A Grammar-School Boy Looks Back

The Headmaster went over to his desk where a long thin rattan cane, some half-inch in diameter, lay waiting its first victim. Picking up the cane, Basher went across and positioned himself on the left of Ras, who was in what I can but describe as a sort of higher level position to that which that Headmaster inflicted on first formers when he caned them. You will doubtless recall, as I told you earlier, that I had myself experienced it on several occasions in my first year at Bishop's. It was that dreaded footstool on which you were forced, as a first or second former, to kneel and put your head and hands on the floor, whilst Basher shredded your arse with his cane.

The ever obliging Mr. Reeves, stood there ready to call out the strokes; Basher gave the cane a few customary swishes through the air to set the scene for the drama to follow and then gently laid the cane across the midpoint of Ras's arse; he tapped a few times as if seeking the precise place to start and then Reeves called the first stroke: one! The cane rose into the air whence Basher brought it down with incredible speed and force to land in the dead centre of Ras's backside, with that inimitable crack which rattan makes when it is stopped dead in its path by a well muscled, naked arse. Such was the force of this first blow that Ras let out a loud cry of pain. Try to imagine if you can what he must have felt like; he had just had a twelve stroke birching of his backside and upon this self-same area he was now being subjected to the discrete, but very painful cuts of a rattan cane. And the word cut is well chosen, for when Basher had finished with Ras, there were six well spaced welts cut deeply into the flesh of his arse. And so it was that Ras screamed his way through this hideously painful, complementary punishment. When he finally got up, his birched and beaten arse was a bright cherry-red all over, across which was inlaid a series of six deep furrows ploughed by the cane; furrows which were bleeding slightly and were already turning an unattractive shade between red and blue.

Having been forced to watch Ras undergo his punishment, I shuddered inwardly at the thought of what was about to happen to me as I would now be subjected to the same onslaught: it was truly a horrific occasion. But what made it even worse for me is that having had to watch the caning after the birching, my level of uncontrollable sexual arousal was such that I shot a load of my sperm over the Headmaster's carpet. It was as if I had just jerked myself off, but I simply had no control whatsoever over my own cock; it just happened. Basher pressed on regardless, even though he must have seen what had happened. He motioned me across to the two chairs where I spent the next few minutes undergoing the same torture that I had just seen visited on Ras. It truly was the worst beating of my life and I felt as if the pain would never end.

But did it stop Ras and me from doing what we did together? Of course it didn't. The Headmaster showed a total lack of understanding of human sexual attraction and behaviour in thinking that he could beat it out of us. As many others like him have found out, both before and since, such efforts are as successful as those of King Canute in trying to stem the tide. He had assuaged his own outrage; he had had the pleasure of giving two of his final year lads a monumental beating; but beyond that he had achieved nothing: absolutely nothing!

But that Saturday morning's beatings were not yet over. We were told to get dressed which I can tell you we did with great difficulty as it was almost too painful to pull back our underpants and trousers; but we finally managed it and were sent by the Headmaster back to the detention room where the vinegary Mr. Harding looked at us as if we were aliens from another planet before telling us to sit down and continue writing out the "text for the day"; there was still an hour to go before the detention ended at noon and we were doomed to spend it there, our backsides throbbing with pain, sitting on the hard wooden seats of the the desks.

The detention room door was suddenly flung opened and in stalked Basher seconded by the ubiquitous Mr. Reeves. We all immediately stood up as protocol demanded and this time the unfortunate boy, Lodge, also rose immediately to his feet, hoping against hope that Basher had by now forgotten his earlier "delinquency"; Basher had his cane in his hand; he looked menacingly at Ras and me waving his stick at us and adding vindictively to what he had just done to us said: "As far as you two are concerned, this Saturday detention counts as a regular detention, in spite of the fact that I have had to deal with you on another matter. Therefore have no illusions; if either of you incurs another Saturday morning detention before the end of term, then I shall once again have no hesitation in beating you in accordance with the school rules. I trust I make myself clear."

You could have heard a pin drop as the Headmaster intoned this menacing warning to us in front of all the other lads. He next focused his beady eye on the unfortunate Lodge: "I see, boy that you have at least learned in the interim that when I enter a room you always stand up; that at least shows that you can learn from experience. However, I think in view of your earlier tardiness in obeying the rules you need a little something to make you sprightlier on such occasions; come forward, boy, to the front of the room. The rest of you sit down again and get on with your work whilst I deal with Lodge."

A trembling Lodge, who had been hoping against false hope that the Headmaster might have forgotten or even forgiven his earlier minor misdeanour, moved slowly to the front of the class. You could have heard a pin drop as the boy moved towards his immediate fate; a fate not difficult to divine as Basher still had the cane in his hand.

Pointing with his stick to the front desk in the middle row, Basher ordered Lodge to take of his blazer and bend across the desk, grasping the far edge of the lid with his hands. He then proceeded to give the poor lad six hard cuts of the cane across his backside in front of us all. Lodge howled with pain as the cane landed with great force across his trousered seat; the onslaught was really very severe considering the piffling nature of his "crime"; but six cracking strokes landed on his buttocks nevertheless. Basher never did things by half!

That Saturday afternoon, Ras and I spent naked in bed together round at his house attempting to comfort each other for we were both still in extreme pain from the very severe thrashing we had received that morning. In those days, no one ever thought of protesting at what was, even by the then standards, outrageously exaggerated and maliciously vindictive behaviour by the Headmaster in his use of the cane and the birch. Today such behaviour would have landed him in court for assault and battery; but we just grinned and bore it as best we could. Neither Ras nor I ever mentioned the incident to our parents; we metaphorically just licked our wounds together as we lay there in bed. Ras pulled me to him and whispered: "Jonathan could you please do it to me right now? I really need you right now; in fact, when Basher had finished with the cane on my arse, I really wanted you to come straight over and fuck me there and then, stuck over that two chair job he had thought up; I know it sound silly; but that it the way I felt and that is what I want right now."

Ever ready to oblige I rolled Ras onto his back and took his legs over my shoulders and fucked him hard in what I have since learned is called the mission position, thereby avoiding as far as possible pounding his still raging buttocks with my efforts. We remained in bed until late afternoon when I left shortly before his mother came home from her job in the market.

That was the last time either of us ever took a beating from Basher. We somehow managed to keep our noses clean and avoided another meeting with him, in spite of the fact that contrary to what I am sure he (mistakenly) believed he had not succeeded in nipping our little activity in the bud. The results of the Oxford and Cambridge exams came in and both Ras and I were offered places: he at Oxford and I at Cambridge; and it was first then that it suddenly hit me that come the end of the summer vacation, we would both be going to different universities and that we would inevitably be separated. I wondered what it would feel like no longer to have Ras around as my regular sex partner: my only sex partner, in fact. But as events turned out, I did not have to wait until I was in Cambridge to find out.

It was half way through the summer holidays, sometime towards the end of July and Ras and I were in bed together up to our usual tricks. Suddenly as I had just finished giving his arse a tremendous pounding, Ras turned to me and said: "Jonathan, I have to tell you something; something important; something which you will not like; so please, please, please try not to get mad at me." After a long pause, he went on: "Look here Jonathan; it's like this; I recently met a girl and I have been seeing her from time-to-time this summer; and well, you know now things are (I really didn't) but we have become very friendly; and well, you know how things just happen; like they did with us, in fact; well I guess you know what I am trying to say."

I was somewhat dumbstruck by the news that Ras had clearly found himself a girl-friend, for so far in our relationship girls had never ever figured in our conversations. But here it was; my best friend Ras had taken up with someone of the opposite sex; and not only was he seeing her, but as I then found out, they were having sex together on a regular basis. "Ras," I said, "You mean that you are actually fucking this chick; you are doing something to her that you never wanted to do to me in all the time we spent together; you never wanted to fuck me and now you are suddenly doing it with her."

"Jonathan I know it's a horrible shock for you, but I thought I had to level with you. Look, I have really enjoyed our time together at Bishop's but as time has passed I think it gradually dawned on me that although I liked having sex with you it was not, long-term, anything I would want to continue with. It's not you, Jonathan; really it isn't; it's just that I have gradually come to realise that I am not a confirmed homosexual; what we have had together has been hellish good and I have enjoyed every minute of it, but long term it's just not for me. I've thought about why I never wanted to do the same for you as you were doing for me and I have some to the conclusion that subconsciously I was saving myself for a woman. I didn't know it at the time, but it seems to me the only rational explanation as to why I never wanted to fuck you, whereas I desperately wanted you to fuck me. The fact of the matter is that I have now realised that I am not a homosexual and that what we have had together has just been a youthful experiment. You see, Jonathan, I see my future as a conventional member of society: a heterosexual: a married man with children, like most others. Now I know that you probably don't feel the same, but in view of this realisation by me of my true orientation I think it might be best for both of us if we agreed here and now to part as friends. I don't want to rationalise things, but you must have realised yourself, that at the end of the summer, with you at Cambridge and me at Oxford, we would be parting anyway and that the distance between us would make seeing each other during term time very difficult."

"So Ras, what you are telling me is that we should break off our relationship right now."

"Jonathan I know that it sounds brutal, but I think it will best for both of us in the long run. Our school-time affair has come to an end; it was what it was; a short period of sexually liberating euphoria for both of us; but now that we have left school, it is over; like so many first time affairs, it has come to its natural conclusion and I think we must now both move on. But I want us to part as friends with no hard feelings. Look, Jonathan, what we have had together was a first affair for both of us; I don't know if things will work out between me and this girl, but for the moment I have the hots for her and she for me so I intend to make hay whilst the sun is shining. At the moment she seems the perfect girl for me, but that feeling may ultimately cool once we have got to know one another better and we too shall both move on to a new partner until we both find the right one; that is the way of life."

Listening to Jonathan trying to soften the blow he had just given me, which, frankly had cut me to the quick, I then realised that what he was saying made good sense. If he had decided that he did not want a male-male relationship, then there was no way that I or anyone else would make him change his mind. Just as Basher had not stopped us in our sexual tracks in spite of his painfully strenuous efforts with the rod, I too would not stop Ras from ploughing a new furrow; I knew there was no way I would prise him away from this girl: it was futile to try; sexual attraction is such a strong force, that it dominates our thinking and has to be accepted. And so I gracefully acquiesced to his suggestion and with a heart heavy with sadness, but not with anger, we did end or relationship that very afternoon. But as Ras had wanted, we parted friends.

We did not see much of each other for the rest of that summer; there seemed little point as that physical bond between us had been broken. The fact that by the end of the summer we would anyway have been parted softened the blow. Of course, when I got to Cambridge, I soon made lots of like minded friends so that my sex-life at university took on a new dimension and was both varied and exhilarating. In my final year, I found myself in a deep relationship with another student, a relationship which has held the two of us together for nearly sixty year, for I am writing these memories of my schooldays aged nearly eighty and the two of us are still together.

THE END