Uncle Seb

When I was nearly 14 years old my folks travelled
overseas for six months. I went to stay with
Uncle Seb. He was a farmer, twice my age,
muscular and fit. He was not married so weekdays
a housekeeper came in and did the cleaning. She
left a meal on the stove. At weekends we roughed
it. My schooling was not affected because I
caught a bus into town every day.

When my father handed me over to Uncle Seb he
said, as parents did in those days, “Any trouble
- give him a hiding”. Now I worshipped my uncle.
He was very masculine and I liked him a lot. I
could not imagine him ever taking his belt to me
like Dad did.

The first Friday I was there I forgot to latch a
gate properly and let cattle beasts out on to the
road. It took my uncle hours to get them back
into the yard. He was rightly furious and warned
me to stop daydreaming or he’d have to whack me
on the bum.

It was a Saturday morning ritual to go into the
small town three miles from the farm. We stopped
at a hardware store. Uncle had a word with the
Chinese owner who cut off a 3 foot length of
whippy rattan. My uncle introduced me to him.

“Mr Lim I’d like you to meet my nephew Cecil”.

The shopkeeper bowed.

“Fine looking boy! Better cut you spare one for
him. No charge”. He gave the two rods to my uncle
while I squirmed with embarassment.

When we got home my uncle put the rattan rods on
top of the door frame in the front room. He
warned me not to do any more daydreaming unless I
wanted him to whack me on the bum. That I did not
- I’d been caned at school and respected The
Stick for its awesome ability to hurt.

The country was in the grip of a drought and my
uncle switched on the wireless to listen to the
weather forecast. No relief in sight. He went
over to the sink and turned on the tap. No water!
After a frantic investigation he discovered his
thoughtless nephew had left the bathroom tap
running that morning. Thanks to my careless
stupidity, the precious rain water from the
home-supply tank had all been wasted.

Uncle Seb was mad as hell. He grabbed a bucket
and disappeared across the yard. Some time later
he returned with it filled with water from the
creek.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Seb”.

“It’s a bit late for that”

I hung my head.

Uncle Seb scratched his own muscular buttocks.

“I think you need to be taught a lesson. Agreed?”

My stomach lurched and I attempted to delay the
inevitable.

“Can I do Number Twos first?”

“Yes”.

I walked along the verandah, past the store room
and the wash house. The lavatory was at the end
of the verandah. I was shaking so much I had
difficulty unbuttoning my flies.

When I returned to the kitchen, Uncle Seb took me
through to the the front room. He retrieved one
of the canes and tapped my shorts.

“Better get those off. Underpants as well.”.

He rolled up his shirt sleeves and I saw bulging
biceps. I got undressed.

“Good lad. Lay over the end of the sofa”.

All too soon I was in position with my bare bum
sticking up in the air.

“Have you had the cuts at school?”

“Yes”.

“How many do they give you?”

“S-six”.

“Fair enough”.

Uncle Seb inflicted six stinging cuts with the
rattan. It hurt like blazes but there was an
intimacy about getting it on the bare bum from my
favourite relative. While he was doing it I felt
my penis go hard. That was so disconcerting I did
not sob or cry out like I always did during a
school caning.

“Good boy. I’ve whacked your bum and you took it
like a little gentleman”. My uncle sounded
relieved.

He put his hand on my shoulder and gently pulled
me to my feet. My penis stuck out in front of me.

“Does your widdler do that when you get the cane
at school?”

I shook my head and then flung my arms around
him.

“Uncle Seb I love you so much”. The words all
came out in a rush.

He bent down and kissed me on the forehead. Then
my uncle took me by the hand and we walked
together to his bedroom. Gently he pulled my
shirt off and then got undressed himself. His
firm, muscular buttocks might have been carved
out of the finest marble. When he turned around I
saw his massive, erect penis.

Instinctively I lay face down on the bed,
submitting myself to him. I felt his lips kiss
the nape of my neck. He moved slowly down my body
until his mouth reached my painfully-throbbing
mounds. I felt his tongue gently lick each fiery
weal. He cupped my orbs in his big hands. A
finger explored inside my crease, lingered on the
tiny, pink puckered hole and was withdrawn.

He climbed on top of me. That massive penis was
wedged between the cheeks of my bottom. He moved
inside my crease, caressing my tender flesh with
many firm strokes until I heard a little groan
and felt wetness there.

“Clean yourself up”, Uncle Seb’s voice was curt.
He threw me a towel, pulled on his clothes and
left the room.

I was confused by the sudden change of mood. I
reached back and scooped up a little of his seed.
It was still warm. I tasted it and then used more
as lubrication while I masturbated.

Later, when we sat down together for the evening
meal, his eyes refused to meet mine. It was as if
that intimacy between us had never happened. The
few words he spoke were brusque and off-putting.

It was a relief when that weekend was over and I
caught the bus back at school. My bottom was
still a bit sore. He’d caned me well. I tried to
make sense of what had happened but could not.

When I was with him I did not have the words to
ask what I’d done wrong. All I knew was I must
have hurt my uncle terribly for him to be so cold
and distant. I knew nothing of the law which
sanctioned my guardian inflicting savage hurt on
my bottom but would imprison him for nine long
years because he had made tender love to that
same part of my anatomy.

By the next weekend the welts on my backside were
starting to fade but not that awful atmosphere
between us. How I missed my parents and longed
for them to return.

On Monday morning Uncle Seb dressed up in his
suit and drove me to school in the truck. He came
inside with me and then disappeared along a
corridor towards the headmaster’s study. I went
to classes as usual but my mind was not on
learning.

When I got home from school my uncle was sitting
in the kitchen.

“Sit down, Cecil”, he said quietly. That was the
first time he’d used my name since that weekend.

“I’ve spoken to the headmaster and he’s arranged
for you to board at the school until your parents
get back”.

“But Uncle Seb …”

He interrupted me. “It’s for the best. Now pack
your things and I’ll drive you to the school”.

Tears flooded my eyes as we travelled in silence
to the boarding establishment. The housemaster
was waiting for us. My uncle shook my hand as if
I was a stranger and then drove off in the truck.

Boys adapt to life changes better than adults
often give them credit for. I soon settled into
the routine of boarding school. The first week I
picked up enough demerits to earn a visit to the
housemaster’s study. He flogged my clothed
buttocks. I cried out and sobbed with the pain of
it. My uncut ‘widdler’ shrivelled into the folds
of its skin.

The joy I was to feel at the return of my parents
was overshadowed by tragedy. That very day my
uncle hanged himself. The housekeeper found him
in the bedroom. The police officer who was
investigating on behalf of the the Coroner,
questioned me. Dad was present.

“Uncle Seb was happy when I first went to the
farm. Then he got sad and sent me off to boarding
school”. I started to sob.

The policeman nodded his head. “Don’t blame
yourself, son. It will have been this awful
drought that did for him. He won’t be the last if
it doesn’t rain soon”.

My uncle had requested a private internment. Dad
and I stood in the graveyard while a minister
muttered a few words over the box on its
trestles. Suddenly, the heavens opened and it
poured with rain. The minister rattled off the
last of the service and the undertaker’s men
quickly lowered my uncle into the ground. We
scattered into the church and took shelter there.
The talk among the men was one of great relief
that the drought had finally broken.

I survived by blanking out the horror. Instead, I
clung onto the precious memory of that one
wonderful hour on the big double bed with Uncle
Seb making tender love to me. It comforts me
still.

(Fiction. Comments welcome.
dadsboy@angelfire.com)