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Dreading Eton
Michaelmas Half - Chapter Two
From the end of Chapter One:
At that point, I decided to open the flood gates. His offer was too good to pass up, but I had to make sure that he knew everything and that meant that I had to first reveal the deepest of all my Eton societal secrets, my B block (last year) participation in the Red Scarf Society.
"Red Scarf Society? What was that?" he asked and grinned, "A men's fashion club perhaps?" I laughed, "No, not quite! " I grinned with great satisfaction and went on to explain …
* * * * * * * * * *
"So, here we are, birds of a feather, "Charlie Nottingham nervously sighed as he sat in his small overstuffed chair across from Neville Caste and me, who sat side by side together on Charlie's bed. Every boy at Eton from day one had his own room for study and privacy's sake, but seldom were most boys really alone and the privacy thing was a terribly hilarious misnomer from start to finish.
A boy could have visitors until very late in any Block year, but especially if it was on a Friday or Saturday night and preferably, but not irrefutably, from his own House, B and C Block visitors from other Houses the exception. One had to be reasonably quiet and not disturb others on the floor of course.
Theoretically, both the Housemaster and the House Captain could enter unannounced, but practically speaking that never happened. The House Captain would refrain from such a thing for fear of turning what was a very useful tool for training young boys of the same age especially to interact in a more natural way within a micro-community setting into authority-paranoid loners. The Housemaster's fear was completely different. He did not wish to be found walking in on a boy in some half clothed state or worse, masturbating up a storm!
The fact was, walking in on a peer having a wank was at first a bit disturbing, but in later Block years, very common. After you got used to it however, it was actually kind of fun. We even developed bizarre fun "rules" about catching a mate doing that sort of thing, such as … well, more on that later I suppose.
We were obviously all in the same B Block year and presently in Charlie's House, Durnford , me from The Timbralls and Neville from The Hopgarden.
"What do you reckon were the chances that we would find each other like this anyway?" Neville finally spoke up after Charlie's comment.
I looked at Neville, "None, especially that were from different Houses, but it happened and I'm so damn nervous and feel guilty as hell too," I said, finally able to speak my mind about something I had desperately wanted to try and achieve, even if not with others from my own House.
As it was, a few of the unusual intra-House things we boys did amongst each other could be construed by outsiders and even by non-House staff or administration as at least somewhat questionable or slightly scandalous, but mostly as either a kind of rite of passage or just boys being boys or both. If you then "mixed the races" as we sometimes called some potential cross-House activities, well, that might be considered as inadvisable. It was a matter of containment really and gave each boy a chance to spread his wings in unusual ways with his peer group if he wished, but not make the whole school into a raging torrent of inter-house controversy.
Charlie sighed, "Thanks for that Barrett, but you're not the only one that feels nervous and guilty. I know what we want to do is harmless, but it's hard to imagine other boys not thinking us daft or perverted if they found out about it and especially us being from different Houses, so let's not let it out, OK?"
Neville's mouth quickly smirked into one of his predictable sarcastic tirades, "No, I think we should all wear red scarves around our necks to advertise that we three all like our bottoms to be red with spanking or caning Charlie; advertise as yet another esteemed Eton society, as if we need another for other boys to join! Of course nobody's going to tell you idiot!"
It was true, by last count, Eton College sported nearly two-hundred or so clubs or societies, one for every sport and academic department or interest and then some! You were considered a sap (boorish or lazy) if you didn't belong to two or three at a time, if not more!
"Red scarf?" I replied, and grinned at Charlie and Neville.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking Campion?" Charlie said and then even Neville smiled,
"We can be the Red Scarf Society, wear smallish red scarves on our persons, or maybe sport a discreet red handkerchief in a pocket now and again and nobody but us would ever know! That's brilliant!"
We all grinned and then Neville said, "Imagine the stuffy editors of The Chronicle (the twice per half Eton College boy produced magazine) finding out and begging us to let them publish the times and places of our meetings under Listings and Upcoming Events."
We roared and I added, "Yes, I can see it now: Applications for The Red Scarf Society available. Contact any boy who already parades about with a red scarf around his neck and has the caning stripes on his arse to prove it!" and the laughing continued for a nice long moment afterwards.
But that's how it started. We had just formed our own private little club, albeit one that would never be officially recognized. In a way it made us all feel good about being ourselves and a bit rebellious against the norm and that sort of thing; ample recompense in some ways against how Eton's corporal punishments had inadvertently made us to feel over our years.
Actually it was kind of my doing. I had taken Burton Glide's remarks about being myself to heart and blossomed out academically and even socially after that in my final two years. I would never get an appointment to Pop of course, but neither did I really want to be a leader of that sort.
It was shortly after Michaelmas half had begun during my B Block year that autumn that I was in a sports changing room after football practice. It was very common to see boys' bare bums healing from caning stripes when in the showers together and Charlie walked into the showers next to me that fateful afternoon sporting the obvious remnants of a full dozen of the day before.
We happened to be by ourselves for a few long minutes and I couldn't help but stare and admire his House Captain's work, "Looks magnificent," I commented, not too concerned about springing a boner by now in my very mature school career. He smiled, "Funny, you're the first to comment on them. It's like it's nothing anymore."
I wished right then that I had stripes to share with his eyes, "It's never nothing to me. It's like … well … " and I quickly shut up, but fortunately Charlie did not, "Barrett, would it embarrass if I told you that anymore, caning … well, it's like … I'm more than used to it …" and I looked up at him and seized the moment, for better or for worse,
"Do you like it as much as I do?" and that was the hazard. I immediately thought I had blurted out the wrong thing. I was in the middle of instantly chastising myself for having confessed something I should not have, but he quickly grinned, "I love it, do you also Barrett?"
Make no mistake, in my time at Eton College, I had found that sexualized boy on boy corporal punishment as well as homosexuality in general never seemed to be the unofficial and wide spread underground contact sport versions of the arcane Eton Wall game, nor were they ever entirely absent either.
Those who said there was no sexual contact between boys any longer at Eton or that no boy could ever find canings and such to be sexually stimulating were just as naïve as those who say both were rampant. I got my share of both from very amiable and safe sources, never fearing reprisals or threats of expulsion.
I quickly grinned, "Yes, I do, I have for a long while now!" but just then, two other boys appeared so we waited until we were dressed and walking back outdoors to our respective houses.
"I want to talk more Barrett, maybe tonight? Later?" he suggested and that is what happened. Nothing happened other than talking that night, we both were too nervous, but fate would allow that in-between times, Charlie happened upon Neville in much the same manner as we had happened upon each other and that's why we were finally alone, the three of us in Charlie's House in his room.
We all nervously smiled at each other and reaching in back of his chair, Charlie pulled out the cane he had sequestered, "We must be daft. What if one of our House Captains sees one of our bums after we do this?" and looked at Neville and me as he fiddled with the cane.
"What if one does, what could he do?" Neville replied with not a little defiance in his voice, "I don't care anymore. I'm tired of hiding myself all the time, not that I'm going to say anything, but if mine were to ask, I would tell him straight away that I asked a friend to cane me, because I like it. What's he going to do? Or say? Go to the Housemaster or Head and blurt out that caning has caused an epidemic of sexual perverts and needs to be stopped? It was them that did it to us, not vice versa!"
I grinned, "Fat chance of that! They're the real perverts, a few of them anyway, " I said, purposely exaggerating what I really knew not to be very true, but it was a harmless thing to say, so I continued, " The Pop would all die before giving up that privilege by suggesting anything of the sort," and that was the capper. There indeed was a freedom born that evening in Charlie's room that, to me anyway, was incomparable even to winning a House Cup in any competition or nearly so.
I sighed and hopped up to my feet, "So, my esteemed fellow B Blockers, we've made it this far, time to put our talents to the test, hey?" and started to strip myself from the waist down. Charlie and Neville stood up, both grinning with nervous excitement and anticipation as I was and did the same. I think we'd seen each other nude many times over our Eton years together, if not in our respective Houses, then in sports changing rooms in all three school halves. This was a bit different of the usual of course.
My cock was totally hard for obvious reasons. By that point in my career, I was not only visually experienced in taking in my gender's physical beauty, but had several very nice dalliances along the way, just not with Charlie and Neville. They both knew of my same-sex nature, but I did not expect anything else from them that evening save maybe a nice wank together after the main event. I had learned years before that a boy might get turned on after a good thrashing and want to wank-off, but that had no necessary reference to wanting to be with another boy for sex or relationship otherwise.
I did notice that their cocks were mostly hard, but not rigid like mine and their eyes were not nearly as active as mine, so I cut short my visual surveillances so as not to make them nervous about me and spoil our virginal romp with Charlie's cane. Nonetheless, neither boy's physical attributes fore and aft disappointed. Neville then fetched a chair and we nodded to each other.
"What say we give each other a dozen full, in sets of three, taking turns?" Charlie suggested. Neville and I quickly agreed. I went first, as the whole thing seemed to be my doing, Charlie taking up the cane first. "Have you ever caned anyone before?" I asked with a great grin as I stood myself in front of the chair. Charlie chuckled, "No, I haven't, but my arse will teach me. Goodness knows it has all the experience in the world!" and we all laughed.
I doubted any of us would be harmful to each other so I bent over the chair, feeling very excited indeed. I had managed over the prior few years to make friends with my many school prefects in The Timbralls and a few of them had been easily enticed into giving my bare backside a good treatment of one kind or another just for my asking for it, very few of them actually getting involved directly with me for the pleasant aftermath, so this seemed a new experience with at least some enhanced possibilities.
Charlie swished the cane about, even whacking on his furniture a bit as I waited. Then he stepped to my side, "Barrett Campion, the first three hard strokes for our Red Scarf Society!" he announced, tapped my arse cheeks, drew back and swung the stick! The cane landed with a stiff cracking sound as it should and pain exploded into my arse as it should as well! I huffed out my reply, surprised at how well Charlie had done, "My God Nottingham! It hurts like the devil and you didn't wrap the tip! Feels great!"
"Looks perfect as well Charlie, well struck!" Neville encouraged Charlie who seemed to flush a little as I looked back up at his grinning face and then he did it again. Cuts two and three were equally as well done and I was well on my way to my dozen and stood up. Charlie handed me the stick, "My turn, you do it Barrett please!" and now it was my turn to be nervous about giving good cuts and whacked on the furniture a bit as Charlie got into position.
I had played about with a cane before, but had never really struck real targets, so I now concentrated on Charlie's beautiful buttock cheeks. I sighed, drew back and struck, hard to the center. Charlie puffed out air, "Oh my word Campion! It hurts just like when the House Captain does it!" and I smiled and nodded to Neville.
I meted out two more strokes to Charlie who then stood up grinning. His cock was rock hard, in fact all of us now were equal in that manner. Charlie proceeded to initiate Neville and around it went, until all three of us had accumulated twelve angry red stripes. All of our caning lines were criss-crossing quite a bit at the end and we all were blowing our cheeks out and rubbing on very sore bums, but there was nothing but smiles and inward feelings of pride and accomplishment.
"Well, come on lads, we've a bit of steam to blow off, anyone shy about wanking off together?" Charlie asked. Now was my chance to do my thing if they would let me, "May I offer a bit of oral satisfaction to my well caned fellows, no strings attached, hey?" I offered. Let's just say that I was enthusiastically received and as I pleasured myself with one hand, my lips lavished ample satisfaction to both of my fellow Red Scarf Society members that evening.
We would later choose to wear small and insignificantly sized red scarves or handkerchiefs that Neville obtained for us every other Wednesday morning or so until lunch time or sometimes all day on a Sunday and especially if we were at some event together. If anyone ever had noticed, nothing was ever said. Neither did things develop further past our use of canes, belts or straps on each other along with my oral offerings to my compatriots, but I didn't need to have anything more than that.
We would meet maybe twice a month in one or the other boys' rooms, pass around and use the implement of choice that night, let off our pent up lusts and talk about school and our other friends. When it finally was all over come Lent term and we had our very last meeting, we all parted company on Leaver's Day that next spring, having had a grand run nonetheless. I figured that our Red Scarf Society would die a dignified death, left only to be cherished in the memories of least me, if none of the other of its founding members.
"Seriously? You never talked to Neville or Charlie after you all left school?" Kevin asked me. Just thinking about them just then made my eyes misty, "No, it just never happened. I returned here to the States and somehow, it just never seemed a good thing to revive to me."
"But you loved it! It made you feel close to them Barrett, I'm not sure why you didn't at least try?" He replied. I hated it when Kevin made me feel those longings again, the kind you know you can never have again. It was almost like Leaver's Day again my last Lenten half, the most hateful day of my life still, a singular dread that at least temporarily still made me feel immature and ridiculous for still thinking of it in that manner.
I stood up just then, my tender emotions starting a strong upsurge, "Let's just drop it, OK? It's not worth the bother, it's stupid and I need to just not be reminded," and I wanted to leave Kevin and return to my own apartment alone so that I could huddle up to myself in my bed and shed a few tears of self-pity.
But Kevin was not to be talked to like that, certainly not from me anyway, "Well, you are going to be reminded and I will not sit here and allow you to let go of some of the most precious memories you have Barrett Campion, stand up!" and his voice had this command in it, a tone that I had not heard or felt for eons of time, not since my Eton days certainly. I stood up, kind of shocked.
"Trousers and pants down! Now! You are going to be spanked over my knee. Then we are going to take some time and find some canes somewhere and you are going to face yourself and bring your past back to life!"
I suddenly realized that he had used the word "pants" and not underwear. It sounds trivial, but it was far from that to me. Kevin, an American just as I, was taking me all too seriously, even down to using the proper British words that I would have used while I was at Eton to stimulate his purpose within me. I then realized also that I had all too easily and needlessly left behind a very important part of my life at Eton College and no longer questioned my friend's good judgment.
I did then thrust my trousers and pants down and he pulled me over his knee, my chest aching with nerves and anticipation. My cock was instantly hard. I had not had one spank or swat to my backside in any fashion since Eton, six long years before, much less a cane cut. This was definitely not a trivial moment for me at all!
Kevin said nothing and just started to spank me, hard too! It hurt! But it felt wonderful also, that is until I discovered that the future Dr. Kevin Davidson, PhD's abilities to put me in my place and really make a painful impression on my backside were quite serious. He blistered me hard for a long few minutes then stopped and my bare bottom was left throbbing with this delightfully glowing reminder that took me clear back, even to my Eton new boy experiences!
"You know I love you, don't you Barrett?" he asked. I lay still, the heat from my very sore adult bottom now pulsating lustful messages into my testicles and blood into my penis in record time. "Yes, I do Kevin," I replied feeling so wonderfully vulnerable to him.
"Good, because I am already used to this. From now on mister, you'll be spanked regularly over my knee, and when we get the canes, you are going to be sent back in your ass, I mean arse! … to Eton on a regular basis as well, no questions asked!" and then he started to spank my tail again. I let his words and his promises sink deeply in as the stinging pain started to set in again.
I knew that I could never really return to Eton, nobody can do that, but to be able to relive some of the moments that I so cherished there with Charlie and Neville and Pops like Burton Glide, seemed a precious gift. All I said then was, "Yes Sir!"
Kevin finished up my chastisement and then stood up me, my emotions in full release and me feeling so much better for them. A few tears were streaming down my face even, but not from pain or from grief, only from the realization that Kevin loved me so much as to allow to bring my past back up to me, into the present, where it really belonged and not buried under a layer of lifeless, dusty dread.
We made love that night and it seemed different to me in the best of ways. A few weeks later, we finally found some decent rattan senior sized canes and Kevin practiced for awhile, but then it was show time and I told him some of the catch words and phrases that the prefects at Eton might say to a boy and some of the reasons we got caned in those days.
Then I went over a chair, naked. He slowly practiced at first, me guiding him from the memories I had closely saved in my memory when we caned each other in the Red Scarf Society years before. He ended up caning me twelve hard cuts too, and did them surprisingly well. The past did start to come back to me that night years before the present, hard and painfully, but also gratefully.
Now I was back in present times in my mind and about to get the promised hard eight! I waited, everything to do with legal briefs or torts and with me being a fully fledged attorney completely gone from my mind, a wonderful relaxation let me tell you. My eyes closed, my hands clutching the sides of the chair, I allowed my mind to wander back into time as I would often do at these times, to my very beginnings at Eton.
I had been a fag for an older boy, my fagmaster, a Timbralls Library prefect in my first year, my F Block year in The Timbralls; but in that first year, I was only spanked or slippered, never caned.
With very few exceptions, caning did not start until our E Block year when we were fourteen and even then, it was with minimal strokes with the junior cane until we were proven both to be able and worthy of more. Let me tell you, within our own Houses, we boys unconsciously, but some of us very consciously, battled to be the first to get a full six, then some of us a full twelve. Yes, you guessed it, I was one of the latter. It was a badge to be worn proudly and admired. Even the prefects doing the caning provided us with ample praise for our efforts in those days and you know how I doted on such praise from our older betters.
Kevin laid on the first cane cut across my bare breech. It stung like the devil, perfect in placement and could not be more even across each cheek. Then he gave me the second and it somehow triggered further tender memories about my first two weeks at Eton, at thirteen years of age, scared to death of myself, much less of boys who looked the same as me, but sounded very different …
I hadn't even quite fully realized that I was standing on British soil and not American. The sky was still blue above the small town of Eton that day, just like in America, the water in the Thames River that ran alongside the school similarly green; but somehow, as I looked up at the enormous Eton College Chapel and gazed at the old Library across Slough street, the one with the peculiar and ornate lamp post in front called "Burning Bush," I finally realized that I was in a place unlike any other. I was with my parents of course and we made our way into the long and hallowed passage way in the Cloisters just outside of the Headmaster's and Bursar's office to await my official signing into the Head's new boy roster, or "book" as it was traditionally known.
There were several hundred boys all my age, thirteen, with their parents as well, all of us milling about all over the place, but the closer I got towards the Head's desk and my turn to register my presence, the more nervous I became and the more I wanted to beg my parents to just pick up and leave, go back to America where my comfort zone had been left behind, and forget about Eton forever.
Other boys were smiling, grinning ear to ear, many of them standing with mates they had known since their British prep school days, some of them from St. George's Prep right there in Windsor, a mere stone's throw away from the College, happily together for their first days together. How nice for them. I was not smiling. I felt alone and that I would never have friends at this new and foreign school, certainly not British ones.
Then there was this British voice come up from behind me, "There, you, you're the American aren't you?" and I whirled around. Our eyes met. In a sudden flash of recognition, I knew that this boy, whoever he was, was going to not only cause me more trouble and get into more mischief with me in one year than I had ever known in my first thirteen and that we would be life-long friends as well. His hair was a tawny shag, his eyes a bright blue, his mouth overly big, but his toothy smile covered it all in a way that melted me on the spot.
His hand thrust out, he gleamed, "I'm Chadwick Latham Burke, but you can call me Wickers or better yet Wicked! That's what my Dad calls me sometimes when I've been bad, what's your name please?" and he patiently waited. I was mesmerized for a long moment, then put my hand out to shake his, though tentatively, "Barrett James Campion, I'm … that is … new … you know," and felt foolish, verbally stumbling awkwardly all over myself. Chad had it covered with a lengthy and rapid fire response,
"It's brilliant to meet you, can I call you Barrett? Or Barry? Or better yet, Camps? Everyone has a nick around here you know. We're in the same House, The Timbralls you know, right at the corner up on Slough Street at the Sixpenny or Field, I checked! We're both Oppidans you know and our rooms will be next door to each other's, I checked that too. We have a wonderful Housemaster and Dame, Mr. Henderson and Ms. Forrester, but you call her M'am and you'll think them very smart and our House Captain is Pop and going to be the best, Howard Dickson! My family knows his and Dickers already knows about both of us!"
My mouth was helplessly as open as a barn door's and I just kept shaking his hand limply and helplessly, trying to figure out what in the world he had just said. Was it Chinese? My parents had given me a lot of literature to read about my new school while I was still home in America, but reading about Oppidans and King's Scholars and such was not nearly the same as actually now living among them or being one even! What was a House Captain or a Sixpenny and what was a Pop? Had I read about those? All I could answer was, "Yes," and then Chad introduced his parents to mine. They seemed like normal parents, unlike their whirling-dervish son who then blurted, "Come on! Let's go find our House, can we Dad?" he said.
My ear was not used to British phrases or tones, but I loved Chad's. "You must sign in first Chad, have you forgotten already?" he grinned at his overly excited son. Then Chad humorously slapped his palm to his face, "Buggers! I almost forgot the most important thing, Headmaster's new boy's book!"
Buggers? I instantly loved that word and laughed at him as his mother frowned, "Chadwick Latham! I thought I told you to not use that word around others?" and gave her son a firm pat on his behind. "Sorry mum!" and then he just shrugged at me, grinning, then looked up at his Dad, "After we sign new boy's book, then can we go?"
"Well, l can't speak for Mr. Campion, Chad, but otherwise yes."
I think my Dad would have agreed to Chad and I taking guns and shooting up both towns, Windsor and Eton, if only I would perk up and be even a little happy or show a little gratitude for the incredible opportunity that he and Mom had afforded me to attend Eton College in the first place.
In any case, I was completely drawn into Chad's enthusiasm, at least temporarily in the daylight around others. I would still have moments of frustration and home-sickness, including that first night alone in my bed; but for present, Chad had charmed me out of my doldrums and after we both signed into the Head's new boy's book, we bounded off together, or rather me following him and a few others of the new ten boys that would comprise The Timbralls' new crop of thirteen year old Eton F Blockers.
By cuts four and five, Kevin had my full attention and no amount of memories could make me find focus on anything but a Pop-like performance of caning on my rear. I admired Kevin for having taken the time to learn how to cane properly in order to live up to my highest OE (Old Etonian) expectations and now he never disappointed.
The last three cuts were expertly low, but not too low and made my face wince and my body writhe, but after the last cut, he made me be still and ran his hand down the center of my bum, gently brushing his finger-tip over my bum hole.
Kevin seldom did anything more sexual with me in that position than just that one gesture, regarding the session as an important connection for me and not to be trifled with.
"Good, you may get up boy, hands on your head," he finally said and I complied.
Then he sat the cane down and brought me into a hug which I accepted, but did not have permission to return as yet. But when he finally did, I cuddled my head next to his and wrapped my arms around him. Now he did run both of his hands down over my beaten arse.
"I just thought you needed a break, " he needlessly explained. He knew I would never protest and that his ability to judge when I needed to chill out and leave work on my desk for awhile seemed very intuitive, if not flawless.
I let out a small purr of satisfaction, my cock starting to do all my thinking for me, very predictable, but also not fatal in terms of needing attention, just then anyway. In fact, as I stood there, us hugging, my stripes were talking to me stronger than my cock, from the point of view of fantasy that is.
"I want more, "I said. I could feel him grin, "You know the rules," he replied. Yes, the "rules," or more simply stated from Kevin's point of view, "I may be a great therapist, but I still can't read minds," meaning I was to be explicit in what I wanted from him. It didn't have to be detailed; he knew all the details of my fantasies by now, all I had to provide were the key words.
"Spanking and slipper," I stated simply. "One hour, in your room, now get!" and he gave me a soft pat to my caned bottom to push me in the right direction down the hall and up the stairs to our bedroom. I had one hour to nap, rest my mind, stir my imagination back in time and then he would come to my room, my slipper in one hand, his strong and resilient spanking hand otherwise ready, my caned bottom sufficiently recovered to take the next step in my afternoon of relaxation.
I hit the bed on my back, my backside alive with the wonderful after-caning afterglow . I totally ignored my erection and closing my eyes, turned to my side and ran my fingers over the fiery ridges. My mind sped back to my very first Eton College days, my F Block year and that autumn's Michaelmas half, the temptation to dote on the end of the first two weeks, called "new boy's benefit," quite strong at the moment because of the clever trick that House Captain Howard Dickson and his Library of prefects coaxed all of us new boys into. Instead, I would save that thought for when Kevin came in with my slipper and instead, moved first back in time to my very first official boarding night at The Timbralls …
Everything I had been promised by my parents about being a new boy at Eton, despite my not wanting them to be true, came true and quickly so. The Timbralls Housemaster and Dame, Mr. Henderson and Ms. Forrester tried their best to be in effect sympathetic "in loco parentis," and if I was honest with myself even then, they did a great job, but nothing that they could do or say could trump the House Captain. Truth be told, we boys, both new and older, looked to our Pop member, Howard Dickson, and took all of our cues from him which was what even the oldest Etonians had designed to be the case.
Chadwick Burke and my other eight new British mates were amazing those first days. I was their "pet" American of course and only two of the boys had been to the United States and raved about hamburgers and the wide Mississippi River among many other things. They all wanted to sound like they were from Texas and sported corny "John Wayne" accents in front of me and I, of course, had to murder their British accents with my own poor imitation which sent them all into stomach-aching hysterics.
The problem was, even Mr. Henderson aside, Howard Dickson was strict with our bedtimes, threatening to spank our bare bottoms if we even thought about violating our initial strict lock up and curfews of "behind the closed door" by ten P.M. Part of it was for our own good and was designed primarily for those of us who were not used to full boarding, to get on with it and get used to it. The rest of it was simply, "get used to the rules, there are boatloads to be reckoned with!"
Surprisingly, only a minority percentage of even British prepped F Block Etonians had ever boarded one day in their lives and were vulnerable to home sickness, even from very short geographical distances from their homes in Britain. So you could imagine the terror I felt that first night, an American thousands of miles from home, alone in my room at Eton College in The Timbralls, light on or not, it didn't matter. Sleep was nowhere to be found and my tender emotions were threatening me with chaos. In this case, chaos meant crying, something that no thirteen year old cares to do, much less be caught at.
I was just plain miserable, cuddled up to myself in my bed in my pajamas, tears streaming down my face, a giant pout on my face and my mind concocting and rehearsing renewed promises to stay the night, then call my parents the next day and beg to be released from this legal boys prison called Eton. Just then, a soft knock on the door and a back-lit head appeared, a rather large one. I immediately turned and knew it was my House Captain. I panicked a bit. My face was wet and my general countenance in a state of theoretical rebellion, which I knew would go over like a large pile of rotted flesh if I dared to display it to the older boy.
I didn't wish to seem like a father's son to him, so I sat up. He took this as permission to enter, which he had anyway and he walked in, but didn't turn on the light. But he did come right over to me and sat down, right by my side, me grateful for the darkness to hide my face. I wiped the wetness and gave only one big sniff.
"My first night, I cried like a baby. I'd never boarded before either and was cursing my parents quite roundly actually. Come on Campion, follow me."
Naturally, I thought I was in trouble, but if I was, there was nothing I could do about it. When the House Captain orders you to jump off a wall, you jump off a wall. I padded down the darkened hallway and around the corner and to the end and right into Ms. Forrester's apartment rooms! What was this? Well, what it was, was a very well planned-for crisis intervention, new boys who would need a little extra TLC their first night or two out.
There was Ms. Forrester, her hair all wrapped up in a towel, her pink robe on and a bright smile on her face. She handed me a white bowl and I took it. There was a silver spoon off to the side and in the middle of the bowl, a giant pile of vanilla ice cream. Then she said, "Chocolate sauce Barrett?" I nodded, incredulous, "Yes m'am, please," and held my bowl out. "Say when!" she asked and I let the chocolate stream down in amounts that seemed ridiculous even to me, but not to her. Then she pointed to her couch in the small front room, "Over there, sit." and I did.
"I'll be right back," Howard said and left me with Ms .Forrester who had her own bowl in hand and she sat in her small recliner, "So then, tell me about home, what you miss the most?"
Apparently, the strategy had been long since developed. The best way to conquer your fears and regrets including home-sickness was to face them head on, talk about them openly, amply stimulated of course by a good dose of sugary delight. I thought she was nuts, but who was I to question anyone with a bowl of ice cream and a bottle of chocolate syrup.
So I started in and by golly, it was working! The more I talked, the less I ate, but the better I already felt. I finally stopped talking for a bit and loaded my mouth with a huge load of the delicious and rare near-midnight treat even daring myself towards an unwanted ice cream headache for my trouble and I was about to start talking again, when Howard re-appeared.
I hadn't even noticed that he was entirely dressed down from his usual handsome dark pin-striped slacks and traditional long black Etonian tailcoat with his own personalized and distinctive colorful Pop waistcoat and instead had on this amazingly shiny dark maroon smoking jacket of sorts and bare feet! Anyway, he looked handsome in it and so informal.
But he had two other boys in tow now, including, of all boys, Chadwick Burke! The other boy's name was Aaron Connaught, but I couldn't remember his last name just then, only that he was from an aristocratic British family and had some kind of title even, Lord this or that or Earl of something or other. Now, that sort of thing didn't matter at the least. Aaron's family titles and Chadwick's seemingly impossible to deter bright smile and cheery attitudes were totally gone, stripped from them like clothing from a misbehaved F Blocker about to face a very painful bare bottom punishment. I couldn't tell if either had suffered tears, but neither did I want to know if they had.
I sat my bowl in my lap. For the first time ever, I saw another boy just as miserable, if not more, than I was. In fact it was worse for them when they saw me. They were proper British boys after all, brought up to have stiff upper lips and all that and they lived short distances from their new school compared to me. I felt sorry for both actually and they both looked cowed and embarrassed and might have even protested Howard dragging them down to Ms. Forrester's if they knew that I was here too, but I kind of doubted that.
They both quietly accepted their treats from Ms. Forrester and were directed to sit on either side of me, both in their regulation Eton-light blue striped pajamas as well. Aaron sat to my right, Wickers to my left but I picked up my bowl and ate more ice cream for a short while before even turning to look first at Aaron, then to Chad. Our eyes finally met.
"Hey," Chad said softly, looking more miserable then I presently felt. I nodded and then got what was probably the most mischievous thought I had ever had up to then in my life and fairly blurted out to Chad,
"You homesick too? Man, what a pussy."
To my right, Aaron let out a huge snort right in the middle of a big spooned mouthful of ice cream, and bending forward trying to control his reaction, ended up on the floor on his side in a huge single guffaw which sent a brown mixture of ice cream and chocolate sauce to come shooting out of Chad's nose and he nearly fell to the floor but didn't, and instead rapidly rocked back and forth trying a lot less successfully than Aaron to stifle his laughter.
My eyes grew huge when I realized that I had forgotten where I was. Dickson was standing up against the far wall eating his ice cream and Ms. Forrester was properly seated in her flowery upholstered recliner. Ms. Forrester emitted a short but sweet, "Oh my!" and bolting upright, made a mad dash for her kitchen, laughing hysterically inside of her hand covered mouth.
Howard lowered his bowl and looked at me a moment and it seemed to take all the control in the universe for him to not laugh in just the same manner as Ms. Forrester and instead, he rolled his tongue around the inside of his mouth and said to me,
"Barrett Campion! Say or do anything like that again and you'll find your bare arse over my knee and as red as your face is now!" and then a smirky smile leaked out from the corners.
Aaron was now picking himself up from the floor, Chad's face had lit up into the most wonderful grin and by now Ms. Forrester had returned with damp cloths to clean up the splattered mess I had provoked in my mates. "Sorry m'am," I managed through my embarrassment. I got a head ruffle from her for my apology, "quite all right really Barrett, now where were we?"
Needless to say, the awful spell was broken for that night anyway and actually, it was never much a problem again. All the more I can remember about the rest of that night was being escorted back down the hallway to my room, saying good night to both Aaron and Chad who disappeared behind their room doors and then me turning to Dickson before I too disappeared,
"Dickson, thank you," I said very gratefully. He smiled, "No problem Campion, now get some sleep."
The only other post-script to that precious memory would be that whenever Aaron, Chad and I were anywhere alone together in our F Block year, no matter if standing outside of a classroom or on a sports field or taking a meal together in Bekynton, Aaron, even with all his proper aristocratic style in full force, might sidle up to us and say, "pussy," and we'd all break into laughter and grins for about two seconds each.
I said the word aloud to myself again, as I often did with that wonderful memory of being thirteen, "pussy," and it made me smile and wished to hell that Chad and Aaron were there with me to share in it. I rolled over to my other side now in Kevin and mine's bed, the hour of my further "punishments" drawing nearer and started to move my memory forward to our first faux trial examination.
For the first two weeks of an F Blocker's Michaelmas half, he was given the "new boy's benefit," that is, a boy is allowed to be non-excessively late or tardy to chapel or classes or commit minor crimes and rule breakages and was given the "benefit of the doubt," as it were, and not have to take punishment of any kind or if very serious, be sent up to the Bill and face the Head.
In the vast majority of cases, after those two weeks of grace had disappeared forever, you'd be facing your House Captain for punishment and depending on your Block year and crime, that almost always meant a brisk and hard delivered corporal punishment almost always on the bare despite your Block year.
When corporal punishment had been reintroduced well before my arrival, the rules for it were somewhat reworked. A boy had to have a signed letter of permission from his parents to allow that their son could face corporal punishment from his House Captain. Strangely enough, it was said that there had been no known instances of an Eton boy who did not give his assent by letter and it was even rumored that some boys had "forced" their parents to sign one despite parental objection, why?
Because other boys would find out you didn't have a letter and the peer pressure could be fierce. You did not want to be left out of a tradition, no matter if you did hate it or found it disgusting or abusive, too bad. Once again, money and titles meant nothing to us boys for something as important as that. We had to live in our closed society very closely to each other and with each other's frank opinions of the other as well. Adolescent self-esteem was at stake here and not even the threat of corporal punishment could trump that raw fact of adolescent life, no matter who you were. Moreover, there was more than just grudging admiration for any boy who faced a good caning bravely, even if he hated it privately.
F Blockers could only be spanked, hairbrushed and slippered by his House Captain, no exceptions and no problem. Have you ever been slippered or hairbrushed? I was, less than I probably really deserved in that first year. Twelve or even six of those beauties from somebody like Howard Dickson in my time was not a pleasant thing at all. E Blockers became eligible for six cuts of the belt or three of the junior cane from Michaelmas to Lent halves, then he could get twelve of the belt and six of the junior cane after Lent started and that said nothing of the humiliation that could be visited upon him via an F Blocker's spanking, hairbrushing or slippering if he cared to find out.
Things just accelerated from there. What D, C or B blocker wants to face anything less than a full senior caning or leathering from his House Captain instead of a humiliating E or F Blocker's sentencing? House Captains could really give a misbehaved C or B Blocker a run for his self-esteem money if the boy cared to challenge him.
Did House Captains abuse their authority from time to time? Of course, but I never saw it. But if he did, a word to his Housemaster would usually be enough to send the offender to the Head. Housemasters were not allowed to punish boys for obvious reasons. They were to be neutral arbiters or benign parent types.
When corporal punishment was revived, our Headmaster had refused to bring out Dr. Keate's birching rods and even eschewed his 20th century equivalent ,Mr. Chenevix-Trench's, bare bottomed canings for his part, so that meant that a trip to the Head for an abusive House Captain or other prefect-graced boy could yield a humiliating stripping of his rank, partial stripping of any scholarship and the worst, expulsion and a life-time banishment from the Eton College grounds for life.
You can easily understand now that it was well understood by every boy that if a House Captain or any member of Pop went too far on any non-Pop boy, he was going to face something very painful. And it turns out that the something would usually be a privately held disciplinary Pop-council that would proceed to find the culprit guilty, then the boy could choose: a trip to the Head or to have his bare backside bared and somewhat savagely beaten by his peers, a procedure called "Pop-tanning." Before I left Eton, I had been well informed that it had happened, even while I was at Eton, several times, and each time, the culprit had chosen to be beaten, the harsh details never revealed outside of that elite corps.
But now, as I knew that at any moment Kevin was going to appear in the bedroom and I would be facing my next delicious chastisement from his skilled mind and hand, my memory shifted from that wonderful incident of innocent home-sickness to something a bit more accusatory and much more exciting for me just then …
What thirteen year old boy, no matter who he was, could resist any chance at all to listen through a closed door while one of his peers was getting a bare bottom comeuppance over the House Captain's knee? To tell the truth, it was not me who wanted to do it, it was dear Chadwick. That boy had enough curiosity that could kill many cats far before he personally could be harmed and he was usually so clever with hiding the attempt, well later he was. What we both didn't know quite yet at the three week mark into our heady F Block Michaelmas half was that House Captains had the sharp instincts of deadly African jungle cats and the hyper-sensitive hearing of South American bats.
Listening through the House Captain's study door while other boys were getting hidings was strictly forbidden. As it was, the poor boy inside had to cope not only with having the House Captain see his poor bared bottom, but at least one other prefect as well, usually always one of the House Captain's three other appointed in-House prefects, more traditionally called one of the "Library," in Etonian terms.
But what deterrent was that to clever boys like us if you thought you could get away with it? Chad dragged me along and I had to confess, I did want to hear James Arnold Geddison get his young behind spanked. He was already becoming a bit of a wanker in terms of acting like he knew everything and everyone in Britain, or at least bragged that his parents did. He treated me well enough, but it was his own British mates that got tired of it really, so they cleverly set the poor boy up and he got caught returning a rather mild verbal taunt with a very naughty one, "Fuck off! I know what I'm fucking talking about!"
Well, say that four-letter word thing and have no better standing than being a lowly F Blocker and in proximity of your own House Captain and you may as well just take your trousers and pants down right on the spot and Howard Dickson almost did make James do that.
So there we were, ears to the door, listening to Howard lecture James as he briskly spanked James and James taking it to heart, if his plaintive sobs and gentle pleadings meant anything, and me in the midst of a tremendously exciting risk-taking adventure next to my tour guide, Chadwick Burke.
Suddenly, I felt this odd pressure lifting me up nearly to my tip-toes. Well, Chad and I had yet to learn also that members of the House Captain's Library were known for exceptional timing. They, in fact, had better timing than one of the fly wheels inside of a Royal family's Rolls-Royce engine compartment.
That pressure was the telling fist of prefect Nathan Fisher, not a Pop, but an exceptional footballer and a member of the College's Association First XI. Not hardly six weeks after this little mis-adventure still in progress, Nathan would score the winning goal in the final minutes of the away footy match with hated rival Harrow, bringing all of us present at the match to near tears, and some of us with tears, for the glory of it all. I would have exceptional emotion for that moment, the reasons would become clear soon enough.
Anyway, the looks on Chad's and my face must have pleased Fisher to no end. He dropped me quickly, then rounded on Chadwick,
"Did you cause this Burke? Listening in on the door?" he accused Chad. Chad did not delay, "Yes Fisher. I practically shamed Camps into it. Please don't punish him, I knew better and he's just trying to get along." Chad's easy confession touched me so much, I almost right then blurted out how guilty I felt about doing it, but kept my mouth shut.
"That's what I thought," then Fisher looked at me, "Look Campion, I know how difficult ripping away from your home country must have been, so I'm inclined to excuse you from this crime this one time only." And then he just stood there. Well, I was at least a quick study on some things,
"I'd rather not be let off Fisher. If Burke is to get it, I want it too, with him. I still had choice."
In retrospect, I would see that my answer was a key element in something important in my school life, a critical decision on Fisher's part. Fisher then rounded on Burke again.
"Now that's honor and he's not even British, you've barely kept yours Burke, so be told." And the lecture ceased as Fisher then told us to stay put, opened the door and disappeared inside for a few long moments.
I looked at Chad, who really didn't look all that upset, "Sorry, I wish he had not caught us," I said kind of feebly to Chad.
"Oh don't worry, we're going to get our arses spanked, no worse than that; besides, it has to happen before the rest of the new boys get theirs, don't want to be the last you know, that's a come down."
I just smiled nervously and sighed, it had all happened so quickly. The crime was already done, so the spanking continued a little while longer inside as we still listened, then the door opened and giving us a short glare and holding his sore bottom, James passed by us and we heard Dickson bellow our names. The other prefect in the room walked out and Nathan Fisher stayed to chaperon the meal, Chad and I the main courses.
Dickson looked at us rather plainly actually, "I should have known, The King and his Court, plying coy mischief at their poor vassal's expense, " Dickson said smoothly and both Chad and I had to honestly try hard not to smile. Such sarcastic recognition using royal slang was actually pretty cool.
"Fine, you first Burke. Campion, face the wall and don't peek, you'll be very sorry if you try!" and I was really OK with not seeing Chad get his bum toasted, and that though this was my very first Eton College punishment experience, much less in tandem with another boy. In a way, I didn't mind if the older boys saw my bare bum and certainly was intrigued with listening to Chad's reactions, but seeing or being seen by another F Blocker getting my comeuppance was not on my roster of things to do at school quite yet.
The tension remained high however. Dickson quickly reinforced Fisher's earlier lecture to Chad and then Chad was bid to drop off his trousers and pants. Why is it that seeing boys do that in a sports changing room meant nothing, even that early in my career, yet now, it seemed so exotic or unusual? At any rate, the next command caught my keen attention,
"Over my lap Burke, you've earned a good sound spanking to show your mates later," and it was just the casual way he said it and even said that it was OK to show off your naked red bum to mates later that was my very first inkling or clue that corporal punishment at Eton College was not the big ugly ogre that others outside of Eton would often rage on about for years later.
I closed my eyes even and found myself trembling a little. The loud slaps started and kind of startled me. I had been spanked by both my Mom and Dad and even the Headmaster of my American prep school twice. But this business of older B Block boys spanking younger F Block boys was a totally different thing altogether. One thing was for sure; on the first go around anyway, no new F Block boy would be allowed the luxury of taking a spanking without some kind of verbal acknowledgment and Howard Dickson had the means to make that happen.
In short order, Chad was not begging, but just sobbing and I could just feel his angst. Even I was starting to get a little pre-maturely misty eyed, and it had nothing to do with sentimentality. I guess it was just empathy. I stopped counting the spanks, distracted by the knowledge that my turn was next. Finally, Chad uttered, "Please Dickson!" and Dickson stopped, "Do you think you've learned your lesson Burke?"
"Yes Dickson, I have," Chad answered, sniffing back a glob of snot.
"And what is that lesson?" Dickson asked. I winced again. Trying to answer something like that with your tail still throbbing and still very vulnerable was a really tough assignment.
"Mostly to obey the rules, at all times, respect your fellows and in my case, not lead my best mate into shark infested waters so easily."
Best mate? Talk about a lump in my throat. Maybe he was just trying to impress Dickson, but I could never buy that from Chad. The shark thing was clever however and apparently both Fisher and Dickson thought so.
"Well said Burke, you may get up, get dressed and go over to the wall next to Campion." And they waited as I did. Chad came over but we didn't look at each other and my name got called.
"Campion, front and center please!" Oh boy, this was harder than it seemed. I went over and curiously, Fisher was looking at me and did not look too unpleased. He almost looked a bit sorry for me or so I thought and thought that my assumption must be mistaken.
I went right up to Dickson, boldly, and then stopped and said nothing. He dispensed with the lecture, knowing that I had easily heard my half of it already during Chad's.
"Have you been spanked before Campion? If so, by whom and why?" he asked. I told him about all of my prior spankings, quickly and efficiently.
"Good, then you'll not be surprised that this may be the hardest you've had to date. Fisher and I can see that you're a strong boy and you'll make both of us very proud, now, trousers and pants off please."
I felt Nathan Fisher's eyes very strongly on me, I thought for obvious reasons. Later, I would understand that feeling a lotbetter, but right then, I had other things distracting me. I bared my bottom and became even more nervous.
"Over my lap Campion, right over, "and I did, Dickson assisting me. I put my palms square to the floor, feet and legs straight out as instructed and felt as if I might not be able to withstand hardly a tenth of what Chad had.
"Don't let me catch you taking your hands off the floor Campion. If you must, you will use your voice to politely complain. Better to do that than to lose position, do you understand?" he asked me.
"Yesssir!" I said, my voice catching.
Well, the spanking started. I had one from mother, one from Dad and two Prep school Headmaster examples to judge how this was going to be. The trouble was, neither mom, Dad or my prior Headmaster could bench press nearly two hundred pounds or bowl a cricket ball to nearly 85 miles per hour (easily equivalent to pitching an American baseball at the same velocity). Dickson's hands might as well have been an American-style paddle and I developed instant respect for Chad's having gone on as long as he did without complaint.
It just plain hurt and hurt badly, but I struggled and battled hard. I desperately wanted to not only be liked, but respected and this was an early test and I knew it. Two pair of prefect's eyes and a mate's ears were inspecting me. Being a wimp would gain me nothing but a low opinion and now my nationality came into it as well.
So I kept my head up even as the tears were falling. I at least didn't have to look at anyone, just the wall in front of me, but on that wall, Dickson had hung a banner, a Eton College football banner and I affixed the school's tri-floral coat-of-arms shield and the large black lettered slogan next to it, "For Eton!" and stared at it as my countenance began to crumble.
I was now starting to kick and I knew my hands were going to fly off of the floor at any moment, but I remembered Dickson's advice and finally, I had enough and shouted loudly without even thinking,
"For Eton sir!!!" and the spanking instantly stopped and the room fell silent.
I thought I had screwed up big time, then Dickson solemnly said, "What did you say Campion?"
I gulped, "For Eton sir, it's on the wall in front of me. I was using it for strength, I couldn't help it, I had to have something to say!" And then waited for the spanking to recommence, but it didn't. There was this slight pause and then he asked,
"What lesson have you learned from this Campion?" but his voice actually slightly breaking up in a way that I was still too young to recognize and too distracted by the question.
I could not think of anything really clever to say as Chad had, so I just said the first thing that made sense to me, "To be my own man and not follow others around just because."
There was this strange, even more longish pause, then Dickson leaned over to me, not a little, "Well said Campion and well done, you may get up and get yourself dressed."
I gratefully did so, all the while not looking at anyone, my arse throbbing like a slapped sunburn still and I quickly wiped my face before replacing my clothing. When I finished and looked up, Nathan Fisher seemed to have been staring at me, then looked a bit way.
"Come over here Burke and stand with Campion," and he did so, looking quite solemn himself.
"All right boys, you know that if there is a next time, I'll pull out the slipper and give you both hell, you are dismissed."
Then I followed Chad's lead. Nathan Fisher had come over and Chad first extended his hand to shake Fisher's, "Thank you sir, " who responded with a simple, "Burke," and then Dickson's, "Thank you sir," and he also said, "Burke." Then I did the same thing first with Dickson, then with Fisher, only Fisher gave me this slight smile, not snotty, just friendly like.
My shaking the hand of the boy who had just spanked my bum like they had never been spanked before should have seemed odd, if not preposterous to me, or so I would have thought just a few short weeks before. Not now however; and as my British mates would teach me, it seemed more of a "civilized" gesture and better than that, a show of respect, something that I felt even then for Dickson and Fisher both, Chad and I having been extended the same show by them to us as well.
Chad and I departed Dickson's room and I looked at him. He grinned at me as we walked to his room, "For Eton? That was brilliant and stopped Dickson in his tracks Camps, how did you manage to think of it?" he asked.
I felt a little insulted, "I didn't. I just saw it on the wall and had to say something, I didn't do it on purpose to try and stop anything," and I was quite serious.
Chad got the point, "Sorry, didn't mean to accuse. Actually, when you said it, I wished I had, but you didn't see the look on Fisher's face. I could see him out of the corner of my eye. He was stunned."
"No he wasn't, what makes you say that? Maybe I insulted him for all I know, "and by then we were in Chad's room and he was already hiking his trousers and pants down for my inspection. I had done this only once at my American prep school with another boy who, like myself, had got caught talking in class and we had been spanked by our Headmaster by referral. I wasn't going to, I was too uncomfortable with it back then, but he kind of pushed me into it, telling me that I was just being snotty to him if I didn't. I liked him, so I did it and had the feeling that he wanted something else out of it, but I never knew what and after all, it was just a look and nothing else.
"Go ahead, have a good look and touch, they do it all the time around here. Others will want to do it later, so get used to it. And you didn't insult Fisher either. I tell you, you set them both back on their heels no matter what you think you did or didn't do."
But I chose to ignore Chad's praise, thinking him a little bit manipulative. Nonetheless, I did also hike my trousers and pants down and let Chad touch my red spanked arse almost without thinking. I mean, he said everyone did it and if everyone did, then I wanted to and then realized that it was the very first time ever that another boy touched my bare bottom!
But, actually, when Chad touched me for the first time, it felt kind of good and even natural, the best part, that it just seemed casual and just a part of being an Eton F Block boy. Chad's touch was kind of ordinary, but what was ordinary? I had nothing else to compare it to. Then I looked at and touched his red bottom or bum as I was already getting used to saying. Again, no big deal, but at the end of it, he gave me this funny small smile,
"Well, that's all, for this time anyway, see you later Camps," and when he went to pull up his pants and trousers, I swear I saw his penis a bit bigger than I thought it should have been.
Later, nearly all ten of our F Block mates asked to look and some of them touched both of us as well. It would be just what we all did in our House and others in theirs, but when I finally got my room to myself later that night and recalled the whole punishment thing and Chad touching me, my penis gave me a fit about it. I had wanked myself off here and there, but I had never really associated it with much of anything, much less anyone.
It seemed time once again, and having a room to myself now seemed really helpful, but as I lay on my back and did my thing, images started to pop in and out of my mind's eye of Chad, Dickson and then one took over, Fisher, the prefect who had caught us.
I turned to my side and felt my bum. I was still only a little pink and not all that sore anymore, but as I came up to the edge of my pleasure and fell over to the other side, I had this clear picture of Nathan Fisher in my mind and he was smiling at me, as if approving of what I was doing.
NEXT: Michaelmas Half – Chapter Three
© Copyright PJ Franklin June 1, 2009
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