My parents were very strict, and my father in particular was a firm believer in the maxim of ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’.
When I was a naughty little boy, I got my bottom smacked in the traditional way, bare bottom over my father’s knee. However, when I was about nine or 10 years old, he began to use the cane on me.
As I say, discipline would was strict in our house, and the cane would come out for the least little thing I did wrong. The punishments were administered in the lounge – I would be ordered to take my shorts (or trousers) and underpants down, then bend over the back of an armchair.
After this ritual would come a short but to-the-point lecture from my father about my behaviour as I lay there bare-bottomed, usually ending in with a remark such as: “This is for your own good, Christopher. I am not having a delinquent, undisciplined little brat for any son of mine.”
I always got ‘six of the best’, as my father called it. He could (and would) generally stretch out the caning to about five minutes, leaving a good gap between strokes so my young bottom could really appreciate the sting and the rebuke of the cane.
Not unnaturally, the caning would usually cause me to cry. This made my father even more angry with me. “What are you crying about?” he would ask. “Take it like a man!” As I was not a man, but a young boy with a tender bare bottom being thoroughly beaten, this seemed tremendously unfair.
Strangely enough, although I hated it at the time, I eventually came to like the cane. As an adult, I feel this innate need to be punished and actively seek out men who will take the rod to my bottom and recreate my childhood days.