I want to tell you about the one and only time I got the slipper at school. It was off Mr Willis, my PE teacher at the time. This was in the early 80s.
Our group of 12-year-old boys had just had an active and intense football training session and about 15 minutes before we were due back at the main school for our next lesson, Mr Willis [name changed – Ed] called us all back into the changing room and we were all ordered to strip off and have a shower. We were all hot and sweaty and it was quite a warm spring day.
Nevertheless, the sports centre showers were never exactly red hot and we boys danced around naked underneath the rather cool jets of water – the showers were of a communal type, so everyone could see everyone else. I got caught up in the mood and began being quite silly, slapping other boys’ arses and throwing bars of soap around.
Suddenly, the voice of Mr Willis boomed off the tiles. “Right boys, that’s enough. Get dried off and get changed.” We all turned off the taps and made our way out of the shower room. I was about to follow everyone else when Mr Willis put his hand on my shoulder and said: “Not you, Davidson [name changed – Ed]. You come with me.”
To my horror, Mr Willis took me by the hand and instead of going back into the changing room, he led me out, still wet and naked, into the sports centre corridor. My embarrassment was made 100 times worse when I saw two older girls, who had obviously just finished changing and were waiting for their friends.
Thankfully, there was a little windowless office a few feet down the corridor and Mr Willis bundled me into this.
“So, Davidson – you think you’re funny, do you? Throwing the soap around and smacking other boy’s arses? Right little joker, aren’t we?” “Er, no sir, really…”
“Don’t both to speak. It’s six with the slipper. Bend over that chair there.” He pointed to a classroom style chair – the only one in the room. “Please, sir…” “I said bend over, boy!”
I had no choice to obey. My arse, and many other parts of me, was still wet from showering. I looked back long enough to see Mr Willis take his slipper – actually a gym shoe, as many will know – out of the drawer. It was a large men’s size, with a stained white canvas top and a thick rubber sole.
I felt Mr Willis put his hand on my back to hold me down and them whomp! The slipper hit my arse, followed almost immediately by an intense burning. Even at 12, I was still used to getting the occasional bare bottom smacking from my mum, or in really serious matters the belt from Dad, but neither hit as hard as Mr Willis. He was an avid rugby player and was built like a brick shit house.
The next couple of minutes were pure agony, probably made worse being slippered over a wet bottom. I didn’t yell out or cry, but I sure felt like doing so. Finally I was allowed up. “Right, Davidson, go get your clothes on and go to your next lesson, pronto!”
Again I had to run the gauntlet of the corridor naked and those two girls were still there. I cupped my hands over my privates but they obviously saw my reddened arse and before I could duck back into the changing rooms, I heard one of them say with a giggle: “Oh look, the naughty boy got his bottom smacked!”
I dried myself, furiously rubbing my buttocks with my towel in a vain attempt to get the sting out. Once I was back in my clothes I held back a bit, but realising I was going to be late for my next lesson, I burst back out into the corridor.
Fortunately they had gone, but I bumped into them the next day, and they said: “Oh look, it’s smack bottom boy!” I blushed to my boots and spent the next three weeks going to great lengths to avoid meeting those two girls, who had seen so much of my body.