Birched
Author: Millard
It was the summer of
1963. I was twelve years old, and was allowed to visit my
grandmother in Wales. I was allowed to fly alone across the
ocean to see her. It was a real thrill for me.
Grandmother lived on a large estate, and had a cook and
butler/chauffeur names Giles.
Giles came to the airport to pick me up and take me to the
estate. He was an older man, but I quickly grew to like
him. After a few days of renewing my friendship with
grandmother, I was allowed to roam the estate. It was very
large, and I could spend hours in the woods.
My only instructions were to never, never go into the
river. I was told it was very swift, and my uncle George
had almost drowned there. Giles told me that if I ever went in
that water, it would probably kill grandmother.
Two weeks later, to the day, I came to a clearing in the woods,
and found the river. It really didn't look
very swift, and I could see the rocks in the shallows of the
bank. So, being 12, I figured I would just go wade a bit in
the water. Nothing too deep, mind you, just enough to wet
my feet. I took off my shoes and socks, and rolled up my
pantlegs. I walked all over the bank of the river, looking
for tadpoles, or whatever strange fish would live in Wales.
I was walking with my head down, when bam! I walked into a low
hanging branch, lost my balance, and fell into the water, which
was COLD! It also smelled of some sort of chemical, or
rotting fish, I don't know. I scrambled up onto the bank,
and took off my clothes. I rung them out, and put them on
the very branch that had knocked me over. I then laid down
on some moss, in the sun, and fell asleep.
"Well, I never!" said a loud voice, which
quickly made me sit up. It was Giles. He told me that
he had been looking all over for me, as he had to go into town,
and wondered If I would like to ride along. I told him yes,
and started to reach for my clothes. His hand grabbed my
still wet shirt, and he quickly put two and two together. He told
me how ashamed he was of me, and how this would just kill
grandmother if he told her.
I pleaded with him to not tell her, and he said that he had no
thoughts about telling her. He said that was for her sake,
not mine. He then said that there was an old Welsh saying
which transulated to "A deed done is a deed paid
for". I didn't understand what he was getting at until
he told me that he was going to punish me right then and there
for going into that river. I pleaded with him to just keep
it amongst ourselves, and he said that he certainly intended to
do just that.
Taking a knife out of his pocket, he opened it, and
pointed to the tree my clothes hung from. He said that he
wanted me to cut 8 branches some 2 ft long, and bring them to
him. I asked why, and he said I would soon enough find out.
He said that it was a good choice on my part to put my clothes on
a birch tree, as it has other uses.
I realized how totally naked I was, and tried to
reach for my jockey shorts to put back on, but he said to leave
them alone. I tried to keep my back to him, and to cover
myself when I had to face him, but it just didn't work. I
caught him staring at my privates. I was so
embarassed! The more I thought about it, the more I
realized that I was getting stiff! Soon, it was sticking
out straight in front of me. I was totally hairless, and my
balls had shrunk up in fear, so here
I was, cutting branches in front of a strange man, with a hard
on!
I cut the branches and brought them to Giles. He
made me cut 2 more, and threw out one that he said was too
short. Then, he made me prune off the branches that stuck
out to the sides. When I was finished, he
took off his necktie and tied the whole thing at the base.
He then turned to me, and said that I had earned a birching, and
he was going to give it to me. He asked if I had any
questions. I tried to ask for forgiveness, but he said that
it was too late. He placed his jacket over a fallen tree,
and told me to lay over it. It did so. He then had me move
further forward on the trunk, until my bottom was close to the
top. Then, he pulled my legs apart, and told me to keep
them apart, or he would give me more strokes.
He said that I would get 12 strokes, but would get 6 more if I
moved, or got up, or didn't accept my punishment like a
gentleman!
Giles then took the birch switch to the river,
pulled as many leaves off as he could, and rinsed it in the
water. He then returned to my side, reminded me to stay
still, with my legs apart, and proceeded to wack my butt with the
birch. The first stroke hit near the top of my butt, and hurt,
but not as much as dad's paddle does. The second stroke was
a bit lower, and a bit harder. I yelled "ouch, that
hurts", but Giles didn't respond, except to place #3 lower
yet, and harder yet. He proceeded down my butt with the
next 5 strokes. By now, my butt felt like it was on fire.
It was a cumulative thing, just getting hotter and more and more
sore with every stroke. I was having a hard time keeping
still, and he warned me twice. Then, he
got me with #9! It was low, and inside, as they say in
baseball. It actually stung my butthole, and my bag.
I screamed, and yelled something unkind, and stood up straght,
grabbing my butt with my right hand, and my bag with my left.
Giles just stood and smiled, and said, after I had calmed down a
bit, that I really needed to get back down, and contain myself
for the last two strokes, so that I could be ready for the 6
extras! I pleaded and pleaded, but he would hear nothing of
it. Slowly, I approached the tree trunk, and slowly bent
over it. He moved my legs apart again, and wacked me twice in the
same spot as before! I screamed, and screamed. He
then moved to the opposite side, standying by my head.
He reared up the birch, and let fly right down my crack! I
have never ever felt anything like that stroke. It hurt so
much I didn't have a voice left to cry. He then did it again, and
again, and again, and again. I could feel sweat, or blood,
running down my
butt crack, and I sobbingly told him so. He laughed, and said it
was only the water from the branches. He asked if I was
ready for the last one, and I could only say yes. I looked
up at him, and he held the birch rod over his head with both
hands, and then just smashed it down my crack again. I screamed.
Giles gave me a minute to contain myself, went to the water, and
soaked his handkerchief in the river. He brought it to me,
and rubbed it gently down my left butt cheek, and then down my
right cheek. Then he said that although this might hurt
now, it would feel better soon. He gently rubbed it down my
buttcrack, over my hole. He walked behind me, gently lifted my
bag, and
ran the handkerchief over it also. He then rubbed up both
cheeks, and up the crack of my butt, ending at my hole,
which he gently separated, and wiped with the handkerchief.
It felt terrible, and wonderful at the same time. I was
allowed to stand up and was again embarassed at the state of my
penis. He told me not to be ashamed, a good bottom warming
does that to boys.
He allowed me to dress, walked me home, allowed me to change,
bought me an ice cream cone, and never said another word about
our experience.
In another week, all traces of my birching were gone, and I was
able to sit through the long flight home.
Thinking back, I guess I got what I deserved. I never told
anyone, because I knew I would get in more trouble.