On belts, boats and blushes

31Jan12

nude with boatIn 1977 Julie was 18 and went on one of her last family holidays before heading off to college. What follows is a fictionalised account of a true story.

Mum and Dad were pretty strict and as the eldest, my brother was six years younger than I, I tended to attract all the heat. Now that meant more than an occasional good hiding, usually at the hands of my mother, who from when I was about 14 or 15 upped the ante by introducing two fresh elements to my spankings. Both involved my bare bottom and taking me down a peg or two.

Her first innovation was a big old brush and a new practice of spanking me downstairs no matter who was in earshot; or in the case of little brother where he could see. The other was that she persuaded my previously reluctant Dad to get in on the act. That meant the privacy of my room, but a far worse belting.

Now before I explain, I have to say that apart from the risk of a sore bottom and a world of embarrassment, I didn’t much care about getting it in the neck (figuratively) from Mum. She was always kicking off about something and I always viewed her wrath as an occupational hazard of being a teenager. However, if Dad got mad at me it usually meant he was disappointed and that meant I was wrong. I hated that.

So my point is, it was always a tossup, which was worse, a spanking from Mum on the bare in sem-public with a clothes brush or Dad and his belt. The latter was a very rare event and Dad was always so fair about it that until the events about to unfold if asked I would have said I preferred Dad to Mum.

In the summer of 1977 I turned 18 and that autumn I was due to go to college. For our annual holiday Dad hired a boat and we all set out on a river cruise for two weeks.

Maybe it was the sense of impending adulthood or maybe it was the sun and water, but I think that last holiday I managed to be both wild and childish.

It all began that first day when Mum said I had to wear a life jacket on deck as an example to my brother. I was furious as it wasn’t cool look and of course I blamed my little brother.

I must have been hell on legs that holiday.

Now one of the features of the boat was that we had a small dingy that we towed so that we could sail or row whenever we stopped for the night. Who ever got to it first got to decide where we went. Consequently it was the subject of much rivalry between my brother and I and I got pretty pissed off that my brother tended to get the better of me by beating me to it.

Around the start of the second week I saw some cute boys fishing on the other side of the river near where we moored and I hated the stupid kids’ buoyancy jacket I had to wear more than ever. In particular I wanted to get to the dingy before my brother so that I could go and check out these boys.

“Bags first go,” my brother shouts. I mean ‘bags?’ It was so childish and I was sure the boys had heard us.

To make matters worse he got to the dingy first. Now although my brother couldn’t really swim I thought what the hell, he had the stupid jacket. So as he was untying the little boat, I pushed him in. He went ape. Instead of just floating he began to panic and screamed the place down.

I shouted out, “you’re alright,” but I wasn’t sure that he was and I was suddenly scared of what Mum would say.

Then one of the boys on the bank dived in and swam to my brother to get him.

I think I said, “it’s OK, he’ll be alight,” or something like it. But from the water the boy gave me a filthy look and ignored me. I think also Mum and Dad were there by then and heard me.

Afterwards the boy asked me, “why did you push him in if he can’t swim? That’s a really stupid joke.”

“He was wearing a bloody life jacket,” I yelled. Only I might not have said ‘bloody.’

Mum was going berserk about now, but the look on my Dad’s face was one I’ll never forget. “You pushed your brother in on purpose?” He was incredulous and his tone so icy.

Then Mum stopped shouting and gave me such a look as she realised I hadn’t just been careless. I blanched and felt sick. There was a sudden and very real danger that I was about to get a spanking on the bare there on deck in front of everybody. I think Mum was just getting set to do it.

Then Dad said quietly, “you had better come below.”

I don’t know if you have ever had that complete sense of dread that makes you light-headed and you would do anything to have the chance to do things differently, but that was how I felt. I started to cry and repeated over and over that I was sorry, but even then I was thinking of myself not my brother.

“What were you thinking?” Dad said with a hissing voice the moment we got down into the lounge part of the boat. There was a bit of spittle on his chin. Everything else was a sort of blur but for this bit of spit.

I think I said stuff like, “he had a life jacket on” and “he wasn’t hurt.” I admitted that I did it on purpose and said I was sorry and then straight away denied it. I was just sobbing nonsense mostly.

“Maybe I should just send you home,” Dad said. He was so mad now. The kind of mad that doesn’t shout.

I know I said “please Daddy.” I never called him Daddy.

Then he started to undo his belt. “Take your shorts and things down and bend over the table.”

There was this fold way table in the lounge where we had our meals when not on deck. I remember thinking that the windows were open and that there were lots of people about. I must have hesitated too long because he said “Maybe it’s beyond this and you should see your mother.” I actually think he might have cried.

I just wanted it normal again. Normal was a good hiding. I did deserve it after all. I pushed my shorts and knickers right down and bent over the table. One leg of the table gave way a little and I was tipped forward a bit, although I think Dad was too mad to care.

I could feel the chill on my legs and bum and I blushed knowing Dad could see me naked. Then after a short but interminable wait his belt began to blast down on my bottom.

I don’t know why, but it didn’t hurt at first. I was just a big scary noise like the belting was happening to someone else. And then it did. I yelled and begged and pleaded. I think I said sorry an awful lot and ‘Daddy and ‘please.’

At some point Mum came in with my brother. He was dripping wet and they had to come through the cabin to the bedroom to change. Despite the sustained assault on my rear end I managed to be absolutely mortified that he got an eyeful and shamefully I was still blaming him.

I don’t know how long what was to be last good hiding from Dad lasted, but by the end I was beyond sorry and I had begun to come around to see his point.

As the last belt strokes fell I lay folded at a right angle crying my heart out and wondering if the graze-like rash of sting would ever ease.

“You can stay in your cabin for the rest of the day. I don’t want to see you,” Dad said finally, his voice so weary.

I didn’t move. My cheek pressed against the cold hard vinyl table top, I became engrossed in a small puddle of my tears inches from my nose. “Daddy,” I said in a voice neither of us had heard since I was 10, “I’m sorry.”

“I know kiddo,” he said, at last with a kind tone and ruffled my hair, “now go to your room.”

He strode out of the lounge and onto the deck without waiting to finish putting on his belt; an omission that spurred me to my feet. Now everyone will know I realised, as if they wouldn’t have heard anyway. It was then that I could see two dozen people milling about on the bank trying to look busy with ropes and things or standing with coffee mugs as they stared off into the middle distance. Pointedly not one was looking this way as they patently ignored what they could so obviously see. Not one but the cute boy who had saved my brother. He stood wrapped in a grin like the coat draped around his dripping shoulders.

Needless to say I did not venture out my cabin until we were long clear of that particular mooring and for the rest of the holiday every time we passed a boat I had to wonder if the occupants had been there to witness my shame.

It was years before I began to play spanking games with boyfriends, but I have to confess, I relived that day many times in my bed before that and not always with regret.

An anecdote from Julie as written by DJ Black



7 Responses to “On belts, boats and blushes”

  1. DJ,
    this does sound as if it might be real, anyway a very nice story. 😀
    Paul.

    • 2 DJ

      the bare bones are allegedly real – some of the ‘fleshing out’ is mine.

      DJ

  2. I wonder how common such practices were in British households in the late 1970s. Certainly it does sound like Julie deserved what she got. There’s no “mutual justification”, of the sort Pandora is so fond of, here.

    Damien, your story tells how it was only during the course of her punishment that Julie realized how wrong what she had done was. I wonder if this is something Julie told you or did you make that up? Because if it’s true, that does go some way towards providing a moral justification for the punishment.

    And how else would parents nowadays deal with such willful behaviour in a more enlightened fashion? I’m sure there must be a way. They could start by telling such a girl how her actions make them feel. But that would seem to lack a certain “emphasis”.

    Not that I’d be advocating a return to child rearing practices of the past, but what to do instead of spanking does rather seem to be an unresolved question, and is perhaps the reason so many teens run roughshod over their parents.

    Stories I’m hearing from American schools nowadays in the South indicate that in some cases they have real Police officers patrolling the hallways and that kids get arrested for what used to be considered normal childish misbehaviors.

    But surely this is not the progress we’d like to see either. You’d almost think that would be more about preparing the next generation for life in a police state than providing a measured response to social deviance.

    Playing music that teens won’t like in public places to discourage loitering, is also part of the current panoply of social controls currently deployed against young people in Britain, or so I read on the interwebz.

    Unpacking the mindset behind that leads to the conclusion that a class of people is being targeted for pre-emptive “law enforcement” actions solely because of their youth, although I’d be very surprised if there was any real legal justification for such practices. Perhaps the feeling is that if we can’t cane them any more, we’ll find other ways to make their life miserable.

  3. 4 DJ

    Hi Karl,

    obviously this made an impression.

    There was no intention to glorify teenage management practices of the past (as you say) and I am sure a great deal of the nuance (such there is any) has come from me.

    I am constantly fascinated by the various ways people come to ‘a spanking life’.

    ‘Julie’ shared two or three brief comments (and one extended comment) about her upbringing that led to this memoir being reconstructed.

    The only thing left out was the way that her sexual interest in the boys who were subsequently present when she was spanked and either heard, saw or she imagined that they heard or saw, linked forever sex and spanking in her mind.

    DJ

  4. 5 Flico

    What makes you think these are practices “of the past”?
    How would parents deal with it today? The same way.
    I don’t know why you think teenagers aren’t spanked today, when plenty of folks I knew occasonialy got spanked at late teen ages. (In the 2000’s)

    • 6 DJ

      Thanks Flico

      as you say – for some its not the past – but for most it is and ineed it would be illegal in most European countries.

      whta have you hear 🙂

      DJ


  1. 1 chross.blogt.ch - Chross Guide To The Spanking Internet

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