RUPERT
I don't like children, especially boys. They are usually noisier, dirtier, more aggressive, less obedient, more self-willed than girls.
But when I met Charlene, I didn't know she had a son from her previous marriage. As a matter of fact, I didn't know she had been married before. And when I found out both of these facts, it was too late. I had fallen in love with her and made the decision to marry her. Her son, Rupert, was then about 5 years old and already at that age he realized that I didn't like him. He avoided me whenever possible, and when it was not possible, he was sullen and antagonistic. I tried to introduce some discipline into the household, but Charlene was too soft and too optimistic. She kept saying things like, "Oh, he'll grow out of it," and others similar inanities. Despite my better judgment I let her persuade me to officially adopt the boy. I loved her, so what else could I do? I adopted him.
An then, about 5 years later, she caught a cold which developed into bronchitis and from there into pneumonia. And then she died and I got stuck with bratty Rupert. I left him alone for some time in deference to his loss. But his behaviour worsened steadily.
After almost a year of this, I decided I had enough. I called him into my study, sat behind my desk and let him stand in front of me. He was now almost eleven, dressed in jeans and T-shirt, hands in his pockets.
"Take your hands out of your pockets," I ordered. The boy rolled his eyes but slowly did as I asked.
"Now look here, Rupert," I continued, "I know you don't like me and I couldn't care less. I don't like you much either. But we cannot change the situation, we are stuck with each other and one of us will have to change his attitude. And it certainly is not going to be me."
He looked at me and yawned.
"The first thing that is going to change is your wardrobe. I have bought you some clothes more befitting an eleven-year-old: sport shirt and shorts in the summer, long-sleeved shirt with a jersey, and shorts, in the winter. And if you think these shorts are going to reach even to mid thigh, you are mistaken. You are a child and as such, you will dress like one. Go to your room and change into the clothes I have laid out on your bed. Then come back here."
Rupert slouched and drawled, "Oh, come on, Dad," and he made that last word sound sarcastic, "I can't get back into shorts. All my friends are on longs."
"They probably behave better than you," I replied curtly. "Now go upstairs and change. I won't repeat myself again."
With a little shrug, Rupert ambled towards the stairs.
It took almost 30 minutes before he returned. He was wearing the new shirt but was still wearing his jeans. The shorts he held in his hand.
"Dad," he said, "I can't wear these. They're much too small."
"I thought I had told you to wear them when you came back down," I thundered at him so loudly that the boy shrank back a few paces. I had never raised my voice to him while Charlene was alive.
"But, Dad, I -"
"You will change right here, then," I said, standing up. I was tall and broadly built and I towered over the small, slender boy. "I see I will have to apply different methods, my boy. We'll see to that later."
Something in my voice must have penetrated because the boy stepped out of his jeans, dropped them on the floor andwas about to don his new shorts when I interrupted.
"Leave off those underpants," I said. "You won't be wearing those from now on.
"But, Dad, I can't -"
"Another 'but Dad' out of you, and I will teach you not to argue with me. Now step out of those pants and pull up the shorts. NOW!"
He was about to say something, but when he saw the expression on my face he shrugged again and complied. He had some trouble getting them over his little plump bottom, but once up, theyt fit him very nicely.
"See, Dad," he said, turning full circle, "they're too small."
Well, I must admit that they were certainly not too large. They adhered closely to his body and were cut high, leaving the entire expanse of thigh bare. It was certainly an improvement over those wrinkled, bleached jeans. He hadn't realised yet that a bit of bare bottom was visible under the brief hems in the back.
"They fit you very well, Rupert, and these shorts will be the only trousers you will be wearing for the foreseeable future. At school as well as on weekends."
For a moment he just stood there and looked at me. Then he almost screamed, " I can't go to school in those! What will the other boys say?"
"Frankly, I don't care what the other boys will say, and neither should you. If they tease you, just tell them that you have been a naughty boy who has grown too big for his boots and needs to be taken down a peg or two."
"But, Dad -"
"I don't want to hear another word. I see you are wearing your new ankles socks. In the house you will wear the slippers I gave you. Outdoors there are sandals for the summer and sturdy boots for the winter. Now wash up and come to eat."
Rupert was a very unhappy boy. The boys in his class tormented him daily and he came home crying. I had confiscated all his old clothes so he had no choice but to dress in his shirt and shorts. Since I made him walk to school, a good 30 or 35 minutes at a fast pace, he also met several boys from other schools and neighbourhoods who weren't any kinder in the things they threw at him. That will teach him a little humility, I thought with satisfaction.
About a week later we were sitting in the dining room having supper. We lived by ourselves, except for the old housekeeper who had been with Charlene for many years. She cooked simple meals, kept the house reasonably neat and clean and saw after the boy when I was not around. She had confided in me that she was quite happy with Rupert's new wardrobe as she felt that he had become considerably more polite to her in these last days.
We were having soup and Rupert, sprawling in his chair, ladled the soup into his mouth with loud slurps.
"Stop that slurping, boy," I snapped at him. "And don't hold the spoon like an oar. Hold it like this." I showed him.
He tried but dribbled some soup down the front of his shirt.
"Stupid boy," I cried angrily, "clean yourself up. This is disgraceful, a boy your age, can't even eat properly."
The next evening I had a few surprises for the boy. He was about to sit at the dinner table when I stopped him.
"Rupert, there is a chair in the hall. Bring it in."
His face was red when he came back carrying the new furniture.
"This is a highchair, used for babies who don't know how to handle their spoons. From now on you will use it to eat in here. I also have bought this for you." I opened a package I took from my pocket and handed him a baby bib with a cute white bunny rabbit embroidered on the front. I had bought the largest I could find.
"And you will always tie this around your neck before starting to eat."
The boy broke into tears. It was the first time he had cried except for selfish reasons when he didn't get what he wanted. The daily teasing at the school was having its effect and his tears encouraged me. I would make sure he shed a lot more in the future.
I had to lift the boy into chair after having removed the tray piece. Rupert was small for his age but his long legs didn't fit very well. I made him spread his knees very wide and pulled one leg through one side of the chair and then did the same on the other side. Now is bare legs dangled for each side and his knees were spread at a painfully obtuse angle. I replaced the tray and stood back. Little Rupert looked awfully uncomfortable squeezed into that chair and I had to suppress a laugh. He was stuck there and someone would have to lift him out again. I sat there and enjoyed the sight.
Helen came and served us our food and she brought Rupert another little surprise. As she handed him his food, the boy noticed that it was served on a plastic plate, with a plastic spoon and the milk he usually drank from a glass, was this time given him in a baby's "training cup."
I heard the boy give a little sob and I smiled to myself. This was working remarkably well.
We ate in silence for a while which I eventually broke.
"Rupert, tomorrow we will have some guests for dinner. I want you to behave especially well. You will wear a nice little pair of light blue velveteen shorts with a white blouse and you will sit here exactly as you are sitting now. I don't want any spectacle in front of these guests. You know them because their sons are your classmates. You will have a wonderful time." I chuckled.
The boy's expression was so comical I burst out laughing. After a moment, the boy said in a strangled voice, "Oh, please, Dad, don't make me do that. I will be good, I promise. But don't make me wear shorts and sit like this in front of my friends."
"First of all, my boy, from now on you will address me as 'sir," not as 'dad.' Second, there will be no discussion. For your information, these presents I have bought for you are not the only ones. I have some even better ones in my study and I can't wait to show them to you."
After dinner, I marched the boy to my study. It was a large, comfortable room where I spent most of my time when at home, away from the bothersome child and busy with papers or books. The room had a high ceiling with floor to ceiling windows on one side, bookshelves on another, as well as several large oil paintings. The furniture consisted of my massive desk, a huge wardrobe and a number of chairs.
I took the boy by an ear and dragged him towards the wardrobe. I opened the doors and let him inspect the inside. From a long row of hooks on both sides, hung a number of canes of varying lengths and diameters, several thick leather straps, the famous Scots tawse from Lochgelly, some with two, others with three tails, all looking most intimidating.
"These, Rupert, are all for you. Aren't you happy? I am going to make sure that you taste each one during the week which means you'll probably have to be whipped once a day. Doesn't that sound appealing? You have never had such experience before, have you? And you say you can't wait to get to know them? Well, you just have to be patient. Such pleasurable things are worth waiting for, don't you think?" I twisted his ear sharply and he grunted.
"From now on, my boy, you will think twice before you disobey."
Rupert was nervous and fidgety all day. I set him to do his homework, plus some extra memorisation exercises of my own devising, to keep him busy. I intended to inspect and test his work later on. Those canes in the wardrobe were just begging to be used. But that would come later. Right now, I had Helen prepare for our dinner guests.
When it was near that time, I laid out Rupert's clothes as well as my own and gave Rupert his bath since Helen was still busy. After that unpleasant task, during which I had to slap his backside several times to get his attention, I led him back to his room to oversee his dressing.
As expected, the boy wailed and pleaded. The clothes I had selected were made for boys several generations ago, except no boy ever wore shorts that brief in those days. But my threat to get the tawse from downstairs finally persuaded the boy to obey and put on those garments. When he was dressed, I stood him in front of the mirror.
"My, don't we look grand?" I said with a smirk. Little Rupert, now dressed in the thin velveteen shorts that hugged his hips and molded neatly around his chubby buttocks, his white, long-sleeved blouse, white ankle socks and black slippers all looked too cute. Rupert stared at his reflection in horror and started to cry. "Your mates are going to love you in these," I told him with a wicked little smile. "They will tell all their friends at school how adorable you looked last night at dinner, dressed up like this and sitting in a highchair."
I watched the boy with amusement as he squirmed before me.
Eventually the guests arrived. They were Joseph and Glenda Harrison with their son William, and George and Julia Morris with their two sons, Ronald aged 9 and Patrick aged 11. Ronald attended the same school but of course in a lower grade. Patrick and William were Rupert's classmates.
Introductions weren't necessary since I had met them all before. The parents and I had many times discussed my philosophy regarding children and they had told me that they approved of naughty boys getting their fair share of corporal punishment. I intended to give them a demonstration they, and their sons, would remember for some time.
While the boys played in Rupert's room, the adults made the usual small talk until dinner was served. I called the boys down and they stampeded noisily down the stairs. Except for my own little Rupert. He was very red in the face and I could see he was trying desperately not to cry. What a shame! Those bad boys must have been teasing him. Tsk, tsk. Just wait, little Rupert, until they see you at the dinner table.
The boy obviously was thinking the same thing, to judge by his miserable expression. He was learning a very sound lesson in humility. Perhaps in the future he will be less obdurate and willful, a bit more humble and docile.
After the parents and their sons had taken their places, leaving only poor Rupert, in his blue little shorts standing unhappily by the table. I put the highchair in place, approached my boy and lifted him in one easy swoop into the chair as I had practiced the night before. With his legs now dangling wide open on each side, the tray back in place, he sat there, pinched and awkward, like the toy which, when you pulled a string on the bottom while you held it on top, swings up its arms and spreads its legs.
We all broke into loud laughter, as my dear little boy burst into tears.
"I have endured this boy's disobedience, stubbornness and arrogance for as long as I could. Longer, actually, and it lasted this long only in deference to his mother. But this was over a year ago and now it is time for the boy to be learning some hard facts," I explained to my rapt audience. "You know my ideas on the education of children, particularly willful boys, and what you are witnessing is just a small example."
There was further laughter when I tied the big bib around his neck and again when he was served with his plastic spoon and training cup. Not that young Rupert ate a lot. He was much too busy weeping and squirming with shame and embarrassment.
I prolonged the meal as much as possible and after about two hours, I asked Helen to bring in the dessert. It was Rupert's favourite, chocolate-filled cake, and I made sure he watched us as we consumed it with great gusto. My boy was not allowed to participate because I assumed that, since he hadn't eaten a lot before, he wouldn't want to eat this now either. I did notice, however, that his eyes flicked back to the cake again and again.
"All right, if you have finished, I think I will have to excuse myself. Rupert and I are going to have a little talk about yesterday's disobedience."
I smiled when I saw the boy's face, strained and pale, looking at me in a silent plea.
"You see," I continued undeterred, "yesterday I gave him a simple order: 'change your clothes.' But obdurate as the boy is, he returned wearing the same jeans I had told him to remove. He even argued about my instructions. This kind of rebelliousness can't be tolerated. So I have decided to punish him quite severely. I will do so in my study so as not to annoy my guests with the boy's howls."
"Well, actually we would be quite interested in watching your methods," Joseph Harrison said, and his wife, Glenda nodded.
I liked this, and turned to the Morrises. "What about you, George, Julia? Are you up to watching a small boy's backside being soundly thrashed?"
They looked at each other and then nodded. "Sure, why not?" Julia said with a little laugh.
"Very well, then, we shall all retire to my study. It is large enough to accommodate all of you comfortably and with a good view of the proceedings. There is only one condition."
They looked at me expectantly. "No interference for any reason whatsoever. If you have to make any kind of comment, be sure it is not one of criticism. I don't want the boy to think that he is being punished unfairly."
They all murmured their agreement to this condition and we moved towards the study. I had taken little Rupert by an ear, pulling him to his toes, but he still tried to dissuade me from beating him. Naturally I ignored this, just twisted his ear a bit harder in response.
Once inside my study, I instructed my audience to stand or sit in specific places so they could watch but not be in the way. Then I ordered the boy to lower his shorts down to his ankles. Once he had done that, I made him bring the heavy leather armchair into the middle of the room and when that was accomplished, the boy shuffling in tiny steps to keep from falling, I told him to go to the wardrobe and bring out the best cane he could find. Again he shuffled awkwardly across the room, his shorts preventing free movement of his feet, and it took quite a while before he had finally succeeded with both duties.
"Now bend over the back of the chair, face in the seat, and hold on to the front legs. Now spread your feet as far as they will go," I said after he had handed me the heavy cane.
I watched him separate his feet a few inches, stretching the little shorts. This was not satisfactory, so I ordered him to step out of them, fold them neatly and place them on a chair at the far side of the room. Once more he had to transverse the entire room, this time unhindered, so he moved very quickly, only too aware that everyone was looking at his bare middle.
This done, I ordered him back across the chair. This time I made him spread his legs until his joints cracked. "Now stay in this position," I warned the youngster, "or I will add more strokes each time you move. Is that clearly understood?"
"Y-yes, sir," mumbled the boy, his face beet-red and sweaty.
"Good, then shall we begin?"
I tapped the tip of the cane against the lower portions of his chubby backside. The boy flinched and clenched. I tapped until he relaxed again, then raised the cane high over my shoulder, took aim, and sent the cane whistling down with full force across his lower buttocks.
A loud yell reverberated around the room. I waited until he had quieted down, tapped his bottom again, and repeated the procedure, laying the cane just below the first stroke. Almost immediately a dark red line appeared, then another while the first was slowly turning purple.
And so it went until number six, when the boy, unable to control himself, shot up from his position, howled in agony, and clasped his stinging backside. We all watched as he suddenly realised what he had done and quickly bent over again.
"Three extra strokes," I announced calmly. "I regard this another sign of disobedience of a direct order which you said you had understood."
The three were given with extra force and left more purple and black welts across the boy's lower buttocks. Then it was back to the original punishment. Since the boy didn't know how many he was going to get, it didn't really matter if these three were extra or not, but I wanted him to realise that extra severity was warranted by his renewed act of disobedience.
After another six, Rupert was openly blubbering. I laid the cane down and inspected his bottom. Nothing unusual. Just the normal welts and bruises you expect from a sound caning. I walked over to the boy's head and raised his head by lifting his chin with my index and middle fingers. He looked at me like a calf being led to slaughter, or rather one being slaughtered already. His eyes, red and swollen, and the tears that still rolled down his cheeks, stained his entire face and forehead. His hair stuck to him wet with perspiration, and his lips were trembling.
"Is it over, sir?" he whispered pathetically.
I smiled down at him. "Not so arrogant anymore, are you, boy? Ready to obey in the future?"
"Yes, sir," he gasped. "Oh, yes, sir." He thought it was over! But I had to disappoint him.
"I'm afraid it's not over, my boy. You don't look to me as if you were really sorry and contrite, ready to change your manners. I think we will continue this little lesson until in my judgment you are truly sorry." And I made sure he saw me as I picked up the cane once more.
This little interval was made for the purpose of preventing that the boy's buttocks losing their sensation. Sometimes, during a thorough caning with a solid cane, the nerve ends go numb. It is necessary to prevent this and allow the boy a pause to absorb the full benefit of his punishment.
I gave him another six "of the best" always across the lower portions of his swelling behind, making a total of 18, not counting the three extra strokes, which I usually don't. Extra is extra. No use counting them, is there?
I put down the cane. "This will be all for today," I announced to my audience. "I will ring the maid to bring you some cognac while our young culprit here stands in the corner reflecting on his sins and his punished bottom."
After I had made my request to Helen, I told the boy to get off the chair and into the corner. There he stood for the rest of the evening while we adults discussed the benefits of corporal punishment for boys.
"We are sure this event tonight will impress our sons, won't it?" Julia Morris said, looking at her boys who had sat, wide-eyed, gazing at the proceedings. To judge from their faces, they were going to make sure they wouldn't disobey their parents any time soon. The same could be said about young William Harrison. He was quite pale and looked at the carpet.
After the guest had left, it was close to midnight and I finally released Rupert from his corner. He looked sore and tired and it was time for him to go to bed. "Come along, Rupert," I said, taking him by the ear and handing him his shorts. "Bedtime. I'll just give you another bath - Helen has gone to sleep - and then into bed with you. Just remember that your classmates will be spreading this little event tonight all around the school. So you should prepare yourself for a little more teasing. It'll do you good, so don't come crying to me. Maybe you should wear tonight's little velveteen shorts to school tomorrow. That'll give them something to tease!" I laughed when I saw the boy's alarmed face.
"Well, I won't be mean. You can relax. You'll wear your usual shorts." With a sharp slap on his tender behind, I marched him upstairs.