Bush Treatment by Tim Anders (Revised)
Copyright Tim Anders © 1998, 2001
This story is based on happenings about May 1991, a few months after "Woop-Woop".
Teenage has its traumas and confusions for all young people, maybe more for those who are gay (or think they may be). As I was beginning to grasp the implications of my own _s_e_x_uality and my longing for that 'firm hand' from a close mate, now that Dad was no longer around, I was confused and full of guilt feelings. Even if I wasn't able to articulate it, I think I always knew I was gay. Only boys featured in my wild dreams, especially when I was wanking, and often those dreams had some kind of spanking 'theme'.
That in itself never really worried me, I mean I never wanted to be anything else, but I was worried about what my mates and family, especially Mum, would say if they found out. I never worried about Dad, strangely enough. Somehow I sensed he'd understand because I'd always looked up to him as a good mate, almost a big brother, when he was around. All the more reason to be bewildered and angry now, because he wasn't.
Dave had filled that big brother role, including some spanking discipline, with the added bonus of a new kind of gentle, yet passionate love, which is rarely provided by older brothers. I loved Dave with all my heart and worshipped him with every one of my multiple daily wanks in anticipation of our reunion the following summer, but as those who've read 'My Mate Dave' will know, it didn't happen.
I became intolerable and, as a last resort, was sent to relatives in the country, which led to the events described in 'Holidays in Woop Woop'. This story picks up a few months after my return from 'Woop Woop'.
Back home and at school, all my good intentions and promises to become more responsible, were soon forgotten. I knew I was heading for disaster, but I kept going like a lemming to its own destruction.
Mum seemed a lot happier at first, and she wasn't on my back all the time, probably because she had a new boyfriend, called Tony. Luckily he didn't live with us because I couldn't stand him, and he wasn't too fond of me, either. Looking back, I can't blame him, I was obnoxious and made no secret of my dislike for him. I wagged school regularly, until the inevitable letter arrived, laying it on the line. I was just over sixteen by then.
I didn't know Mum had contacted Dad, so when he turned up one day, after more than two years absence, I thought we'd all go back to normal now. Till I found out that he wasn't going to stay. I felt cheated, shouted a lot of choice obscenities, stormed up to my room and practically wrecked it, yelling, crying and hurling things around. Dad appeared, put his arms around me and held me very tight, like he used to. I struggled for a moment, hammered him with my fists but couldn't break his grip, and then I just fell apart and howled with rage.
Dad sat down with me on the bed, waiting for me to calm down, but I was angry, I didn't want to calm down. He said he couldn't come back and live with us, because he'd found someone else and they were very happy, as was Mum with Tony. So, it was really for the better all round.
I shook his arm off my shoulder and shouted "what about me?? What do I care about your happiness? You don't give a _s_h_i_t_ about mine!"
"You're wrong, mate, I care a lot about you and what happens to you. That's why I'm here."
"Yeah, I know why you're here! You haven't made contact once in two years! And now Mum's told you to come and give me a belting because of that letter from school! You can get _f_u_c_k_ed."
I was going to get up and leave him, but he was quicker. Before I knew it, I had a box on the ear, and another, and another. Boy that hurt! He'd never done that before. My face felt hot all of a sudden. He pushed me back on the bed. "Sit down, you little _s_h_i_t_, and mind your language! I haven't finished!" Little _s_h_i_t_? He'd never called me names like that before, either. I could tell from his voice, he was more upset than angry, and immediately my heart went out to him. Now, call me mad or stupid, but that was the moment I knew I had my Dad back. He did care, and I was really ashamed.
"I'm sorry, Dad. I shouldn't have said that."
"You're not wrong there, mate."
"Sorry about the room, I'll fix it up."
"You'd better!"
I was still rubbing my face from those slaps, "I missed you, Dad, I really did."
"I missed you too, mate," he hugged me, "and I'm sorry I wasn't around when you needed me."
"I guess I've earned a belting."
"What do you think?"
"That's what I think."
"You're right, I should have tanned your hide much sooner and more often."
I stood up and started undoing my jeans. "You said I'd get the cane when I'm 14, but - "
"Well, I haven't got one of those. What's the hurry anyway?"
"To get it over with." I stepped out of my jeans and stood there in my briefs and T-shirt.
"It won't be that easy, mate."
"What do you mean?"
"As you said, I promised you the cane and I always keep my promises, but I haven't got one. Besides we don't want your mother around when it hits your backside, because you're not going to be a happy boy, believe me."
Mentioning the cane brought up memories of Dave, and something stirred in my groin. I didn't want to look down but was hoping my T-shirt would hide the fast growing stiffie I could feel. Just as well, I usually wore tight briefs to restrain involuntary and embarrassing erections.
"Dad, can we go on a bush trip, just the two of us, like we used to?"
He looked at me, a little surprised. "Is that how you want to deal with it?"
"Yeah, I think so. It'll leave Mum out of it." I used to have mixed feelings about our bush trips in the past. They were fun most of the time, but invariably I'd also get a big hiding for things that had accumulated since the last trip, mainly because Mum got upset when my spankings at home became more severe as I grew up.
Dad's voice raised me from my thoughts, "Tomorrow's Friday, we're seeing your headmaster in the morning, we could leave after lunch."
"Cool. - I nearly said I'm looking forward to it but - ."
"That's the price you pay, mate. Maybe it'll make you think before you act in future, and then we can have more fun again. And now," he pulled his own belt out of his jeans, "I want you to bend over and take those briefs off!"
"Bare bum?"
"That's right."
I took off my briefs and bent over like I used to, almost delirious with happiness, but not for long. Dad pushed my T-shirt out of the way, my rigid little mate was going limp because he knew what was coming, and THERE IT CAME!! One, two, three, four almighty swats with that belt I knew so well. He really laid them on but I didn't make a sound and stayed in position. The next four elicited a few hisses through my teeth, but the last set of four made me yelp, much as I tried to keep my voice down. Tears were running down my face as I stood up.
"Come here," Dad gave me a hug, "better get dressed and have a wash before your mother sees you."
I think she knew anyway, because she gave me a sort of searching look when I emerged from the bathroom. Maybe Dad had even told her in the meantime.
In the past, when Dad said he was taking me on a bush trip, Mum used to get worried because she knew I'd be coming home with a spanked bottom. This time she didn't say a word, except "I see." She probably thought 'about time, too!'
Friday morning we went to see Dr. Nelson, the headmaster, who made it quite clear that they didn't want me back, which didn't upset me one bit. Dad was still trying to persuade him to change his mind and I kept wishing he'd stop. "I've tanned his backside for him," he said, while I wished I could disappear under the carpet, "and he's getting another hiding tomorrow. He won't be thinking of playing any of his old tricks any more, I promise." He looked at me for an affirmation but I quickly looked away. I was so ashamed and embarrassed. Did he have to tell old Nellie about my punishments?
Nelson sat there with a smug grin on his face as if he quietly enjoyed the thought of me getting spanked. "Yes, well, that's up to you, Mr. Anders. We don't practice corporal punishment at this school."
"Maybe you should," Dad countered, "maybe Tim wouldn't be in this mess if you did."
"Surely you must know it's no longer allowed by law."
"Well the law is an ass," Dad said, and Dr. N. grinned smugly as if he agreed. He said I needed a school with more supervision and stricter rules, because I wasn't mature enough to exercise the self-discipline required for their liberal environment, and that was that.
On the way home, Dad wasn't as mad with me as he was with teachers who couldn't cope with growing boys. That was my Dad as I remembered him, understanding youthful exuberance as just that, but enforcing strict discipline when it came to laziness, lying, deliberate rudeness and disobedience. I knew where I stood with him, I felt safe.
So, it seemed to me quite natural to ask him "Dad, couldn't I come and live with you?"
He was a bit taken aback, I don't really know why, we've always been close. Mum was shocked at first, but then she surprised us all by saying although she'd miss me, she really couldn't handle me like Dad, and she didn't think it was right that Tony should get involved. I think that's what clinched it. Dad didn't really want that wimp Tony to bring up 'his boy'.
"You sure that's what you really want?" Dad asked me, "you'd have to leave all your mates behind, start in a new school, make new friends and all that, and you wouldn't see much of Mum either." Dad had moved about 400 km away.
I said I didn't care, and I'd have to start in a new school anyway, seeing they didn't want me back. And mates? I didn't really have any close mates. Not like Dave, but I didn't say that.
Still, Dad insisted we'd leave the final decision till after our bush trip. "And then you'll fix up your room, before you go anywhere." I didn't contradict, I just wanted to be with him.
We always travelled light on these trips, because roughing it was part of the exercise. So, packing our things in Dad's 4-wheel drive didn't take long. The autumn weather was still warm, and I was in jeans and T-shirt. I'd packed my footy shorts, my 'punishment uniform' for a long time, to be put on the moment we got there. I must admit, in spite of knowing it would be pretty painful and there wouldn't be any Dave-type 'comforting after', the prospect of it all gave me embarrassing stiffies every time I thought about it.
I wondered if Dad had got the cane he said he'd use. I couldn't see one in the car but didn't want to ask. Ever since Dave had told me about getting caned by his Dad, I'd been fantasising about it (with sometimes embarrassing results), but I never found out where you'd buy one.
It took nearly four hours to get there, but it was always worth the trip. Our spot was by a creek with clear water you could drink, and there was a billabong where you could (just) immerse yourself for a wash, but that was about all. For the last hour of the trip over gravel roads we never saw another soul, and it was the most peaceful place on earth. The road hadn't changed, and we wondered if anybody had found and claimed our spot in the two years we hadn't been back. We found our old camp site almost as we'd left it, which meant that someone had used it, otherwise it would have been overgrown.
I pitched my tent (Dad always sleeps in the 4-wheel drive), and it was nearly tea time when we were set up. I was just about to ask what we were going to do about eating, when Dad said, "Well, mate, I think it's time."
My heart sank. As I had done many times before, I took off my T-shirt, jeans and briefs and was about to put on my footy shorts, when Dad said "you're getting it bare, remember?"
I wheeled around to face him, "bare bum?"
"That's right."
Panic! Hell! What am I going to do? Sure, Dave had caned me on the bare with that _d_a_m_n_ switch, but that was a bit different: Dave was naked, too, and though it hurt, there was something _s_e_x_y about it. This was serious and as much as I liked my Dad, there was nothing _s_e_x_y about him. Eventually I said "with a cane?"
"Something similar," he said, "there are plenty of trees and bushes around here. So, take your pocket knife and cut about half a dozen switches."
"Like this?" I said, looking down on myself, feeling awfully exposed wearing nothing but my desert boots.
"Why not? There's nobody around to see you, and I've seen it all before."
I got the Swiss Army knife Dad had given me once. "What sort of switches?" I asked.
"You know what they're for. Just make sure they'll do the job."
This was one of his games that I really hate. Sometimes he used to make me tell him how many strokes of the belt I deserved. - As if it wasn't enough to feel them on my backside!
I went into the bushes and undergrowth, trying to remember Dave's switches. Fairly thin and straight, about 70-80 cm long, I guessed. I started cutting, some were too brittle, some too thick, oh God, I didn't really know what to look for. I ended up with a very motley dozen.
"Let's see," Dad said, taking each one and letting it whistle through the air. I hated that sound, I still do. One broke straight away, a couple were too heavy and rigid. "You'll be black and blue if I use that" he said." There were three he said were OK, all fairly thin and flexible.
"Now," he said, "you know why you're getting this, don't you."
"Yes Dad." I hate these sermons. Of course I bloody knew! For being a real _s_h_i_t_ who made Mum's life hell, for getting thrown out of school, for wrecking my room and telling Dad to get _f_u_c_k_ed. And that was only the last few weeks! I said I was sorry and deserved to be punished. I just wished he'd get on with it, but I didn't say that.
"OK, go and bend over the tree."
I went over to the big old tree trunk that had seen quite a few of my punishments over the years. I bent over it as far as I could. When I was younger, my feet didn't even touch the ground and Dad used to hold me in place with his left hand, while swinging the belt with the other. That was no longer necessary.
"Start counting," Dad said, and then I felt the sting of the first stroke.
The pain was so intense, I drew my breath in and had trouble calling "one!"
"You know why I'm doing this, don't you?"
"Yes, Dad." That's another thing I hate, him lecturing after each stroke while I just wish he'd get on with it, so we can all relax. Ha! I didn't even know how many I was going to get.
Then the next one hit. "Two!" I was trying keep my voice steady.
"Arrgh! - Three." Another 'speech', I hardly heard what he said, I was too busy concentrating on my backside. Then the next one and the next one, and with each stroke the fire in my bum became more and more intense. It felt like it ought to be dripping with blood, but I knew Dad would never do that.
When we got to ten, I was crying and just lay there till I felt Dad's hand on my shoulder.
"Get up, mate, rub your bum and do your exercises." That's how it's always been, it's meant to get the circulation going and prevent bad bruising, and it seems to work. "Get dressed when you're ready, in case we have visitors," he joked.
I didn't feel like joking, but had to laugh anyway.
"I think I'll go and sit in the water for a moment, OK?"
He grinned and said "OK, punishment's over for now. No point dragging it out."
When I came back from cooling my bum, Dad had started the fire, and we settled down for a drink and a feed. I've always been allowed to have some of Dad's beer on bush trips. As I grew older and bigger, the size of my share became larger, and this time, as I was sitting down gingerly, still nursing my sore bottom, he handed me a whole Stubby and said "you're old enough now to have a man's drink, but only one. You're still a little man."
(I'm not really little, but I was at the time, compared with him. For some reason I liked that description. Some years later I told Adam about it, and he found it so cute, he always called me his 'little man', and it was certainly appropriate in his case. I loved it.)
Few people treated me like I was growing up yet, and I was so moved and proud that Dad did, I nearly choked with emotion. "Thanks, Dad," was all I could say. I knew my long list of recent misdemeanours would be translated into more discomfort on my bum before the trip was over, but God, was I glad to have him back!
"And no driving after drinking, either."
"Hm?"
"Joke, mate."
"Yeah."
"Hey, what's the matter, son?"
"Dad, I've got a very sore bum. I know I deserved every one, but it hurts and I find it a bit hard to appreciate jokes right now."
He was genuinely surprised because in the past we've always been able to have a good time, once the punishment was out of the way. But was it out of the way? I may have only got ten, but they were real stingers and, after what he'd said about my punishment being over FOR NOW, I was very worried and I told him so.
We got into discussing corporal punishment as such, and mine in particular, and it emerged that I was in for another ten each, the next morning and the morning thereafter. I can't say I was surprised, but the prospects for the weekend looked a lot harsher than I'd hoped for.
We had lots of serious talks, including some ground rules for when I moved in with Dad. I was so pleased he'd agreed to have me, I would have accepted almost anything. That bit of good news almost let me forget what was in store for me tomorrow - and the day after.
When I got into my tent, I checked out my bum. The soreness had given way to a kind of 'glow'. I felt some small welts, nothing like I'd imagined, and when I had a look with the help of a very small mirror, there seemed to be little visible damage in the light of the torch. My little mate stirred while I was doing that and since there was no Dave to comfort me, I had a good old wank thinking of him.
I woke early after a good sleep and great dreams of Dave. There were still traces of last night's punishment on my bottom, but the thought of getting it caned, stirred my little mate into renewed excitement. I had no choice but to help him out, if only to avoid embarrassment in front of Dad. I got up and wore just my shorts. Dad was stoking the fire for our morning cuppa tea. "How's your bum this morning - still sore?" he wanted to know.
"It's a bit sore, but I think it's OK."
"Let's have a look."
Geez! I was growing a stiffie, as we were talking. I turned around, dropped my shorts, and Dad had a quick look. "Mhm," he said, "get over there, to the tree."
"Right now?" I hadn't expected it so soon.
"Right now."
I walked naked to the tree and looked at the three switches Dad had left there the day before. He followed close behind me and said "pick your switch, mate."
"Hm? "
"I said pick a switch."
"You want me to pick a switch?"
"That's right."
Having to pick and hand him the switch I 'wanted' to be caned with, was just another way of lacing the punishment with extra non-physical discomfort. There wasn't much difference between the three, and they were all going to sting like hell. I picked one and gave it to him, and he swished it through the air, as if to test it. I then had to explain why I was being punished, and then he told me to bend over the tree and not to bother with the counting.
Hardly was I over the tree, when he gave me five in quick succession. God, that hurt! I yelled blue murder, jumped up, turned around and faced him. "Please, Dad, I can't take any more! It hurts too much!" I was rubbing my backside furiously.
"Get back over that tree, Tim!"
At that moment, I saw someone walking up behind Dad and heading in our direction. _s_h_i_t_!!!
"Dad - there is - "
"Shut up! Back over that tree!"
I pointed behind him. "There's someone - "
Dad turned around, I stood rooted to the ground, completely dumbfounded, as the man came closer. He was around 40, similar to Dad, wearing jeans and a green Ranger's uniform shirt.
"G'day," he said, "how yer going?"
"G'day," said Dad, trying to think what to say. I'd never seen him lost for words before.
"Thought I heard someone yelling for help," he said, eyeing me off. I'd been so busy rubbing my sore bum, I'd forgotten I was naked. So I quickly covered myself with my hands and looked down on my feet.
"Ah that," said Dad. He'd clearly decided to brazen it out. "Yeah, I was just teaching young Tim a long overdue lesson. But he wasn't yelling for help," turning to me, "were you, mate?"
I thought '_f_u_c_k_, did you have to?' I was so embarrassed, but I didn't say a word, just kept looking at my feet. My face must have been the colour of a tomato.
"Tim?"
I looked up, the Ranger was standing next to Dad by now, close enough to touch me, and looked at me inquiringly, as if to say "Well?"
I decided to be bold like Dad: "Yes, I was yelling, but not for help."
"Tell the man why you were yelling," Dad said. Hell, this was getting worse by the minute!
The Ranger grinned. He was enjoying this. "The old man been tanning your hide, has he?"
"Yeah, that's right," was about all I could say.
"Must have deserved it, I suppose."
"He sure has," said Dad, "haven't you, son?"
My face got even redder, if that was still possible. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Good to see it's still happening," the Ranger said. (I could have sworn there was a bulge in his jeans). "Not enough of it, these days." He stuck his hand out "By the way, I'm Mark."
"Bingo," said Dad, "I'm Mark, too," took his hand and assured him we were going to hold up the tradition for as long as necessary.
I didn't know where to look. This was embarrassing and at the same time exciting, and I was having trouble hiding my growing 'little mate' under my cupped hands.
Mark turned to me, "good to see young kids with a bit of guts. Most of them don't want to accept the consequences of their conduct," and then he stuck his hand out, "Mark," he said.
"Tim," I replied, letting go of my crotch and shaking hands with him. Well, I could hardly do anything else!
"So, how long are you guys staying?" Mark wanted to know.
"Heading back to the big smoke tomorrow," Dad said.
"You been here before?"
We told him how we used to come here in earlier years, and that it was our favourite spot.
"I've been having trouble with some young louts around here," Mark told us, "brawling, firing guns in all directions, leaving beer cans, broken glass, needles and other rubbish lying around. Antisocial scum. Wish I could take the stick to them - or someone would."
As the conversation became more relaxed, my hands went back to my behind without me even realising it, nor the fact that I was pulling faces as I was rubbing the sore surface.
It didn't escape Mark's eagle eye. "Stings a bit, does it?" he asked with a smirk.
I nodded sheepishly.
" - and we haven't even finished yet," said Dad.
"Dad!" I shouted. I didn't really want this subject revived.
"Oh," said Mark, "have I been interrupting? I thought you'd finished."
"No, we were only half way through when you turned up," said Dad.
"Well, I'll make myself scarce then and let you get on with it. Don't want to embarrass you."
'Liar,' I thought, 'you've wallowed in my embarrassment so far, why stop now?'
He winked, "mustn't keep the boy waiting too long."
I thought 'yeah, thanks a bunch!'
"Might drop in, on my way back tonight, and see how things are going, eh?"
"You do that," said Dad, "we'll keep a Stubby cold for you."
'Terrific!' I thought.
Mark started walking back the way he'd come, and Dad said "ok, son, back over the tree."
I was hoping to delay it until Mark had disappeared, but he had stopped and was looking back at us. Obviously, he was planning to watch.
"Dad, he's watching."
"Listen, mate," he came close up to me, "this is not a game, remember!"
"I know, Dad, but -"
"First you complain it hurts and want me to stop, - of course it bloody hurts, it's meant to. Now you go all coy because we have a visitor."
"But Dad - it's embarrassing."
"Good! Be embarrassed! You've got every reason to be, if I you need your bare bottom caned because you can't act your age. Maybe next time we'll invite the neighbours or somebody. Maybe that'll teach you to be more responsible. Now get over that tree unless you want me to call him back!" With that he took me by the arm and directed me back to the tree.
For a moment I thought of bolting, but I was naked, and where would I run? And then what? Lying over the tree, I couldn't see if Mark was still there, but I just wished I could sink into the ground.
"Right, you were going to get five, but the way you've been carrying on, we'll make it six."
"No please!!!" I yelled and was about to jump up, when the first one hit my bum with such force, I thought I'd been cut with a knife. I screamed with pain.
"If you get up before I say so, you'll be sorry," Dad shouted.
He counted the remaining five onto my buns, but none of them were as awful as that first one, as if he'd reduced the power behind them. I still howled and asked him to please stop, but he carried it through. Then he touched my shoulder and said quietly, "that's it, mate."
I stayed lying over that tree trunk, sobbing, rubbing my backside, trying to compose myself before showing my face again, and I could hear Dad and Mark talking, but it sounded a bit further away. When all seemed quiet, I got up and turned around and did a few exercises. Dad and Mark had gone over to our camp site. I could see them settling down for a cuppa by the fire. Dad saw me and called out "come here, mate."
Reluctantly, I walked towards them, tears still on my face. I noticed Mark wasn't looking at me. Was he a bit embarrassed, too? Dad met me half way and gave me a hug. "That was pretty grim, mate, but you earned every bit of it."
"I know, Dad, but it hurts so much, I feel my whole bum's split open!"
"It isn't, mate," he briefly patted my buttocks, "maybe you'd better go and cool off again."
"I'll do that, Dad." And I went and lay down in the cool waterhole until I saw Mark leaving. He waved to me as he went, but I pretended not to see.
That afternoon, we went on a long hike. No matter how often you walk around the bush, it's always beautiful and different every time. We walked up to one of the peaks, perched on some rocks and admired the view. I winced as my bottom touched the stone, and Dad put an arm around me and ruffled my hair. We both grinned, and at that moment I felt so safe and so close to him, I just threw my arms around him., We had a long heart to heart talk, and Dad said he was serious about embarrassing me if that's a better deterrent than the cane.
Mark did come again that evening and had a beer with us. We talked about all sorts of things, but my sore bum was only mentioned once when he arrived and enquired how it felt. "Sore," I told him, and that was it.
Corporal punishment came up again, in more general terms, when Mark described some of the dreadful things, these young thugs had been doing in the area, and how he'd love to give them a dose of what I'd been getting. I could happily agree with that. I'd dish it out myself to these creeps. Anyway, he turned out to be quite a nice guy, and we walked him back to his jeep which he'd left further up the track. After that, we both turned in, and I think I even forgot my usual wank, I was so tired.
Sunday morning, my bum still felt sore. I inspected it in my little mirror and there were quite a few stripes, but I decided to brace myself for the inevitable and didn't even bother to put my shorts on. Dad was already up, having his morning tea, and I walked over to him.
"Can we do it now, Dad?"
"Turn around," he said, and, having inspected the damage, "you've had enough, mate, go and put something on." I looked at him in disbelief. Sunday was going to be a perfect day after all! "We'll save the last ten for when you come to live with me." - Well, - almost perfect.
Back at Mum's that evening, we all agreed I'd be going to live with Dad for a six months trial. I was determined to turn that trial into a permanent arrangement.
Comments are welcome