping it firmly, he hauls me back to my feet. How dare you present me with such nonsense! he shouts at me, his face, red and fleshy, very close to mine. I can smell tobacco and wine on his breath.
Im sorry, Uncle, I whimper, trying vainly to alleviate the pull and twist on my ear. I couldnt think right this morning.
Uncle Christian snorts and twists my ear a bit more. I squeak. You never can think straight, boy, can you? he mocks. Thats why each lesson has to be well whipped into that behind of yours. It seems that this is the only way I can make you think. Take your shorts down and bend over the desk.
But, Uncle, I whine again, please dont cane me again. Im still so sore.
Well, lets have a look at that sore bottom, he replies.
Reluctantly I unbutton and push my shorts down to my ankles, then bend over my desk. The desk is low and I feel my bottom raised towards the ceiling. Uncle Christian fingers the weals all across the lower half of my bottom.
No problem, he says. A sound caning across these little stripes will do you good. A bit more painful, perhaps, but thats only for the better. Maybe it will make you think twice as hard if I thrash you twice as hard, eh? I see out of the corner of my eyes that he raises his arm high up and back. This is going to painful. I close my eyes. My bottom twitches in anticipation. My fingers grip the far edge of my desk and I hold my breath. The first stroke is about to sear into the flesh of my exposed bottom.
Christian! a voice calls from downstairs.
Im in Alfreds room, Uncle calls back, tapping my bottom with the cane tip.
Its me, Rosas voice came. Betty and Raymond Parsons are here. Are you busy?
Yes, but come on up. This shouldnt take too long, Uncle Christian says as he lashes the cane viciously across my thighs. I screech with the burning pain which soon engulfs me fully. Another stroke a bit higher follows after the requisite pause allowing the pain to sink in.
There is a knock on the door.
Oh, Uncle, I plead, please dont let them see me. Ill take more strokes, but please dont let them in.
Come on in, Uncle Christian says, disregarding my entreaty completely.
I hear the visitors enter and stop at the doorway. Oh, Im sorry. I didnt realise.... the womans voice trails off.
Its all right, Harriet. The boy doesnt mind, do you, Alfred? The cane taps my bottom.
Er- I – n-no, Uncle, I mutter, I d-dont mind.
How many has he had? Rosa asks and I can sense her eyes on my bottom.
Were only just starting, Uncle Christian says. Hes only had a couple before you came, so we can safely start from the beginning. Actually, I havent made up my mind yet as to how many to give him today. Those stripes you see on his skin are still residues from a previous caning. Probably yesterdays, although I dont really remember.
Rosa was telling me about that naughty little nephew of yours, Betty says. I look around and see her smiling at me. She was explaining your methods of disciplining the boy and when Penny and Wilma heard it, they asked if they could watch. We really scolded the girls for such vulgarity but Im actually also interested. Its Wilmas birthday tomorrow and - dont laugh - she wants this as a present: watching a boy getting spanked, as she calls it.
I feel my face, already red from keeping it down so long, then burning brighter when the visitors paraded into my room and me with my bare bottom sticking out! And now this. I dont think my face and ears can blush any deeper, but is cant help crying with shame.
Rosa laughs. Sorry, but I cant help it. Watching a small boy being punished, a birthday present! What a marvelous idea. Only a 14-year-old girl, to be 15 tomorrow, could think that up. What do you think, Christian? Shall we postpone the childs whipping and use Alfred as Wilmas present?
Uncle is still tapping the fiery lines across my bottom with the cane. Humiliation is part of a boys discipline, he finally replies. Maybe its a good idea to have both girls present. Perhaps itll have a longer-lasting effect on this stubborn child. Very well, then. What time is the party?
Tomorrow afternoon at around 2:00. Guests will be wearing their party dresses. No boys allowed, yours will be the exception this time. Well have party hats for all.
Well be there, Rosa says. Christian, myself, Alfred and the cane. General laughter while I squirm.
All right, Alfred, Uncle says. You have a brief reprieve. Well delay your little thrashing until tomorrow afternoon. Youll be the main attraction at a young girls birthday party. Youre going to be in the spot light. Now get up and pull your shorts up. I think the kitchen needs to be cleaned and tidied up. Better get to it, boy. Rosa will inspect it closely to make sure you dont do your usual sloppy work.
I rise and dress, then slip quickly out of the room, past the grinning visitors. Still sweating with the embarrassment, I get to work in the kitchen.
I am standing naked in my room with Aunt Rosa handing me the clothes I am to wear for the party. I had tried to argue further about my role in the proceedings, but only got a couple of swipes across my thighs with the tawse for my efforts. Aunt Rosa hands me a white shirt and I quickly put it on. It has a high collar, long sleeves and a pocket on each side of my chest. Next, a pair of white knee socks which she tells me to keep neatly pulled up at all times. Then she hands me a pair of light blue shorts. They are made of thin cotton velveteen which make me look ridiculous. I thought that they had been discarded when I had outgrown them last year, but now here they are again.
But Aunt Rosa - I start but a sharp slap across my face changes my mind.
Are you still arguing, Alfred? Do you want me to ask your uncle to have a little talk with you? Now put these on.
I put them on. They fit very snug and I can close the waist quite easily. I have grown taller, but not much wider around the hips. The shorts have braces of the same material but reinforced with a canvas lining. They are stitched to the centre of the waistband in the back, then cross over my shoulders and fasten to large button on the front on each side. Aunt Rosa helps and passed my the ends. I try to button them in front, but they dont quite reach. Aunt Rosa hauls the shorts up sharply and I pull in front until I manage to get the buttons into the button holes. I feel the seam cutting into my bottom cleft.
Here, let me tie your tie, Aunt Rosa says, sits on my bed and pulls me between her legs. When she is finished, she pushes me away a bit and inspects me.
You look very nice, she says. Turn around.
She is silent for a moment as I stand there presenting my back to her.
Good. I think youre ready. Your cap and shoes are downstairs. You will put them on before going out. Now run along. We leave in 5 minutes.
I was getting more and more nervous as the trip proceeded. I tugged at my shorts again and again until Aunt Rosa slapped my thigh so hard I squealed with the sharp sting. A red imprint of her palm was clearly visible just below the shorts.
When we arrived, the party had already started. There were balloons and the usual birthday decorations with streamer from ceiling to the centre of a large table holding settings for about 10 or 12 people.
Rosa, I would like to introduce the birthday girl, Wilma Parsons, who is now a full 15-year-old young lady, her mother Betty says. Wilma, this is Christian and Rosa Wilkins.
Wilma, a tall, slender girl with large brown eyes, greets my aunt and uncle but her eyes quickly dart towards me. And who is this? she asks with a mischievous grin.
Oh, yes, this is Alfred. Your birthday present, Aunt Rosa says. They all look at me and I feel the blush coming on. Shake hands with Wilma, Alfred. Where are your manners? Maybe your uncle will have to add a bit to Wilmas present to remind you to be polite with your hosts.
My cheeks burn as I extend my hand.
And here comes Penny, Betty Parsons points. They turn around and introduce themselves to Penelope Parsons. Also a tall girl, she resembles her younger sister except for her maturity. She seems older than her 17 years. She shakes hands with my uncle and aunt.
I see this boy already has a few purple lines across his thighs, she says, pointing at the back of my legs. I thought he was going to be punished here, later today. She sounds disappointed.
Dont worry, Penny, her mother laughs. These marks are from yesterday. He just got a few before we made our little arrangement. Hell be properly punished here.
Raymond Parsons had now joined the group and they all moved into the sitting room. The two daughters returned to the party room and the friends that had already arrived.
Christian, Raymond Parsons says, I think you know Max and Harriet Dorset, he says.
Of course, Uncle Christian says. And how are Brian and and Charles? Behaving themselves?
Oh, we keep them under control, Max says easily.