The Maing of a Gay Disciplinarian

My name is Kevin Pettifer. I am just twenty-five years old. I am a regular sailor in the Royal Navy, which I joined as a cadet when I was eighteen years old and in which I now hold the non-commissioned rank of Petty Officer: Petty Officer Pettifer! I have just been promoted to this rank and posted to what seems like my dream job: chief physical education instructor and disciplinarian on board the special cadet training ship, H.M.T.S. Great Endeavour. I should tell you that we are in the year 2027, some seven years after the British government, now free of the smothering rules of the European Community, thanks to the 2016 Brexit vote, decided to reintroduce corporal punishment into British schools and the Armed Forces of the U.K.

So as you might imagine, the cane had been immediately and enthusiastically re-adopted as an old and reliable friend by the Royal Navy, where it was considered as quite the best means of disciplining its younger ratings and cadets. In fact, how they had managed without it in those intervening "molly-coddler, do-gooder" years when its use had been forbidden by law, no one could understand. In a word, it really was a return to "the good old days" when cadets and ratings knew their manners and were generally respectful to their senior officers; except, of course, when they weren't and as a result finished up with very sore arses.

By the year 2027, when I received my promotion and joined the non-commissioned officer class, the , and to some extent , the birch, had been in regular use for several years, much to the discomfort of many young cadets, who found themselves, all too frequently in their view, ordered to offer up their naked arses to be beaten. This was an entirely new experience for most lads and a very unpleasant one to boot. As the use of the cane had been abolished from schools well before most of them had been born, they had never known what strict corporal punishment was like; in fact, they had never known what any kind of corporal punishment was like. So joining the Navy as a trainee cadet was, for most of them, like jumping into a bath of ice-cold water. But, as one senior Admiral had remarked at the time, the re-introduction of corporal punishment was one of the few sensible decisions taken by any British Government in years.

So as chief disciplinarian on-board ship, I am the person who, on a regular basis, wields both the cane, and occasionally the birch; and as many recipients of my largesse could tell you, I really am very good at my job. Most lads whose naked arses I have just thrashed go away feeling rather sorry for themselves, vowing to toe the line in future; but, luckily for me, for I really do enjoy thrashing a well rounded naked arse, in spite their good intentions, many of them do come back for more; in fact, to be more accurate, I should have said that they are brought back for more, for no cadet ever volunteers to have his backside beaten.

But first let me backtrack a number of years and tell you how I, a lower working-class lad from Bradford, for long a depressed and depressing industrial city in the North of England, came to be in the Royal Navy.

I was born early in the new century in the year 2001; an only child, I was totally neglected by my parents; I barely knew my mother as she ran off with another man when I was about six or seven, leaving me with a drunken, drug-addict for a father. In fact it was probably his drinking which drove her away. Anyway, my father and I lived - if you can call it living - in one of those dreadful tower blocks, which municipal councils in so many towns around the country had built as "social housing". Viewed in retrospect there was nothing social about it; antisocial would have been a better term. Such vertical constructions, often of more than a hundred, miserable, tiny apartments, came later to be viewed as a misguided attempt to clear what had been considered as slums: often streets and streets of inadequate terraced houses. But in erecting the faceless tower blocks which so dominate everything, they very effectively turned what had been horizontal slums made up of small one-family houses, where at least there had been some human contact with the neighbours, into faceless vertical slums where no one knew anyone and which, after a few years, became so vandalised and run down that no-one wanted to live there.

As the years went by, the block in which we lived became more and more dilapidated as the cheap construction began to show its age. This was not helped by the fact that the walls in the corridors were defaced with graffiti pretty well everywhere; lifts did not work half the time and what with men and youths urinating anywhere and everywhere, the whole place stank to high heaven; it was hard to think of anyone calling their flat a home. And I might add that our block was typical of countless others around the country, in which living conditions became totally untenable; so much so that many blocks were finally demolished.

Not that we ever had much home life, my father and I; he was mainly either drunk or under the influence of some drug or other; so half the time I think that he was totally unaware I was still living there. Communal meals with my father had long become a thing of the past and I was usually left to fend for myself, cobbling together something by way of a meal from whatever food my father had bought; often there was nothing at all to eat in the house after he had been on a blinder; so I just lived on takeaways. it is not surprising that as time passed and I grew older, I became increasingly disgusted not only with the hell-hole in which we lived, but also with my own father who did not lift a finger to try to maintain any reasonable standard of daily living.

I should mention, by the way, that my father was what, I suppose, is called a barrow-boy, selling fruit and vegetables; he had a pitch on local market where I suppose he made some sort of a living; but then, each evening, he would be straight off to the pub until closing time, where he spent all his earnings on beer, which he would duly piss away before coming home and going straight to bed in a drunken stupor to sleep it off. The only positive thing I can say about my relationship with my father is that he did not interfere with my activities; even from an early age. I could come and go as I liked. I had always had a key to the front door, which in my younger days I kept on a length of string around my neck. But did we ever have a father-son relationship? Definitely not; we were just two bodies in the same flat; no more, no less.

Like so many of the tower blocks dotted around the big towns, ours was typical. There were three towers which had been built on a desolate site; just grass and not a tree or garden in sight; and as there was nothing, absolutely nothing at all, for us to do around the place where we lived; so as kids, we went down-town and hung around the shops and takeaways and tried our best to amuse ourselves; it goes without saying that we indulged in not a little vandalism, as wrecking other people property seemed like fun at the time and there was always a certain excitement in escaping from the hands of the law.

I went to the local inner city comprehensive school until I was sixteen years old. My school was typical of that group of comprehensives which received very severe criticism for their performance. Frankly, most of the teaching staff was apathetic; looking back now, I doubt that any one of them had any vocational motivation to do the important job which they had selected to earn their living. Couple that with the fact that the vast majority of the children, me included, were totally uninterested in any form of serious learning.

Most of us went to school because the law demanded it and the teachers went through the motions of trying to instil some knowledge into us; but we were a well matched bunch: teachers and pupils: teachers who did not really want to teach and pupils who really did not want to learn; so the results produced were disastrously bad. I left school when I was sixteen - the minimum age at which I could escape - with absolutely no formal academic qualifications and tried to find a job. Now the law at that time insisted that those leaving school aged sixteen were obliged to seek either and apprenticeship of become a trainee of some sort.

And so it was that I became a trainee in the local supermarket; I am not at all sure what I was training to be, as my job seemed only to consist of filling up the shelves, for which, as even I could see, one did not need much training. But for a while that satisifed my ambition, if you could call it that. I was free; I had a pathetic little wage packet whose entire contents were mine to spend and I had a roof over my head, which cost me nothing. The one good thing I can say in favour of my father is that he never asked me to contribute to the living expenses of our hovel of an apartment; so my wage was mine to spend as I wished, And so I had enough cash to keep me afloat in that youth culture which is so typical of English run-down areas.

I was part of a gang of foot-loose and fancy-free youths, with profiles similar to mine, some a little older than me, all of whom were, as I was, in dead-end jobs and whose ambitions in life were absolutely nil. Their main interests, when they were not trying to pull the girls in some sort of dismal club or other, was to make mischief. And for a while I went along with it, until one day I suddenly realised that I was not at all interested in girls. In fact it now dawned on me aged sixteen, that I had never been interested in the opposite sex much at all; and even less so now that that I was approaching manhood. I had never really thought much about my sexuality; but surrounded by guys one of whose main interest in life was trying to fuck the girls, I just knew that that was not for me. And gradually I began to felt embarrassed by the never ending conversation about the "birds" and what one did to them.

Looking back now, it was, in fact, first then that I began to think seriously about sex and how little I knew about it. However, I did know that I was attracted to other young guys rather than to members of the opposite sex; but I did nothing about this attraction, which I kept entirely to myself. My gang contemporaries were totally against gays of any sort, whom they referred to as "poofters"; had they known that they had a potential gay guy in their midst, my life would not have been worth living; empathy was not a concept which the type of guys I was then going around with understood. And so I came to the conclusion that I had, somehow to disentangle myself from this group of ne'er-do-wells with whom I had become associated after leaving school. In a word, I had realised that the whole lot of us were going nowhere in life.

One of the few activities at school, from which I had derived a little pleasure, was gymnastics and physical education. I was about 182 cm in height and had quite a good figure with nice muscles and all in all, looking at myself in the mirror, I thought that I looked just great. Whether anyone else would have agreed with me, I am not sure, but that is how I saw myself and as we all know beauty, as ever, is in the eyes of the beholder! And so, in an attempt to nip my own nascent career as a professional lay-about and hell-raiser in the bud, I went along to the only gym which was available locally and signed on as a member.

The gym, which was privately ownes, was not badly equipped and I found that I quickly became obsessed with trying to develop my body. I went there three nights a week and worked out for a good three hours. One thing I found difficulty in coming to terms with was the fact that the showers were all communal; I confess, that in spite of my growing interest in other guys, I was always somewhat embarrassed stripping off to the buff and letting the others, most of whom I did not know, see my most precious credentials; not that I had anything to be ashamed of, by the way; indeed quite the contrary, for I quickly saw from my furtive glances at other guys in the showers, that my sexual equipment was up there with the best. In fact, I venture to say that among the many different guys whose man-meat I casually saw, mine was easily the biggest and best proportioned. But in spite of the attraction of other men, I could never bring myself to take that first step and show my true colours. To be honest, I had not the faintest idea if any of my co-gymnasts were of the same sexual persuasion as me.

So my visits to the gym were sort of solitary outings; I did not have a training partner and spent all my time there working out by myself. Had I wished to try to find someone of the same mind as myself, I really would have had no idea of what to say to him: no idea even of how to begin; after all, my sexuality was all in my mind: I had no actual sexual experience beyond jerking-off in private; I had never ever "done it" with a member of either sex; and quite, frankly, I was not at all sure what guys actually did together, as we had had no sexual instruction at all at school. And as for the time honoured "birds and bees" discussion with my father, well you can forget that: it never happened; my father and I just did not have any kind of discussion about anything. In fact, looking back now, I doubt that he was even aware that I had left school and was working as a trainee at the supermarket; he and I had no relationship at all; we just lived under the same roof. So all that I knew about sex was really rather superficial and learned by innuendo and osmosis!

So I decided that I needed to be better informed, to which end I started patronising an internet café down-town. There, via the internet, I got not only a clear understanding of what male-male sex was all about, but I went on and found various pornographic sites where muscular men with huge cocks performed the most incredible sexual feats on on stage at various competitions, where the winner was named the Alpha Male: the stud with the body and cock which all others would worship! But I also saw the waspish comments of many of the runners-up which showed the unpleasant side of the business.

Not that I aspired to becoming an Alpha Male myself; but I did see that the studs who were fucking each other seemed to be having one hell of a good time; and so I naturally wondered whether eventually, I too could derive such pleasure from such intimate activities with another guy; but not on stage and not even in public. But totally inexperienced in matters sexual as I was, what my researches did teach me, was that my own sexual future, whenever it might begin, was to be male orientated; Any lingering doubts that I might have had in that area had completely vanished; I guess I could have described myself at that period in my life as a "shy gay-virgin in waiting"!

But another thing which inspired me to greater efforts with my own physique was the attraction of the perfectly honed male body. Many of the guys I saw on the internet clearly paid great attention to good symmetrical muscles and, most importantly, all had good sized cocks. I also saw that practically all the muscular and well endowed gay males I found on the internet had always been circumcised. Somehow the removal of the foreskin put the whole male-organ into superb relief which I found utterly entrancing; I just loved the way that the cock-head, released from its clinging foreskin, became so well defined and was set off from the shaft with a clearly defined rim. I saw now why guys often referred to their cocks as their knobs; the knob was clearly the head. I was sure that I would one day have to face the hurdle of circumcision, which, in my view, stood in the way of perfection; like most English lads of my age, my cock was uncut; just the thought, let alone the act, of letting some surgeon loose on my penis already sent shivers down my spine. But inwardly I just knew that one day I would submit to the knife as I was very cock conscious and wanted mine to be up there with the very best.

However, my internet researches really did inspire me. They convinced me of the future direction which my life would have to take if I was ever to achieve sexual fulfilment. For the time being as I was just seventeen, I decided that I would try to develop a truly harmonious, muscular body; I knew for a fact that I was better endowed naturally than most guys I had ever seen naked, as I already had a large and well balanced penis some 18 cm long (not counting that awful foreskin!) when soft, which sat beautifully above a pair of well separated balls. And so I aspired to making my body worthy of these, the most important, of my natural attributes, In fact, I admitted to myself that I was more than a little narcissistic, as I liked to admire myself in a mirror and dream of what might one day be.

So for the next year or so, I concentrated my efforts at the gym in improving my overall physique. I was still very much a loner as I never found a partner to train with; in fact to be quite honest, was just too timid to make a move. I can safely say that it was my gymnastic activities which saved me from the utter futility of the life which my contemporaries continued to lead. I could see that they were on the road to nowhere; and several of them got entangled with the police and got sent to a young offender's prison facility. But looking at my own situation, apart from the gym, my prospects at work in the supermarket were also not exactly glistening with opportunity. After a year I had been upgraded to a more senior position, which meant that I now had a few younger guys to supervise. But filling shelves myself or supervising new underlings doing the same job was not a very stimulating way of life; in fact, bluntly put, I was in a dead-end job with no great prospects.

However, one thing I did learn from my job at the supermarket, was that the senior staff, the management, I suppose, spoke much better English than I did. From my rough beginnings and poor schooling, I still spoke with a very strong northern accent, used a lot of slang words; in common with most Yorkshire lads of my ilk, the letter H was unknown in the language we spoke. And so it gradually dawned upon me that if I wanted to get on in life, to better myself and escape from what I knew was the dead-end road I was now on, it would help if I learned how to speak and write better English. So with that objective in mind, I enrolled two nights a week at an evening centre on a course designed to help young people like me to improve their verbal and written communication skills. When my friends, of whom I was now seeing less and less, as my weekday evenings were now more or less fully occupied with my gym activities and the English course, heard what I was doing, I came in for a lot of ribbing. "Wo' d'yer wanna lern ter talk posh for?" was their attitude. But I adopted what I would call a "water off a duck's back" attitude and didn't rise to their baiting.

But suddenly my life changed, when I happened to see an announcement on the internet. The Royal Navy was recruiting what it described as "older cadets" with a view to training to make a permanent career as a hand in the regular navy. What was attractive about the offer was that it indicated that successful recruits could, after the training period, hope to pass rapidly from the grade of a rating, the lowest naval rank, to the level of a non-commissioned officer. I admit I had no idea what a non-commissioned officer was but what attracted me was that fact that if I were accepted as a cadet, then I would at least be in an all-male environment; the advert. was quite specific on that point; this was not an offer made to both sexes, as was now usually the case, but was for young men only; so I assumed it was sort of old style navy.