DAVE GETS A LITTLE TALKING TO
Part 3
After the Voyage
It was still that August of ’76 and Stewart had stripped down to his favourite black football shorts and Koff to his pale blue hi-leg swimming costume. Both boys took a break while they sat on the tube that still secured their victim, and applied sun-block from their rucksacks that they’d lifted from the bottom of the pulling boat. They then entertained themselves by rocking the tube backwards and forwards somewhat as they sat on it while pretending to ignore the indignant, muffled protests from Dave within.
“Shall we?” said Stewart nodding his head down towards the tube.
“Why not?” Koff’s knife appeared from his rucksack and he cut the knots that were making sure Dave couldn’t slide along the tube. Once the ropes had been unthreaded, the two boys entered upon a discussion of whether Dave should be pulled out head first or feet first.
“He’s nearer this end.”
“Yes, but that wouldn’t be as much fun.”
The sounds that were emerging from the tube seemed to indicate that Dave wasn’t too happy about his having to take the longer route. Even though his broad shoulders were jammed reasonably firmly in the tube, the ropes round his arms remained in place throughout the manoeuvre. True to their Pirate calling, Koff and Stewart extracted the youngest boy to the accompaniment of “Heave-ho. Yo- ho, etc.” until the sweating and volubly complaining Dave was left lying on the beach frantically trying to pull his briefs, which had been dragged somewhat below his bum, back into place. The entertainment was too good for either his brother or his brother’s mate to help him but, by a process of shuffling, arching of the back and desperate clawing with his fingers, Dave was decent again (or at least as decent as his sweat-soaked underpants allowed) in little more than ten minutes.
“You’re going to need this” said Koff as he approached his victim with his knife. Dave wasn’t sure how to take that as Koff cut the sisal securing the ropes around his arms and slipped the rope over his shoulders. He then untied the rope securing the victim’s wrists to his waist but left his wrists still tightly bound. There had to be a snag, it seemed as though Koff was releasing him. “Got that stake we were talking about, mate?”
“Got it here,” said Stewart as he returned from the old gun emplacement carrying a three-foot metal “T”-section stake and a sledge hammer. Although learning from the mistakes of history was not Dave’s strong point, some experiences left their imprints on his memory and Dave started squealing as he realised what was about to happen to him. “Wouldn’t want you going anywhere, would we?”
Once more Dave started to think that he’d prefer to be tickled until he wet himself but he didn’t have the ability to express his preference to his tormentors even if he thought they’d take any notice of him if he could. He just hoped that his desperate head-shaking and muffled pleas would make them relent. I told you he didn’t learn the lessons of history.
Koff dragged the younger boy across the sand and up onto firmer ground by the rope that was still attached to his ankles until he found a site that he considered suitable for securing his prisoner. Now, Dave was muscular rather than supple and Stewart knew that Koff would need his help as he went about his business. The stake was threaded between Dave’s arms, twisted until the leg of the “T” was towards his bum and levered upright forcing Dave, with his brother’s help, to arch his back considerably. Koff made a few tentative blows to the stake before releasing it by which time Dave could not lever it away from the vertical. Once he could use both hands on the hammer, the broad-shouldered Koff made short work of burying half the stake in the ground. The stake now pressed not far from Dave’s most delicate area while pulling his chest from the ground. Dave knew they hadn’t finished with him yet.
“Stop complaining, at least we’ve let you keep your underpants. That’s more than you did for Koff.”
“Yes, I wonder if we could thread your feet onto the stake as well. That should hurt after a while.”
“Nggg, eeef!”
“Sorry, too late to plead.”
Koff made play of trying to pass the rope connecting Dave’s ankles over the stake without having any real intent to cause him that much discomfort but Dave didn’t know that. “Pity the little tyke’s not more flexible; I suppose I’ll just have to settle for this.” Koff hogtied Dave by threading the ends of his ankle rope each side of the stake and between his wrists before pulling him tight enough for him to be able to touch his ankles with his fingers. The rope was then threaded between Dave’s ankles and tied off against the stake so that the final knots were out of range of his fingers. That was what the Pirates referred to as “hog-staking” a prisoner.
Dave knew from experience that there was no way he’d be able to find a comfortable position and remembered with horror that prisoners who were to be subjected to that particular torture didn’t usually have their wrists crossed before being secured.
Stewart and Koff went over to a tree trunk that had been felled and took their ease in the sun while their prisoner tried vainly to find some ease and pleaded for release. They kept a careful eye on him but didn’t want him to have things too easy. I think they succeeded in that aim.
Once Dave’s squealing had subsided into a sort of sighing noise, Koff went over to him. He was quite impressed; the little guy had held out for about half an hour before giving up. He knew that Stewart and he would have to release their subject soon as the stake was digging unpleasantly into Dave’s wrists not to mention certain other parts so he gave him a choice.
“Now, you know how nice I am.” Koff couldn’t accurately interpret the subsequent grunt. “I’m going to give you the chance to take some exercise. What do you say?” Koff paused, waiting for the suspicious Dave’s answer. “I’ll take that as a ‘Yes’. The trouble is that I haven’t returned the compliment you extended to me the other day yet.” Dave didn’t get it. “Oh sorry, I mean that you’ve been allowed to keep your y-fronts. Now, how did you leave me?” Dave should have seen it coming. It wasn’t as if the Pirates had never seen one another naked in the past but it was always in a situation of equality: in the showers and changing rooms. Dave knew that he’d be the only one naked this time and that made a difference. He started protesting again.
“Well, Little Brother, that’s the offer. Take it or leave it. Personally, I think my friend’s being very generous.” Stewart wasn’t sure what he’d do if Dave hadn’t accepted the “offer” because he knew he couldn’t leave his brother hog-staked in the sun for much longer and he was quite relieved when Dave nodded his acceptance of Koff’s generosity.
Koff explained to Dave that he didn’t have enough sun-block to share with him and that they’d have to improvise. He knew a way that Dave could combine exercise with working towards something that could serve as sun-block.
“Pity there’s no mud; he could just do press ups in it.”
“No, I think he ought to dig his own grave.”
“Good idea, burying him would cover him up against the sun.”
Not for a minute did Dave believe that the two older boys would really bury him alive but he still couldn’t figure out what they really intended to make him do. Koff untied Dave and warned him about the dire consequences of touching his gag without permission while Stewart went for a spade and a tarpaulin. Dave looked puzzled and stopped massaging his aching limbs for long enough to look questioningly at the others. The look was ineffective.
“OK, lose that gag and get a drink. First sound and it’s back to the stake. Understand?” There wasn’t much squealing as Dave removed the tape securing the football scarf in his mouth but he did accept the bottle gratefully from Stewart.
“Right, pants off, over here. Start digging. Long enough for you to lie in. I’ll let you know when it’s deep enough.” Dave tried pleading not to have to strip but the sight of the, by now dirt-encrusted football scarf being toyed with by his big brother was enough to silence him. Dave sighed deeply but he was soon naked and trying vainly to preserve his dignity. That was obviously a lost cause and the bare-footed Dave found the digging quite demanding but he soon had a sort of trench dug to a depth of about two feet with the excavated soil piled alongside it. “That’ll do. Over here. On your knees.” Dave could no longer keep his back to the other two boys and he didn’t even bother to try to cover himself up. It was much too late to worry about that.
“You know you said there was no mud?”
“Yeees?” Koff was intrigued.
“Well, I reckon he could make some.” Dave was puzzled. “It’s like this. Watch and learn. OK, maggot, time to line your grave. Use that tarpaulin then go and get a bucket and bring it back here. If you’re VERY quick and do a very neat job, I’ll allow you to beg my friend here to let you put your pants back on. GO!”
That was hardly a guarantee of even a partial reinstatement of Dave’s dignity but he would clutch at any straw and he didn’t need telling twice. He rose to his feet and ran back to the trench. He laid the tarpaulin in it and arranged the excess neatly round the outside. He looked hopefully at his big brother who merely jerked his head towards the store. Dave got the idea and ran to get a bucket and brought it back to where his captors were sitting and sharing a bar of chocolate.
“Please (pant) Koff . . .”
“Woah, w-w- woah, I haven’t granted my permission yet. Put the bucket down and get on your knees.”
Dave did as he was told and waited for permission to speak.
“That’s better. Now beg me for permission.” Stewart moved his right foot towards Dave. Dave looked daggers at his brother but decided that he had no dignity left to lose. He kissed Stewart’s foot and then the other one when it was proffered.
“Yes, worm, what do you want?”
“Please may I ask Koff if I can put my cruddies back on?”
“Politer.”
Dave took a deep breath and tried again. This time Stewart was more pleased with his form of address. “OK, now ask nicely.”
Dave shuffled across to Koff and he knew he’d have to kiss his feet as well and wait for permission to speak. He only hoped he wouldn’t have to lick his foul, dirt encrusted feet. He was in luck.
“Speak.”
“Please, Koff, - Sir, . . .” Koff was looking unimpressed, “ Your Majesty, - please may I put my underpants back on?
Dave knew that he’d left a pair of running shorts and various other garments in the store on a previous visit. Was it worth a try? Why not?
“Sir – Your majesty?
“Speak, worm.”
“Please, Your Majesty, may I get a pair of shorts . . .”
“So you don’t want to put those on then?” said Koff looking at the discarded y-fronts.
Dave considered carefully. Even he caught the implication “The underpants?”
“Crawl over and get them.” Dave did as he was told and waited for permission to “dress”. The garment was not only still damp but was by now absolutely filthy. Dave stood, pulled up the blue nylon y-fronts and waited to learn his fate. He learnt that he had a “choice”: either he could be hog-staked again or he could get back to work. Dave chose not to be tortured. How trusting.
Following instruction, Dave must have shovelled nearly half the excavated soil back into his hard-won trench before Stewart declared himself satisfied. “That’ll do. Now get the bucket, take it to the creek and get some water. Pour it in the hole. I’ll let you know when you’ve got enough.” Now Dave knew what he was going to be made to do. It probably wouldn’t be so bad, he enjoyed gym. He sauntered off to the creek and came back with a bucket more or less filled with water.
“Hold it! That wasn’t quick enough. Pour it away over there and go back for more. Quicker this time.” Dave managed not to swear. He emptied his burden and ran back to the creek. It must have taken him over twenty trips before Stewart pronounced himself satisfied. “OK, Mud Puppy, get in.” Dave looked puzzled. “In there and mix it up a bit.” Dave climbed in the mud-filled hole and started stirring with his feet. “Use your hands too.” The poisonous look was still not working as Dave got down on all fours and started moving around the trench making disgusted-type noises. Stewart had judged things well; Dave’s face was still well clear of the surface but his entire face got a comprehensive splashing with mud as he worked.
Koff looked on, happy to see his erstwhile trickster looking more pathetic with each task. “OK, that’s enough. Who told you you could stand up? Go on, get down again.” The rims of Dave’s eyes showed pink through the grey-brown mask. “OK, gym-bunny, give me ten.” Dave took a deep breath and started the press-ups by the end of which there was only a minimal area of his back, on his shoulder blades, that was not covered in mud. “Enough.” Dave sighed with relief. “Come and get this bucket.” Dave climbed out of the trench, collected the bucket and awaited further instructions. Stewart was impressed by his friend’s ingenuity.
Dave was made to fill the bucket with mud before up-ending it towards one end of the trench. “Use that as a pillow, bend your knees and give me twenty sit-ups. . . . Unless you want to go back to the stake. Even that was starting to sound inviting by this time. Koff and Stewart really put Dave through it over several rounds of press-ups (“And make sure you get right down.”) and sit-ups with reminders that he still had to make his way from the boat to his home once they had finished with him. He didn’t think that wearing nothing more than a layer of drying mud would provide adequate cover for his embarrassment as he did so.
“Think your brother’s had enough yet?”
“You know your trouble? You’re all heart.”
“No, seriously?
“All that mud must support him, those press-ups can’t be that hard.” Stewart didn’t seem to take into account the effect of the mud up his brother’s nose or what sounded like a sucking effect as he tried to curl his back to touch his elbows to the opposite knees.
“Feel like asking me nicely if you can stop? No – keep doing the press-ups while you beg.”
Dave managed to suck up to Koff sufficiently for him to be allowed to get out of the pit and kneel before the two older boys.
“Now we’ve got to get you home before your parents start to worry.” Dave cheered up.
“Don’t bother, I told them we were camping on Longholme tonight.” Dave became miserable again. He looked at each of his tormentors alternately, his mood lowering all the time as the two boys pretended to be discussing the increasingly unpleasant things that they might do to him in transit and whether he should be made to run across the campsite naked. They wouldn’t do that to him but, after what he’d done to Koff, Dave certainly believed that they would.
“Ok worm, I’m feeling generous. Would you like to cross back to the mainland in the pulling boat or on that lovely raft?” There would normally be no choice even if Dave did see himself having to do all the rowing. Despite being suspicious, Dave chose the boat.
“Sorry, you can’t get in our nice, clean boat like that.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“That wasn’t very humble!”
“Sorry, sorry, . . . Your majesty . . . I didn’t mean . . .”
“Silence worm! Face down on the ground. Hands on your head.” Dave prostrated himself before the others could think of something even more unpleasant that he could do for their entertainment.
“Alright, I said I was feeling generous. Pull that tarp out of the pit and lay it out flat. Go.”
Dave raised himself, rushed over to the pit and pulled. There was no way!
“Oh, you’ll probably have to empty a lot of that mud out first. Get on with it.” Dave’s eyes glared through his mask of mud as he collected the bucket.
“Why didn’t you make him do it with his hands?”
“Because I’m the nice guy. And anyway, there’s something on the telly tonight.”
“Have I ever told you you’re all heart?”
Dave worked away taking buckets of mud out of the trench and dumping the contents far enough away for his brother not to be able to see where he was disposing of it but at least he was allowed water to drink. The layer of mud he was wearing did, in fairness make a quite reasonable sun-block but Stewart decided that, when he used some of his drinking water to clean his face, he was no longer adequately protected. “Back in that trench and face down. Duck yourself.” Dave tried but there was no longer enough mud to submerge even his face completely. “OK, just shake your head in it. SLOWLY!” Dave’s face was soon sufficiently, in his brother’s opinion, covered to be “safe” again.
“OK worm,” they just didn’t stop to think that Dave’s physique made the “worm” form of address singularly inappropriate to describe him, “try pulling the tarp out now.” Dave climbed out of the trench and pulled. He soon had the sheet arranged to his “superiors’” satisfaction.
“We can’t have a muddy little squit like you in our nice, clean boat so we’re going to protect it a bit. Lie down.” Dave looked around somewhat confused but following further explanation and a few renewed threats concerning a possible future run in the “nuddie”, he quickly laid himself on the tarpaulin, near to one edge, and drew his arms to his sides. There was still a considerable amount of mud on both sides of the fabric. Dave guessed what was about to happen.
Stewart and Koff went to work rolling Dave in the stiff tarpaulin. They soon had him “nicely parcelled up” with ropes round where, roughly, his shoulders, elbows, wrists, bum crease, and knees were. They then doubled the fabric back from the foot end before securing it round his ankles and around his legs once more. They didn’t bother even threatening to do the same at the head end.
“Breathe OK?” Dave affirmed that he could. “Safety word?”
“Fuck oooorf.” The rising inflection in Dave’s voice indicated that that was a silly question, he was in no real danger and, if they did untie him now, he knew would be socially excluded until he’d finished “paying his debt to society”.
“Good kid.”
“You’re not supposed to call him that.”
“Sorry. Forgot.”
Stewart and Koff tidied up the site and left Dave unattended while they transferred some kit to the pulling boat. When they returned, Dave’s journey to the boat was probably the most uncomfortable one he had ever undertaken. Stewart threaded some ropes through the eyelets near the head end of the tarp; one for him and one for Koff. The two boys then took one rope each and dragged their very noisy passenger to the shore. The tide was out so there was no point using the landing stage. So Koff released the mooring line and pulled the boat up onto the beach. Dave then found himself hoisted by the ropes that surrounded his shroud and dumped unceremoniously into the boat.
“Stowing the cargo” took quite some time as Stewart held up the head end of the package while Koff slid the other end under the middle seat. Koff then laid the head end down and adjusted the cargo until Dave’s hidden face was positioned under the fore seat. The cargo was then threatened once more with being made to streak for home if it so much as shifted during transit.
Stewart and Koff launched the boat and brought it about before jumping in. Stewart sat in the stern, taking the tiller and Koff sat on the middle seat facing him with one leg on either side of their victim. With one final threat about it’s being lovely weather for naturists, he took the oars and stroked for the mainland.
Koff wasn’t as muscular as his dark-haired co-conspirator but he was certainly very sturdy and those great, square shoulders made easy work of the rather long journey back to the campsite. Dave required very little “adjusting” (with Koff’s bare feet) during the journey, he REALLY didn’t want to run from the pier, through the campsite to his home wearing just the abraded remains of Longholme mud. Eventually, he felt the boat bump into the jetty with the cry of, “Woahh! Acoustic parking!” from Stewart, “What was that? Ramming speed?”
Koff merely instructed Stewart to make love elsewhere and suggested that, if he could do better, he could row next time. “Besides, who was facing the right way? YOU never told me we were so close.”
As the friendly banter and mutual blame-fest continued, Dave couldn’t care WHO was to blame for the spectacular berthing; he was busy wondering how much protection from the eyes of strangers his by now filthy but still wet briefs would provide. They were certainly accentuating his assets earlier and, whatever the other two said about them, he was a growing lad.
Dave was dreading all sorts of retribution from Koff (Would they tie him up and make him run? Would they strip him and tie him to the pier? . . .); many things went through Dave’s mind as Stewart and Koff undid the ropes securing their cargo while they continued apportioning blame to one another. There was a rocking as Stewart jumped out of the boat and Dave found himself being slid towards the stern of the boat before his head was raised and he was pulled backwards and made to sit up. He couldn’t figure out how his “carers” managed the next part but he was obviously pulled out of the boat and thrown across someone’s shoulder. There was then another splash and Dave was almost immediately laid across the arms of his captors still in the slightly unravelling tarpaulin.
“Arrrr lads, over the soid!” Dave just about had time to take in what Koff the Pirate was saying before he was decanted into the water like Cleopatra rolling out of her carpet. There was then much laughter but only from two of the boys. Dave soon surfaced and all three boys were standing in water that was about thigh deep to the older boys and little deeper to Dave.
Koff reached into the boat and grabbed something red. “OK. Move into deeper water and swap those knickers for these. No one can see you.” Dave had never been more pleased to see his second favourite pair of “three-stripe” running shorts. OK, he wouldn’t usually go swimming in them but other people did and at least he wouldn’t look too weird as he ran for home.
As Dave was busy protecting his modesty, his big brother told him that he had to clean out the pulling boat because he was the one who had “filled it with mud”. In the circumstances, Dave thought that was fair enough, especially now that he was more-or-less decently attired.
“Oh, by the way, well done, maggot.”
“Quits?”
“Quits!” Koff and Dave high fived with their right hands.
Koff and Stewart departed to take a shower (Koff took his hi-legs into the shower with him this time – just in case.) and to watch the Lennox family’s telly while Dave set, more or less happily, to work thinking that perhaps he’d learnt his lesson. No – only kidding about that last bit. He was busy plotting his revenge.
COMING UP NEXT: JONAH’S JOURNEY