It was kind of amazing that it had taken this long for my dad to actually whack me. He was forever threatening to do it. "You do that again and Ill take a stick to your tail," was a favourite threat. Another was, "Do you want a taste of my buckle strap?" I hadn't a clue what the buckle strap was: he never wore a belt. I'd always quite fancied the idea. We'd read stories in school where kids got the cane or the strap or something, and it seemed like a pretty cool idea. But that was when there was no chance of it actually happening to me personally.
I knew something was in the wind before the meeting. Three times that week he'd brought up the subject - told me stories about when he was my age. He even told me - again - about grandad being sentenced to the birch for stealing a motorbike. Then Stu Hawthorne told me and Stu Lawford what his dad had said. He was all in favour of it. So was Lawford. I wasn't sure.
And then when I saw what happened to those lads in the meeting my mind was made up. This was more than those stories had suggested it was going to be like.
But then, all of a sudden, I had no choice. Dad was like someone I'd never known before. He just took charge. Lawford was assigned to him as well and he kind of drove us home in front of him, saying things like, "Im going to enjoy this, boys." He had a cane like the ones that James and Stuart had been beaten with so Lawford and I both knew what we were in for. I tried to think of a way out of it, but there wasn't one. It was like a nightmare: we were going to have our arses swiped with a _f_u_c_k_ing cane.
We got home and I was thinking, This is it.
But there was a diversion. Dad had left Terry and Ian with strict instructions that they were to be in bed by nine, and here they were at ten-to-ten, still watching the telly, and not changed for bed even.
Dad strode across the living room and snapped the telly off. The twins howled. "We were watching that, dad," whined Ian.
"What time did I say you had to be in bed?" he growled at them.
"Nine o'clock," said Terry.
"So why aren't you there? I trusted you to do what I said, and you've disobeyed me. We've been down the pub with a load of disobedient boys like you. Tell 'em what happened to Stuart Hawthorne tonight, Neil."
"He got the cane on his bare bum," I said.
"And what about Luke Mortimer, Stuart?"
"He got the strap," said Lawford.
"Yes, and with everybody watching, and all. Oh yes, my sons, there's going to be big changes on this estate. What d'you think this is?" He waved the cane in front of them.
"A cane?" said Ian. Their eyes were like saucers, and suddenly they weren't so sure of themselves.
"And in a minute I'm going to use it on Neil's backside. And Stuart's too. That's what he's here for. Every boy who was at the meeting is going to bed tonight with his bum stinging. And I think you two should have a taste of it and all, don't you?"
"But it was a good pro- "
"I don't care if it was a good programme, I told you to be in bed and you didn't do as I said. Get upstairs and change into your pyjamas. Double quick now." They scampered off, two very worried little boys. "And I want you back down here in two minutes," he shouted up the stairs after them, _d_a_m_n_ing any last hopes they might have had.
He turned to us. "You two. Any reason I shouldn't give you both the same?" We shook our heads. "Right. Neil sleeps in his boxer shorts, and I dare say you do too, Stuart. So, you can choose. Nine with your shorts on. But only your shorts mind. Or six on your bare bums. You're welcome to stay the night afterwards, Stuart, but it'll have to be the mattress on the floor. So. What's it to be?"
"Dad," I protested. "Why so much?"
"'cause I'm fed up with your bloody larks, and I won't put up with it no longer. Now get upstairs and strip down to your shorts. You can tell me when the time comes."
We trudged upstairs. In my bedroom we started peeling off our clothes. I still hoped that something would happen to save us. I couldn't really believe that we were going to experience this barbaric punishment. But another part of me, that I was struggling hard to suppress, knew very well that I thoroughly deserved it.
The twins came in. They were in their pyjamas. "Is he really going to give you the cane?" Ian asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Wicked! On your bare bums?"
"Yes," said Lawford, and I knew that that was the right choice, if only because tomorrow we were going to be comparing beatings with the other lads and we would only be up there with the top ones if we took the cane with nothing on. Such things mattered.
"Wicked!" said Terry. "I hope we get to watch."
"Not a chance," I said. "And anyway ,you're getting it too."
We went back downstairs, the twins in front and Stu and I behind. My heart was starting to beat louder now as the punishment approached. I couldn't imagine what it was going to be like - the pain, but also the terrible moment when I had to drop my shorts and bend over.
In the living room dad had placed a chair from the kitchen in the middle and he was holding one of my plimsolls. I was embarrassed by them, but we couldn't afford proper trainers. I was glad that he wasn't going to cane the twins, but a slippering would be good for the little sods. He sat down on the chair.
"Ian, stand over by the fire with Neil and Stuart. Terry, come here to me." We stood back and Terry approached him. Dad took hold of his left wrist and pulled him down over his knees. Terry swung his right hand back, thinking he was going to protect his bum with it, but dad just grabbed the wrist and pulled it up his back, so he was completely helpless. Both twins were wearing their old Bart Simpson pyjamas. Terry's were blue and the material was pulled smooth over his tight little arse.
Dad slippered him hard about a dozen times. He was brave for the first three or four, but by the end he was yelling and his legs were kicking like mad. Dad pulled him upright and he stood there rubbing at his bottom and trying not to cry.
"Over by the fire," dad ordered. "Ian. Here to me."
Ian went to him, but then he made a serious mistake. "It was Terry's fault," he said. "I told him we should go to bed."
"No, you never," shouted Terry and the tears spilled down his face. "Shut up, Terry." said dad. He took hold of Ian's left wrist. "I've put up with a lot from you two. Your constant fighting and arguing, your moaning when I can't give you what you want your swearing and thieving. Yes, I know you've nicked fags out of my pocket - and money too. What I won't put up with is trying to get each other into trouble. If you've done wrong, you put your hand up and take your medicine. I know perfectly well that you're as bad as each other, but now I'm going to show you what'll happen if you grass on someone else when you're due a punishment."
He pulled Ian off balance and he fell forward over dad's knees, and somehow - I never saw how he did it - Ian's pyjama trousers were down, off his bum, round his ankles before the kid knew what was happening. His bare bottom was like two apples, and the plimsoll came slapping down, as hard as hell and the poor little kid howled. Dad went on slippering him for a good minute. He roared and kicked and tried to escape but dad had him well under control and every slap found the target. Of course, it was landing on the same skin over and over. It only took about three whacks to turn the white of his skin dark red and after that he went every colour imaginable.
Dad stopped hitting him, but didn't let him up straight away. "There. Are you going to trying sneaking on your brother again?"
"No," said Ian, but I could hear that he was still defiant.
"Good. Now say you're sorry to him." I couldn't believe it: the kid had just had a monumental whacking, his arse was black and blue, and he still wasn't giving in. "Go on. Say you're sorry," dad said.
"He can suck my _c_o_c_k_," said Ian. He struggled to throw himself off dad's lap, but dad was too quick for him.
"Oh, I can see I'm going to have fun with you. Neil, pass me that cane." That did the trick.
"No, please. I'm sorry. Don't cane me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Too late, my son." I handed dad the cane and he adjusted it so he was holding it about half way down. He raised it over his shoulder and brought it down so fast it disappeared. It cracked across Ian's bottom and he screamed. Twice more dad hit him, leaving spectacular lines of fire across the already bruised flesh of his bottom. "Now, are you going to say sorry?"
"Yes, yes. Sorry Terry. I won't do it again."
"That's better." Dad hauled him upright and he stood clutching at his wounded rear end, oblivious of his nakedness. "Now get over there with Terry."
And then, finally, it was our turn. Now, I just wanted to get it over with. I had no strength left to fight it. I was going to have my arse swiped; I was no different from any other boy on the estate, and I wanted it finished.
"Which of you's going first?" dad asked, standing up and moving the chair till it's back was against the dining table.
"Hang on," I said. "Are these two going to watch?"
"Why not?" said dad. "You watched them getting it."
"Yes," said Terry. "You watched us."
"Shut up, Terry," dad and I said simultaneously.
"Yes," said dad. "They are going to watch. They can see what's in store for them if they don't mend their ways. Now, who's first?"
Stu and I both volunteered, so dad fished a coin out of his pocket and spun it. Stu won and said he would go first. I was forced to stand back and watch, my guts churning.
"Are you going to take your pants off?" dad asked.
"Yes," said Stu.
"Good boy. Take 'em right off then and put 'em on the chair. Then I want you astride of the chair and your top half lying down flat on the table."
Stu took hold of the waistband of his shorts and pushed them down over his bum, let them fall to the floor and stepped out of them. He stooped to pick them up and put them on the chair. I'd only seen him naked a couple of times when we were changing at the swimming pool or something, but he was a strong lad, well-built and solid. A few inches shorter than me, though. He stepped up to the chair and stood astride it. I was horrified to see what this was going to do to us. His bollocks were dangling free between his thighs and when he lay down across the table like dad told him, all his tackle was on full view.
"That's how our old headmaster had us bent over for the cane," dad said and he laid the end of the cane across Stu's arse, just stroking it up and down so he could feel it. I couldn't really picture dad, stripped off and bending over like this, but then I couldn't imagine him at all younger than he was now. "Neil. Get round the other side, ready to hold him down." I did as I was told. From this angle I was going to get the best view of the proceedings. I lay my hands on his shoulders and could feel him trembling. "No. Don't touch him yet. Now, Stuart, if you can hold still for 'em, six is all you'll be getting. If Neil has to hold you down I'll start your six all over again from the beginning. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mr Roper," he said, and you could tell that he was trying to be brave. I thought he was doing a _f_u_c_k_ing good job considering he was bollock-naked and the cane was stroking his arse. He took a good grip on the edge of the table, determined not to get any more than he had to.
"D'you understand, Neil, 'cause it'll be the same for you in a minute?"
"Yes, dad," I said, wishing that he'd just get on with it.
Dad kind of braced himself, like I'd seen golfers do when they're about to drive off. Then he swung the cane back right behind his head, held it a second, then whipped it down - smack! - across Stu's bum. It kind of sang in the air, then cracked really loud. I saw Terry and Ian flinch, and then Stu gave a yell. His head came up and his chest lifted off the table, but he never got up. The second was the same, only he didn't really yell out loud, just sort of gasped in the back of his throat. The twins couldn't take their eyes off his backside and I could just see that the cane was doing some serious damage to his skin. The next two were much the same, really powerful and getting to him, because he pulled on the table and nearly pulled it over, but he never tried to stand up.
"How is it?" dad asked him.
"All right," said Stu, but his teeth were clamped together and he could hardly get the words out.
"Two to go," said dad, and wound himself up again. He really threw himself into it with the full weight of his upper body behind it. Now Stu really did yell, and then when he'd got his head back down again, ready for the last, I could hear him sort of swearing or gurgling in the back of his throat. He was really suffering. The last one was the worst. Father put everything into it and Stu let rip with one of the loudest yells I'd ever heard. His hands were kind of clamped on the table and it almost seemed as though he couldnt let go. His knuckles were white, which made up for his arse, which was all the colours of the rainbow when dad told him he could get up.
His face was twisted and he was breathing hard through his teeth. Both hands were clutching at his bum and he was hopping round the room with his prick flopping up and down. I would have thought he looked funny, except that it wasn't even remotely comical. Even Terry and Ian were looking scared, as if they were going to get some presently.
"Change places," dad ordered us. I came round the table and started to peel down my shorts. Stu was still hopping about rubbing himself. He started to go round to the far side, still hopelessly clutching himself. "Hang on," said dad. "Don't you want to put your shorts back on?"
"Can I leave 'em for a minute?" Stu asked.
"Sure, if you want. Down over the table, Neil."
I stepped out of my shorts and stepped up to the table, feeling more naked than I ever had in my life. I straddled the chair, and sure enough the feeling of my tackle dangling free made the whole thing ten times worse. But there was nothing else for it, so I lay down over the table and gripped the edge like Stu had done. It really felt as if my bollocks were right in the firing line and that any minute now that vicious cane was going to come smashing right into my wedding tackle. My chin was hooked over the edge of the table and then I realised that with Stu standing where dad wanted him his dick was about three inches from my face. I closed my eyes.
I felt the cane touching me and then it went away. I held my breath. I didn't hear that first stroke singing through the air, but I felt it hit me and then the most unspeakable agony flooded across my flesh like a line of acid. I've no idea whether I yelled or not. The second landed what felt like less than an inch lower, and the pain doubled, but I was under control and expecting it now so I kept silent. The third doubled the pain again. I gritted my teeth and just lay there waiting. There was no way I was going to let myself in for any extra. The fourth came right down low and the pain was simply indescribable. I'm pretty sure I yelled and my torso reared up like Stu's had done. I couldn't help it. But then I forced myself to lie down again. The last two were the worst things I had ever felt. It was like the whole of my bum was going up in flames.
Before, when dad was slippering Ian's bare bum, I'd wondered briefly how he could bear to hurt his sons like this. Now that it was my turn and the cane was lashing into my poor backside, I knew the answer. He must hate doing it, but forced himself because he knew it was the only way to stop me ruining my life. He was doing it for us. All the dads were. They cared enough about us to undertake this terrible course. I lay there, the six horrible lines of fire eating deep into the muscles of my bottom, and the thought that it was only because he loved me that he had done this, brought tears to my eyes.