CASTIGATION ON THE COSTA DO SOL
Some of the conversations reported below were conducted by me speaking Spanish and the Portuguese speaking (believe it or not) Portuguese. For the convenience of readers unfamiliar with Iberian languages they have been rendered into English and the hesitations, repetitions and grammatical errors (all mine) have been edited out. If you know Spanish, then reading Portuguese does not present too much of a problem, but unfortunately it is pronounced rather differently from the way it is written. This means that however well you speak Spanish (even if you are Spanish) it can be difficult to understand spoken Portuguese. The Portuguese can understand spoken Spanish a lot better than the Spanish can understand spoken Portuguese, but for nationalistic reasons they pretend not to understand Spanish, except when they want to sell you something. Since we are in Portugal you will all realise that the title is not a mis-spelling of "Costa del Sol".
My first and only holiday in Portugal was a few months after the Carnation Revolution. The relief of the population at having the yoke of fascism lifted after fifty years was tangible and unfortunately this spilled over into a spate of youthful indiscipline.
I was taking a walk along the Estoril esplanade one evening when I was approached by two youths of about fifteen or sixteen. They supposedly wanted to practice their English and I was quite happy to chat to them. We had been talking for a few minutes as I continued my promenade and I did not think anything of one of the boys holding back to light a cigarette. Distracted by the other youth with a phrase book, I was suddenly brought down from behind by the other. It was all over in a few seconds and before I knew what had happened I had been relieved of my wallet. Fortunately it only had a few escudos in it and in those days (like most people) I did not have any credit cards. The theft was therefore more annoying than anything. However, once I had stood up and realised what happened I felt rather shaky and had to take a restorative brandy at a bar.
Determined to enjoy the rest of my holiday I tried to put the incident behind me. After a few days I had almost forgotten about it, although I did not venture along the esplanade at night. One afternoon as I was going into Cascais station I spotted one of the boys making for the exit. He did not see me. I postponed my trip to Lisbon and decided to follow him. This was not too difficult as in the high season the streets were crowded and of course the youth did not have any reason to suppose that he was being followed. After about five minutes we came to a narrow street and he went into a small house. I had a longish wait and about two hours later he came out and shouted, "Goodbye mum," from which I concluded that this was where he lived. I made a note of the number of the house and walked quietly down the street and wrote down its name.
The next day I breakfasted early and waited a few yards away from his house. He came out at about nine oclock and I followed him down the street until we reached a bend where we could not be seen by anyone from either end of the street. I walked swiftly behind him and took a firm hold of his elbow.
"You are coming with me," I said. This time I had the element of surprise and I was rather larger than him. "I know where you live and if you do not do as I say I shall drag you back to your house and then call the police." He obeyed meekly. Although I could feel that he was frightened, I felt sure that he would be more afraid of the police (if not his mother).
I guided him to a small pinewood near the Boca do Inferno. Once we were away from prying eyes I said to him, "This is the deal. You take a beating from me and tell me the name and address of you friend, or I shall take you direct to the police. Look," I said showing him my passport, which had your profession on it in those days, "I am a lawyer; the police will believe me."
Well he cried about how he would bring shame on his widowed mother, how he could not betray a friend, but how it was all this friends fault when he had led him astray. I was unmoved. In the end he wrote a name and address on a piece of paper.
I took off my leather belt (I had especially put on the thickest and widest one I had packed) and held the buckle end in my hand. I took hold of the boy (he seemed a naughty boy now) and pushed him into a kneeling position in front of a fallen tree. I told him to take down his jeans and get over the log, which he did, somewhat reluctantly. He was wearing a pair of underpants that had seen better days; the cotton had worn thin and a few holes had appeared in the seat, giving a tantalising glimpse of what, if the rest of his smooth olive skinned body was anything to go by, would be a rather nice bum.
As I started to pull the pants down he tried to stop me pleading, "No, that is too shameful, I cannot show my arse to a stranger." (I momentarily wondered how willing he was to show it to a friend.)
I replied, "Fine. Lets go to the police."
He pleaded for a few minutes and when he realised that I was not going to give way he said "All right. Do it."
He leant back over the log and I pulled the pants down slowly revealing, as I had anticipated, a fine well-rounded bottom that was just made for punishment. As the boy was, after all, a criminal I decided to punish him like one. Leaving the belt at its full length I brought it back over my shoulder and lashed it down with all my force onto the delightful target. Now my father often had me and my brother naked over his knee or the sofa and laid into us with his belt, but I never heard a crack as loud as that which resounded as the leather met the bare flesh. The boy yelled, arched his back and tried to get up, but I gently pushed him back down. "You are not going anywhere yet," I said and brought the belt down again. After four strokes the boy was obviously going to have difficulty staying down and so I knelt on the ground, took hold of his arms and pinned them behind his back, just below the shoulder blades, and held him firmly down, just as my father did to me when he belted me over the back of the sofa. I continued thrashing the boy, but was finding it a little difficult to wield the whole length of the belt now that I was so close. I therefore reluctantly folded the belt in half and continued with the beating. After about ten strokes I gave his bum a rest and applied the belt to his upper thighs until I was satisfied that they were properly covered. I returned to the bottom, paying particular attention to each dimpled flank. As you can imagine, by this time his buttocks were well and truly punished and were marked accordingly. I felt that I was near to revenging myself and so rounded off the proceedings by standing up again and giving him another six with the full length of the belt. He did not attempt to move.
I told the boy to get up and he did so. Before pulling up his clothes he waddled awkwardly up to a tree and urinated. He was sobbing quietly. I went up to him and put my arm round his shoulder. I said him, "This finishes matters between us, except that if this is not the correct name and address of your friend I shall be back to give you his beating. Dont worry, I shall not tell your friend that you gave me his address. You can keep the money you stole, but I would like my wallet back, if you have it, as it was a present from my mother. Please dont steal again."
As the boy eased his threadbare pants up he said, "I will return your wallet and half the money. I am not a boy-whore and I will not take money for doing a shameful thing with a man."
When I returned to the hotel later that evening my wallet, with half the money, had been handed in at the reception.
I decided to relax the next day and explored the streets of Lisbon, buying a ticket for the opera.
In the evening I ran into some friends who were touring Portugal in an old van. After a pleasant meal I took them back to my hotel for coffee. As we sat in the lounge I asked them if they would be prepared to assist with a small project. I outlined my plan and they readily agreed to help if they could join in the fun. We agreed to meet again in two days time.
The next day I went to the second boys address and did not have to wait long before his appearance confirmed that I had been given correct information. I followed him and discovered that he worked in a café on the seafront. I went for a long walk returning to sit in another café some distance away. He came off duty and went back the way he had come. I walked slowly past the café, noting the opening hours.
The next day my friends and I sauntered up to the café just before it was due to close. We could see the youth inside clearing up for the day. As he came out I walked up to him and said, "Hello, my friend. Do not try to run away as these two gentlemen are with me and one of his us is bound to catch you. Even if you escape I know where you work and live," and I gave him his address. "I want to take you off and punish you for robbing me the other day. You will be beaten like a schoolboy, but nothing else will happen to you. If you do not agree to come I shall shout "thief" and you will be found with my wallet in your pocket. Thats right, I just slipped it in there."
The boy showed no fear and said, "I will go with you. I have been to the boys prison and I do not wish to go again."
The four of us walked off to the van. We drove into the countryside until we came to an abandoned inn. No doors were locked and we all walked in. I lit an old lamp which still had some oil in it. My two friends pushed the tables to the side and one of them positioned a bench in the middle of the room.
"You will take all your clothes off," I said to the boy.
He obeyed without protest. The absence of clothes revealed a slim, wiry figure. He did not attempt to hide his genitals, but stood with his arms folded. He was considerably whiter than the other boy.
"I trust you have no objection to my taking back the money you stole from me," I said, going through the boys trouser pockets and extracting a few crumpled notes. "Not quite what you took, but it will do."
One of my friends handed me an improvised instrument made up of three long thin whippy switches he had cut and tied together at one end. The boy looked disdainfully at the rods and enquired, "Is this what you punish English schoolboys with?"
I instructed him to lie full length along the bench. He took up the requested position. My friends went to hold him down, one at each end. He indignantly announced, " I do not need to be held down like a snivelling English schoolboy." I shrugged my shoulders and my friends stood back. I swished the rods down on his taut bottom and almost immediately three thin red lines appeared. The boy jumped up off the bench and his hands went straight to his backside. I nodded to my friends and one grabbed his wrists and the other his ankles as they forced him back down on the bench and held him there. I raised the switches and brought them down again. The boy, who was held fast by my two strong friends, could only react by moving his middle up and down and from side to side in a very restricted way. He also yelled.
I whipped him twice more and he cried, "Please do not beat me any more."
I replied that English schoolboys were used to at least twelve strokes and I planned to give him a few more than that, as he was a macho Portuguese. I continued with the stripes, giving him three more, accompanied by whining from the boy.
The boy pleaded for the whipping to stop.
"I shall stop if you admit that you are a thief and that you cannot take a thrashing like an English schoolboy."
"You know I am a thief, but I can take what an English schoolboy can."
I continued with the beating and after three more strokes the boy cried, " All right I cannot take a beating like an English boy. Please stop."
I carried on.
"Are you worse than a snivelling English schoolboy?" I said as I slashed the switches down again.
"Yes, yes. Please. You said you would stop," he cried desperately.
"I lied," I said. "Besides, my friends want a go and then I shall finish off.
"Please, I cant take any more."
"They will only give you three each," I said ignoring the pleas.
I swapped places with the friend who was holding the arms and he gave the lad three tremendous whacks. I am not quite as strong as my friend and so the boy moved rather more than before and continued to plead for us to stop.
My friends swapped places and the second got in his two pennyworth. It was a pleasure to watch at close quarters, the bare bum tensing and relaxing, and the naked body twisting and writhing as the switch licked his tender flesh.
I then took charge again and announced to the boy that I had finished using the switches. The boy sagged with relief. This was short lived when I told him that I would be bedding in the switch weals with a few strokes of my belt.
"No! No! Please! No more! I am in pain!"
"Thats the idea," I said. "It wont be long now."
I removed my belt. I examined the boys bum. The tight cheeks were a mass of red weals and there was the merest trace of blood. I relented and decided that he had had enough.
"O. K. Its all over. Stay there while we cool your arse down. Whos got the witch-hazel? Bags I first."