Someone told me once that your schooldays are the best days of your life. They might be for some!
I wrote the following as part of a cathartic process to somehow deal with events in my past and explore the reasons behind my continual desire to be punished. Even as a young boy, my desire for punishment was such that I would regularly resort to spanking myself. I'm sure a psychologist would have a field day with me!
There is no hidden message, no happy ending, but if it makes you think or strikes a chord with you I would (as always) be pleased to hear from you.
THE BEST DAYS OF YOUR LIFE!
I shuffled up the steps, turned the key in the lock and slipped inside the house. Wiping a smear of blood from my nose, I dropped my school bag and slunk wearily up to the bathroom. I gently cleaned up my face, wiping away the dried blood and tear stains, wincing as I wiped the swollen bruised area under my left eye. Slipping off my blazer I took a wet cloth and tried to remove as much of the thick mud and dirt as possible. I went through to my mother's bedroom picked up the large wooden handled clothes brush, slipped off my grey flannel trousers and brushed the dirt and mud from them. My shirt was beyond redemption, the collar was ripped, and blood from my nose had splattered the front. I took it off and buried it at the bottom of the laundry basket. I knew I was only delaying the moment when my mother would discover it, but I didn't want to think about that right now. The worse thing was, I knew she wouldn't be cross, she would just look at me with a pitying look in her eye, tell me not to worry about it, that it was not my fault, tell me, with a genuine sadness in her voice, that she wished there was something she could do.
As I cleaned up my trousers as best I could I gazed at myself in the full-length mirror and wondered why it always happened to me. What made the other kids want to kick and punch me, call me "poofter", steal my things, tear up my books, lie in wait to beat, torment and humiliate me. More importantly what was it that made me cower in corners and burst into tears when what I really wanted to do was fight back, gain some small measure of respect and prove that I really wasn't the wimp they continually told me I was.
I angrily threw the trousers down on the bed and studied myself carefully in the mirror. As I stood there in just my underpants, I looked over every inch of my thin bruised body wondering how I could possibly change things for the better. I thought about getting my hair cut a little shorter, perhaps doing a bit of weight training so I looked less weedy. I slipped my thumbs into the waistband of my underpants and let them fall to the floor. Gazing upon my nakedness, I could feel the anger welling up inside me. I hated myself for what I had become, I hated every inch of my pathetic body. I hated the smallness of my frame. I hated the thinness of my arms and legs. I hated the fact that at fourteen years old I still had no more than a few thin, wispy hairs around my unimpressive penis.
Deep down inside I knew that it was all my fault. Something about me made these kids despise me enough to make my life a misery. Something I had done caused them to constantly call me names and laugh at me. I looked down at the clothes brush lying on the bed and suddenly I knew what I had to do.
Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow I would make the change to the "new" me. Tomorrow I would not allow myself to be bullied anymore. But that was tomorrow and I still needed to deal with today. Today the "old" me had to be punished for my past sins. All those things about me that made me a target for the bullies had to be exorcised once and for all. I had to literally beat the last remnants of my old pathetic self right out of my body. Today the "new" me would be born.
Kneeling on all fours on the bed, the full-length mirror afforded me a perfect view of my tight pale rump. I was filled with an overwhelming loathing for what I saw before me. This pathetic little boy with his bare butt stuck up high in the air represented everything that I hated most about myself. I spread my legs slightly, and raising the brush high in the air, brought the large flat wooden surface crashing down on my buttocks. I yowled in pain and shock. Down it came again. Boy.... did I deserve this! Over and over the heavy makeshift paddle crashed into my rear with a resonating crack and a fiery sting. I could feel the tears welling up, but I would not cry again today. This was the "new" me, the brave me, the popular me! From now on I could take any punishment metered out and still come back for more.
I closed my eyes and my mind drifted slowly off. They were all lining up now of course. All my tormenters wanted a piece of my butt. In my mind, I could see Andy standing there, as clear as day, paddle held high a glint in his eye as he took aim. Six times he brought the paddle down as hard as he could on my defenseless rear. But today even he couldn't break me. Paul was next, he too tried his hardest but I kept my eyes tightly closed and bit down hard. They would not make me cry, not today. Lee took the paddle, determined to humiliate me. The brush flew faster and faster. I could sense my behind swelling up. I could feel the intense heat. The punishment continued. I whimpered and moaned but I would not give in.
And so it went on, Mark took his turn, aiming low on my thighs, determined to make me squeal and beg for mercy..........then Steve................then John........then Kirk........ My knees buckled under the onslaught. Face down on the bed, my body bucked and squirmed, trying to avoid the blows, but the beating still continued. My left hand drifted slowly to my penis trying to somehow relieve the unbearable pain in my behind. Still the punishment continued. Blows rained down continuously on my battered behind. Above the sound of the paddle I could clearly hear familiar voices.
"Hit him harder" ............. "make him cry!"................."Cry poofter, you know you want to!"............. "Come on wimp, beg for mercy!"........."look at the baby, he wants to cry!"
I fought back the tears. "No you won't make me give in. I'm strong now. I won't be bullied anymore!"
But deep down I suppose I knew it wasn't true. The beating reached a crescendo as the paddle fell again and again. My left hand moved faster and faster up and down my stiff penis. I was convinced that the "new" me would be able to control my urge to cum. I was wrong. The first tears broke through, I cried out suddenly in pain and defeat as the first spasm racked my body. I felt a damp stickiness in my left hand and against my thigh.
It was over.
One last vicious strike of the paddle and................ "No more!" I cried, "Please, no more! I give in".
Suddenly I was alone in the bedroom again, quietly sobbing. Nothing had changed. It must have been at that moment that I realised, nothing ever would!
Caned1@excite. com