Pedal Power

by Jay

I sat at the desk in my hotel room looking at the letter of resignation I’d drafted on my laptop. It was short and to the point, and it gave no indication why I was stepping down from the post I had always coveted and which I’d loved from the day I was appointed. There were no facilities in the hotel for guests to print documents and I’m not the type of person to send my resignation by email. The letter would be printed on my best writing paper when I got home, signed and then delivered in person to the team manager.

The delay at least gave me plenty of time to reconsider my decision but I knew I was taking the only course of action open to me. That knowledge did nothing to relieve the despair I felt at the thought of my bleak future. I’d once spent several months unemployed until my friends pointed out the advertisement for this job which seemed to have my name written all over it. Once appointed, I’d thrown my heart and soul into making a success of the role and the hard work had helped me forget, helped me move on. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck at home on my own again but, with no alternative employment in prospect, I feared that would be my fate.

I’d taken such care to avoid the slightest concern being raised about my suitability to serve as coach. I would hazard a guess that none of the team members were even aware of my sexual orientation. These days everyone has to be so careful when they’re involved with sporting activities and I am scrupulous about behaving professionally. Certainly, I’m in and out of the changing rooms but, like all coaches, I use that private space to talk to my team, give them encouragement, discuss strategy, celebrate success and commiserate over failure. I’m just careful not to linger when the guys are showering.

Of course, it’s a pleasure and a privilege to be surrounded at work by so many young men at the peak of their physical powers although I can say, hand on heart, that most of the time I’m so focussed on performance I don’t even notice all that Lycra clad muscle. But I’m only human and as subject to the power of sexual attraction as the next man. On occasion I do glance appreciatively at a nicely rounded bottom or a pair of pumping thighs. So what if I am a gay man coaching a team of elite male cyclists? They are no more at risk from me than a ladies’ netball team is at risk from a male coach. In fact, there seem to be rather a lot of men coaching women’s netball these days. Don’t tell me they’re all immune to those bare legs and the occasional flash of knickers!

I had never once betrayed myself by an incautious word or an inappropriate action so I was at a loss to understand how I had got myself into such a mess. Perhaps I’d just been on my own for too long and had come to believe I would never find another soul mate. I certainly wasn’t looking to get involved with anyone again so I can’t tell you when I began to succumb to the charms of Alfie Hayden. I can’t tell you because most of the time his charm was effectively masked by his behaviour which irritated, exasperated and exhausted me by turns. He was certainly the greatest talent it has ever been my privilege to coach but my hope of seeing him make the national team within a couple of seasons was rapidly diminishing as he neglected his training regime and caused chaos in a number of road races.

I should say straightaway that Alfie never set out to cause trouble. As the newest recruit he rapidly became the darling of the team and his lively sense of humour made him welcome everywhere - except, maybe, in the rival camp. He never seemed at a loss for an amusing anecdote or a crushing put down and he could deliver a good line in invective even when riding flat out on the bike. In fact, this whole disaster originated with an allegation that Alfie had caused an accident by doing just that. Apparently his commentary, delivered at close quarters and at high speed, on James McSteen’s inability to maintain an even pace and steer in a straight line had resulted in the man coming off his bike. I’d just been on the receiving end of an official complaint about unsporting behaviour on the part of my protégé when Alfie breezed in, fresh from the post race celebrations, brimming with laughter at his rival’s tumble.

To be fair to Alfie yet again, I know it never crossed his mind that his taunts may have caused James to run off the road. Crashes are one of the hazards of the sport and independent witnesses later attested to the fact that Alfie had pulled back before the bend where the accident occurred. Nor did Alfie know at that point that a strained shoulder would keep his rival out of the next race which would be vital for their respective rankings. All I was conscious of at that point was Alfie’s laughter when, yet again, I was going to have to exercise all my tact and diplomacy to prevent the latest complaint being brought to the attention of the sport’s governing body.

I didn’t lose my temper but all my frustration at his thoughtlessness and carelessness welled up. There was a very real prospect that his career would never progress to the highest level if he continued to behave in this way. Without thinking I grabbed him by the arm and propelled him along the corridor into the privacy of the small room I had been allocated as a team headquarters. My fingers were locked around his upper arm and despite his wrenching and squirming, he was unable to break from my grasp. Once the door was closed I treated him to a blistering reprimand without so much as loosening my grip on his arm.

When Alfie realised he was not going to get free he stopped pulling away and settled into a slouch, his head angled to the side and his face set in an expression of boredom. I did get a slight reaction when I mentioned the shoulder injury; he clearly hadn’t known that James would be out of the next race. But I still had the feeling that my words were failing to get through to him so, acting on impulse and without stopping to think, I twisted him sideways and delivered a dozen or so powerful slaps to the back of his thighs.

Alfie was still wearing his Lycra cycling shorts which are padded on the bottom. It was just my automatic response not to waste any effort where he wouldn’t feel the full effect. I aimed my blows at the top of his thighs which were clad only in a thin Lycra covering and I soon saw the red marks of my handprint appear in clear outline below the hem of his shorts. I heard him gasp, initially with shock and then, I think, with pain. He was still unable to pull himself free of my grasp but he arched his body forward in a fruitless attempt to get his legs beyond the reach of my hand. He didn’t cry out or demand that I stop. The whole thing was over in a matter of seconds. I spanked fast as well as hard and I stopped as soon as I realised that my behaviour was inexcusable. I let go of Alfie and he turned at once towards the door, ducking his head to avoid eye contact but not before I saw how flushed his face was, with tears or with shame I wasn’t sure. I let him go without moving and it took all my self control not to pull him back into my arms to offer comfort.

Back in my hotel bedroom the full horror of my unrestrained behaviour hit home. It was a case of assault, pure and simple and Alfie would be within his rights to report me to the police and insist they press charges. I hoped for the sake of the sport that I could dissuade him from that course of action. Honesty forced me to acknowledge that I was motivated, at least in part, by the desire to avoid a criminal prosecution but I knew that if it came to the crunch I would plead guilty and spare Alfie the need to give evidence against me. The most important consideration, however, was to protect the team and the sport from a nasty scandal and that meant I would have to tender my resignation as soon as we got home.

Thinking it through, I decided to wait until Alfie had calmed down and then offer him my deepest apologies. I hoped that he could be persuaded not to go public with what had happened, once I assured him that I would report my lapse to the team manager and offer my letter of resignation. Shamefully, I found myself banking on the likelihood that Alfie might want to keep quiet about what had happened just as much as I did. He would hardly want the gutter press to print salacious details about his spanking and the team manager would not want to risk bad publicity which might make our sponsors withdraw their support.

I continued to sit at the small desk in the hotel bedroom gazing with unfocussed eyes at the screen of my laptop. Once the letter was delivered I would need to start applying for jobs. If the circumstances of my resignation did not become public, and if I could persuade my employers to give me a supportive reference, I thought I would eventually be able to find employment in a similar, if less prestigious, post. That thought should have cheered me but I was conscious only of a deep sense of loss.

I didn’t have much of a life outside of work and my colleagues had become my friends. It was hard to imagine not seeing them daily. There were all my plans for the future to think about too: the training schedules I had so carefully put in place to bring my team to the peak of fitness in time for the major races of the season and the travel plans to take the leading riders to the international competitions. All that would have to be handed over to someone else. But as I contemplated the full implications of resignation I found I was thinking less of the administrative aspects and more of the human impact of leaving the job. My anguish gradually began to assume a human face and it was the face of Alfie Hayden.

When had he crept into my heart so that it now ached at the thought of not seeing him again? I closed my eyes and could picture his flashing brown eyes and wicked grin when laughing at a joke or planning some escapade. I could see his dark hair curling at the nape of his neck as he bent his helmeted head to reach down for the racing handlebars. I could feel the warmth and strength of his lean, muscular body leaning slightly into mine as I supported his stationary bike before a racing start. The pleasure I had always felt in his presence was so strong I could conjure it up at will just by the power of my own imagination. I felt some of the tension drain from my body and a small smile rise to my lips merely at the thought of dear Alfie. I would never have lost control so disgracefully with any other rider. I could no longer deny to myself how I felt about him: he had broken through all my barriers.

I felt such a foolish concern about how he would cope without me to keep an eye on him and sort out his mistakes. I’d been telling myself that I was exasperated by his antics but the truth was that he brought out a powerful protective instinct in me. I had been the first to recognise his talent but he needed someone to channel and discipline his raw ability. I was heartbroken to think that I would not be the one to undertake that task. I can honestly say that only part of my grief at leaving the team was about being parted from Alfie. Mostly I was worried about how Alfie would face the future without me.

I was contemplating that grim prospect when I heard a very gentle tapping on my door. It was so quiet I wasn’t sure whether I actually had a caller but I got up and went to open the door. Alfie was standing in the corridor looking rather flushed in the face. It seemed to require some effort but he raised his eyes to mine and whispered, “May I come in?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Shit, shit, SHIT! That fucking hurt! I couldn’t get out of that office fast enough and I scooted down the corridor like I had the finishing line in my sights. Actually, running seemed to ease the sting a bit but the truth was I didn’t want to bump into any of my team mates until I’d had a chance to examine the damage. I didn’t want anyone to start asking awkward questions about red marks on my thighs......to say nothing about a suspiciously red face and rather watery eyes.

The bastard! He’s not allowed to hit me. I hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t my fault if that stupid idiot can’t corner. I’ve had to get out of Jimbo’s way more often than I can remember. This time I was nowhere near him and yet I got blamed when he ran off the road. It just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair!

When I got back to my hotel bedroom I locked the door and peeled off my cycling shorts, taking care to ease the tight fabric over my blazing thighs. When I twisted to look at the damage in the mirror I could see the reason for the burning sensation. The backs of my legs, from mid thigh up to the curve of my bottom, were a uniform crimson with the clear imprint of finger marks at the edges of both patches of colour. I ran my fingers cautiously over the sore spots and felt the heat radiating from my abused flesh. Sadistic bastard! I bet he enjoyed giving me what for!

I went into the bathroom, grabbed one of the handtowels and held it under the cold tap before wringing out the surplus water and applying the chilled fabric to the back of my legs. When I was certain that the towel had stopped dripping I took it back with me into the bedroom where I threw myself face down on the bed, spreading the thick, damp cloth across my painful lower limbs. I concentrated on repeating in my head the complaints which had fuelled my anger so far: it wasn’t fair; the man was a bastard; shit, shit, shit; it just wasn’t fair! I kept that up for as long as I could to drown out the rising sense of shame and embarrassment which was threatening to burn itself into my consciousness much more deeply than those slaps had burnt themselves into my thighs. In fact, I soon became aware that the wet towel was taking all the heat out of my sore flesh and I shivered as I got up to go and take a shower. I washed myself thoroughly all over and was forced to admit that the after effects of the spanking were wearing off; I didn’t so much as wince as I soaped the back of my thighs.

Dressed in a tee shirt and a loose pair of jogging bottoms I paced the room as I towel dried my hair. My anger had died away and my sense of grievance was fading. Instead I felt overwhelmed by embarrassment at having been spanked like a naughty schoolboy. I cringed at the thought of anyone else ever knowing what had happened and I didn’t see how I could look Brandon in the face ever again.

Brandon Gates, the team coach, is a man I’ve always looked up to and respected. He first saw me ride as a junior and it was Brandon who selected me for the team. He’s just ten years older than me but when I first met him the age gap between us seemed greater than it does now.

My training schedule was entirely in his hands and my races were all carefully scheduled to fit in with his master plan to get me to the very top of my sport, although it’s fair to say that I didn’t always co-operate fully with that master plan. Hey, I’m young, I’ve never taken life too seriously and I like a bit of fun. That’s not to say I’m not ambitious; I wanted to make the national team and I dreamed about winning the really big races. I think I just trusted Brandon to make that happen for me even if I messed around, occasionally cut corners with my training and behaved in a less than sportsmanlike way when rivals got on my nerves.

When the chips were down, I could deliver. I knew it, Brandon knew it and so did the team management. I was the golden boy and it gave me a bit of leeway when it came to my behaviour on and off the road. But maybe I’d finally pushed things too far. Brandon must have been furious to have resorted to a spanking. Spanking! Just naming the punishment made me shudder with embarrassment. I’d obviously stepped over the line as far as Brandon was concerned and I didn’t know how to restore our usual amicable and professional relationship.

It wasn’t my fault that the damn stupid guy had crashed his bike. I hadn’t even seen him come off the road! Brandon said I’d contributed to the accident but that was just a load of bollocks. How could I have contributed when I had nothing to do with Jimbo’s inability to corner at speed? Okay, I had been pointing out his general ineptitude shortly before the accident and I know that taunting a fellow competitor is frowned upon in the sport but, God, it’s not a hanging offence. What had I done to make Brandon react like that? He had no business laying into me and I knew I could report him to management and that would be the end of it. He’d be out of a job. It gave me a momentary sense of satisfaction to think that I could get my own back but it was followed at once by the realisation that I would never do anything to harm or damage Brandon. The more I thought about it the more I became convinced that I would have to sort things out with him myself and no one else must ever be involved.

I thought of the many previous occasions when Brandon had helped me out, supported me, covered for me and reprimanded me. He was always so calm and understanding even when I was in trouble, although I could never get him to shift an inch once he’d made up his mind to discipline me. It was uncanny how he always seemed to know when I’d stinted on my training. I invariably had to catch up with the missed fitness and road work under his close supervision, plus extra training for failing to keep to my routine in the first place. He could reduce me to an exhausted wreck but I tried to give him my best second time round. His quietly worded ‘well done’ made all the effort worthwhile. He had always treated me fairly and gone the extra mile to get the best out of me. I told myself just to forget about the spanking and try instead to give a bit of thought to the behaviour that had got me into trouble in the first place.

I winced as I thought of the injury sustained by my rival. I wouldn’t have wished that on anyone, and especially not in a minor competition which was really just a warm up for the big race. I was forced to concede that my behaviour towards Jimbo didn’t match up to Brandon’s expectations on sporting conduct and I couldn’t come up with any sort of excuse other than my dislike of the man. I ran my mind back over the events of the afternoon and recalled that I was laughing about his tumble as I walked into the hotel. Brandon had been standing in the foyer and, to judge from what I remembered of the reprimand he later delivered, he had just been on the receiving end of some strongly worded criticism about my behaviour. His exact words, as I recall, were ‘yet another complaint’, delivered with heavy emphasis on the word ‘another’. It was possible, I conceded, that Brandon’s reaction could be better understood in the light of my previous escapades. It was just possible that this latest incident had been the final straw for him.

That was a sobering thought, and a distressing one. I hadn’t really thought about it before but that was the point when I realised how much Brandon’s good opinion mattered to me. I knew that my antics occasionally amused him and often exasperated him but I’d taken his tolerance for granted. I couldn’t bear to think that I’d exhausted his patience or fallen in his estimation. I’d come to depend on him but I had also been taking him for granted. I’d got a terrible shock that afternoon when his hand connected so forcefully with my legs but nothing that Brandon had said or done made me want to sever our connection.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew what would happen to the coach if I made a complaint and I didn’t want to contemplate my future in the sport without Brandon by my side. Hell, I didn’t want to contemplate any sort of future without Brandon in it. His smile of welcome when I reported for training, the quiet word of praise after a good performance, his unfailing care and concern for my welfare, along with his personal charm and emotional strength, all made his presence in my life indispensible.

I was going to have to work out a way to get over what had happened without involving anyone else. There was no way I was going to report Brandon for hitting me. I’d had worse hurts falling off my bike, although not such embarrassing ones. I had to work out how to get our working relationship back to normal, or if I couldn’t manage that, I could at least make the first move and face Brandon.

By now I was sitting on the bed. I’d turned on the television out of habit but I’d muted the sound as I contemplated the way forward. I was beginning to face up to the fact that I’d behaved badly and placed Brandon in a difficult position. I knew I could offer no excuse for taunting a fellow competitor and honesty compelled me to admit that I’d not responded well when Brandon addressed the issue. Maybe I’d got my just deserts. I suspected I’d pushed Brandon past his limits to make him take such extreme action.

However humiliating it had been to endure a brisk spanking, the unorthodox punishment had certainly got me thinking straight and I hadn’t died of it. I wriggled experimentally on the bed; I couldn’t even pretend that I felt sore any more. There was only one thing for it. I was going to have to go and apologise to Brandon and offer to do what was necessary to mend matters with the rival team manager. I would have to face Brandon sometime and I preferred to do so in private. If I didn’t act at once I risked losing my nerve and then I would lie awake all night worrying. I pulled on my trainers, pulled my hoodie over my tee shirt and walked resolutely out into the corridor.

By the time I got to Brandon’s room my resolution was beginning to fade but I forced myself to tap on the door. As I heard his footsteps crossing the room I realised I was holding my breath. I’d given no thought to what I was going to say and all I could think about was how embarrassing it was going to be to face him. But face him I would. As I heard the door open, I lifted my head to make eye contact although my blush probably revealed my discomfiture.

“May I come in?”

He stepped back wordlessly and ushered me into his room. It was bigger than mine and had two arm chairs placed opposite one another in the bay window. He gestured towards one and took a seat in the other. We sat looking at one another in awkward silence for a few moments. Despite my embarrassment, I sensed that Brandon was also feeling ill at ease, a sense which was confirmed when he opened the conversation.

“I’m so sorry about what happened earlier, Alfie. I should never have.....done what I did. It was inexcusable. I don’t know what came over me but I want you to know that I deeply regret my inappropriate and unprofessional behaviour.”

It was such a surprise hearing Brandon apologise to me I didn’t know how to respond. When I said nothing Brandon continued.

“I will, of course, report the matter to the team manager when we get home and give him my letter of resignation. I’m hoping that, in view of the close working relationship we’ve had in the past, you will consider that sufficient reparation for this breach of trust and..”

“No, no!” I finally found my voice and my response was unnaturally loud. Brandon looked both surprised and distressed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I had been hoping that we could prevent this becoming public, for both our sakes. But I do understand if you want to take the matter further. You have that right, of course. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested.... I don’t want to put any pressure on you..”

I hadn’t grasped any of that. I didn’t understand what Brandon was trying to say. Only a single word had registered in my befuddled brain: resignation. Whatever the outcome of this whole sorry business the one thing I feared was that Brandon would leave. This time I think I managed to make my meaning clear.

“No, no,” I shouted, “you mustn’t resign. I can’t do this without you. I’m so sorry if I pushed you too far today. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t go.”

“You don’t want me to resign?” he asked hesitantly.

“Of course not. You’re the best coach I’ve ever worked with. Who else would put up with my stupid antics? I’m sorry you had to sort out my latest mess and...and....I’m so sorry that I made you so cross....I didn’t....I didn’t mean.....”

It was all too much. I was too upset and too confused. I started to choke in an effort not to cry and when the tears fell anyway I hid my head in my hands in an attempt to conceal my weakness and stupidity from Brandon. I didn’t hear him get out of his chair so it came as a surprise to feel his arms close gently around me. When I lifted my tear streaked face I saw he was kneeling in front of me and his eyes, so close to my own, showed only compassion and understanding.

~*~*~*~*~*~

My heart went out to Alfie when I saw him break down. All at once I divined the probable cause. He was just overwhelmed with too many emotions. I had shocked and frightened him when I spanked him. I was certain that I hadn’t caused him excessive pain; I had just meant to give him a wake-up call. But I had no mandate to treat him in that way and he must have been feeling mistreated and betrayed. As soon as I came to my senses I knew that I would have to regain his trust if we were ever to work together again. What I hadn’t expected was that Alfie would be as distressed as I was at the prospect of our association coming to an end.

I had no way of knowing just how he felt about me or in what light he viewed our relationship. Maybe it was for him just a comfortable working association between coach and athlete but clearly he placed great value on our relationship and wished to maintain it. As I absorbed the full implication of that insight, I was conscious of an enormous sense of relief. I began to feel that this disastrous situation was retrievable; that we could continue working together in an atmosphere of relaxed friendship.

“Did I hurt you?” I asked quietly as his tear filled eyes lifted to mine.

“Of course not,” came the positive response and his hands moved toward his waist. I thought he was going to pull down his jogging bottoms to check on the damage but instead he pulled his hoodie over his head and twisted to pull up the sleeve of his tee shirt. I gasped as I saw the imprint of my fingers in the bruising round his upper arm.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Alfie. I didn’t realise I was holding you tight enough to cause injury.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said quietly. “That was me pulling and twisting. It didn’t get me anywhere; I just got myself a bruised arm.”

I stood up and went into the bathroom for my first aid kit. Bumps and bruises are a constant for bike riders so I always carry a variety of remedies and topical pain relievers. When I’d finished gently rubbing a soothing gel into his bruised arm I gestured towards his lower body.

“What about your bottom? How sore is that?”

“I wish you had aimed for my bottom. I was wearing padded shorts.” My boy was beginning to recover his customary sense of humour even if he still appeared somewhat shaken. “My thighs took the brunt of it and they were pretty painful for a while. It’s more or less worn off now, though.”

“Would you like me to put some gel on your legs?”

“No need. Anyway, that would defeat the purpose rather, wouldn’t it?”

The latter was said with a degree of self consciousness indicated by averted eyes and a returning blush. Alfie understood how this worked all right, even if he had been shocked and embarrassed by my precipitate behaviour. I decided the time had come for us to try and deal with what had taken place between us but I needed to get Alfie settled and relaxed first so I made us both a mug of hot chocolate and talked a bit about the next race before returning to the subject which was uppermost in both our minds.

“Look Alfie, I don’t want you to make any hasty decisions. You’d be quite within your rights to report me...” I held up my hand as Alfie tried to interrupt. “No, hear me out. I had no business laying hands on you. I’m really sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me. You have every right to report me to the team manager or to the police. I’ll quite understand if that’s what you decide to do and I’ll plead guilty to the charges that will be brought against me. You won’t have to stand up and accuse me in court.”

This time I couldn’t prevent Alfie from delivering an impassioned rejoinder.

“There’s no way you’re going to court! I don’t want to fucking report you. Can’t you get that into your thick head?”

I just looked at him in the way I knew would always calm and settle him. There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence and then he said, with just a hint of petulance, “I’m sorry. But I really don’t want to make a complaint. I just wish you’d stop going on about it.”

I ignored the tone and responded with sincerity, “Thank you for that, Alfie. I won’t deny it’s a great relief and it’s very, very kind of you.”

I tried to make eye contact but his head was bowed. I think he was a trifle ashamed of his rudeness in the face of my courtesy but I understood that he wasn’t finding this conversation easy. I discounted his bad manners which I knew were just a cover for embarrassment and distress.

“I very much appreciate your generosity,” I continued, “and I promise I will never do anything like it again.”

Alfie’s head came up at that but I couldn’t read his expression. At a guess I would say he was uncomfortable or confused about me apologising to him. Maybe he was finding it hard to come to terms with this reversal of the expected order of things.

“I must have really pissed you off,” he said. “I didn’t know you’d got so sick of me.”

I had to strain to hear that last bit, it was spoken so quietly.

“I’m not sick of you, Alfie. You mustn’t think that. I’m not sick of you at all. I was just exasperated this afternoon. You know, just frustrated that you’d got yourself into trouble again, let yourself and the team down.”

“I’m sorry I let you down,” came the whispered response.

Alfie looked so ashamed and guilty that I just wanted to put my arms around him and tell him that I’d spanked him and that was the end of the matter but our professional relationship didn’t work like that. Instead I tried to reassure him.

“It’s not a question of letting me down. I just want the best for you and I get upset on your behalf when others complain about you. Hey, don’t look so worried. I’m not angry.”

“I shouldn’t have taunted Jimbo, though,” he admitted miserably. He took a moment to contemplate his misconduct but then added with returning petulance, “......but he’s such a prat!”

“No, you shouldn’t,” I said firmly, “and there’s no need to add insult to injury!”

“I wasn’t responsible for his injury,” he shouted, taking my comment literally. “I was nowhere near him when he went off the road. He’s a fucking liar if he says that’s my fault. I didn’t even know he’d hurt his shoulder until you told me. It’s not fair. It’s not....”

“Calm down, calm down! No one’s saying you were responsible for his injury. I just don’t like to hear you calling him a rude name when you’re at fault for taunting him before his accident. You are at fault for that, aren’t you?”

“I suppose so,” he said a trifle sullenly. Then, after a prolonged silence, he added, “I suppose you want me to apologise to him.”

That came as a bit of a surprise, I’d been wondering how I was going to introduce the idea of an apology.

“I’d like you to, yes, if you feel you can,” I said warmly.

“As long as I don’t have to do it on my own.”

“You know I wouldn’t ask that of you. I’ll come along and I won’t let James McSteen or his coach have a go at you. I’d just like you to tell James you’re sorry for the things you said to him when you were riding beside him and I’d like you to show a decent concern about his injury. That’s just common courtesy and doesn’t imply that you were in any way responsible..... Do you think you could do that?”

“I suppose so.”

“Right, I’ll ring Mr McSteen’s coach first thing in the morning and we’ll set up a meeting as soon as possible. Once you’ve apologised then the matter is closed. Do you understand, Alfie? There’s no need for you to be worried or upset about this. It’s not a serious matter. I just want you to remember that you can’t afford to antagonise the people you compete against. I don’t want you to get a bad reputation in the sport. I just want the best for you; I want you to fulfil your potential and make it to the top.”

“So do I......and Brandon, thank you for all you do to help me.”

“Well, I didn’t do a very good job today and I’m so sorry I betrayed your trust. I promise I’ll never behave like that again and I hope we can put this behind us and continue to work together amicably.”

I went over to Alfie and held out my hand. Alfie stood up and shook it, accepting my apology and bringing our conversation to a rather formal close. He wished me goodnight and departed for his own room. I closed down my computer and began getting ready for bed myself although I didn’t think sleep would come easily. I’d found it hard to part from Alfie like that. I wasn’t sure why but I felt we’d left a lot unsaid. It seemed like we’d discussed the facts of the brief spanking I’d administered without addressing any of the emotions it had evoked. I wondered if Alfie had as many confused thoughts churning around inside his head as I did.

When we met the next morning it was in company with the rest of the team and, once I had given instructions about our departure time from the hotel, I was able to draw Alfie to one side and inform him that we would be taking a taxi over to meet James McSteen and his coach in half an hour. He blushed slightly and dropped his eyes but went without prompting back to his room and changed into a suit and tie. When we left the hotel the rest of the team members were busy packing and Alfie was spared the embarrassment of spectators.

I hoped that James McSteen would be reasonable. To be honest, he is a bit of a prat but I wasn’t about to say that to Alfie. I trusted James’s coach, though, and I’d asked for his assurance that he would keep his injured rider under control. In the event all went well. Alfie was subdued but polite. I heard him express his deepest regrets for taunting his rival, apologise for his unprofessional conduct and promise that it would never happen again. There was something about his dignified manner and courteous expression of regret which struck a chord in my memory. Then it dawned on me. He was drawing on the words and manner I had used to him the night before. I’m certain it was done unconsciously. He wasn’t trying to mimic me but he had watched and listened more carefully than I’d realised when I apologised to him. There was a sincerity about his expression of regret which was unmistakable and even the surly James McSteen recognised it and responded appropriately.

I was so proud of Alfie. There are hidden depths to that boy and some admirable qualities which were going to waste. He clearly learns from his mistakes and when the right course of action is pointed out to him, he is more than capable of following it through. He’s been indulged too often in the past and has used his charm to wriggle out of tight corners. From an early age his sport frequently took him away from home and he’s got used to following his own inclinations. It was good to see him finally facing up to the consequences of his own thoughtless actions and behaving in such a mature and responsible way. As soon as we were alone together in the back of the taxi I quietly told him how pleased and proud I was of the way he had conducted himself. His expressive brown eyes lifted to mine and the smile he gave me conveyed such pleasure and pride in the simple compliment that I was momentarily lost for words.

For the next few of weeks we both trod with care in one another’s company. The team was back home and I was back in my office at the sports complex which the guys attended for fitness training. I tried to ensure that all my dealings with Alfie took place in the presence of others and I made no further allusion to the impromptu spanking. I suspected he was still embarrassed at having felt the force of my hand and he seemed to be on his best behaviour at all times. I was saddened to think that he might be living in fear of similar chastisement in future. I had promised never again to lay a hand on him and I hoped he believed in the sincerity of my pledge. However, I saw no way to convince him of it other than by the utter professionalism of my conduct towards him. In return I got a respectful, obedient and hard working team member, everything a coach could wish for.....except it wasn’t my Alfie.

It was almost a relief when one of my most experienced team members came to tell me that Alfie was up to his old tricks. Ben Fanshawe had been deputed by the others to speak to me about Alfie’s behaviour in the peloton. The word ‘peloton’ is used by all nationalities for the tightly packed group of riders who lead the race. Jostling is commonplace in the peloton; there are clashes of knees, elbows and handlebars. There are also negotiations and alliances between competing riders. A cycle race covers hundreds of miles; it is as much about tactics as sheer endurance and power. Most importantly, it is the support each man lends to the members of his own team that gives the strongest rider the best chance of victory. The team is everything; a rider is not going to be successful on his own.

On a windy day team mates can save a cyclist up to fifty per cent of the effort he would otherwise have to expend just by riding in front and shielding him. A rider can be pulled along on a steep hill climb by cycling behind a colleague, sitting on his wheel. The experienced members of my team expected Alfie to support them in this way but too often he was pressing ahead, concentrating on his own position and failing to contribute to the team effort. It was a fault I had been seeking to correct. It did Alfie no good in the long run because, without support himself, he was unable to sustain his bursts of speed and his final rankings were not as good as I had hoped for at this stage of his career.

This issue gave me the excuse I needed to sit down for a heart to heart with Alfie and try and get our working relationship back to normal. I hoped that in the process, I could get him to understand the importance of being a team player. I didn’t want him to think he was in trouble so I decided not to send for him. Instead I found an opportune moment after training one day when I was able to casually invite him back to the office for a chat. I did this whenever I wanted to discuss things like performance times, diet, race entries or fitness levels with any member of my team but I took care that no one saw Alfie lock his valuable racing bike into storage before following me into the administration block. Given that the rest of the team had, albeit very reluctantly, drawn his thoughtless and unsupportive behaviour to my attention, I didn’t want anyone even suspecting that he was about to be reprimanded.

Judging, however, from Alfie’s apprehensive expression it looked as though he was expecting to be told off. I was suddenly very conscious that this was the first time in many weeks that we had been alone together so I tried to keep things light and concentrate on putting Alfie at ease. Normally I would say I am very good at working with young people, they relax in my company and I’m able to get the best performance out of them in their sport. That skill seemed to desert me in Alfie’s company. Something about his vulnerability, his desperate desire to please, even the aggression which he uses to cover his uncertainties and failings all brought out such a powerful protective instinct in me that it was difficult to remain casual. After some rather stilted conversation about Alfie’s training schedule I turned my attention to the issue uppermost in my mind.

“Your team mates are a bit concerned, Alfie, about the way you’ve been behaving in the peloton.” I saw no reason to beat about the bush and I had to let him know how this matter had been brought to my attention.

“Someone been telling tales then?” he asked rather sullenly.

I couldn’t help but notice the blush which spread from his cheeks right up to his hairline.

“It’s not a matter of telling tales, Alfie. The guys are all concerned about you racing off alone and so am I. I’ve told you before, this is a team sport. We’ll never be successful unless every man contributes to the team effort.”

“So you expect me to go at the pace of the slowest member of the team! You should be pensioning some of those guys off, not expecting me to nursemaid them.”

“That’s rude, Alfie, and uncalled for. It can’t have escaped your attention that this isn’t a young man’s sport. Experience always wins out over youthful exuberance and arrogance.”

“Are you calling me arrogant?” Alfie’s jaw jutted with belligerence.

“No, Alfie, I’m not,” I replied calmly, “but you have to admit that your tactics haven’t paid off, have they? You might have the strength to pull away from the main bunch in the early stages of a race but you haven’t been able to maintain that position through to the finish line. You need the rest of the team just as much as they need you.”

It was so easy to defuse his aggression. He lowered his gaze and his shoulders fell. He looked defeated and my heart went out to him as I saw his fingers intertwining with anxiety where they rested in his lap. I was conscious of a powerful urge to embrace him, to restore his self confidence with endearments and praise. It was an urge I fought down as I searched for the professionalism and the objectivity to give this lovable young man the tactical lecture which I was paid to deliver.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I’d fucked up yet again. Just when I’d been trying so hard to impress Brandon with my good behaviour. He must have thought I was a selfish, thoughtless bastard. Well, what other conclusion could he come to when the rest of the guys were apparently complaining about my lack of team spirit? I wonder which one of them grassed me up. I wouldn’t be surprised to discover it was Ben Fanshawe. I don’t like him much and I think he was jealous of me.

Brandon gave me a right talking to after training. Don’t get me wrong; there was no shouting, no nagging; just a calm, straightforward explanation of what I’d been doing wrong and how I needed to improve. I suppose, in my heart of hearts, I knew it was good advice but I tried telling him it wasn’t fair to pick on me. I’m not the only one who drops his team mates when there’s an opportunity for personal advantage. Brandon wouldn’t even respond to that argument. He got up from behind his desk and came round to perch on the other side, right in front of where I was sitting. His tall, powerfully built frame seemed to block out the light. He waited until I felt obliged to look up into his steely grey eyes and then he told me kindly but very firmly that I was not just letting down my team mates, I was failing to make the most of my exceptional talent.

I don’t know whether it was surprise to hear Brandon describe my talent as exceptional or excitement at his close proximity but I found myself starting to breathe rather rapidly. I can’t think straight when he looks at me with that all consuming gaze, as though there’s nobody in the world more important than me at that moment. I suppose it’s a skill he’s developed in the course of his job, making everyone feel extra special, but it had a powerful effect on me. I tried to hide it though; I didn’t want him to laugh at me, or worse still, pity me for having a crush on him.

I had only gradually become aware of my feelings for Brandon but this was no adolescent crush. It was true I’d been just a youth when I first met him and I hero worshipped the handsome, dark haired man who took charge of my training. He seemed so much more experienced and knowledgeable than me but he would only have been in his late twenties then. As I got older the age gap between us didn’t seem so great, for all that Brandon sometimes acts as though he is greatly my senior. He might be older than me but I was a man by then, a full grown adult. I knew that what I felt, what I’d been feeling for some considerable time, went far deeper than any passing infatuation.

I tried to focus on what Brandon was saying and put aside my feeling for him. He thought I really did stand a chance of winning a stage, even one of the big races, but I would never do it alone. If I could learn to operate as a team member then my colleagues would provide the support I needed when the time came. Indeed, Brandon suggested that I might already have been up with the winners if I had learnt to discipline myself during a race and not throw away the advantage of my strength and endurance in an effort which I could not sustain. That was a revelation. Brandon was in effect saying that I could do a lot better than I had been doing; I just needed to follow his instructions. Something about the idea of following Brandon’s instructions without question gave me a little frisson of excitement while at the same time I doubted my ability to fall in line once I was up in contention for the lead in my next race.

After that lecture I did try to do better, I really did, but I got pissed off when Brandon didn’t seem to be appreciating my efforts. When the speed of the peloton dropped I adjusted my speed accordingly. Brandon was correct; we can’t keep up speeds of forty miles an hour throughout a race. There are times when everyone needs to conserve their energy for the big push. I tried to restrain my impatience at those times and go with the flow. When my colleagues needed support, I showed myself willing to do the hard work, put my head down into the wind and pull the others along. The guys were grateful and I felt I had recovered their good will. They certainly laughed at my jokes and appreciated the jibes I was able to fling at our rivals. When the peloton is moving at twenty miles an hour there is always time and breath for backchat.

It just seemed that Brandon hadn’t noticed how hard I was trying. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice me much at all. There was a certain distance between us, a formality in our dealings which I didn’t like. Actually, I suppose it’s not really fair to say that. Brandon did give me all the time I needed at a sporting level; it was just that some of the friendship, the playfulness and the intimacy had gone out of our working relationship and I interpreted that as a rejection of sorts.

I really don’t think it was a conscious decision on my part but somehow I felt that if I wasn’t going to get Brandon’s approval for my good behaviour I would have to grab his attention in a way which I knew always worked. I’d get myself into trouble. As I say, I didn’t think this through. At the time it just seemed to happen although I know things don’t happen without someone bringing them about. I’m not trying to shift the blame or deny liability. What took place was my fault.

I was taking care to be a good team player in the peloton but I was getting more and more pissed off with the behaviour of a few other riders who would take any opportunity to flick me. Flicking is a term used in cycling; it comes from the German word meaning to fuck and basically it means using any method to screw with a competitor. I would find myself cut off from my team mates and forced to ride slower than the group or suddenly the pace would hot up when I wasn’t expecting it and I would be forced to work harder than I wanted to at that point. To be fair, my tormentors were probably reacting to my aggressive riding style but I wasn’t prepared to debate the point. I took them on and played them at their own game.

Then there came the day when I overplayed my hand and, as bad luck would have it, James McSteen was amongst the group I tangled with. We were competing in France where the route took us across the cobbled streets of a market square. There is nothing worse than cycling on cobbles and all the riders were standing up on their pedals to try and minimise the effect of the juddering. I decided to slow the group in order to extend the time spent on this uncomfortable section of the race, to the discomfort of my rivals, but I pulled too heavily on the brakes and caused a pile up.

James McSteen was just behind me and his momentum carried his bike into mine. We both went down in a tangle of twisted metal, bringing several other riders down with us. A few got up and continued but most were either too shaken to continue or their bikes were not fit to be ridden. There was no concrete evidence to prove that I had intended that unfortunate outcome; indeed, the fact that I was out of the race myself was the best proof that it was all an accident. But Jimbo had seen me deliberately brake when there was no call to slow down so abruptly. He made a protest to the stewards but it failed to result in an official enquiry. Jimbo’s coach made an unofficial and strongly worded protest to Brandon and that had far greater effect.

As soon as we got home I found myself back in Brandon’s office facing an irate coach who this time did not invite me to sit down. If I’d wanted Brandon’s undivided attention I’d certainly gone the right way about getting it and I found it a most unsettling experience. I was confused and struggling to understand the nature of our relationship. There had been a time when we were totally relaxed in one another’s company and I’d regarded Brandon as one of my closest friends. Indeed, my feelings for him went way beyond mere friendship. He, on the other hand, was becoming more distant and strictly professional in his approach towards me. Nothing in his manner, however, had prepared me for the stern and unrelenting disciplinarian I now faced. If I’d had the wit to prepare a defence it would have been useless in the face of the inquisition I endured. As it was, I could only admit responsibility for the accident and surrender to my fate.

The trouble was, Brandon did not make it that easy. I said he was irate but if you didn’t know him as well as I do you would never have guessed it. He didn’t raise his voice and he didn’t even lecture me. He was angry, though, angry and disappointed. I think it was his disappointment which I found hardest to bear. We had done so much preparation for that race, all for nothing when I knocked myself out of contention. Not only was my racing bike damaged beyond repair but Brandon had undertaken to persuade our sponsors to foot the bill for repairs to Jimbo’s bike as well.

The whole sorry mess was made worse by the fact that I had once offered my apologies to James McSteen for unprofessional conduct and promised that I would never behave badly towards him again. In Brandon’s book the latest incident just showed that my word was not to be trusted and I appeared incapable of competing in an honest and sportsmanlike manner. It cut no ice to argue that I didn’t know Jimbo was right behind me when I braked so suddenly. I had admitted doing it deliberately to inconvenience my rivals, one of whom was James McSteen, and that meant that I was responsible for his crash.

I couldn’t meet Brandon’s eye. There was nothing I could say in my defence. If I had indeed taken to retaliating in the peloton in order to gain Brandon’s full attention the strategy had backfired. I felt as though I had forfeited his good opinion forever. I didn’t care much about James McSteen but I couldn’t cope with the guilt of letting my coach down yet again. I hung my head in an attempt to disguise the fact that my eyes were brimming and a tear had overflowed down my cheek. The next thing I knew Brandon was standing right in front of me.

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked.

I could tell he was still displeased and the question seemed to stem from exasperation. I lifted my head to look at him and the movement caused more tears to spill, some of them splashing on my hand as I lifted it to scrub my wet face. He caught my wrist in one hand and reached into his pocket with the other to extract a clean white handkerchief which he used to mop my hand and then gently wipe the tears from my cheeks and eyelashes. He handed me the handkerchief to finish the job myself but he didn’t step away. I dried my eyes and blew my nose as quietly as possible and then, after a moment’s hesitation, I decided to pocket the wet handkerchief rather than return it.

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked again.

The exasperation was gone from his voice and this time I heard only reassurance and a certain wry affection. It made me feel even more guilty for the trouble I’d caused. I think Brandon was asking a rhetorical question but the obvious answer sprang to mind and without thinking of the consequences I voiced my thought.

“You spanked me the last time I behaved badly towards James McSteen.”

“And it would serve you right if I bent you over my desk right now and taught you a lesson you wouldn’t forget in a hurry,” came the immediate response.

I don’t think Brandon had given any more thought to his response than I had to my original suggestion but our eyes met and we both immediately realised that we were discussing a serious possibility. We skirted round it for a while, both trying to come to terms with the unthinkable.

“You’re going to punish me for this anyway, aren’t you? What are you intending to do to me?”

“I haven’t made up my mind, Alfie. I’m really at a loss how to deal with this. I suppose I will impose a fine....a substantial fine. You’ve cost the club a lot of money, not all of which can be recovered on insurance.”

“It’s not just about money though, is it?” I said miserably. “I’ve let the club down and I’ve let you down. I’m so sorry. I feel dreadful about it. Sometimes I just don’t think about the possible outcome when I plan one of my stunts.”

“You’ve hit the nail on the head there, Alfie. You just don’t think, even though I’ve told you again and again that unsporting behaviour in the peloton will only make you enemies. This isn’t a case of letting me down; you’re letting yourself down every time you pull a stunt like this.”

“It just seemed too tempting to get back at the guys who’d been flicking me. I didn’t think I had anything to lose.”

“So, you only behave well when you fear the consequences of misbehaviour. Is that what you’re saying?”

“No...it’s just....I do what I feel like.....I don’t....”

“What you’re saying, Alfie, is that you need a strong incentive to modify your behaviour: something to make you think twice before you do anything like this again....something to remind you that misbehaviour can prove painful.”

I winced. He was obviously still toying with the idea of a spanking. Reluctantly I dragged my own thoughts back to the possibility of accepting corporal punishment. I think Brandon knew I was considering my options and he waited quietly while I mulled over what he’d just said.

“Honestly, Brandon, a fine doesn’t touch me. I’m getting quite an income now from sponsorship. My Dad, as my business manager, will pay a financial penalty without comment. I’ll just be left feeling guilty that I’ve made your job difficult yet again. Perhaps I need something which is going to make me feel I’ve paid the price personally.”

“This seems to be a very personal thing for you, Alfie, doesn’t it? You seem more upset at offending me than harming James McSteen.”

“I’m sorry I knocked Jimbo out of the race, Brandon, really I am. But you’re right; what keeps me awake at night is knowing that you’re angry with me. I want to put things right between us. I want a bit of help to keep on track with my career. Perhaps a spanking is the solution. I don’t fancy it. I’m scared, Brandon, but perhaps it is the right thing for me.”

Suddenly Brandon seemed to come to a decision and I immediately regretted my words.

“Well,” he said, “we can always give it a try. This will be strictly between the two of us. If you’re willing to accept physical discipline it could be the making of you. I’ve known it work before now. What do you say?”

“How...how does it work?” I couldn’t imagine how the punishment would be carried out.

Brandon understood my concerns.

“You’ll bend over my desk and hold onto the edge. I know it’s an embarrassing position to place yourself in but that’s part and parcel of the punishment. I have a paddle in the filing cabinet and this latest misconduct has earned you a dozen swats across the seat of your pants. I warn you, I spank hard. This will hurt.....it’ll hurt you a lot. You won’t have to keep quiet but I’ll expect you to remain in position until I tell you to get up. Are you ready to take that?”

I wanted to say I’d never be ready to take that but I found myself nodding agreement. I couldn’t bring myself to actually state my acceptance out loud and I think Brandon understood that because he didn’t press me. Instead he gave me one last way out.

“Take your time, Alfie. It’s a big decision and I don’t want to put any pressure on you. The more I think about it the more sure I am that this will be for the best, but it has to be done with your consent. It will take courage, I don’t deny that. But when it’s done the matter will be dealt with, over and done with. Nothing more will be said. You’ll be forgiven and your misbehaviour forgotten. How about you go home and think it over and come and see me tomorrow with your decision?”

It was a tempting offer but I didn’t trust myself to maintain my resolution overnight. Added to that, I didn’t want to lie awake all night worrying about this anymore. I took a deep breath and tried to speak with confidence and finality.

“I’ve made up my mind, Brandon. I know I deserve this. Do it now. Please.”

I was grateful that he didn’t see the need for further debate. Not only that, he took over so completely that I didn’t have to think about how to manage the unpleasant business. Indeed, I stopped thinking altogether, just did as Brandon told me, went where he said, and steeled myself for what was to come.

Bent awkwardly over Brandon’s office desk, I had to reach out to get a grip on the opposite edge with hands which suddenly felt clammy. Brandon took his time checking that I was in exactly the position he wanted. He asked me to spread my legs further apart which had the effect of bringing me onto my toes. I felt very vulnerable hanging on by my fingers on one side of the desk and balancing on my toes at the other. I didn’t think I’d be able to get up quickly from that position even if I wanted to, which was probably the idea.

Brandon hitched up my waistband and smoothed the fabric of my jeans across my bottom. Then he plunged his hand without hesitation into my back pocket to withdraw the mobile phone which I’d forgotten about. I heard the sound it made as he placed it on the desk beside me. As he walked over to the filing cabinet to collect his paddle I reflected that jeans probably provided as good a protection as anyone in my position could hope to get from a layer of fabric. It was just unfortunate that I hadn’t changed out of my athletic support and so there was no second layer across my bottom to help absorb the sting.

I wondered if the paddle did actually sting or whether the pain was of a different order. I had no idea what to expect. I’d never been paddled at school. No one my age has been. I didn’t know what Brandon was doing in possession of a paddle. A paddle had once been an essential piece of kit in the coach’s office but not in Brandon’s day. Maybe he had inherited this one from his predecessor. As Brandon turned away from the filing cabinet I caught sight of the fearsome implement out of the corner of my eye and was conscious that my whole body was slightly trembling. I tried to convince myself that the reaction was caused by holding the prone and outstretched position but a little voice in my head told me it was the result of cowardice.

I hoped Brandon hadn’t noticed I was shaking. I had agreed to accept this punishment. Hell, I’d put the idea of a spanking into his head in the first place. I wanted to take it with dignity and I didn’t want Brandon to see how afraid I was. I wanted to impress him, to restore his faith in me and to wipe out the guilt I was feeling for letting him down. I tried to slow my breathing and calm down as I waited for Brandon to take up position behind me. However, I couldn’t restrain a gasp as I felt the paddle press lightly across the very centre of my bottom as Brandon lined up his first stroke. I clenched my buttocks convulsively as I felt the wooden implement lift away from my body. I held my breath in readiness for the first swat and squeezed my eyes tight shut.

A moment later I was shocked by the sound of an almighty crack just as my body registered an intense pain for which the word sting is a total misnomer. I had resolved to take my punishment in silence but the yell which escaped my lips sprang as much from surprise as from pain. My eyes opened wide with astonishment and hurt. It felt like my buttocks had been set alight and I knew at once that I could not stand eleven more of those searing, agonising blows. However, I was given no time to dwell on that thought. Brandon paddled efficiently and with determination. He swung without pause to land a second swat just above the first. I hadn’t had time to take enough breath to let out another yell but the force of the impact tore an agonised groan from my lips.

Brandon had warned me. He spanked hard. The pain built until my eyes swam with unshed tears, my breath was coming in ragged gasps and I was fighting to remain in position over his desk. When he moved his attentions downward to mete out the remaining blows across the top of my thighs I could bear it no more and I began to push myself up off the desk. Brandon did stop at that point and placed a restraining hand between my shoulder blades but he exerted no downward pressure. It was the quietly spoken words which got me back into position.

“Don’t move, Alfie. You’re doing well. Just four more. Hold still.”

I don’t know how I managed it but I fell back across the desk and kept still as that wicked paddle cracked down four more times, searing an agonising swathe across my thighs. Then I heard the sound of the implement landing on the desk and Brandon’s calm voice announcing that he had finished.

“All over. Well done. You took that well.”

I couldn’t move to start with and Brandon made no attempt to hurry me. His hand rubbed comforting circles on my back and he continued to murmur words of reassurance and praise until I started to breathe normally again and began to think about standing up. As soon as I tried to lever myself upright, Brandon’s strong arms slipped beneath my shoulders and I was more or less lifted bodily to my feet. For a moment or two I just leaned for comfort against his broad chest before I realised what I was doing and hastily pulled away. I scrabbled in my pocket for Brandon’s handkerchief and used it to dab my eyes and cheeks which were still suspiciously wet. It gave me a moment or two to pull myself together before I had to make eye contact and say something.

“Sorry....I...sorry..”

“Hey. You’ve said sorry. You’ve taken your punishment. It’s over and done with. I’ve forgiven you. Now you need to forgive yourself and move on.”

Brandon spoke with sincerity and he reached out to tilt my chin upwards so I had to look into his smiling eyes. My heart missed a beat. When Brandon smiled and looked at me like that I was lost. Certainly I had lost all sense of guilt. I was beginning to think I hadn’t acquitted myself too badly during the spanking and Brandon seemed to be saying I’d been brave. His words of reassurance and forgiveness made me feel a little better. I cupped my hands and rubbed them experimentally over my bottom. I could feel the heat even through the denim fabric. The intensity of the burn was giving way to a deep soreness which I feared would make the fifty mile practice ride I had scheduled for the afternoon something of a penance. Brandon must have picked up on my thoughts.

“We were planning that you might do some stamina work in the pool at some point, weren’t we? That might be a good training option for this afternoon. I fancy you might prefer a swim rather than an outing on the bike.”

“I’m not sure......” I hesitated. “I don’t want anyone to see.”

“Don’t worry. The redness will have died down by this afternoon and you can always keep your towel round your waist until you get into the pool if it bothers you. I think you’ll find a workout in the water will take the rest of the heat out of your backside. That wasn’t a heavy punishment.”

I could only think that if I’d just had a taste of Brandon going easy on me, there was no way I’d ever be doing anything in future to seriously piss him off. I readily agreed to his suggestion that my afternoon session be used for fitness training in the pool and I excused myself to go and get some lunch in the refectory. In the event I bought a sandwich and a fruit juice in the coffee shop and I took my frugal meal to eat outside. I didn’t fancy sitting on the hard chairs of the refectory and I was in no mood to make conversation with anyone who might walk in and join me. I found a deserted corner of the athletics field and lay face down to recover my composure before rolling onto my side and propping myself on one elbow to eat my sandwich.

Now that the pain in my butt seemed to be settling into a deep, dull ache I reflected on how I felt about my first, and with any luck my last, proper spanking. The embarrassment I’d experienced at having to bend over Brandon’s desk seemed to have been replaced by an odd sense of pride that I’d had the courage to take what he’d handed out, if not in silence at least with some degree of dignity. My heart seemed lighter and I realised that I no longer felt guilty. I really believed Brandon when he said he’d forgiven me and, more importantly perhaps, I’d forgiven myself. I’d paid my dues and I could move on.

Except there were aspects of the spanking which left me feeling puzzled and confused. I’d long since acknowledged to myself the nature of my feelings towards Brandon and being on the receiving end of his paddle had in no way diminished my affection for him. If anything, I’d felt a closer connection to him when I was squirming over his desk than ever before. I’d hated the punishment but there was no denying that surrendering so totally to his discipline had had a powerful effect on me. When it was over I was totally wrung out; leaning against him had felt the most natural and comforting thing in the world. I had laid my head on his chest without a second thought. It had taken me a moment or two to come to my senses and realise how inappropriately I was behaving. Brandon was kind about it, though. He pretended nothing untoward had happened and he gave me time to recover myself. He deserved better from me than bad behaviour in races and I resolved to do my best to make him proud of me in future.

When I entered the pool changing rooms they were deserted but I made sure I got into my swimming trunks quickly, keeping my back to the lockers. I draped a towel around my waist and went out into the pool area. There were no school or club groups there that afternoon, just one or two individuals swimming lengths. I walked over to switch on the wall mounted pace clock and then dropped my towel before diving in at the deep end. I set myself to swim fifty lengths against the clock, trying not to slow up towards the end. When I finished I was panting with exertion and my body was humming with the invigorating effects of the workout. I noted the excellent time I’d clocked and hoped that Brandon would ask me about my performance. Swimming isn’t my favourite form of exercise but I’d given it my all that afternoon, and I’d done it for him.

I pulled myself out of the pool in one smooth movement and bent to retrieve my towel, taking care to keep my scantily clad bottom facing away from the lifeguard. When I got back to the changing rooms I had a quick look at my bare buttocks and thighs in the long mirror and decided I could risk using the communal shower without being embarrassed if anyone walked in. In the event, I had the changing rooms to myself until I was fully dressed. I was just lacing up my trainers when the inner door swung open and my coach walked in.

“So.....what was your time, then?”

Brandon knew I’d always compete against the clock. I told him my time for fifty lengths, the best I’d ever achieved.

“Wow. That’s brilliant, especially if you were swimming on your own....and in some discomfort.”

I couldn’t prevent my face breaking into a grin of delight at his praise. “Well, I should have been doing road work this afternoon so I tried to make up for.....for everything by giving this my best shot.”

“I’m pleased with you Alfie. You’ve had a rotten day and you’ve bounced back. You deserve a better evening. I don’t like to think of you going back to that flat on your own. How about coming over to mine for the evening and I’ll cook dinner.”

I must have looked a trifle uncertain. Although Brandon and I had worked together for some years I’d never been back to his house.

“I’m a good cook,” he said encouragingly. “And you can have a thick cushion to sit on at the dinner table, if that’s what worrying you.”

“What time?” I asked, the decision taken.

“Come round for seven and we’ll aim to eat about half past. Bring an overnight bag as well if you like, Alfie, and then you can have a drink. The spare room is all made up.”

I went back to my flat and took my time choosing just the right casual outfit for the evening. Somehow it seemed to matter that I make a good impression. I wanted to look smart without appearing to have made a huge effort. In the end I settled for a light blue shirt, open at the neck, with a snugly fitting pair of lightweight grey trousers. I dug around in my untidy chest of drawers until I found a matching pair of socks and then completed the outfit with my best leather jacket. I grabbed a sports bag off the bed into which I’d flung my overnight things, just in case, and I made a final check on my appearance in the hall mirror as I heeled into my loafers. My hair could really have done with a trim but at least it was gleaming and bouncy after my shower. I brushed my fingers through the curls to try and achieve a more sophisticated look but decided it was a lost cause. Brandon knew what I looked like; I don’t know why I was behaving like a kid on a first date.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I was more affected by paddling Alfie than I had thought possible. When he himself suggested a spanking as a way of dealing with his juvenile antics in his last race I quickly took him up on the suggestion. I was running out of ways to try and teach him the importance of sportsmanlike conduct and tactical race planning. If he continued behaving in such a thoughtless and aggressive manner on the bike he could kiss goodbye to any hope of becoming a champion. I thought a spanking might be just the punishment to make him think twice the next time he was tempted to engage in dangerous or thoughtless conduct during a race.

I knew what I was doing with a paddle and I was confident that this unorthodox punishment could be the making of a young man of Alfie’s temperament. I was quite unprepared, however, for his reaction once he decided to accept a spanking. His grim determination to proceed was heart wrenching to behold. He was clearly terrified. His whole body was shaking but he held onto my desk for dear life and he never once asked me to stop. I didn’t go easy on him but I paddled him faster than I might otherwise have done just to get it over with. I’m not sure it was much of a kindness. I didn’t give him time to catch his breath between swats and he was gasping by the end and trying valiantly not to cry.

The moment of revelation came for me when I lifted him back onto his feet. He leant against me and I heard him give a deep sigh as his whole body relaxed against mine and his head sank down onto my chest. It was such a natural and unaffected gesture and it spoke of his total faith and trust in me. My heart went out to him and it took all my self control not to sweep him up in my arms. I could no longer fool myself that I didn’t love Alfie and I had punished him in a way I would only ever punish a lover. In the circumstances, I felt it would be taking unfair advantage of him to respond as he snuggled against me so I held myself still until he recovered enough to step back, hoping that he couldn’t feel the pounding of my heart.

When he bravely squared his shoulders and left my office to face the world, I was left feeling broken by the experience. The more I thought about it, the more I began to think I was missing the obvious. I’d been so wrapped up with the importance of behaving professionally, with not abusing my position of trust, that I was failing to read the signals Alfie was giving out. It was true that I’d been celibate since Tony’s death but I was hardly inexperienced and, for all his youthful appearance, Alfie was no shy youth. He’d been trying to get my attention for months but I’d resolutely kept my distance. I even wondered whether this latest fiasco with James McSteen had been an attention seeking exercise. I thought it unlikely but I couldn’t be sure. Alfie was not so easy to read as many of the other young men I coached. Perhaps that elusive quality was part of his attraction. There was just one moment where he had totally dropped his guard and I felt I had seen into his soul. That moment had been when he rested his head and shoulders against me and I felt his tense muscles relax totally into the contours of my body. He had come to rest in his rightful place and perhaps I needed to tell him that.

In the course of the afternoon I walked over to the viewing gallery where I could watch Alfie push himself up and down the pool. He was swimming with a drive and efficiency which caused his body to cut cleanly through the water, although from my vantage point I couldn’t see the clock to time his lengths. It was a phenomenal effort, given that he had no competition and no coaching from the poolside. It was evidence of the determination with which he approaches any sporting challenge and also testimony to his physical prowess. He has an extraordinary ability to take in and use oxygen, and tests show that his body produces less lactic acid than normal. These physical attributes enable him to perform well in any endurance sport and make him such an exciting talent to coach. I left him to complete his workout in the pool, leaving a message for one of the life guards to ring me when Alfie got out of the water so I could catch him in the changing room before he went home.

When I got home I decided to make chicken chasseur with a couple of fresh chicken breasts I had bought the day before. It would be quick to prepare, nutritious and low in fat. The dish would need about an hour and a half in the oven but I reckoned it would be nearly ready by the time Alfie arrived. While I was waiting for him I laid the table and then, remembering my promise, tested my cushions to find the plumpest and placed it on one of the dining chairs. When I opened the door to him on the dot of seven I couldn’t believe my eyes. I saw Alfie most days in sports clothing but I had never seen him dressed in what I would describe as smart casual and he looked stunning. He was wearing the most gorgeous leather jacket which felt as soft as butter as I took it from him to hang on the coat stand. His trousers fitted perfectly and hugged his hips and thighs in a way which accentuated his powerful leg muscles. His hair curled in a delightful way over brown eyes which sparkled with pleasure as I welcomed him to my home and took the proffered bottle of wine.

By the time we were sitting opposite one another at the dining table we were laughing and joking as we used to do in the old days before I decided to be more circumspect in my dealings with Alfie. He had begun the evening sitting on the cushion I’d provided but, sometime after we finished our meal and were lingering at the table over coffee, the cushion got thrown at me in the course of a friendly disagreement. The accuracy of the throw meant that my plates and glasses were never at risk but the force of the throw took my breath away when the cushion hit my face. As I stood up and walked over to him, threatening retribution, I saw the flare of excitement in his eyes and I decided to show him what I thought of young men who hurl soft furnishings at me in my own home.

I grabbed him by his shoulders, pulled him to his feet and frog marched him over to the sofa where I threw him down on his back and proceeded to tickle him. He squirmed delightfully beneath my fingers and his giggle was infectious. I stopped before he became totally hysterical and sat down beside him, placing my hands on either side of his head. He stopped wriggling and looked up at me expectantly, his eyes dark with longing. The message was unmistakable and I finally surrendered to the promptings of my own heart. I bent slowly to kiss dear Alfie. It was a rather chaste kiss but I felt his lips melt beneath mine and his body relax in total surrender. I knew that he was giving himself to me completely but I wasn’t planning to engage in sex. I’d been celibate for so long, I could wait a bit longer and everything had to be perfect for the first time with Alfie. Perhaps I’m a bit out of step with today’s values but I wanted to take my time, give our relationship time to become established, before we finished up in bed together.

I lifted Alfie’s head into my lap and began to run my fingers gently and rhythmically through his wayward curls. He sighed and settled back to enjoy my soft caresses. After a while I saw his eyelids flutter and I realised that he must be feeling very tired after all the upset and stress of the day.

“Did you bring your overnight things?” I asked him quietly.

“Mmmm,” came the sleepy reply. “In the car.”

There was no point asking why he hadn’t brought his bag in with him. I guessed he hadn’t wanted to presume he’d be staying the night. I went out into the hall and rummaged in the pocket of his leather jacket for his keys before retrieving his bag from the back seat of his car. When I returned he was already asleep on the sofa so I laid out his things on the bed in the spare room and then went to gently shake him awake. He let me support him up the stairs to the bathroom and I went to turn down the cover on his bed while he speedily completed his bedtime routine.

Once Alfie was curled up under the duvet I cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher and set places for breakfast. I reckoned that while I concentrated on mundane tasks I could get one or two things clear in my mind but I finished up moving on autopilot, lost in a haze of happiness. Alfie was asleep in my spare room and it felt so right to have him in the house with me. We hadn’t really discussed it but we both knew we were on the verge of a new relationship. There would be details to talk through and explanations to be given but for the moment the one big step had been taken and things had changed between us for all time. I looked forward to the journey of discovery we would make together.

~*~*~*~*~*~

After that amazing day which began with a spanking and ended with me spending the night in Brandon’s spare room I quite often spent the night at his house. Looking back on it I’m amazed that our relationship progressed so slowly but Brandon is such a gentleman. I gradually realised that I would have to make the first move if we were ever to progress beyond first base. The trouble was that I so looked up to Brandon, was so used to deferring to him and following his instructions that it went right against the grain for me to initiate our first sexual encounter.

I loved his company. I helped him cook in the evenings and over dinner we would chat about what we’d done during the day. Sometimes we told one another about our families and our schooldays or shared our hopes and plans. After we’d cleared the table we’d sit together on the sofa watching one of his DVDs if there was no decent sport on the telly. Sometimes I lay down with my head in his lap and he would stroke my hair or I curled up against him and he would put his arm around my shoulder. I felt so close to him, so relaxed and happy to be with him. I always got a goodnight kiss which would sometimes extend to a very pleasant session of kissing and cuddling on the sofa but I would eventually get sent up to bed in the spare bedroom.

One night, several months into our relationship, I lay awake in my bed, acutely conscious that Brandon was only feet away on the other side of the wall. I won’t deny that thoughts of him had fuelled my jerk off fantasies for ages but that night my greatest need was for comfort and company. I just felt lonely in his spare room and I acted on impulse. I swung my feet to the floor and padded along the corridor to Brandon’s bedroom. He woke at the sound of the door opening and turned towards me as I walked towards his bed.

“I’m cold,” I whispered. “Can I get in with you?”

I heard the rustle of the duvet being flung back.

“Come on then.”

My eyes had adjusted to the dark in Brandon’s room and I quickly climbed in beside him. He pulled me close, spooning up behind me and flinging an arm over my body. If he noticed how warm I was he made no comment about it, merely telling me to go to sleep. I relaxed totally, enjoying the weight of his arm across my chest, breathing in the scent of him and intensely aware of the points where our bodies touched. His breathing slowed as he went straight back to sleep and I leaned into him to enjoy the pressure of his chin against my shoulder, his torso against my back, his genitals against my bottom and his knees against my thighs.

I was in heaven and I didn’t think I was capable of falling asleep. The next thing I knew the sun was shining round the edges of the curtains, Brandon was sprawled on his back and I was virtually lying on top of him with my head on his chest. When I realised that I was crowding him so in a king size bed I hastily shifted over to one side and my movement woke him. He responded immediately to my presence in his bed, grinning with pleasure or, possibly, amusement.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

“Morning, Brandon. Did you sleep well?” I asked shyly. I was feeling rather nervous; the expression in Brandon’s eye was predatory.

“I slept very peacefully dreaming that you were beside me. Now I’m fully awake and I see you’ve found your way into the lion’s den.”

“Well, I’ll get out of your way and go and get dressed.”

I started to move towards the edge of the bed, panicking a little about the situation I’d got myself into. I was stopped in my tracks by a firm hand in the waistband of my boxers.

“Not so fast, young man. Where do you think you’re going?”

“My room. The bathroom. I need the bathroom.” I was babbling. What had seemed like a good idea in the dark of the night seemed more scary in the cold light of day.

“Use the en suite. There’s plenty of hot water if you want a shower. Then come back to bed. I’ve got plans for you this morning.”

I headed into the en suite bathroom and shut the door. The shower stall was enormous. We could both have stood in there with plenty of space to move around. I suddenly realised that was probably its purpose and put the thought out of my mind. I stripped off my tee shirt and boxers, turned the water temperature to hot and stepped under the powerful jet. I washed myself carefully, wanting to be fresh and clean for Brandon. I was no virgin but I felt like the blushing bride, I was so anxious that everything be right for our first time. I wanted to shave and clean my teeth but my toiletries were in the spare bedroom. I rummaged in the bathroom cabinet and found a bag of disposable razors and a toothbrush still in its packaging. Finally, clean, soft and smelling of almond scented shampoo, I didn’t want to put my crumpled sleepwear back on so I wrapped a towel round my waist and stepped back into the bedroom.

Brandon must have used the family bathroom while I was in the en suite. He’d shaved and his hair was still damp from the shower. He watched me hungrily as I walked uncertainly across the room and when I came to a halt in front of him he unwound the towel from my waist. Normally I’m at ease naked; I know I have a good body with the powerful muscles of an athlete but I blushed as Brandon ran his hands along my shoulders and across my chest, his thumbs just brushing my nipples as he moved downwards to finish by cupping my genitals.

“You’re so beautiful naked,” he whispered and I stood a little taller at the praise. His touch was electrifying and my cock was beginning to harden as he gently caressed it. I was so excited I knew my response would be fast and I didn’t want to disappoint him. I pulled away. Brandon took that as a signal to move back to the bed. He guided me with one hand on my arm and the other resting on my bottom, lifting the duvet to enable me to climb under the covers. I was grateful to be spared the intensity of his gaze but I was just as guilty of staring when he stepped out of his bathrobe.

His powerful musculature and six pack proclaimed his fitness. He had only a smattering of chest hair but a dark line ran down his belly to merge with the curls around his thick stubby penis. He climbed into bed beside me and pulled me to him. It seemed so natural and comforting to be lying naked against his strong, lean body that I began to relax. Brandon kissed me, encouraging me to open up to his questing tongue. When I was breathless with his kisses, my skin tingling with his caresses and my senses heightened with passion he shifted his attentions lower, kissing and licking my sensitive nipples before throwing the duvet back to gain unrestricted access to my cock.

He must have realised how aroused I’d become. He contented himself with just licking the head of my penis and then running his hand up and down the shaft, using his thumb to stimulate the underside. I gasped with pleasure and my body arched upwards from the bed. I put my hands on his shoulders and pushed him back. He was doing all the work and I wanted to return the favour before his touch made me lose control. I reached down and encountered Brandon’s erection curving proudly upwards from his groin. I ran my fingers along its length and then shifted back to look more carefully. I needed to check with my eyes what my hand had registered by touch. Brandon knew at once what had surprised me.

“Yeah,” he said laughingly, “I’m a grower all right.”

The penis I’d seen earlier nestling in his pubic hair had expanded to impressive proportions. The veins stood out along the shaft and the head was purple with arousal.

“With me it’s a case of what you see is what you get,” I countered. “But it comes in handy when I have to piss in the saddle.”

“Don’t you be flashing it about in front of the cameras,” he warned. “I don’t want a million people looking at your dick on YouTube.”

I laughed at the thought of the cyclist who was captured on TV taking what the race commentator described as a natural break. He’s never lived it down although we’re all adept at taking a leak standing up on the pedals. There are no comfort breaks during a long distance cycle race. You just have to choose a deserted section of road to pull your dick out of the tight Lycra. A bit of length comes in handy then. I started giggling as I thought of some of the unpleasant experiences I’ve had relieving myself at high speed.

“Do you remember that race where we did a whole stage into head winds and in the end I just had to let go and take the consequences?”

“If I remember rightly your team mates cycling behind took most of the consequences.”

This was the sort of banter and laughter which I always enjoyed with Brandon. I relaxed and stopped worrying about my performance. This was the man I loved and this was the moment I’d waited so long for. I no longer felt intimidated by the glitter in his eyes or the rigidity of his expression. They signalled his arousal and his whole focus was on me. I realised he was holding himself in check and taking things at my pace. It was time for me to take the initiative.

I pushed a pillow behind my head for support and then rolled backwards, putting my hands behind my knees and pulling my thighs apart with my hands. My weight was on my shoulders and the soles of my feet faced the ceiling. In that position I was totally open and exposed to Brandon. It was a gesture of abandon and invitation. I had never exposed myself in such an uninhibited way to anyone else. This was just for Brandon and the flare of excitement I saw in his eyes was reward enough. My erection lay upright along my belly. My hole was pulsing with anticipation. I grinned at Brandon and made a play of fluttering my eyelashes.

“Come on then, big guy. Are you going to do me or not?”

Corny line it may be but it was all the invitation he needed. He reached for the tube of lube and began stretching me with his fingers. My body opened in response to his gentle massage and he turned his attention to his own erection, coating it liberally with gel before gently easing into me. I welcomed the sensation of being stretched and filled. Brandon gazed down at me lovingly, taking my ankles in his own hands so I no longer needed to work at maintaining my position. I settled more comfortably on the bed and moved my hand to pleasure my own cock as Brandon began thrusting into me.

We both came quickly but with an intensity which was totally satisfying and utterly exhausting. There was great pleasure afterwards in lying back in Brandon’s arms, sated and happy. I was conscious that we had just made a huge commitment to one another. Neither of us are ones for casual sex and our courtship had lasted months. It was worth the wait to feel so totally comfortable in Brandon’s embrace, to feel so sure of his love and protection. I must have dozed for a while and then woken to feel Brandon’s breath on my cheek. While we were still basking in the afterglow of our intimacy we began, hesitantly at first, to share some of our deeper feelings.

“How long have you loved me, Brandon?” I asked as I snuggled against him in the bed.

“I don’t know, Alfie, it sort of crept up on me but I think I’ve known for a couple of years that you meant something very special to me.”

I realised this was the opportunity to ask the question which had been bugging me for months. “Why were you so nasty to me then? Why did you stop being friends with me?”

“What do you mean?” Brandon asked gently. “I’ve never been nasty to you.” He caressed my cheek and smoothed my hair back from my forehead. I refused to be deflected from my query.

“Something happened, Brandon. You know it did, and all the fun and the laughter went out of our training sessions. I thought you were my friend. I hoped we could become more than just friends and then you suddenly started to keep your distance. What was going on?”

I thought he wasn’t going to answer. There was a long silence but I waited for him to reply.

“It wasn’t easy, Alfie. I was horrified when I lost it with you.....when I slapped you that time in the hotel. After that I made up my mind to keep things professional between us. I couldn’t allow anything like that to happen again. I promised you it wouldn’t.”

“But you’ve spanked me since,” I said slyly.

“That was completely different. You know it was.”

“How?” I asked provocatively. “I finished up with a sore ass both times.”

“For one thing, it was you that suggested a spanking second time round.”

He laughed at my expression of outrage. Well, I didn’t want him to think I approved of his methods so I had to put on a bit of a show.

Then he turned serious. “I’d never touch you, love, without your consent. I hope you know that. When I used the paddle on you I gave you every opportunity to say no and you still told me to go ahead.”

I hung my head, a trifle embarrassed. “I know,” I whispered. “It seemed the best way of sorting out that fuck up with Jimbo and the others. I felt better about things afterwards, although I couldn’t sit comfortably.”

“And you haven’t done anything like it since, have you?”

“I don’t fancy another taste of that paddle,” I said with feeling.

“So it works as a deterrent?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it makes you think twice if you’re planning something reckless, something you know I won’t be pleased about.”

“I suppose so.” I was reluctant to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his chosen method of punishment worked on me.

“So we’ll keep spanking as an option for if you ever go off the rails again, eh?”

“As long as I get the chance to say no,” I responded flippantly.

“No, Alfie. I’m giving you that chance now. Take as long as you like to think about it but I’m asking you to give your consent in principle and then leave the final decision about punishment to me.”

I sat up in bed to distance myself a little from Brandon and to give myself time to think. I hadn’t bargained for the conversation taking such a serious turn and I needed to get my head round what Brandon had just proposed. He lay still and watched me with an expression of loving concern.

“You’re asking me to agree to a spanking when I mess up, is that it? And I’m not going to be given the option of saying no.”

“You can always say no, Alfie, just not when I’m about to punish you. Think how hard it was to agree to be paddled last time. Trust me; it’s easier for you this way. You take the decision now when your ass isn’t on the line. When you’re facing punishment, the decision is mine.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then we’ll work out some other way of punishing misconduct. I’ve never had a problem dealing with you up to now, have I?”

“I suppose a spanking gets it over and done with,” I said, speaking mainly to myself as I started to come to terms with the idea.

“I’ll never punish you unless you deserve it, Alfie. You know I’ll always listen to anything you have to say. I will always act fairly and proportionately and I’ll never ask you to take more than you can bear. I’d never do anything to harm or injure you but I am asking you to trust me to know what’s best for you.”

I did trust Brandon to know what was best for me. I’d already committed my career into his hands and I was about to give far more than my career into his keeping. I remembered how distraught he’d been that first time he’d slapped me. He was on the point of throwing away his own career by resigning from his post as coach. The issue of consent was clearly of huge importance to him and he seemed very sure that a spanking was something I might occasionally need. I came to a decision. I can hardly describe it as a fully informed decision but I had understood that I could always change my mind later on. Anyway, I had no intention of doing anything in future which would warrant a spanking so the whole matter seemed academic anyway.

“Okay......alright then. If you ever decide I need a spanking then I’ll take it. I’m not over the moon about it but I agree.”

“Thank you, love. This is for the best. You’ll see.”

I was a little wary for a while after that conversation. I didn’t want to give Brandon any cause to test the sincerity of my agreement. We had our disagreements. I sometimes pissed him off by turning up late for dinner, leaving my stuff strewn around his house and being grumpy about helping out with the chores but, like every couple, we worked things out. He made no further reference to physical discipline and gradually I forgot about the whole thing.

It got so I was spending most evenings with Brandon as well as every weekend. I only went back to my flat to check up on the property and collect the mail and clean clothes. Eventually Brandon suggested I move in with him. I was more than ready to make that commitment to a permanent relationship but there was one thing I had to do first. I went to see my parents and told them about Brandon. They had known and liked him from the time he first selected me for the cycling team but I was unsure how they would view him as their son’s partner.

I wasn’t surprised that my father found the whole idea somewhat distasteful although it may have been Brandon’s age and his position of authority over me that worried Dad rather than the same sex relationship. I’d come out to my parents some years earlier but Brandon was the first partner I’d proposed living with. Dad tried his best not to sound disapproving though and I thought that he’d come round, given time. My mother understands me better and she had a little private word with me before I left the house.

“I’ve long thought you needed someone to take you in hand, son.” I’m not quite sure what she meant by that. “I think Brandon may be just the man for you and I hope you’ll be very happy together. Give your dad some time to get used to the idea and then the two of you must come here for a visit.”

I went home to Brandon feeling that my parents understood how I felt about him and were beginning to accept our relationship.

Brandon and I spent the next weekend moving all my stuff into his house. I was touched to discover that he had cleared space for all my clothes in the storage units of the master bedroom. Not only that, he had totally emptied one of the other bedrooms so I could fill it with my books and belongings, set up my desk and computer and have a den which was entirely my own. When I protested, he convinced me that he had enjoyed clearing out his accumulated junk so that the house could be as much mine as his.

It was a joy to make Brandon’s spacious townhouse my home. I am such an outdoor person that my small apartment had always felt cramped. Brandon’s house was full of character with rooms on three floors. He had been there some years, long enough to build a patio where we could eat outside in the good weather and long enough to cultivate the lawn and garden which was well stocked with shrubs and flowers. I had always wanted to live in a house like that. To be sharing it with Brandon was a dream come true.

We made no public announcement about our change in circumstances. We didn’t need to with such nosey parkers on the team. They soon cottoned on to the fact that I was starting to hang around at the end of the day so Brandon and I could go home together. It was just a matter of time before one of them spotted us arriving together at the sports complex in the morning. To give the guys credit, no one made any unpleasant remarks. I’d been concerned that they’d accuse Brandon of favouritism but I needn’t have worried. He cut me no slack and if he found me stinting on any aspect of my training I heard about it in no uncertain terms, irrespective of who witnessed my embarrassment.

Actually, I think Brandon went out of his way to make sure everyone could see I got no favours. I could have done without him being so damn scrupulous. I’m sure he finished up being tougher with me than with the others. When they saw me running laps round the athletics field the day I took a shortcut back from a training ride I got some good natured taunts hurled at me. I was still flogging round the track as the guys left the stadium at the end of the day so I suppose I was fair game. After that I got teased occasionally for sleeping with the coach but Brandon and I maintained a professional relationship at work and for the most part my team mates respected that.

So it came as a bit of a surprise when I walked into the changing rooms one day and the chatter died away. I was always included in the changing room banter and I was a bit upset to feel that there were now things the guys didn’t want to say in front of me. I briefly considered making some smartarse comment but then decided it was best to ignore what had happened. Perhaps someone had made a tasteless or homophobic remark and there was no point in embarrassing everyone by insisting on hearing what had been said. I let it go and by the end of the practice session we were all back on friendly terms.

It was some weeks before a similar incident occurred. We were out on a training ride and the team had split into two groups. My group was in the lead and we decided to take a pit stop at a roadside cafe to wait for the others to catch up. I went for a pee while my three teammates went to buy bottled water. As I came out of the gents I saw them deep in whispered conversation which ceased abruptly when I rejoined them.

“What’s going on guys? I’m sick of you talking about me behind my back.”

“We weren’t talking about you,” said Danny Jackson. I liked Danny. He and I have a very similar sense of humour although at that point he seemed pretty pissed off by my accusation. “What do you mean about talking behind your back, anyway?” he continued. “We’ve never done that.”

“Oh, come on, I’m not fucking stupid. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that everyone shuts up when I walk into the changing room. If you’ve got problems about my relationship with Brandon then come right out and say it to my face.”

Danny glanced at the other two and gained some sort of unspoken agreement. Then he turned to me.

“Look, Alfie, this has nothing to do with you and Brandon. But you’ve got to admit that if something is going on in the team which he might need to know about....something which he should be aware of in an official capacity....well, that puts you in a bit of a difficult position doesn’t it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do I have to spell it out to you, Alfie? We all know that your loyalty to Brandon comes first now. We don’t want you to be faced with having to tell tales. We’re protecting you from something you don’t want to know about. Trust me.”

I did trust Danny. I was also rather touched that the guys reckoned I was now answerable to Brandon and obliged to tell him everything. I’m not sure I’d even got that message clear in my own head at that point. It would, of course, have been very much better for me if I had clearly understood the importance of openness and honesty with Brandon. It’s an issue which he feels very strongly about. I can only say in my defence that this was in the early days in our relationship.

“Okay,” I said rather reluctantly, having decided to take Danny at his word. “I accept that you weren’t talking about me. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. You’re just talking about something you don’t want Brandon to know about. Is that right? Are you sure it isn’t something you should be telling him about yourselves, anyway?”

Actually, Alfie, we’re not sure about that at all. It’s something we need to talk about amongst ourselves. I’m really sorry that we’ve made you feel excluded. It wasn’t intentional, was it, guys? You’ve just got to trust us on this one. I promise you we just want to protect you by keeping you out of it. Okay?”

“Okay, if you say so.”

We wandered back to our bikes as we saw the stragglers cycling up the road towards us. We continued as a group to complete the practice ride and nothing more was said although my brain buzzed with speculation. I couldn’t think what could be going on that Brandon ought to know about and I couldn’t be told about. I decided to keep an eye on my team mates and see if I couldn’t do a bit of investigation on my own account.

I don’t know why I fancied myself as Miss Marple on wheels but I began to watch my colleagues more closely. Once or twice I spotted two or three of them engaged in whispered and agitated conversation but I was no nearer to working out the subject of their concern. At the same time it dawned on me that Ben Fanshawe was never with the others when these discussions were taking place. He hadn’t been in the changing room that first time when I thought the guys were talking about me and he hadn’t come on our practice ride when I had challenged Danny and the other two. In fact, Ben hadn’t been involved with group training at all in recent months.

Now that wasn’t very significant of itself. Cycling is a solitary activity, for all that we compete as a team. Some team members, including Ben, travelled considerable distances for group training sessions and the intervening periods were spent doing individual practice rides or competing with clubs closer to home. When he did join us I watched him furtively. He seemed more withdrawn than I remembered but at other times he was hyper and quite difficult to work with. I didn’t want to get drawn into a confrontation when he seemed to be up for a fight so I kept my distance. I think I had an inkling of what Brandon would make of fisticuffs in the dressing room.

Nothing further happened to give me any worries until we travelled as a team to compete in a prestigious national road race. I was just beaten into second place at the finishing line but our overall team performance meant that we gained first place in the rankings. It had been a hard lesson but I’d learnt to work with my team mates and the tactic was paying off. This was one of my best individual performances and any disappointment I felt at losing by a fraction of a second was more than offset by the team victory. I would never have got a silver medal without the support of the others on the toughest sections of the course, including the hill climb. We were celebrating our team victory when Ben Fanshawe pulled me to one side.

“Are you clean?” he asked in an urgent undertone.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he replied angrily. “Would you test negative if you had to give a sample?”

“Of course,” I replied hotly. “Why? Are the officials asking for me?”

“No, but they’re heading this way. They’re bound to select at least one of us after our team performance. Come with me.”

He put a hand on my arm and I moved unresistingly as he pulled me into the gents and handed me a sample bottle. I took it without understanding what he wanted.

“Hurry up. I need to get fixed up before they walk in.”

He pulled a small plastic bag out of his pocket and I could see that it had clear tubing attached to it. I still didn’t cotton on to what was happening until he moved to the adjacent urinal and started to unzip his fly. Then it dawned on me and I reacted with disgust.

“Fuck off. I’m not providing a sample for you. I don’t know what you’re doing but I don’t want any part of it.”

I put the sample bottle on the ledge above the urinals and turned to walk out of the gents just as the race officials walked in asking for Ben Fanshawe. I don’t know whether he had time to hide the incriminating evidence of his attempt at cheating a drugs test. I don’t know because I didn’t look back.

I rejoined the others but it was difficult to join in the celebrations with as much enthusiasm as I’d had before that nasty encounter with Ben Fanshawe. As we packed up to head back to the hotel Ben walked in and announced that he’d just been one of the riders selected for a random drug test. He began throwing his kit into his sports bag, taking out his bad temper on his belongings. The others said nothing and I noticed the glances which passed between them when Ben’s back was turned.

I decided to corner Danny Jackson in the bar that night. I now had evidence that Ben had attempted to cheat on a drug test. It didn’t take a lot of imagination to work out how he could channel urine from a reservoir down a plastic tube to deceive the watching official. Did Danny and the others have evidence that Ben had been using performance enhancing drugs? I had a hunch that this was what the guys had been talking about and not telling me. I wanted to know what had been going on.

I didn’t know what I was going to do when I got the truth out of Danny. I was dimly aware that I ought to be talking to Brandon about the matter. He was responsible for the health and welfare of his team members, quite apart from the fact that he would be questioned if one of the team failed a drugs test. However, the whole situation was complicated by the fact that I didn’t like Ben Fanshawe anyway and I suspected him of reporting me to Brandon over my behaviour in the peloton. I didn’t want to be seen to be dropping Ben in it with the coach just to get my own back and I didn’t want the guys thinking I couldn’t be trusted. I was sensitive to accusations of favouritism so I didn’t want anyone thinking I would run to the coach and tell tales.

When I’d bought Danny a drink and got him sitting down in a quiet corner of the bar I went straight for the shock tactics, carefully watching his reaction to the direct question.

“How long have you known that Ben Fanshawe has been taking drugs?”

Danny’s such an honest, open guy that I had my answer at once. His reaction told me that he knew Ben had been using illegal drugs.

“I don’t know.....not for sure......we’ve suspected...”

“Is this what you’ve been talking to the guys about....what you couldn’t tell me?”

“Yeah. We didn’t have any evidence. We couldn’t prove anything. We didn’t want to put you in a difficult position of having to inform Brandon.”

“I don’t have to tell Brandon everything,” I said defensively but Danny didn’t seem convinced.

“I’ve seen Ben with a guy I suspect of supplying performance enhancing drugs,” he said. “We couldn’t tell you that. How could you have kept quiet about it and not told Brandon? And you’ve got to admit, Ben’s not been easy to work with lately.....and he’s clocked some surprisingly good times in competition.”

“He’s certainly become very touchy,” I agreed, “but he’s always been capable of pulling a big finish out of the bag.”

“Well, he certainly could do that in his younger days. I’m not sure he can do it now without help. Why are you so certain that he’s taking drugs, anyway? What do you know?”

“No more than you, really,” I lied. “We can’t get involved. He was tested today. If there’s a problem the officials will deal with it.”

“Yeah, I suppose it’s none of our business,” he agreed and we left it at that.

In my heart of hearts I knew that the whole dirty business with Ben Fanshawe wouldn’t go away. The trouble was, I had some strange idea that if I stopped thinking about it I’d be off the hook. It didn’t take long before I was disabused of that notion. I was doing weight training in the gym when I received a message that Brandon Gates wanted to see me in his office. There was something about the wording of the summons which made me think this was no casual request so I took the time to shower and change into outdoor clothing before going to knock on his office door.

When I was invited in I saw that Brandon had two visitors sitting opposite him at the desk. His expression was unreadable but the atmosphere in the room was tense. He invited me to come and stand at the side of his desk where I felt very exposed with three pairs of eyes watching me closely.

The two visitors were dressed in suits and their briefcases were sitting on the floor beside their chairs. One man looked very distinguished with hair greying around the temples. The other man was much younger but with an alert and inquisitive gaze.

“These gentlemen are from the sport’s governing body, Alfie. They’ve come to tell me that Ben Fanshawe’s urine test came back positive.”

Brandon turned to the younger man who took up the story. “Yes, Mr Fanshawe’s sample had an unusually high ratio of the hormone testosterone to the hormone epitestosterone. If his backup sample registers a similar T/E ratio then he will be found guilty of using a performance enhancing drug.”

The second official then uttered a solemn warning. “This means that Mr Fanshawe may be facing a suspension and the team may be stripped of first place in the last race.”

I struggled to come to terms with my disappointment but Brandon had more to say.

“It seems that Ben attempted to cheat the test. Is it true that he asked you to provide a urine sample which he could pass off as his own?”

I felt winded, I was so shocked by the question. My eyes flew to Brandon’s in mute appeal but his gaze was unrelenting.

“I...I didn’t,” I stammered.

“You didn’t what?” Brandon asked. “Are you saying that you were not asked to collaborate in this deception?”

“No, I was....but I didn’t. Brandon, I didn’t.”

I was trembling with shock and I think Brandon realised that if I didn’t sit down I was in danger of falling down. He stood up and fetched me a chair. His hands on my shoulders, gently guiding me into the seat, calmed and grounded me. I took some deep breaths and tried to think what to say. Brandon must have sensed my confusion because he spoke to me very quietly but in that direct way which always cuts through my panic and confusion.

“Just tell us exactly what happened, Alfie. Take your time but tell me the truth.”

I kept my eyes on Brandon and ignored the two officials sitting beside me.

“I was laughing with the guys...you know...after the race. We were celebrating. Ben just came up to me....because I was the nearest, I think. He asked if I was clean and then pulled me into the gents. I didn’t know what he wanted. I just went with him. He gave me a bottle. I was stupid....I didn’t get it even then. It was only when he got out this bag.....there was a tube thing attached to it. I’ve never seen anything like it before but I guessed what he was planning. I told him to eff off. I gave him the bottle back. I walked out of there just as the drug testing officials walked in. That’s the truth, Brandon.”

“And you didn’t see fit to report this to me.” It was more of a statement than a question and it was spoken in a tone of regret.

There was nothing I could say. My eyes filled with tears. I wasn’t stupid and I knew that by keeping quiet it looked like I had something to hide. But my tears sprang only from shame that I’d put Brandon in a difficult position by not telling him what had happened.

The older of the two visitors sought further clarification. “Were you aware, Mr Hayden, that Ben Fanshawe was taking illegal drugs?”

“No, sir,” I replied with vehemence. “I had no evidence of that before all this happened.”

The man wasn’t fooled. “You had no evidence. Did you have any suspicions?”

I hesitated a moment too long and I heard the faintest sigh from Brandon. I took a deep breath and told the truth.

“There were one or two things which struck me as strange, yes. But nothing I could really put my finger on.”

“Such as?” the official persisted.

“Well, Ben seemed more distant than usual. He didn’t hang around with the guys like he used to. Sometimes he seemed a bit hyper, more likely to lose his temper than he did in the past. Like I say, nothing you could really put your finger on.”

“Were you the only one to notice these things?”

I don’t think so. But the others never discussed their concerns with me. Oh, except Danny and I did talk. The day of the drugs test, we did talk about it then. Danny mentioned that Ben has clocked some surprisingly fast times recently.”

“That’s Danny Jackson,” Brandon explained for the benefit of his visitors. Turning to me he asked, “Did you tell Danny what Ben had asked you to do?”

“No I didn’t.”

“So we only have your version of events,” observed the younger of the two officials.

“And Ben Fanshawe’s,” I said with some anger before I was gripped by a sudden fear. “Is he saying something different? Is he saying I provided the urine sample?”

“No, Alfie, no he’s not,” said Brandon reassuringly. “Ben had to explain what he was doing with that paraphernalia when the officials approached him but he was very clear that you refused to co-operate with his request.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d never really liked Ben Fanshawe but I didn’t have him marked down as a liar. When it came to the crunch, we all supported one another and Ben had done the decent thing. He hadn’t tried to sacrifice me to save himself.

Brandon turned to his visitors. “If you’ve finished with Mr Haydon now, I’d like to send him home.”

When the officials indicated that they had no further questions Brandon turned to speak to me with special emphasis.

“I’d like you to go straight home now, Alfie. You and I will discuss this later.”

I had a fair idea what he meant by that. I said a polite goodbye to Brandon’s visitors and got myself out of his office as quickly as possible.

I couldn’t settle to anything in the house. I wandered around in a distracted state getting myself more and more worked up. As time went on I got increasingly worried about Brandon. What sort of a grilling were those officials giving him? If an athlete is found to be taking drugs then the coach always comes under suspicion. I was desperately hoping that they would find his answers satisfactory and would decide not take any further action. If I had just shared my suspicions with Brandon in the first place then all this could have been avoided. As for the request to help falsify a drugs test, I suspected that Brandon would take a dim view of me keeping that piece of information to myself.

I was almost more afraid of what he would say than of what he would do, although I had a strong suspicion that he would be bringing the paddle home with him. I expected him to be angry and I could understand if he wanted to shout at me. I just couldn’t bear the thought of cold rejection. As for the punishment, I’d coped with being paddled when my behaviour had threatened to damage my own sporting career. That had been bad enough but now I was guilty of risking Brandon’s reputation in the sport. It was beyond my ability to imagine what I deserved for letting him down so badly. Nor could I see myself facing him and explaining what I’d been thinking when I decided to keep silent about Ben Fanshawe. It was hardly a rational decision. I was only just beginning to realise that I had put my fear of losing face with my team mates above being honest with my partner.

When my agitated pacing brought me to the front door, I seriously considered leaving the house. I even got as far as putting on my coat and picking up my car keys. Only then did I realise that I had nowhere to go and driving round in my car would just postpone the inevitable. At the very least I owed Brandon the duty of obedience and the courtesy of an apology. He had told me to go straight home and the ‘wait for me there’ part of the message had been clearly understood between us. Nonetheless, it was just as well that I heard his car on the drive soon after I was tempted to run; I don’t know how much longer I could have stood the waiting.

As Brandon walked to the front door I rushed into the hall where I stood white faced and frightened, waiting to welcome him home. He looked tired and dispirited as he put down his briefcase and hung up his coat but as he turned towards me there was no sign of anger or disappointment in his face. He held out his arms and relief washed over me as I received my customary greeting. I stepped into his embrace, whispering words of anguished apology. His arms tightened around me and he rested his cheek against mine drawing comfort, I think, as well as giving it.

When he straightened there was a resolution in his expression which made me go without protest when he guided me into the sitting room. He sat down beside me on the sofa which gave me the comfort of his body close to mine without the embarrassment of having to maintain eye contact throughout our discussion. I was so agitated and upset I started babbling.

“I’m sorry, Brandon, I’m so sorry. I should have told you. Are you in trouble? What did they say?”

“Calm down, love. There’s no need to get into such a state. Everything is going to be all right. Nothing further will come of this as far as you and I are concerned. We have neither of us done anything wrong and the official report will make that clear. I’ve been assured of that.”

“B...b..but I suspected Ben was taking drugs,” I objected. “I said nothing when he asked me to help him cheat.”

“You only had your suspicions; you had no proof that he was taking an illegal substance. When you were asked to help falsify a drugs test you refused to participate. As far as the sport’s governing body is concerned, you did nothing illegal. You have no obligation to police your team mates.”

It was a huge relief to hear that but I knew I wasn’t off the hook. “What about you, Brandon?” I whispered. “Wasn’t I obliged to tell you?”

“Well, that’s another matter altogether, isn’t it?” he said kindly. “I did think that you trusted me. I would have expected you to tell me if a member of the team asked you to fake a drugs test for him.”

It was such a mild reproof but it broke me. I couldn’t hold back my tears as I said with all the force I could muster, “I do trust you, Brandon. I do.”

“Then tell me why you kept silent, love. I need to know; I want to understand why you lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie.” At least I was innocent of that charge.

“Ever heard of lying by omission?” Brandon asked quietly.

I had heard of it. I can honestly say I had never considered it in the context of my relationship with Brandon but I could see at once how it applied to the matter in hand. I dropped my head into my hands as the full import of what I had done hit home. Brandon said nothing, and the silence eventually became more than I could bear. I rubbed my hands across my wet cheeks and wiped the tears out of my eyes with my finger tips. Then I turned sideways on the sofa to face Brandon and struggled to tell him the truth.

“I didn’t mean to lie to you, Brandon. I just didn’t want the others to think I was telling tales.”

“Have they been making things difficult for you?” he enquired at once.

“No.... No, they haven’t. But it’s not easy being.... I sometimes worry what they think about....you know....us. I want to be one of the lads. I don’t want them to think I’ll go running to you with tales from the dressing room.”

“This is hardly a tale from the dressing room, is it, love? Why didn’t you tell me when Ben asked you to provide a sample for him?”

That was the crunch question. It meant being honest about my dirty little secret.

“Well, I don’t like Ben Fanshawe, never have. He was the one who reported me over my behaviour in the peloton, wasn’t he........?”

I waited but Brandon said nothing.

“I’m damn sure it was him who dropped me in it,” I said fiercely to cover my embarrassment, “so I wasn’t bothered about keeping silent to protect him.”

“So why didn’t you tell me what he’d done?” Brandon gently insisted.

“I just didn’t want the others thinking I’d got him into trouble to get my own back.” My aggression was short lived. I was bitterly ashamed of what I’d done. It was hard enough to face up to the truth myself let alone share it with Brandon. “I kept the truth from you because I was afraid of what the others would think of me,” I confessed in tones of self loathing.

I think Brandon realised what it had cost me to make that admission.

“Thank you for your honesty, Alfie. I can see you know what you did wrong. You very nearly jeopardised both our careers but you haven’t jeopardised our relationship in any way. I’m not pleased that you kept such an important piece of information from me. I expect your loyalty to me to outweigh your feelings towards your team mates. I won’t deny that I am feeling annoyed and disappointed at the moment and you are clearly feeling very guilty. But these are all things we can deal with.”

“Are you going to spank me?” I asked quietly.

“I think so, don’t you?”

“I thought I’d signed away my rights on that question?” I can come up with some feeble jokes when I’m in a panic.

Brandon didn’t laugh. He gave me a serious answer. “No, I wasn’t asking for your opinion. It was a rhetorical question. I am going to spank you. Stand up and drop your pants.”

I gazed at him as though he was speaking a foreign language. I think he realised that I had no idea what he intended.

“I want you to drop your jeans and underwear and bend over my lap,” he explained. “I’ll use my hand on your bare bottom and I’ll spank you until I feel you’ve paid the price for deceiving me.”

I gasped. I’d been expecting the paddle. This sounded a lot less painful but one hell of a lot more embarrassing. I wanted to say no but we had just agreed that refusal was not an option. Added to which there was a little voice in my head saying, ‘You deserve this; bend over and take it. Show Brandon that you’re sorry and that you accept his discipline.’

I undid the fastening on my jeans and pulled down the zip as fast as my shaking hands allowed but then my resolution deserted me. I looked at Brandon in miserable appeal and he took the matter out of my hands. He reached up to my waist and efficiently stripped my jeans and underpants down to my knees in one swift movement. He then took my hand and guided me down to bend awkwardly across his lap. I balanced rather precariously on his knees, bracing myself with my hands and feet on the floor. Brandon placed one hand on my hip to move my body closer to his own, shifting my torso to rest more comfortably on the sofa and leaving me with just my toes touching the floor. I grabbed the edges of the seat cushion and hung on for dear life, my breath coming in gasps as I waited to feel Brandon’s hand connect with my bottom.

“Calm down, calm down,” came the reassuring voice from above me. “Breathe normally. You can take this. There’s no need for all this panic.”

Brandon pushed my tee shirt up my back and rubbed comforting circles on my trembling skin. I forced myself to relax and breathe more deeply. As my panic receded embarrassment took over. I was glad my face was hidden in the plump cushions of the sofa because I could feel myself blush as I considered what I must look like, turned bare bottom up over my lover’s knee. I decided that the purpose of this punishment was to shame me by treating me as a child, subjecting me to an embarrassing but essentially benign chastisement. That thought helped me calm down as I considered that a hand spanking wasn’t going to hurt too much. I’d done the hard bit by dropping my pants and getting into position.

Brandon must have felt me relax because he simply asked, “Ready?” I reckon it was another of his rhetorical questions because I had no time to answer before his hand descended on my vulnerable bottom. One slap was all it took for me to radically revise my estimation of this spanking. This was no walk in the park. It was certainly no childish punishment. Brandon meant business and he spanked hard and fast. I was spared the paddle but his hand felt equally unyielding and I had no idea how many swats I’d have to take. He covered my entire backside with shocking efficiency imparting an intense, burning sting which shook me to the core. Just when I thought I could take no more Brandon turned his attention to my sensitive thighs. Without thinking I flung a hand back to block his access but he grabbed my wrist and held it in the small of my back, barely interrupting the rhythm of the spanking. I squirmed and yelled but the onslaught didn’t let up.

Through the pain it began to dawn on me that I was going nowhere and Brandon wasn’t going to stop until he felt I’d learned my lesson. I gritted my teeth, did my best to keep still and made no further attempts at resistance. I focussed on the explosive sound of each slap against my sore butt and the hiss of breath through my teeth as I struggled to contain the powerful smart without disgracing myself. When he finally stopped I remained tense in case there was more to come but his hand rubbed lightly across my burning flesh.

“All done, Alfie. All finished. Good lad. It’s all over.”

I slumped with relief over his lap, in no state to get up. Brandon let me lie there and I was glad of the opportunity to pull myself together a bit before I had to face him. As soon as I began to struggle he helped me right myself and pulled me into his lap, taking care to keep my weight off my blazing backside. I leant with relief against his broad chest and, having got through the spanking without crying, I gave way to my emotions and shed a few tears of relief and penitence which soaked into the front of his shirt. His arms encircled me and I felt loved and forgiven but that didn’t prevent me feeling that I had to apologise once again.

“I’m sorry, Brandon, that I didn’t tell you what was going on with Ben. I do trust you and I don’t want to keep anything from you. I’m so sorry.”

“Apology accepted, love. Everything is forgiven and forgotten. That’s how it works. I forgive you and you don’t need to feel bad about all this. You just need to forgive yourself now.”

“I do. I have....but only because I’ve paid the price. I know it wasn’t my call, Brandon, but I want you to know that if you’d asked me, I would have given my consent to that spanking. I still feel the same way, even now my backside is on fire.”

“Bit of a shock to the system, was it?” he enquired kindly but with a touch of amusement.

“You can say that again. I didn’t know your hand could hurt so much. I shan’t be lining myself up for another spanking like that in a hurry, I can tell you! But I do understand how it works and I know there are times when it’s the right thing for me.”

I ducked my head with embarrassment at that admission but Brandon didn’t seem to think there was anything to be embarrassed about. He encouraged me to get to my feet.

“Come on, love, stand up and get yourself properly dressed. Then you can come and help me cobble something together for dinner.”

“I really don’t feel hungry.” It wasn’t just because I didn’t fancy sitting at the dining table as Brandon always insisted we did at meal times. I was still too overwrought to be thinking about food.

“You’re not going to bed without eating, love. How about we microwave some pizza and garlic bread and we can eat it on the sofa in front of the TV?”

That was a departure from our normal routine but I made no comment, just nodding in agreement. When Brandon got up to go into the kitchen I followed at once, fastening my jeans as I walked. I wanted to stay close beside him so I leant against the counter and watched as he went through the drawers of the freezer in search of the ready meal which was a rare treat in our household. While the pizza was in the microwave he turned his attention to the salad which he’d removed from the crisper compartment of the fridge. Normally I would have taken over the job of washing and chopping but I was so shattered I felt incapable of making a helpful contribution. Brandon threw one glance in my direction and then did the job himself.

We carried it all into the sitting room, turned on the sports channel and settled down together on the sofa. I lay full length with my head against Brandon’s chest and he fed me slices of pizza, chunks of garlic bread and forkfuls of salad. It was so restful leaning against him, and such a treat to be fed tasty morsels, that I quite forgot I hadn’t felt like eating. I almost forgot I’d just had a spanking but not quite; the sting in my backside was beginning to subside but it hadn’t gone away, not by any stretch of the imagination.

When the televised game came to an end Brandon took our plates and mugs through to kitchen and I could hear him loading the dish washer. When he returned he pulled me to my feet and led me, unresisting, up the stairs. We were clearly both heading for an early bed and for once I had no desire to protest.

Once I was washed and ready for bed I twisted round in front of the long mirror in the bedroom to survey the damage and Brandon came over to run his hands over my butt which appeared a very pronounced shade of pink against the white skin of my torso.

“I think you’ll be more comfortable sleeping on your tummy tonight, love,” he said in tones of affection.

“Bastard,” I replied in an equally affectionate tone.

He flung his arm round my neck and dragged me with him into bed, taking care that I fell face down on top of him as he tipped us both back onto the mattress. He pulled the duvet up to cover our bodies and leant over to turn off the bedside light. Lying in the dark, cocooned in the warmth of Brandon’s embrace, I felt confident enough to ask for a bit more reassurance.

“Are you sure everything’s going to be all right, Brandon?”

“What do you mean, love?”

“You were telling me the truth, weren’t you? You’re not going to get into trouble over this business with Ben Fanshawe?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you. Those two officials told me that we’re both definitely in the clear. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m just upset and worried about Ben.”

“I’m not,” I said with just a hint of satisfaction in my tone which Brandon picked up on at once.

“Don’t judge him too harshly.....”

“Why not?” I interrupted defensively. “He judged me, didn’t he, and then came tattling to you.”

“Whoever spoke to me about you did so on behalf of the team. I thought we agreed at the time that the team’s concerns about your conduct were valid. Are you now saying that those complaints were malicious?”

Brandon has such a way with words. He can make me squirm even when I’m curled up in his arms. I was still feeling the effects of the spanking which provided a forceful reminder of the results of wrong doing. I decided very rapidly that I’d embarked upon a line of argument which I didn’t wish to pursue. There was one simple way out and I grabbed it with all the eagerness of a drowning man thrown a lifeline.

“No sir,” I said with conviction. “I admit that the complaints were valid and you were right to reprimand me.”

“And what about today?” he asked with just a touch of hesitation in his voice. “Do you still feel that a spanking was right for you?”

I cuddled up more closely to Brandon. It was my turn to reassure him. “I meant what I said, Brandon, I earned that spanking. I knew when I decided to keep quiet about Ben’s behaviour that I should have been talking to you. Okay, I didn’t think the situation through; I hadn’t appreciated that I was, in effect, lying to you but I felt very uncomfortable nonetheless. Now I just feel very sore....but much happier inside. I won’t be repeating that mistake in a hurry.”

“Thank you for that, love,” said Brandon sincerely. “I’d hate you to be feeling resentful.”

“Never resentful, Brandon. Why would I feel like that? I know I’m free to say that I don’t want you to spank me ever again. I’m not saying that and I won’t say that. Much as I dislike it, a spanking is sometimes what I need. I know that now. It gets me to focus on what I’ve done wrong instead of trying to pretend it didn’t happen or beating myself up with guilt. I won’t deny I’m hoping that it won’t be necessary again. I’m still getting over the shock of it. I never realised your hand could hurt so much. I’ll definitely think twice before I ever keep anything from you again. Tomorrow I’ll be giving you a list of the Christmas presents I’m planning to buy you.”

I felt his amusement in the slight tremor of his body against mine. I tightened my arms around him and we cuddled in silence for a bit. I was beginning to doze when Brandon said softly, “Don’t think too badly of Ben.”

This time I was prepared to listen to his reasoning. “Why not?” I enquired in genuine confusion. “You don’t approve of him taking drugs, do you?”

“Of course not. But I can understand what drove him to it. He was a great rider in his day and I’m heartbroken to see his career end like this.”

“He knew what he was doing. He tried to involve me in illegal activity too. He knew the risks.”

“I know,” agreed Brandon wearily, “and I find it hard to forgive him for getting you mixed up in the whole business. But this past year has been tough for him. He’s had a number of injuries. He used to be the powerhouse of the team and then you came along, a new, young superman. I think I can understand the temptation to take something to speed his recovery times and boost performance.”

“So you’re saying he did this because I’m a threat to him,” I said questioningly.

“You are in no way to blame for this, Alfie. Ben has to take responsibility for his own actions. It’s the way of sport that last year’s champions are beaten by younger, fitter athletes. I’m just saying I understand what must have prompted him to make such a terrible mistake. I don’t forget all he’s done for the team or what a fine sportsman he was in his heyday. I’m going to stand by him now, help him to face this and perhaps enable him to end his career with some honour.”

“You’re a good man, Brandon.”

“So are you, Alfie, so are you. You didn’t have to think twice. You immediately rejected the request to help falsify a drugs test. Don’t you ever be tempted to do what Ben has done.”

“I wouldn’t dare, Brandon. A lifetime ban would be nothing compared to what you’d do to me.”

“I’m glad you see it that way,” he said, laughing.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I was able to spend some time helping Ben prepare for his disciplinary hearing because Alfie had no races scheduled for a month or so. He spent the intervening period on standard fitness training and long distance road work. He would go out on the bike, either alone or with one or two team mates, and regularly complete thirty and fifty mile training rides. Unless I wanted to closely monitor their performance, the guys cycled unaccompanied by support vehicles.

When I got a call from the hospital to say that Alfie had been involved in an accident while out on his bike, my heart stood still. He had arrived by ambulance and was being assessed in the emergency room. I had no idea how serious his injuries were and the nurse who telephoned wasn’t able to give me any information beyond the fact that Alfie had asked her to call me. That at least confirmed he was conscious and able to give my number as his emergency contact. I wanted to get to the hospital as soon as possible but I had to take a few minutes to recover after hearing the bad news. Even then, I was hardly fit to drive when I finally got into my car. My heart was pounding, my hands were shaking and I felt like I was reliving the ghastly sequence of events which I’d prayed never to experience again.

Everyone knows that cyclists are at risk on the road. Car drivers get far too close and truck drivers often fail to spot cyclists in their side view mirrors. Alfie was always dismissive of the risks although he admitted that he’d been forced off the road on occasion by inconsiderate motorists. He’d set off that morning in high spirits for an unaccompanied training ride. I’d checked that he had sufficient liquid, a supply of high energy cereal bars and a fully charged mobile phone but beyond that I had to trust to his good judgement and the driving skills of other road users. Throughout that dreadful journey to the hospital I could only pray that his luck had not finally run out.

Once I’d found somewhere to park and reported to reception, I was reaching the point of desperation. After what seemed like an endless wait I was escorted to a curtained cubicle and looked down on Alfie who was lying under a sheet on an examination couch. He didn’t notice me immediately and a cold hand of fear gripped my heart as I saw the dried blood in his hair and the swelling round his eye socket and jaw. His brow was creased in a grimace of pain and his fingers were clutching the sides of the couch. I schooled my expression into one of unworried compassion and walked forward into his line of sight. His eyes lit up when he saw me and he held out one scraped and bloody hand which I clutched in both of mine.

“How are you, love? What happened?”

“I’m so glad you came, Brandon. I didn’t want to worry you but I couldn’t use my phone in here.”

“Of course I came. I came as soon as the hospital rang. Did you ask them to contact your parents?”

“I only gave them your name. There’s no need for Mum and Dad to get upset. Perhaps you could ring them later and tell them I’m okay.”

“Let’s see how you’re doing before we make any decisions on that. Has the doctor seen you?”

At that point the curtain was pulled back briskly and the doctor entered the tiny cubicle accompanied by a nurse. I stepped back to give them access to their patient, hoping that they wouldn’t ask me to leave.

“Is it okay if I stay?” I asked. “Alfie is my partner.”

“Are you happy with that, Mr Hayden?” the doctor asked.

“Oh yes,” said Alfie, “I want Brandon to stay with me.”

He stretched a pleading hand towards me, fearful that I might step out of the cubicle. I started to move towards Alfie to reassure him but the nurse got there first. She captured his wrist and returned his hand to his side before pulling back the sheet which covered his body. I saw that he had been stripped to his underwear and his powerfully muscled torso and legs were covered with cuts and grazes.

The doctor bent over to speak to Alfie. “Your x-rays have come back, Mr Hayden, and there are no bones broken. However, I’m a bit worried by the blows to your head so we need to keep an eye on you in case of concussion. While we’re waiting for a bed on the ward the nurse here will get you cleaned up and we’ll check whether any of these cuts need stitching.” He ran gloved hands over Alfie’s chest and legs. “Actually, I think you’ve mainly got very bad grazing and bruising. I take it you came off your bike and skidded across the road. Your legs seem to have taken the worst of it.”

Alfie seemed to relax when he heard that he had no broken bones. I listened carefully to the rest of the doctor’s report but Alfie shut his eyes and I suspected that he hadn’t grasped the fact that he would be staying the night in hospital. I was conscious of an enormous sense of relief as I finally accepted that Alfie’s injuries were not life threatening. The reaction was so strong I could feel my body shaking with the excess adrenaline still present in my system.

When the doctor left, the nurse went to get a small treatment trolley equipped with swabs, antiseptic and an array of shiny surgical instruments. She invited me to take a seat beside Alfie and I held his hand while she busied herself cleaning his cuts and grazes. To judge by the fierce grip he exerted on my hand and his many gasps and grimaces the antiseptic must have stung. On occasion she had to stop and use tweezers to remove gravel from some of the grazes on his legs. Like all competitive cyclists Alfie keeps his legs clean shaven to make them easier to clean and bandage when the inevitable falls onto tarmac mean that gravel gets in the wounds. On this occasion the nurse assured us that none of his cuts required stitching but she closed a couple which were still bleeding with tissue adhesive.

I then sat with Alfie until the porters came to take him to the ward. I tried asking him again about his accident but I got no coherent answer and I didn’t press him. He was still in shock, I think, and I started to become concerned about him getting cold under a thin sheet while we waited for a bed to become available on the ward. I wasn’t permitted to go with Alfie to the ward but I was told I could visit him once they had him settled. He was reconciled to my departure when I told him I was just going home to get his pyjamas, dressing gown, slippers and toiletries. He perked up long enough to add his iPod, notebook and headphones to the list and, although I doubted the wisdom of bringing expensive electrical items to an open ward, I thought having all his favourite gizmos to hand would speed his recovery.

When I returned to the hospital I found Alfie lying with his eyes closed and his dark curls in tousled disarray. His face looked very pale against the pillow, except where bruises were beginning to darken around his eye and on his jaw. I wondered how he had sustained the head injuries. Normally the peak of the cycling helmet protects the face from injury. If the doctor wanted Alfie monitored for signs of concussion then the impact to his face must have been considerable. I wondered also what had happened to his bike. It was a valuable piece of equipment but that was the least of my worries. I was simply wondering whether it would provide any evidence against the driver who had injured Alfie. I presumed the police had taken care of all of that. My only concern at that point was Alfie’s health and welfare. If I had time the next day I would either contact the police myself and see about recovering the bike or ask someone at work to do the job for me.

While Alfie dozed I unpacked the items I had brought for him and placed them in his bedside locker. I then pulled up a chair and sat silently watching and waiting until he woke up so I could get him out of the backless hospital gown and into a much more comfortable and less revealing pair of his own pyjamas. In the event he was woken by the nurse who came to carry out the next scheduled check on Alfie’s vital signs, reflexes and vision. She pulled the curtain round his bed and helped me get him into his pyjamas, a task which proved more difficult than I’d expected as Alfie seemed unable to help by lifting himself off the bed. He apologised for being a nuisance but it was distressing to see that he hurt all over.

When visiting time came to an end I was reluctant to leave, knowing that Alfie was so uncomfortable and was facing a disturbed night with regular checks for signs of concussion. As I was saying goodbye the nurse came round again and offered some pain relief which she administered after she had completed the standard checks on Alfie’s level of consciousness. I felt better about leaving him once he had accepted the medication and I promised to be back for visiting time the following day. I checked with the ward sister before I left and discovered that visitors were not admitted until the afternoon, leaving the morning free for ward rounds. I hoped that by the time I arrived the next day Alfie would be cleared to go home. I decided to bring a set of outdoor clothing with me just in case. I could easily slip it into Alfie’s locker without comment if he had to remain in hospital for longer.

Early the following morning I telephoned the hospital and was assured that Alfie had had a good night and was giving no cause for concern. I decided to go into the office for an hour or so to catch up on essential work. I could contact the police from there to obtain details of the accident and the whereabouts of Alfie’s bike. I had just put the phone down after a rather unhelpful conversation with the local police station when a knock on my door announced the arrival of all the team members who were training that morning. Their concern for Alfie was overwhelming.

“How is he?”

“Is he home?”

“Did he break any bones?”

“Can we go and see him?”

I faced a barrage of questions and I tried to give one comprehensive answer. “He’s still in hospital but there seems to be no serious injury. I’m hoping he may be released later today. I’ll let you know whether they’re keeping him in or sending him home after lunch. I’m sure he’d be very pleased to have visitors, either on the ward or at home, while he’s recovering. He’s got a lot of scrapes and bruises and it’ll be some weeks before he’s on the bike again.”

There was a general sense of relief at the good news and plenty of offers of assistance. I decided to take up their offers as it was clear all Alfie’s team mates would be only too pleased to help out.

“Well, if any of you have a bit of free time this afternoon I would be very glad if you could try and find out what happened to Alfie. I haven’t been able to speak to anyone at the police station who knows the details and I want to track down Alfie’s bike.

Danny Jackson spoke for the group. “Leave this with us, Brandon. We’ll go down to the police station and wait around if necessary. It’s always easier to get a result if you go in person. And we’ll find out what happened to Alfie’s bike and bring it back here if we can.”

“Thanks, guys. I need to be with Alfie this afternoon and it would be a weight off my mind to know you’re doing some of the investigation for me. Do you have any idea what happened? Alfie was on a solo training ride yesterday and he wasn’t up to telling me much when I got to the hospital.”

“We don’t know how the accident happened but someone filmed what took place afterwards on a mobile phone. Apparently it’s on YouTube but I haven’t seen it yet.” Danny offered that fascinating piece of information but it appeared to be news to the rest of the guys and none of them had seen the clip.

“Thank you for telling me that, Danny. I’ll just have time to check it out before I have to leave for the hospital. It might give me a bit more information about what happened before I see Alfie. I’ll tell him you were all asking after him and will be round to see him soon.”

“Thanks, Brandon.”

As they left my office they all murmured an encouraging message for Alfie or a word of reassurance for me.

“Love to Alfie. Tell him, ‘chin up’ from the guys.”

“Don’t worry about the accident report. We’re on the case.”

When the last man closed the door I turned back to the computer and went to YouTube. It’s not a site I’ve often visited but it was easy to enter Alfie Hayden in the search box. I was surprised that the search produced a number of hits. I could see from the thumbnails that they all featured him riding his bike, head down in full racing style; all, that is, except one. The most recent clip seemed to show the side of a huge truck and I clicked on it, fearful of what I might see.

I needn’t have worried about seeing Alfie knocked off his bike. The accident had already taken place and the rather grainy image focussed in on his mangled bike. Then the observer panned round to Alfie who was standing screaming abuse at the truck driver who was advancing towards him. It was impossible to make out the extent of Alfie’s injuries but his Lycra jersey and cycling shorts were hanging in strips, giving evidence that his body must have been flung at high speed across the tarmac. The truck driver reached out a hand to Alfie, whether to remonstrate with him or to offer assistance I couldn’t tell. Alfie remained incensed and flashed his middle finger at the driver before turning to point at his bike. The driver reacted badly to the gesture and grabbed Alfie’s arm and the next thing I saw was Alfie swinging a punch at a truck driver built like a gorilla. The outcome of the fight was never in doubt and after the second punch to his face Alfie went down in the untidy heap which spoke of a knockout blow. By then bystanders were rushing onto the scene, some to remonstrate with the driver and others to assist Alfie.

I watched the short clip a couple more times before turning off my computer, locking the office and heading out to the hospital. My mind was in turmoil as I drove. My first reaction was fury that Alfie could start a fight in such circumstances and put himself at such risk. My second thought was that Alfie had been unconscious, if only for a short time, and I wondered if his doctor was aware of that fact. I recalled the lack of response from Alfie when I’d asked him about the accident, a lack of response which I’d put down to shock and pain. Now I wondered if he had exaggerated his reaction to make it easier for him to conceal the truth from me. More to the point, I wondered how long it would be before he told me the real reason for the injuries to his face.

When I got to the hospital Alfie was much livelier than he had been the night before, although the bruises on his face were now livid shades of blue, purple and yellow, and ugly scabs had formed on his many grazes. He was waiting for the doctor to come back with his discharge papers and his first question was whether I had brought him clothes to wear. I left him to dress while I went to waylay the doctor before he reached Alfie’s curtained bed. The doctor accepted without query my statement that Alfie had been unconscious before arrival at the hospital. He didn’t seem unduly concerned, assuring me that if any damage had been done to Alfie’s brain, signs of a bleed would almost certainly have become apparent by then. He accompanied me back to Alfie’s bed and I listened carefully to the doctor’s instructions about care of the patient’s cuts and grazes and the need to summon assistance quickly if Alfie began to vomit, suffer blurred vision or lose consciousness. I then helped Alfie gather up and pack his belongings into the sports bag I had brought with me and we walked slowly out to my car.

On the journey home, Alfie sat in uncharacteristic silence. I made no attempt to engage him in conversation. I was struggling to cope with my own emotions. Foremost amongst them was huge relief that Alfie was safe, on the road to recovery and travelling home with me. Set against that one fact, everything else paled into insignificance. I could so easily have lost him. If he had gone under the wheels of the truck his body would have been a mangled wreck like the bike. I had seen the damage a heavy vehicle could do to a frail human body and I shuddered at the memory. I had a warm, breathing, beautiful, loving and lovable man sitting beside me. It was such a blessing, such a joy, I couldn’t hold on to my anger.

Nor could I sit in judgement on Alfie’s behaviour after the accident. He would have been suffering from shock at the time. Judging by his many cuts and grazes, he must have been in considerable pain. His furious reaction was an entirely understandable response to a driver who had nearly killed him. Whatever Alfie said or did to the truck driver, nothing excused the ferocity of the response he encountered. I would be engaging the very best lawyer to make that point very forcefully in court. No, if I was still angry, it was an anger born of fear; fear of what might have happened; fear that I could so easily have been alone and in mourning yet again.

On reflection, I realised that Alfie had hardly had the opportunity to describe his accident in detail. It was even possible that he didn’t remember precisely how it had happened. As for the altercation with the truck driver, Alfie was probably waiting to get home where we would have the time and the privacy to talk without interruption. I strongly suspected he was rehearsing his account on the journey home. He sat with his head bowed and in my peripheral vision I could just see his hands twisting in agitation on his lap. If that agitation sprang from plans to deceive me, I didn’t intend to give him the time or the opportunity to dig himself into a hole. I hoped he would come clean fairly quickly; if not I would tell him that there was film of the accident on YouTube. I reckoned that would get him talking.

Once we arrived home I got Alfie straight into bed. There were no arguments so I reckon he was more weakened by his injuries than he’d realised when lying in a hospital bed. He had also been woken at intervals throughout the night so I wasn’t surprised when he fell into a deep sleep and only came to as evening fell. I was able to interest him in a light supper which I went to prepare as he picked up the phone to ring Danny. I asked him to keep the conversation short but I shut the kitchen door to avoid any temptation to eavesdrop. If he wanted to tell Danny about the truck driver before he told me then that was his choice and I didn’t want to overhear the conversation. If Danny mentioned the YouTube clip, then maybe that was all to the good. The last thing I wanted was to catch Alfie out in a lie. I didn’t ask him any questions about the accident, though. I wondered if he noticed and thought it strange.

For the next couple of days Alfie stayed in bed and his parents and friends came round to keep him company while I went to work. When he felt up to getting dressed and spending the whole day downstairs I rang the sports centre and asked if one of the staff would take my coaching session. I felt that Alfie needed my presence at home and he did indeed remain close to me, following me from room to room, but without his customary good humour and exuberance. Finally I sat him down with me on the sofa and gave him a hint that I knew what was worrying him.

“I think it’s about time you told me what happened to you and the bike, don’t you, Alfie?”

“What do you know already?” he asked a trifle nervously.

“Well, I’ve seen the YouTube clip, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

He breathed out slowly as though he’d been holding his breath. “That makes things a bit easier then,” he said, with a touch of his old humour. “It’s a wonder you’ve kept quiet for so long if you know about that.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to feel well enough to tell me.”

“Did you think I wasn’t going to tell you the truth?” he asked perceptively

“Were you planning to tell me lies?” I countered.

“It crossed my mind,” he admitted and laughed. It was then that I knew with absolute certainty that he had never intended to deceive me about the source of his injuries.

“Tell me what you remember about the accident first, then.”

“I can’t tell you exactly, it all happened so fast. I was cycling on an empty, straight stretch of road. I heard the truck come up behind me and I would have been perfectly visible to the driver. As the cab came level with me I was aware that it was very close to my shoulder and, as it passed, the truck swiped my handlebars and the bike just went from under me. I think it must have gone under the back wheels of the vehicle but I was flung clear and ended up sliding across the road.”

My expression must have registered some of the horror I felt at how close Alfie had come to death. It frightened him and he tried to defend himself, in a panic that I would blame him for the accident.

“It wasn’t my fault, Brandon. I was going fast but in a perfectly straight line close to the kerb. It wasn’t my fault. I don’t think the driver was paying attention. He must have heard and felt the impact and looked in his mirrors to see me spin across the road. He pulled up a bit further along and walked back.”

“It didn’t look like that in the video clip, Alfie,” I observed gently.

“No, I’ve puzzled about that.”

“So you’ve looked at it too.”

“Yeah, when I was sure you’d gone to do the shopping,” he confessed with a grimace.

“What exactly did you do immediately after the accident?”

“I seem to remember I got up very quickly. I didn’t want to lie in the middle of the highway and be hit by oncoming traffic. I don’t remember feeling any pain, just shock that my clothes were torn to pieces. When I saw the bike I went to pick it up. I was so upset to see it all mangled, and angry at the fucking stupid driver who had done the damage. I think I dragged the bike along with me to have a go at him. I wanted him to know how much it had cost and how much it meant to me...... I don’t know why I got so worked up about a bloody machine. I could have been killed.”

Alfie had said exactly what I’d been thinking from the moment I saw the clip on YouTube. His understanding defused any anger I might have been feeling and also helped me come up with an explanation.

“I think you knew you’d just had a close call. If your body had fallen the other way it would have been you and not the bike under the wheels of that truck. Your anger was just triggered by a hormonal reaction to the life threatening situation you’d just survived. It’s understandable, love.”

“But I shouldn’t have hit him.”

“No, you most certainly should not have hit him. Did you give any thought to his size and strength? There was no way you could ever win a fist fight with that man.”

“I wasn’t thinking, Brandon. It was just instinct. I don’t remember anything after I landed the first punch.”

“That was probably because you were unconscious. Do you remember when you came round?”

“I think I was in the ambulance because I remember looking up at faces and someone was putting a neck brace on me.”

“Well, that’s standard practice with a head injury. I suppose the paramedics weren’t to know you’d been in a road traffic accident and then engaged in a bout of fisticuffs!” I grinned at him and I saw his shoulders relax. He seemed relieved and much happier when he asked the question which he must have been pondering since the accident.

“Are you going to punish me? Are you going to spank me for fighting?”

“You certainly deserve to be spanked within an inch of your life for such reckless behaviour.” The words were out of my mouth before I realised what I’d said. Alfie had been within inches of losing his life and we had both just acknowledged that fact. I wished I could take back my hasty words. Hearing Alfie describe the accident had also released some of my own tension and anxiety and I suddenly felt overwhelmed by all the pent up emotion. “I can’t bear to hurt you, love,” I confessed. “I nearly lost you and I can’t bear to spank you.”

Alfie looked worried and confused by my distress. I tried to pull myself together for his sake and take the firm line which I knew would make him feel better about what he’d done. I didn’t want him looking at me too closely either until I’d got my emotions back under control. “I need a bit of time to think about the appropriate penalty and you can spend it standing in the corner.”

It was no wonder he looked surprised. It wasn’t something I’d asked of him before and it wasn’t a penalty we had discussed or agreed upon. I reckoned it would do him no harm, though, and he could usefully spend some time thinking about the importance of self control. I stood up and guided him to the one corner of our sitting room not filled with furniture. He moved without resistance and I placed him with his nose inches away from the paintwork and his hands at his sides.

“Stand there, Alfie. Don’t move. Face the front. I want you to think about the risk you took when you attacked that driver. No matter what the provocation, you never throw a punch. Is that understood? I want to be very certain that you will never do anything like that again. You can spend some time standing here in silence and reminding yourself to think before you act.”

I went back to the sofa and tried to get myself under control while I watched Alfie stand rigidly to attention. There was something about his stance, something about the set of his shoulders which reminded me so powerfully of Tony who had often occupied that very same spot. Over the previous days, when Alfie had needed me to look after him, I had firmly put to the back of my mind how close I had come to reliving the tragedy of Tony’s death. Suddenly I was overwhelmed, but whether it was with grief about Tony or relief about Alfie, I couldn’t say. I put my head into my hands and the tears fell unchecked.

The next thing I was aware of was the gentle touch of Alfie’s hands in my hair. I sat upright quickly, schooling my expression into one of stern disapproval.

“I didn’t give you permission to leave that corner, young man.”

Alfie wasn’t fooled and my red eyes and wet cheeks rather undermined my strict tone of voice.

“I don’t need your permission when you are so obviously upset. What’s the matter? Is this because I was nearly killed?”

“Partly,” I admitted.

“And partly because...?” Alfie waited expectantly for an answer.

“I’ll be okay. Just give me a minute or two.”

“And partly because...?” he persisted.

“Partly because of things which happened before I met you,” I admitted reluctantly. I didn’t want to go down this route with Alfie. “I was just reminded of some very bad times but I don’t need to burden you with any of that.”

“So this honesty business is a one way street, eh? I have to tell you what’s worrying me but it doesn’t apply in reverse. You can keep secrets from me but I have to tell you everything. Is that how it works?”

Put like that Alfie left me without a leg to stand on. “No, Alfie,” I conceded. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“So tell me why you’re so upset.”

He sat down beside me on the sofa and took my hands in his. He looked at me with compassion but a certain resolution which would have made me laugh in other circumstances. He obviously wasn’t going to let me off the hook and suddenly it felt right to share with him the details of the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I’d been behaving dishonestly by keeping him in the dark and justifying it to myself on the grounds that I didn’t want to upset him. He deserved better treatment in a partnership of equals. I turned towards him and braced myself to tell the truth.

“I’m upset because I nearly lost you. When that call came from the hospital I was hardly in a fit state to get in the car I was so frightened. I drove all the way imagining the worst. You see, Alfie, I’ve been through all this once before. I should have told you but I didn’t want to upset you. My partner, Tony, was killed when he was knocked off his bike...... He was younger than you...... I was out with him.......I saw it happen.”

I struggled to tell Alfie the basic facts. It wasn’t something I ever spoke about. It felt like I was dredging the words up from the depths of my being and all the time, at the back of my mind, was the worry that Alfie wouldn’t cope well with hearing about the only other serious relationship in my life. I glanced up expecting to see shock, disappointment or anger on his face but as I caught his eye he pulled me towards him and held me in a tight embrace.

“Oh, Brandon. What a dreadful thing,” he whispered. “When did this happen?”

“Oh, nearly ten years ago. I’m over it really.” I pulled out of his arms and tried for a more self possessed manner. “It was just that your accident brought it all back.”

“I can’t imagine anyone would ever get over something like that. I suppose you just learn to live with it.” Alfie had depths of empathy and understanding I had never fully appreciated. “Tell me exactly what happened,” he insisted.

Slowly at first and then more confidently as Alfie encouraged me, I described seeing Tony hit the windscreen of a speeding vehicle, the nightmare journey with him in the ambulance and the dreadful news I received at the hospital. I relived the horror of summoning his parents and then sitting with them, holding his hand as life slipped away from my partner’s broken body. When my recital came to an end I couldn’t hide my tears.

“I’m sorry, Alfie, it’s just....it’s just..... I can’t come to terms with the waste of that young life. I’m over my grief but sometimes there are still tears, just for the tragedy of it all.”

“And you miss, Tony,” said Alfie gently.

“I’m with you now, Alfie. I love you. I don’t look back. You and I have a future together and I couldn’t be happier than I am with you.”

“I know that, Brandon,” Alfie said with calm assurance. “But you loved Tony too. Tell me about him. If you loved him he must have been a very special man.”

“Do you really want to hear about him?”

“Of course. Do you think it’s going to upset me? I wasn’t a virgin when I came to you. I know you must have had other relationships too.”

“My only other long term relationship was with Tony and there was no one after him until I met you. It took me a long time to get my life back on track after Tony’s death and since then I’ve thrown all my energies into my job. That’s the truth, my love.”

“So tell me about him.”

I smiled as I tried to recall the essential Tony so I could describe him to Alfie.

“He was a darling, a minx....a real handful. He had little impulse control and no sense of time or place. That meant he could be an hour late and wander in as though no one had been kept waiting and he could behave outrageously in the most inappropriate settings. He was always laughing, he loved life........ and he was a great cyclist.”

“You’re remembering the good times now, aren’t you?” Alfie observed perceptively.

“Yeah, we had some great fun together. I forgot that for a while after he died. I was so devastated I couldn’t do anything. I resigned from my job and spent a long time on my own here at home. Now the pain is in the past and I can remember our time together with pleasure. I can laugh at the memory of some of his antics.”

“And you sorted him out, eh?” he enquired shrewdly.

“Well, yes.......” When Alfie started to laugh I protested. “It wasn’t as you think. He asked me to discipline him. I wasn’t at all sure to start to with. He had to coach me the first time I spanked him but he was right. It worked for us both to be in a discipline partnership.”

“So now I know who to thank for your ability to set my bottom ablaze.”

Alfie was laughing but I replied seriously.

“I only suggested a similar arrangement with you because in some ways you’re very like Tony. I thought you’d respond as he did to firm discipline. I suppose I was attracted to you in the first place because you reminded me of Tony but don’t go thinking that you were some sort of replacement for him. I wasn’t looking for that and you don’t look in the least bit like him. I’ll find you some pictures of him later. I need to look at them myself these days to remember exactly what he looked like. Now I love you and only you.”

“I love you too, all the more so now I know what you went through with Tony.” Alfie paused and then seemed to come to a decision. Adopting a more formal tone he said, “So, Mr Gates, with all your experience of managing wayward partners, what penalty have you decided on for the offence of punching a truck driver?”

There was a deliberate challenge in Alfie’s eyes and it brought out the appropriate response in me. Maybe that was what Alfie intended. I put thoughts of Tony to one side for the time being and concentrated on dealing with my young partner who was clearly expecting to be punished.

“I seem to remember that the penalty began with corner time.......a penalty which you evaded, young man. So you can get your nose back in that corner and I don’t want to see you move or hear you speak for the next twenty minutes. You can spend the time contemplating the error of your ways.”

“So that’s fifteen minutes corner time, in fact, because I’d already done five minutes before I came to talk to you.”

I suspected that the provocation was deliberate; Alfie was suppressing a grin. However, I wasn’t playing games and my response was calm but firm. “No. That’s a total of twenty five minutes with penalty time included for trying to reduce the punishment you’re due.”

If it had been possible for Alfie to growl he would have done it. I think five minutes had already convinced my active young partner that corner time was a very unattractive option.

“You said that was the first part of my punishment. Are you going to spank me then?”

“Not this time, but you can be very sure that if you ever raise your hand to anyone else you won’t be sitting comfortably for a very long time. No, this time you’re going to be grounded for two weeks. That will be another new experience for you. You will stay within my sight at all times. You will go nowhere and do nothing without my permission. And permission will not be given for the use of electronic entertainment of any kind. You’re going to discover what it’s like when I need to closely supervise your behaviour.”

If Alfie was ready to growl about corner time, he looked ready to bite something when I told him about the grounding. I actually thought the time he would have to spend in my company would be a good experience for us both, giving us an opportunity to talk and reconnect after the trauma of his accident. Alfie wouldn’t be fit to get back on his bike for at least two weeks and he would be far better coming into work with me than moping around the house. I would be able to find plenty of tasks to fill his time. I had no intention of sharing my reasoning with him, however. I was rather glad that I had hit upon a punishment which he seemed to regard as particularly unpleasant. It would drive home the message I wanted him to remember and make him feel he had paid the penalty for giving me such a fright. I had learnt when I was with Tony how to manage young men of Alfie’s temperament.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was some weeks before I was ready to get on the bike again and then I had to work hard to recover my fitness in time for my next scheduled race. It was a three day event in which I would face stiff competition. I would need to discipline myself to follow the tactical race plan devised by Brandon. He had long since dealt with my bad behaviour in the peloton. I’d learned the hard way that taunting rivals and riding aggressively just isn’t on. To start with I’d done as he said because I had no wish to find myself bending over the desk in his office. He keeps a paddle in the drawer of his filing cabinet and it can do serious damage. Later, I realised that giving an inch when the peloton is bunched up can make a friend who will return the favour when the positions are reversed. We all need a bit of help to get through the stages of a long distance road race. I’d given up shouting ‘pull or get out the way’ to slower riders who were blocking my progress. I’d learned that it didn’t always pay to force the pace.

Brandon had taught me tactical awareness through a combination of lectures and aversion therapy. I hesitated to acknowledge, even to myself, that the aversion therapy which worked for me was spanking. Brandon never went easy on me and I hated being spanked. I was also growing up and with maturity comes wisdom, or so they say. Then I tangled with Paul Marchand, a rider for one of the French teams who got right up my nose, and all Brandon’s carefully instilled wisdom went right out the window. I can’t say I actually forgot what he’d taught. It’s not possible to forget when Brandon makes his point so forcefully. I just decided to put his teaching to one side in this particular case.

Sometimes it just seems worth the risk. It’s what businessmen call the cost/benefit analysis. The more I became accustomed to the very special relationship I had with Brandon, the more confident I felt about weighing up the risks of disobeying him. In the case of Paul Marchand the risk - hell, the certainty - of a spanking was more than outweighed by the benefit of putting one over on that French bastard.

I’d encountered Paul Marchand in competition before. He must have known who I was but he called me by the wrong name every time he needed to speak to me. That pissed me off and simply added to my impression that he thought he owned the road. Just because the Tour de France is the greatest race in the world doesn’t mean that the French have to dominate the sport. I thought it was about time Monsieur Marchand learned that lesson.

The perfect opportunity presented itself in my next race which had attracted a strong international entry. As the peloton surged into the final stages the competitors were closely bunched, jockeying for position, moving across the path of other riders and pushing each other out of the way. I’d been keeping an eye out for Paul Marchand and suddenly I found myself close to him in this melee. I consciously thought about the cost of deliberately flicking him and decided I would pay the price if I had to. I pulled up level with him, barged past making good use of my elbow, and shouted abuse in his face.

“Mange la merde, Marchand.”

I’m no linguist but I could manage that very satisfying obscenity which tripped off the tongue along with his surname. I just caught a glimpse of his outraged expression as I moved up to challenge the breakaway group.

With a mile to the finishing line I knew I wasn’t going to catch the race leader and I glanced over my shoulder to check that I could hold on to second place. Marchand was coming up fast behind me and he seemed to have greater reserves of strength than me. I had taunted him and he was about to beat me into third place. Indeed, his fury may have lent strength to his legs just as mine started to turn to jelly. But with just five yards to go, when we were riding neck and neck, he suddenly slammed on his brakes, locking the wheels of his bike. The crowd gasped in amazement as Marchand allowed the pursuing rider to steal a certain medal from him. His behaviour was baffling but I knew what he had done. He had sacrificed a medal position to avoid standing on the podium with me. It was the ultimate insult and it brought home to me, more effectively than anything Marchand could have said, what he thought of my unsporting conduct.

So it was that I found myself standing stiffly facing the wall in my hotel bedroom while my coach, who had witnessed the conclusion of the race, sat checking his emails on the laptop. After what seemed like an interminable wait Brandon turned off the computer and asked the question which I had declined to answer nearly half an hour earlier.

“Are you going to tell me why Marchand made such a dramatic gesture on the finish line today?”

“I don’t know what goes on in that bastard’s head. Why are you making such a fuss about him?”

“I’m not interested in Paul Marchand. I’m interested in you and what you did to provoke him into such an extreme act. Are you really telling me that me that you really don’t know what prompted him to deliberately jam on his brakes just five yards from the finish line?”

One possible response sprang to mind, ‘I’m telling you nothing, sir’ but at least I had the sense not to utter it. I was playing dumb. Brandon never punished me without clear evidence of my guilt and on this occasion I had no intention of confessing. Unless he went and spoke to Paul Marchand himself, Brandon had no way of knowing what had gone on during the race.

After a decent interval which gave me every opportunity to respond to a reasonable question Brandon spoke with crisp authority. “Right, young man, you can remain standing right there while I go and speak to the manager of Marchand’s team. Luckily all the French cyclists and officials are billeted in the same hotel as us tonight so we should be able to get to the bottom of this affair.”

I heard the bedroom door close behind me and my head and shoulders drooped in defeat. I had hoped to avoid facing up to the consequences of my behaviour by saying nothing. I was sure that Brandon could gather no more information before morning. I hadn’t bargained for the fact that the entire French contingent were staying in the same hotel as us.

It was a good half hour before Brandon returned and I was beginning to stiffen up in my motionless position after a hard day in the saddle. My brain too had ground to a halt with the effort of planning an escape strategy from the hole I had dug myself into. I didn’t dare turn round as I heard Brandon take a seat on the bed behind me but my whole body tensed as I waited for the axe to fall. Instead there was just silence which had me seriously spooked before Brandon finally told me to turn round and face him. I just glanced at his face before dropping my gaze. He was looking appallingly grim.

“Brandon,” I began in pleading tones, “I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” came the uncompromising reply. “For taunting a rival......again? For engaging in unsporting conduct? For refusing to answer my questions? For attempting to deceive me?”

“I..... I didn’t mean to....I’m...”

“Of course you meant to.” Brandon cut in decisively. “You set out to deliberately antagonise Paul Marchand, didn’t you?”

Put in such stark terms it was hard to take responsibility for what I’d done but I could hardly deny Brandon’s accusation. I took a deep breath and owned up.

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you give any thought to what I might think about your behaviour?”

That was the crunch question. If I claimed that I’d given way to a sudden impulse then there was no way Brandon could prove any different. I answered immediately before I lost my nerve.

“I knew what you’d think, Brandon. I knew what you’d do if you found out. I thought about it and decided to go ahead anyway. I decided it was worth the risk.”

That was the whole truth and I braced myself for his reaction. He hadn’t raised his voice to me so far but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d given way to anger at that point. In fact his response was as quietly worded as everything else he had said to me that evening but it shook me to the core.

“Do you think that you and I play some childish game of forfeits? Is that how you see a discipline partnership? This is your reputation, your career – and mine – that you’re risking. What price had you expected to pay when I found out about this?”

Of course, I’d been hoping Brandon wouldn’t find out but, to be fair, that was always something of an outside chance. I gulped and pronounced my own sentence, “I expected to get paddled for this.”

“Well, at least you’ve got one thing right. You’ve got the paddle to look forward to when we get home.”

That was said with simple finality and as I was coming to terms with the frightening implications, Brandon continued, “So let’s concentrate now on your deception and persistent refusal to disclose the truth when I asked you.”

It was shaping up to be a very unpleasant evening. Brandon clearly took the view that there were two separate offences here. I thought I’d taken a considered decision to risk a paddling. It hadn’t occurred to me how disrespectful that was towards Brandon. A childish game of forfeits? No, that wasn’t the nature of our relationship at all.

“I didn’t set out to deceive you, Brandon. It all got out of hand. I hate Paul Marchand and I decided to take the risk of flicking him in the peloton in the hope that you wouldn’t find out. I thought I could take a paddling if you did find out. I’m so sorry. I can see that it doesn’t work like that.....we don’t work like that.”

“No, it doesn’t work like that, love. I don’t spank you so you can do what you want regardless, and then pay the price to make everything okay. I’ve spanked you for behaving badly in competition so that you’ll think twice about engaging in unsporting conduct in the future. I don’t want to see you making enemies and damaging your career prospects. If you forget that lesson, if you lose your temper, if you succumb to temptation, I can understand. We can deal with it. What I cannot accept is deliberate, intentional misbehaviour with the likely penalty factored into your decision to do what you know is wrong. It devalues our agreement. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it negates our agreement.”

“What do you mean?” I asked in a panic.

“What’s the point of me disciplining you if you don’t take it seriously?”

“I do. I do take it seriously,” I said with sincerity. “I just didn’t think. I’m so sorry. I know it was disrespectful to think I could trade a paddling for the pleasure of insulting the Frenchman.” Brandon frowned as I admitted that I’d enjoyed taunting Marchand so I hurried on. “I can’t bear to think I’ve damaged our relationship, that I’ve abused our agreement and tried to hide what I’ve done. Please help me put things right between us.”

“Will you accept my judgement on this, without reservation?”

“You know I accept your judgement and your discipline. I deserve whatever you want to dish out for this.”

“I’m not going to go easy on you. What you’ve done eats at the very heart of our relationship. It’s a relationship based on trust, trust on both sides, and you’ve undermined that. Come here.”

I’d been standing with my back to the wall, only a step from the corner where I’d been sent over an hour earlier. I walked over to Brandon and without waiting for instructions, I stood at his right hand side. I knew what was coming and I wanted to signal my compliance. However, he took me by surprise by reaching up, slipping his fingers under the elastic of my jogging bottoms and the waistband of my briefs and pulling them both down below my knees in one smooth movement. It was humiliating to be stripped so quickly and so efficiently and I had to resist the temptation to cover my naughty bits with my hands. I’m always comfortable walking around naked in front of Brandon but somehow this felt different; I felt horribly exposed. However, I didn’t have long to suffer the embarrassment of standing with my pants slipping slowly to my ankles. Brandon grasped my wrist and guided me down across his lap, lifting my upper body onto the bed.

The last time I’d been in this position I’d been labouring under the illusion that a hand spanking wouldn’t be too painful. This time I knew what I was in for but even so the force of the initial impact took my breath away. I was physically tired from a hard day in the saddle followed by a lengthy restriction in the corner. I was emotionally exhausted following the discussion I’d just had with Brandon. I was heartbroken by the realisation that I had betrayed his trust and attempted to deceive him. It didn’t take much to break me.

By the time Brandon had set my whole ass ablaze with his measured and efficient spanking I was crying freely. I don’t deny that the odd tear has occasionally sprung to my eye in the course of a particularly painful punishment but I had never before broken down completely. I was ashamed that Brandon could hear me gasping and sobbing but I was quite unable to control my emotional reaction. It seemed to have no effect on him, however. He continued to cover my buttocks and thighs with blistering blows which caused my body to buck convulsively. His firm hand on my far hip kept me in position across his lap and the sense of being held, of being anchored, provided a strange sort of comfort.

I was so lost in my distress that it didn’t immediately register when Brandon finally let up. It was the feel of his hand gently caressing my back and his soothing words of reassurance which brought me back to an awareness of my surroundings. All the tension drained from my body and I slumped across Brandon’s firm thighs, struggling to regain my composure. The spanking had ended but my bottom was on fire. I was in no hurry to sit up but it was concern about facing Brandon rather than concern about putting weight on my extremely sore backside which made me prolong the period I spent with my head buried in my folded arms. Brandon made no move to hurry me so it was some minutes before I shifted off his knees and bent to recover the clothing which had pooled round my ankles. I was feeling too emotionally drained to talk and, although there was a part of me that craved further comfort, I didn’t feel ready to sit on Brandon’s lap.

“Go and get under the shower and then get ready for bed.” It was said quietly but it was clearly a command. Brandon seemed to understand my mood and he made no other comment.

I was relieved that I didn’t have to engage in conversation and I turned immediately to walk into the bathroom. As I undressed, I heard the bedroom door click shut and I suddenly felt very alone. Brandon had gone back to his own room and I wouldn’t see him again until morning when the team met for breakfast. The team manager always booked separate rooms for us and we would neither of us have wanted it any other way when we were all travelling as a group. I always coped easily with our enforced separation, but not that night.

When I came out of the bathroom with just a towel around my waist I stopped short at the sight of Brandon undressing by my bed. He glanced up and said, “I thought you’d like a bit of company tonight, love, so I just popped back to my room to grab a few essentials.”

His tone was light and he carried on undressing without paying me any further attention. It seemed so natural to see him preparing for bed that I relaxed and stopped worrying about what he was thinking. I dug clean sleepwear out of my suitcase while Brandon took his turn in the bathroom and by the time he rejoined me I was already in bed. He climbed in at the other side and leant over to turn out the lights, flicking the master switch on the wall behind him. In the darkness he pulled me towards him and I went willingly, snuggling into his warm embrace. Better than any word of comfort, more reassuring than any caress, was the solid presence of his body pressed against mine. I buried my face in his chest, breathing in the scent of him and feeling his steady heartbeat under my hand. As his arms tightened around me I knew without a shadow of doubt that I was loved, cherished and forgiven.

The memory of Brandon’s loving care for me, his instinctive understanding of my confused emotions and his ability to comfort and reassure all got me though a very uncomfortable journey home. We had risen at dawn and were out with the guys before breakfast loading the bikes onto the trailer and stowing our kit on the team coach ready for a quick getaway. Everyone was still excited that the team had done so well. We were all placed amongst the first thirty finishers with my silver medal being the outstanding result.

“Where were you last night?” shouted Danny Jackson as we got on the coach. “We missed you. We were having a celebratory drink – or two – at the bar.”

“It was a hard race, mate. I decided to have an early night.” That wasn’t exactly a lie.

Danny took a seat a couple of rows back but continued the conversation by shouting up the aisle. “What was with that guy, Marchand? Did he have a problem with his bike?”

“No, I don’t think so,” I replied as nonchalantly as I could manage. I wanted to discourage Danny from pursuing that line of enquiry.

“It was a shame he missed out on the bronze medal,” observed one of the other guys. “His wife and son were watching at the finish line.”

I winced. I hadn’t known he had brought his family to watch him ride. It made his protest gesture even more powerful and it made me realise for the first time what a sacrifice he had made to teach me a lesson. What man would not want to collect a medal in front of his wife and son?

“Did you see what happened?” persisted Danny.

“Yeah, it was aimed at me,” I admitted, feeling myself blush to the roots of my hair and acutely conscious of Brandon sitting beside me and listening to this conversation.

“What?” Danny was baffled. “How could it be aimed at you?”

The bus had gone silent. The other guys were curious about what had happened and the news reports on the incident were contradictory.

“I flicked him in the peloton and shouted abuse at him,” I admitted shamefacedly. “He didn’t want to stand on the podium with me.” There was an awkward silence and one or two of the guys glanced at Brandon. Everyone knew the view he took of unsporting conduct. I laughed to cover my embarrassment, “A very elegant Gallic insult, eh?” The laughter was ironic and the underlying anger was all directed at myself, “I didn’t have much to celebrate last night.”

No more was said about the matter although some of the guys gave me sympathetic looks. They all guessed that I’d had been reprimanded by Brandon and none of them liked being on the receiving end of a telling off from the coach. They knew that Brandon cut me no slack but they didn’t know what form his displeasure took in private.

What none of them saw then was Brandon slip his hand into mine and whisper, “Well done.” I could hardly have held out with Danny pressing me for information so publicly and I wouldn’t lie to the guys with Brandon listening. Nevertheless, it was good to know he was proud of me for owning up in front of the team. It helped me get through an otherwise unpleasant journey home. Apart from a few brief rest stops we were travelling all day which was far from comfortable on a sore bottom. As the day wore on the discomfort did begin to wear off but as our home town made its first appearance on the road signs I began to get seriously worried about the prospect of what awaited me when we got back.

Once the coach pulled into the car park at the sports complex everyone lent a hand unloading the bikes which went into secure storage. Then I transferred our bags to Brandon’s car while he said goodbye to the team. Some had left their cars in the car park and others were being picked up by family members. When the last one had departed I turned anxious eyes to Brandon, “Now, please, Brandon. Do it now.”

He knew exactly what I meant and he knew why I wanted him to take me to his office there and then. We had dealt with my disrespect and deceit the previous evening. That was a matter between the two of us and it was over and done with. I had grasped the seriousness of what I’d done wrong, I’d paid the price over his knee, and I knew that Brandon had forgiven me. My offence would never be mentioned again.

What remained was my misconduct and unsporting behaviour during a race. That was a business matter and it would be dealt with in the office. Despite my tender backside I didn’t want to have to wait another day. I wanted us to go home knowing that there was nothing outstanding between us. I wanted to relax knowing that I had a clean slate.

“If you’re sure.” Brandon said. “It doesn’t have to be now.”

“I’m sure.”

Brandon held out his hand for the car keys. The key to his office was on the same key ring. We walked in silence up the stairs and I stood in front of his desk as he went straight to the filing cabinet to retrieve the paddle.

“I don’t think there’s anything more that needs to be said. You know what you did wrong and even before you did it you knew what the penalty would be. This is where you pay for the dubious pleasure of insulting a rival.” I might have known Brandon wouldn’t forget me saying I’d enjoyed flicking Marchand. Nonetheless, the brisk instruction which followed came as a shock. “Drop your pants.”

I’d been expecting a paddling all along but I wasn’t expecting to get it on my bare bottom. My surprise must have shown on my face because Brandon repeated the instruction.

“Drop your pants and bend over the desk.”

Reluctantly I unfastened my trousers, let them fall to my knees and then pulled down my briefs. I got myself over the desk at once, reaching to lock my fingers around its edge. I wanted to get the whole thing over with as quickly as possible although part of my mind was protesting. The last time I had been punished in this office I’d had twelve strokes of the paddle over my jeans and it had hurt like hell. This time Brandon had given no indication of how many strokes he intended to administer and my bottom was still tender from the spanking I’d received the previous evening.

I suppose I was thinking it wasn’t fair although there was no way I was going to voice that thought. I swallowed down my panic and waited, conscious of the cool air on my warm backside, with all my senses attuned to Brandon’s movements behind me. Even so the first blow caught me unawares and I yelped. From that point until the end of the punishment I never stopped yelling. The paddling was delivered so fast that I soon lost count of the strokes, focussing only on the sting as Brandon rapidly covered my bottom and thighs with resounding blows. I must have taken a lot more than twelve before the onslaught finally ceased. When Brandon put a hand under my shoulder and helped me stand upright I put my hands behind and rubbed my bottom vigorously while fixing him with an accusing stare.

“What?” he asked and I could see the laughter in his eyes.

“How many was that?” I asked, trying not to sound angry.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t counting. Does it matter? You got what you deserved.”

“Did I deserve to get in on my bare bottom?” This time I think my resentment must have been apparent.

“I needed to see what I was doing after that spanking last night,” he responded reasonably. “You were pink when I started. You’re red now but I think the marks will have gone by tomorrow.”

Understanding dawned and I flushed at the thought of how rudely I’d just spoken to Brandon. I rubbed my bottom a bit more to cover my confusion and it dawned on me that the sting, though intense, was manageable. The paddle had slapped loudly against my bottom and legs but Brandon hadn’t wielded it with anything like the force I had experienced the last time I’d been bent over his desk. I stooped to retrieve my clothing and, with my head still bowed as I did up the fastenings, I made my apology, “I’m sorry, Brandon. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I probably got less than I deserved so there’s no excuse.”

“I’m not looking for excuses. You got exactly what you deserved. You’ve had a rotten twenty four hours and one spanking on top of another is always hard to take. I know you’ll remember the lesson of both punishments and we’ll speak no more about it.”

“I shouldn’t have queried your judgement though. The punishment is always your decision.”

“No, you shouldn’t have questioned my decision so thank you for your apology. Don’t look so guilty. We’ll count that as a free pass. Come on. I don’t know about you but I want to get home and get my feet up. It’s been a tough few days.”

Brandon picked up a cushion from one of the chairs in his office before locking up and heading out to the car. Without comment he placed the cushion on the passenger seat before giving me a hand into the car and shutting the door. During the short drive home his hand rested comfortingly on my thigh and when he pulled onto the drive he sent me inside and brought all our luggage in himself. We left the bags full of unwashed kit to deal with in the morning and concentrated on finding something we could defrost for dinner. It wasn’t a long evening. By the time we had cleared away the remains of our meal and loaded the dishwasher we were both ready for bed.

There is an unwritten rule as far as punishment goes in our relationship. Once I’ve taken a spanking my offence is never mentioned again. Indeed, we neither of us even refer to the punishment unless I do something which makes Brandon feel I need a gentle reminder of what happened the last time I made a similar mistake. On this occasion, however, Brandon broke his self imposed vow of silence, much to my annoyance.

To give him his due he waited until I was well and truly over the whole Paul Marchand business before he said anything. In fact, we were working in the garden together, never my favourite activity, when he started laughing to himself.

“What is it? What’s funny?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“Come on. Something’s making you laugh. What is it?”

“You. After that spanking in the office.” Now he’d admitted the cause of his amusement he was rocking with laughter. I did not find his laughter infectious.

“What about me?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“The expression on your face when you stood up clutching your bare bottom. If looks could kill......”

As chance would have it the garden hose was lying on the grass beside me. I picked it up and casually pointed it towards Brandon, twisting the nozzle into the open position before he realised what I was about. All things considered, he took the soaking very well. I think he knew his behaviour was out of order.

With a number of good performances in long distance road races, my position in the rankings had steadily improved. I never really got the opportunity to celebrate winning a silver medal in the race which got me into so much trouble but the final placing must have made an impact on the national selectors. Brandon kept telling me it was only a matter of time before I was given the opportunity to represent my country and soon the day came when I was selected for the national team.

We had another unwritten rule in our relationship. Brandon never lectured me on my behaviour in advance of an event. There was always the expectation that I would not let myself down, let alone disappoint my coach or fail to support my team mates. I was so grateful for his restraint. He must sometimes have been tempted to remind me of past mistakes and warn me against any repeat behaviour. But when he said that an offence was forgiven and forgotten he really meant it. Therefore, when he gave me a mildly worded reminder before my first international event it made a big impact, precisely because it was so unexpected.

“Remember,” he said, “you’re representing your country, as is Paul Marchand.”

The warning remained unspoken but that made it all the more effective. I felt myself blush with embarrassment that Brandon had thought it necessary to issue a reminder about good behaviour, especially as he made reference to the Frenchman I had insulted. I resolved to do nothing to get myself into trouble because I wanted, above all, to make Brandon proud of me.

It wasn’t until the second day that I actually had the opportunity to put my good resolutions into practice. The peloton was tightly bunched coming into a corner and I was aware that Paul Marchand was on my shoulder as the road narrowed. I eased off allowing Marchand into the space ahead of me. It was no great sacrifice. Casual spectators are not always aware that individual riders in the peloton do not get separate finish times for each stage. It would be unsafe with 150 or more riders jostling for final positions to do anything other than give the entire peloton a single finish time. It is necessary for a rider to make a clear break to be given an individual time. In the final stages of a race it is, of course, important to break away from the following pack of riders but during the long haul it is expected that there will be give and take in the peloton.

It had taken me a long time to understand the importance of teamwork and good sportsmanship but it was no hardship to let Paul Marchand get in front of me at that point. I felt I owed him something for the loss of a bronze medal when his family was watching at the finish line. I felt good about doing the right thing and I knew I’d do it again if the situation arose. I had no expectation of any reward so it was a real and unexpected pleasure when Paul Marchand turned back to me as the road widened, flashed a warm Gallic smile and shouted, “Zank you, Alfeee ’ayden.” He did know my name and my spirits lifted as I put my head down to minimise wind resistance on the long pull ahead.

I finished amongst the top twenty riders in that race which was a good performance for my first outing with the national team. I even finished ahead of some of the well established team members so I pretty much guaranteed my future place, so long as I retained my form and my fitness. I was looking forward to competing in the Tour of California, a gruelling eight stage race which is traditionally seen as good preparation for the Tour de France, the most famous cycle race of all.

Brandon prepared my training schedule to bring me to peak fitness in time for the race which presented me with some unique challenges. Competitors have to cope with the wide variations in climate as well as some very demanding terrain. In particular, I had been doing endurance work to improve my performance on the mountain climbs. Everything came together when I got to California. By the end of the fifth stage I had the fastest overall time and was wearing the race leader’s yellow jersey. I was beginning to think I had a chance of being the overall winner.

I hardly dared voice my hopes to Brandon who supported me throughout with quiet confidence. In training, I am the one who is laid back, the one who will take shortcuts if I think I can get away with it. Brandon is the one who pushes, who will not tolerate lack of effort, who punishes my backsliding and attempted cover ups. But during a race I am the one who is keyed up with nervous energy. Left to myself I will push too hard and exhaust myself in the early stages. Then Brandon’s calm, his reassuring presence, his sound advice and, above all, his firm and unyielding discipline give me the focus and drive to achieve success.

Day six was the mountain climb which would take us from the heat of the valley to the snow capped mountaintop. Brandon tried to get me to relax the night before. I needed to conserve my energy. Typically a rider burns 6,000 calories a day and loses 10 to 12 litres of water travelling at speeds of up to 40 miles an hour on the gruelling stages. It is only possible to keep going by gulping water and wolfing high energy bars in the saddle. I needed my sleep and lying awake worrying about maintaining my lead on the mountain would be disastrous.

We lay together in bed. It wasn’t yet completely dark outside and I could see the yellow glow of the leader’s jersey where it lay over the back of a chair. Brandon always insists that I put my clothing away before bed. At home I could count on a sharp smack on the ass if I left stuff littering the bedroom but during a race he would clear up for me without comment. That night I think he knew I wanted to look at the yellow jersey as long as possible; it was a source of such pride. I think he shared my feelings and knew that I wanted to enjoy the symbol of victory while I had it. By the next day it could well be in the possession of someone else.

As that thought crossed my mind, my body tensed and Brandon, who was lying spooned up behind me, tightened his arms around me in response to my slight movement.

“What is it, love?” he asked.

“Nothing. Go to sleep.”

“That’s my line,” he laughed. “What’s worrying you? You’ll never get to sleep if you lie there worrying.”

“I’m not worrying, just thinking that I’m unlikely to be wearing the leader’s jersey after tomorrow.”

“There’s no reason for you to think that.”

“Oh, come on, Brandon. You know that the mountain climb is not my strongest suit.”

“Everyone fears the mountain climb, Alfie, but you don’t need to be King of the Mountain to be the overall winner.”

It was said so calmly and reasonably, I felt myself relax. We had worked on my endurance. I was as ready as I’d ever be.

“I’ll do my best to finish with the leaders,” I said, as much to reassure myself as to silence Brandon.

“Alfie, you always do your best. No one can ask more than that, least of all me. Go easy on yourself. You’ve been looking forward to this race. Enjoy it. You’ve worn the leader’s jersey. If you achieve only that, it’s a triumph. Anything more is the icing on the cake.”

If there was anything likely to take the pressure off it was Brandon’s unforced confidence that all would be well. Knowing what a perfectionist and a slave driver he is during training it never ceased to amaze me that he could be so accepting and uncritical during competitions. He just seems to know how to get the best out of me, when to push and when to back off. He also seemed to know just where to concentrate his attentions in order to get me off to sleep.

His cunning plan was simply designed to get me off first. I wouldn’t have believed my exhausted body was capable of responding to the gentle pressure of his fingers around my flaccid dick. At least his movements dragged my mind off the mountain where I was visualising the challenges I would face the next day. Instead I turned to give Brandon easier access to my nether regions and gave myself up to the pleasant sensations. Gradually I grew firmer as Brandon continued his unhurried stimulation. I felt no sense of urgency and was too tired to thrust into his fist. Brandon seemed content to take things slowly and I was happy to accept his ministrations as no more than loving caresses. I was hardly aware of my body tensing as my breathing became audible and irregular. It actually came as a surprise when waves of pleasure started to run through me and I ejaculated into Brandon’s cupped hand. The effort totally knocked me out which was probably what Brandon planned. I slept without stirring until he woke me the next morning.

The day was overcast which is actually better for cycling than full sun. I had a long ride ahead of me, culminating in the mountain climb, and dehydration is always a risk. What I hadn’t expected was that it would be raining by the time I reached the foot of the mountain. I was drenched when I tackled the first steep incline and I hammered down hard on the pedals, generating a warmth in my body which counteracted the chill of my wet clothes. The mountain climb always splits the field and I could see riders ahead of me as we laboured up the winding course. In the end a mountain climb comes down to sheer strength and dogged endurance. I rose out of my seat, mashed down on the pedals and picked up the pace, determined to catch the leaders.

With my head down I could see the ground as it passed under my wheels, the water spinning off the tyres and the spokes turning round. My breath came in short gasps as I pushed myself to the limit and the bike picked up speed. As I overtook rider after rider the crowd went wild and I heard the shouts ‘Go, Hayden’ and ‘Hayden, Hayden, Hayden’ which seemed to propel me upwards. Security struggled to contain the crowds and in places I passed though a narrow gap of cheering spectators. Eventually there was only one rider ahead of me and I focussed all my effort on catching him in the final stage of the race.

The temperature was dropping noticeably as we neared the summit, 7000 feet above sea level. On the final stretch the incline became less steep and I was able to go all out for the finish line, relying on my superior fitness. I crossed the line just a fraction of a second ahead of the rider I’d chased up the mountain, retaining the yellow race leader’s jersey for a second day. Although I was the stage winner I only clocked the second fastest time of the day on the mountain climb itself. The King of the Mountain jersey went to the local boy who finished behind me. He owned that mountain; he knew every inch of that gruelling route to the top. I didn’t begrudge him his triumph in front of his home crowd. I was the winner of stage six and I went into the following day, the individual time trial, as race leader.

The final winner of a race like the Tour of California is calculated on the basis of performance on all the individual stages. It is possible for the overall winner to be someone who has never worn the yellow jersey awarded at the end of each day to the rider with the best time over the course of the entire race. However, I was in a very strong position. The individual time trial on day seven was my particular forte and I was going into it as race leader. If you’d asked me beforehand which stage I was most likely to win I would have said the individual time trial. Perhaps I was overconfident after my win against the odds the previous day, or maybe the mountain took more out of me than I realised but I only clocked the third fastest time that day. That left the race open for the final day with a number of riders vying for the gold medal.

The climax of the race came on a twenty one mile circuit which the riders had to negotiate four times. It consisted of long straights on the highway and steep hill climbs. Every inch of the course was lined with spectators, with an exciting finish predicted. As I prepared mentally for the high speed contest over eighty plus miles Brandon encouraged and calmed me. We had planned for this day and I was in no doubt about the tactics I needed to follow.

I had to take care in the peloton. That tight pack of cyclists operates like a high speed chess match. One wrong move by a nervous rider who breaks too hard or yanks too sharply on his handlebars can bring others down. I’d caused my share of accidents in the past by pushing the pace and interfering with other competitors. Brandon had taught me better manners in the peloton and I was more than rewarded by the courtesy and consideration I received in return. The big risk was that I would let my excitement and aggression get the better of me and I would break away too soon, only to be overtaken in the closing stages of the race. It was going to be a high speed chase but tactics were the key to success. As Brandon helped me prepare, his composure steadied my nerves. He quietly repeated my instructions for the race until they were running through my head like a mantra. I wasn’t consciously listening to him, as well he knew, but when I was out on the track it was his voice that I heard in my head. Even the gesture which observers would have interpreted only as a final good luck pat on the bottom served to remind me of the importance of following Brandon’s instructions to the letter.

Once out on the track in the sun my spirits lifted. I felt strong. Hell, I was ready to walk on water. I tried not to let my euphoria lead me into making a mistake but it soon became apparent that I had many supporters round the course. Riding through the barrage of sound, all of it urging me on, I felt ready to take on all comers. Sporting success depends on self confidence and suddenly I was overflowing with self confidence. A little voice in my head, which sounded a lot like Brandon’s, reminded me that there is a fine line between self confidence and over confidence. I reined in my exuberance and focussed on pacing myself to the speed of the peloton.

By the time we were on the fourth circuit a small group had drawn clear of the main body of riders and I was up there with the leaders. They were all experienced riders and I knew that I was unlikely to be able to break them before the final yards. If I staged my race for the line too soon I would exhaust myself and then be overtaken. It took all my will power to hold back when I had my sights set on victory. Actually, I don’t think my will power alone would have been sufficient to stop me from exploding into action too soon. It was the thought of Brandon, not of what he would do or say if I ignored his tactical briefing but of how disappointed he would be if I threw away my chance of standing on the top step of the podium.

I concentrated on not getting boxed in. I sensed that the other riders saw me as the main threat and I needed to be well placed to respond to any challenge. They were expecting me to make a break and when I didn’t accelerate, it put the ball in their court. Gradually the pace of the small breakaway group increased and I kept clear of trouble on the shoulder of the leading rider. In the end he had to make the break and I was poised to respond. He couldn’t shake me and I sailed past him when we were still two hundred yards from the finish. As I crossed the line I could afford to take my hands off the handlebars and raise them above my head in the universal gesture of triumph. I had won the final stage of the Tour of California by a couple of lengths and that made me the overall winner of America’s major cycle race.

That night I bought drinks for everyone in the bar of our hotel which had more or less been taken over by the cycling fraternity. There were fellow competitors, tour officials and members of the sporting press staying in the luxury spa accommodation. At some point during the evening Brandon went up to bed. He would never actually say it was okay to get drunk but I took his calm ‘goodnight’ as permission to carry on celebrating with my mates. Once it got to midnight the numbers in the bar had decreased leaving just a hardcore of competitors enjoying their first opportunity to overindulge in alcohol after months of rigorous preparation for the race.

It isn’t just alcohol which is banned during training. A cyclist’s calorie intake is strictly measured and meals are balanced for their nutritional value. That night we were celebrating a temporary escape from dietary restrictions and when someone mentioned feeling hungry we all suddenly developed a yearning for junk food. At nearly one o’clock in the morning the likelihood of getting burgers and fries in a spa hotel looked decidedly poor. However, we had all seen a small mall with fast food outlets off the freeway not far from our hotel but we had been travelling by coach to and from the race venue at the time. The distance to the shops was small but no one walks in California when they can take the car. In fact, it looked as though there was no pedestrian access to the mall at all, certainly not from the direction of the hotel.

In my drunken state the lack of motorised transportation proved no obstacle. There were a row of golf carts lined up near the start of the nine hole course attached to the hotel. I jumped on one, inviting a colleague to join me, and we set off with only the vaguest idea of how we were going to get to our destination and what we were going to order when we arrived. At least I had the sense to drive on the shoulder of the freeway and try to steer in a straight line. My companion, Paul Marchand, was in a much more drunken state than me. He kept urging me on with shouts of, “Allez, Alfeee” and once or twice I had to grab him to prevent him falling out the side of the cart.

The irony of inviting Paul Marchand to be my partner in crime did not strike me until much later when, in a chastened state I was trying, and failing, to explain my thought processes to Brandon. At the time, Paul’s enthusiasm for the trip matched my own and I tried to respond to his urging and get the golf cart up to its top speed of twenty miles an hour. However, the cold night air must have had a sobering effect and, as we were buffeted by the wind from passing trucks, I began to think I’d embarked on a rather hazardous journey. Paul’s Gallic animation, which was only enhanced by the amount he’d had to drink, meant he was waving his arms about and swaying in an alarming manner. I couldn’t really cope with driving the cart and holding on to him at the same time.

Some passing driver must have called 911. I can’t blame the person who turned me in. The golf cart must have been a worrying sight, not to mention an illegal one, on the freeway. It was hardly a surprise to see the California Highway Patrol waiting with their lights flashing as we negotiated the off ramp. The squad car was parked at the side of the road and its occupants standing waiting for us in the glare of the car’s spotlights.

Even in my befuddled state, I knew that this was going to be bad. My first thought was to protect Paul Marchand. It hadn’t been his idea and he hadn’t been the driver.

As the golf cart glided to a halt in front of the highway patrol, I said at once, “It wasn’t Paul’s fault. It was my idea. I’m an idiot, I know.”

Professionals might have advised me to keep quiet and call a lawyer. I saw one of the officers take a written note of what I’d said but there seemed no point in pleading the fifth. There was no denying what I’d done and I wasn’t about to try and escape the consequences.

“Your speech is slurred, sir, and your breath smells of liquor,” said the other officer. “I’m going to ask you to take a breathalyzer test.”

He reached into his car for the breathalyzer kit and it was obvious to all present what the outcome would be.

“Driving down the freeway in a golf cart,” I said in tones of despair. “I’ve just won the Tour of California. What was I thinking of?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

When I was woken by the gentle tapping on my door I automatically assumed Alfie had mislaid his key card. Either that or he was too drunk to operate the lock. I switched on the bedside light and was shocked to see that it was nearly two o’clock in the morning. I pulled on the hotel bathrobe and opened the door to see a smartly suited employee looking rather worried. I was immediately concerned for Alfie.

“What’s happened? Where’s Mr Hayden?” I asked anxiously.

“We’ve had a call from the police, sir. He’s been arrested for driving under the influence.”

My instant reaction was one of relief. There had clearly been some mix up. We had no vehicle in California and I’d left Alfie getting merry in the bar of the hotel. There was no way he could have finished up in police custody.

“We didn’t bring a car. How could he have been arrested for drunk driving?”

“He wasn’t driving a car, sir. He took one of the hotel’s golf carts.”

Just as instantly I saw precisely how this catastrophe must have happened. The one time I let Alfie know he could have a bit of leeway, the one time I thought he deserved to have a bit of fun with the lads, he went completely off the rails. This would be a public relations disaster, to say nothing of the draconian DUI penalties in California. My only hope was that the police would take a lenient view of a drunk driver in charge of a golf cart.

“I’m so sorry that Mr Hayden took the hotel’s property,” I was already trying to minimise the damage. “He would never take a golf cart offsite if he’d been sober. I can assure you that Mr Hayden will take responsibility for any loss or damage, and the hotel will be fully compensated.”

I was thinking quickly. I needed to go to Alfie but I wouldn’t be able to handle the matter entirely on my own.

“I would be really grateful if you could go and tell our team manager what’s happened while I get dressed. Would you ask him if he would mind coming to my room so we can discuss what to do for the best?”

“Of course, sir. I’ll be at the reception desk for the rest of the night if you need any help. I can easily call a taxi to take you to the police station when you’re ready.”

“Thank you. May I ask you not to mention this to anyone else?”

“I can assure you that the hotel takes the privacy of its guests very seriously, sir,” he responded stiffly. “I am the night manager. In the morning I will have to report to the general manger that a golf cart was taken off the hotel premises but the information will go no further.”

I offered my sincere thanks to the respectful young man who went off to deliver my message. I hastily got dressed and waited for the team manager to arrive. With black coffee to help clear our minds we put together a plan of action. He would try to find a lawyer who would be prepared to meet Alfie and me at the police station in the early hours of the morning. I thought that the helpful duty manager might have some suggestions. Then he would contact our public relations consultant to get her to handle any enquiries from the media.

When I got to the police station I was shocked to find that Alfie had been detained in a holding cell along with Paul Marchand. I hadn’t realised that the Frenchman had been involved in the joyride but Alfie was anxious to assure me that Paul was in no way to blame and the police were not intending to take any further action against him. The man looked as white as a sheet and appeared to be shivering but he had refused to leave Alfie until I arrived. Apparently he had thrown up a couple of times which explained the rather unpleasant smell in the small cell. I was touched by his loyalty to my partner, especially in view of their previous history, and I called an officer to arrange a taxi ride back to the hotel for Monsieur Marchand.

As the Frenchman left, our newly appointed lawyer arrived, accompanied by someone who turned out to be the bail bondsman. We were all escorted to an interview room to speak with the arresting officer. My hopes that this could all be dealt with in a low key way were dashed when the full circumstances of the offence were revealed. I hadn’t realised before then that Alfie had driven along the shoulder of the freeway, risking his life and that of his drunken companion. Tests showed that his blood alcohol concentration was well over the legal limit, although the realisation of what he had done appeared to have had a very sobering effect. He looked frightened and ashamed.

It was made quite clear at the start of the interview that charges would be brought against Alfie. The offence was that of being in charge of a mechanically propelled vehicle while under the influence of alcohol. In the circumstances we were treated with kindness and understanding. The police were aware of the celebrity status of their prisoner; highlights of the race and Alfie’s triumphant finish had been shown throughout the day on TV. They were accommodating when we explained that we were booked on a flight home later the following day. All the paperwork for Alfie’s release was completed as we waited.

We stayed for a brief private word with the lawyer. His advice was uncompromising and I felt so sorry for Alfie that my exasperation was temporarily forgotten.

“You’re definitely looking at a fine here and probably a driving ban,” the lawyer warned. “A first DUI offence in California usually involves some jail time as well. It depends what view the judge takes of you driving a golf cart on the freeway. Some people might find that funny, especially as you were celebrating your win. Unfortunately most judges take a dim view of a high profile sportsman setting a bad example to young people. You’d be well advised to make an apology to the court.”

“Will I have to come back here for a trial, then?” asked Alfie despairingly.

“Well, I suppose arrangements could be made for you to be tried in your absence. You could plead guilty by letter and have your apology read to the court. It doesn’t look good though. And you’d have to come back here to serve your sentence.”

Alfie shuddered at the thought of that.

“Oh, don’t worry. Jail terms start from a period of 96 hours and I think your case will be amongst the least serious. At worst, it will be a short, sharp shock with a Driving Under the Influence Programme thrown in for good measure.”

Alfie didn’t appear to be reassured. Neither was I. By the time his case came to trial I intended to have engaged some hotshot lawyer to get him off with the minimum sentence. But he would be pleading guilty and making public apologies to the court, the hotel, the police, the team management, his fans, the media, Uncle Tom Cobley and all. I would be overseeing that and I didn’t expect to be getting any arguments from Alfie.

By the time we got back to the hotel there wasn’t much of the night left. Alfie went into the bathroom to get ready for bed and I ran in to help him when I heard the sound of vomiting. He was kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet and his whole body was wracked with the force of his retching. He brought up all the alcohol which had not been absorbed into his system but I reckon the vomiting was more a reaction to the shock of his arrest than the effects of overindulgence. I comforted him with one hand rubbing his back and I supported him with the other hand cupping his forehead. When he finally relaxed, struggling to catch his breath and wiping the tears from his face, I reached over to fill a glass with water for him to rinse his mouth. I helped him to his feet, wiped his face with a dampened washcloth and pulled his vomit stained shirt over his head. What a way for a young man to end what should have been the most exciting day of his life!

I got him to drink more water to counteract the effects of the alcohol before I finally got him under the bedcovers. He was so exhausted that he rapidly fell into a restless sleep and I lay awake beside him listening to his moans and trying to prevent him from thrashing about too violently. My heart went out to him in his distress and I began to examine my own responsibility for the evening’s debacle.

What was the point of being Alfie’s self appointed guardian if I abandoned him to his own devices just when he most needed my guiding and steadying hand? I didn’t spend too long beating myself up, though. I had done what I thought best at the time. I thought Alfie deserved to have some fun and a few drinks too many with his mates. I couldn’t have foreseen the outcome. Alfie is an adult and I hope I never treat him like a child. He is capable of making his own decisions and taking responsibility for his own actions. We both made mistakes that night and I resolved to give Alfie every help and support to recover from his mistake and move on.

He was very subdued on the journey home. We both scanned the newspapers at the airport but there was no mention of his joyride, although Alfie’s victory was widely reported. It looked as though the press hadn’t picked up the news of his arrest. It would be more high profile when the case came to trial but, by then, his victory in the Tour of California would be old news and we could only hope that the media might be uninterested in his exploits. Other competitors seemed unaware of what had happened so Paul Marchand must have kept his mouth shut. We decided that those who had put in their order for burger and fries the night before must have got fed up of waiting and just gone to bed.

I was glad when Alfie fell asleep on the long flight and I signalled to the cabin staff for a blanket to cover him and a pillow to support his head. I managed to get him tucked up more comfortably without waking him and then I had time to give some thought to what I would do when we got home. Alfie would be returning as the conquering hero and I didn’t want to do anything to dim his moment of glory. On the other hand, he would be eaten up by guilt and I knew it would be a kindness to address that as soon as possible. I could tell he was expecting me to punish him. I wondered if he knew how little I relished the prospect.

In the event, any decision had to be postponed as Alfie’s parents were waiting to greet him at the airport when we got home. As I saw his mother’s rapturous delight and his father’s more restrained congratulations I was pleased that nothing could spoil the moment of their reunion. His parents had bought him his first bike, encouraged him in his first races and supported him in his ambition to get to the top; Alfie’s father was still his business manager. The night of Alfie’s victory might have been tarnished but the joy of witnessing his parents’ pride and delight more than made up for it. We were both insistent that they join us for a celebratory meal. I saw Alfie’s mum hesitate and wait for her husband to reply but when he gracefully accepted the invitation her face lit up with pleasure.

It was a wonderful evening. It was the first time we had eaten together, just the four of us, and I suggested we went to our favourite restaurant. It was an opportunity for me to get to know Alfie’s parents a bit better and Alfie seemed delighted that I hit it off so well with his father. Of course, Alfie had to give his parents a stage by stage account of the big race and pride in his achievement probably made it easier for him finally to confess his fault. I hadn’t asked him to do so. He must have decided that the truth would have to come out some time and the sooner his parents knew the better. In a quiet voice, and keeping only to the essentials, he told them that he would be facing charges in California for taking a golf cart from the hotel and driving it on the road when drunk.

He didn’t seek to minimise his offence, he told the truth but he was clearly trying not to worry his parents or upset his mother. His father quickly realised that Alfie must have taken an enormous risk and the consequences could be more serious than he was letting on; he said as much to me privately as we were leaving the restaurant. He also said that he trusted me to sort it out and look after his son. I got the impression that he was referring to more than just our immediate problem. Mr Hayden Sr seemed to have made up his mind in my favour and he shook my hand with real warmth and affection when we parted. It was good to know that Alfie’s parents approved of me and were comfortable about my relationship with their son.

Because of our unplanned celebration, it wasn’t until the following day that Alfie and I sat down at home to discuss his crazy exploit and to deal with the consequences as far as it affected the two of us.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I’d been dreading the inevitable discussion with Brandon but when the moment came I welcomed the opportunity to make things right again between us. He’d trusted me to behave sensibly that night, he’d even been ready to turn a blind eye to a bit of riotous celebration in the bar and I’d let him down badly. I felt so guilty and miserable. I couldn’t really explain why I’d behaved so badly. I sat opposite Brandon in the armchair, leaning forward with my elbows resting on my knees, my hands tightly clasped and my head bowed. Mercifully Brandon didn’t continue to push for answers when it became apparent that I had no reasonable explanation for my conduct. In fact, he seemed to have a better understanding of what had happened than I did.

“I can understand how you got in such a state, love. You were on a high and you’re not a regular drinker. I’m sure people bought you drinks and, as the night wore on, you probably lost track of how many you’d had. I blame myself for not staying around to keep an eye on you.”

My head came up at that. “It’s not your fault Brandon. You don’t have to nursemaid me. I appreciated your trust. It’s entirely my fault that I abused that trust.”

“You didn’t abuse my trust, love,” he said quietly. “I thought you’d come back to the bedroom rather the worse for wear. I wouldn’t have minded. You deserved to let your hair down that night and a hangover the next morning would have been all the reminder you needed about the dangers of overindulgence. No, my concern is that you finished up doing something which is not only illegal but potentially life threatening. You were not so far gone that you were incapable of finding the golf cart and driving it onto the freeway. There really is only one question. To what extent were you aware of the seriousness of what you were planning to do?”

Brandon has an unnerving ability to reduce my misdeeds to one very simple issue. In this case my culpability obviously hinged on the extent to which I was aware of the risks I was taking. I gave the matter some thought. If I’d argued that I’d been too drunk for rational thought I think Brandon might have taken a different view of the affair. I think he would have held himself more to blame for allowing me to get into such a state in the first place. I examined my conscience and the truth was staring me in the face.

“Oh, I knew all right,” I said bitterly. “I wasn’t so drunk that I didn’t know that I was stealing a cart. I knew the only access to the mall was via the freeway. I even remembered that golf carts are not licensed for public roads, let alone for the freeway. It just seemed like a great prank and the others egged me on. I was having fun, showing off, being a fucking idiot as per usual. When we actually got on the freeway I realised what a mistake I’d made. I did see how dangerous it was and I was worried about Paul falling onto the road. Actually, it was quite a relief to be pulled up by the police.”

That was quite a long speech for me, given the state I was in, but the words just came pouring out. I was fully aware I was signing my own death warrant but I was so angry with myself. I hadn’t realised just how angry until that moment. I glanced at Brandon expecting to see anger or even revulsion in his face but instead I encountered a look of compassion and understanding.

“And now you’re feeling very angry with yourself for risking your life and that of a colleague for the sake of a stupid stunt.” Brandon wasn’t letting me off the hook but he understood just how I felt.

“Yes,” I agreed, feeling calmer now that the truth was in the open. “And I’m so sorry that I frightened you, disgraced myself and let the team down.”

“Well, you certainly know what you did wrong. You’re angry with yourself and you’re feeling very guilty. How about we deal with all that?”

Brandon was cutting to the chase and, much as I wanted to draw a line under the whole sorry episode, I suddenly felt very apprehensive.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ve only just made up my mind but I think this is a caning offence.”

“What?” I couldn’t get my head round what Brandon had just said.

“You risked your life. I have to ensure that you will think of the consequences if you are ever tempted to do something so dangerous again. I don’t think you’ll forget a caning.”

“I’m never going to steal a golf cart again, Brandon, I promise. I’ve learnt my lesson. God, I could go to prison for this,” I said more loudly in mounting panic. Not the cane, please.”

“I know you’ll never steal a cart again, Alfie,” he replied calmly. “I don’t see you being tempted to joyride ever again, not even on a skateboard. That’s not the point. We’re talking about right judgement, about behaving sensibly or at least safely. We can neither of us predict when you might be faced again with a decision relating to your own safety. We don’t know what situation you might be facing. I need to be very sure that you’ve learnt the lesson of this.......”

“I have learnt the lesson,” I interrupted. “I have.” I could hear the petulance in my voice.

“And who makes the decisions about punishment in our relationship?” The question was posed calmly and I had to take a moment to pull myself together and give the only answer I knew to be acceptable.

“You do, sir.”

“Thank you, Alfie. Remember my promise. I will always punish you proportionately. I’ll never ask you to take more than you can bear.”

“But the cane.......,” there were no more words of appeal so I could only try the look of pitiful reproach.

“The cane will hurt but you can take it. You’ll remember it and you won’t be anxious for a second dose. And when it’s over then you’re forgiven and I won’t utter another word of blame or criticism for what you did. I’ll fight tooth and nail for you with the court, with the team managers and with the national officials. It’ll be you and me against all comers.”

That sounded good; good enough to take a caning for. I stood up with sudden resolution and looked Brandon in the eye.

“Where do you want me?”

“Good boy.” It was nice to be praised and I stepped unresistingly towards the sofa, guided by Brandon’s firm hand on my shoulder.

“Drop your pants and bend over the back of the sofa. I’m going to give you twelve on your bare bottom.”

That sounded alarming and my hands started to shake slightly as I struggled with the fastening on my jeans. Brandon left the room very briefly, crossing the passageway to his study and returning with a short yellow cane which he could not have acquired since our return from California. Understanding dawned. He had used the implement on Tony. I just had time to regret that his previous partner had been such a handful. No doubt Brandon had had plenty of practice wielding that cane.

Rather self consciously I pushed my jeans and underwear down below my knees and bent awkwardly over the back of the sofa. It was well padded and supported my hips comfortably but as I bent my head and shoulders onto the seat cushion my body tipped forward until only my toes were touching the floor. I wouldn’t be able to stand up in a hurry which was, perhaps, just as well. I doubted whether I would be able to take twelve stokes of the cane without moving.

I flinched as I felt the rounded rattan touch my trembling backside. Brandon was lining up his first stroke across the very centre of my buttocks. As he lifted the cane I took a deep breath and held it, gripping the seat cushions until my knuckles went white and squeezing my eyes tight shut. I heard the swish just a fraction of a second before the cane cracked across my bottom, painting a line of fire across my naked flesh. There was an explosion of white light behind my tightly closed eyelids, my breath was expelled from my lungs by the force of the impact and Brandon counted ‘one’.

Dear God, there were eleven more of those to come! I gritted my teeth to keep from yelling and prayed that Brandon wouldn’t hit the same spot twice. I felt him line up the next stroke with the tip of the cane which touched my ass hardly an inch above the first welt. He clearly knew what he was doing because the searing cut landed just where he intended and I flung my head back in agony. Brandon counted ‘two’.

The audible numbering suddenly reminded me of a mountain climb with its sense of ascending towards the summit through pain and endurance. A mountain climb is made manageable by focussing on the goal and pushing onwards and upwards when a part of you is saying that your body can take no more. I dropped my head as I do when I want to push myself to the limit on my bike, knowing that I could get through this. I had to take it one step a time and then there would be that sense of exhilaration and achievement when I reached the mountaintop.

I gritted my teeth and settled myself for the long haul. The third stroke was delivered quickly and caught me by surprise. It landed immediately below the site of the first cut and I only just managed to turn my scream into a more restrained and manly grunt. By the time I’d taken the fourth and fifth strokes, my determination to take my punishment in silence had deserted me. The only way I could cope with the burning agony was to yell as each stripe was laid down across my quivering buttocks.

I registered the halfway point when Brandon counted ‘six’ and as the number of strokes increased I was frantically counting down in my head, ‘only four to go’.....’only three more to go’. The trouble was that the final strokes were the hardest to take. When the cane caught me in the crease between my buttocks and thighs I really did scream and my legs kicked backwards so violently I was aware of Brandon stepping out of the way.

He took pity on me at that point and gave me a minute or so to recover my breath while he rubbed my back and told me I was doing well. That helped a bit but I couldn’t relax knowing there was more to come. In fact, I was desperate to get the rest of the caning over with and I think he realised it would be no kindness to slow down. He delivered the last two strokes in quick succession across the sensitive skin at the top of my thighs, not even pausing to count, and I thought for a moment or two that I was going to pass out with the sheer pain of it.

When Brandon confirmed that I’d crossed the finish line, I remained slumped across the back of the sofa for some minutes, struggling to breathe evenly and to absorb the wicked, blazing sting. When Brandon finally placed strong arms under my shoulders and helped me to my feet I couldn’t bear to stand still. I bounced up and down with my jeans and underwear bunched round my ankles not caring what I looked like so long as I could do something to lessen the intensity of the burn. When I put my hands behind to rub my blazing backside I was astonished to feel the raised welts forming ridges right across my butt.

“Well done. You took that well.” Brandon’s praise was accompanied by a smile followed by a long hug.

I put my arms around him and leant against his body, luxuriating in the warmth which was coming only in part from my burning ass. My body was glowing, humming and buzzing with the euphoria of having got through the caning with my dignity more or less intact. I experienced something of the high I recognise from the finish of a race. If I’m unplaced I’m aware only of the pain and exhaustion. When I’m on the winner’s podium the pain is dulled by the elation which comes with victory. But it wasn’t victory I was celebrating at that moment, it was love and forgiveness. In Brandon’s arms I felt myself relax in a way I hadn’t done for days. I was totally at peace. I didn’t even try to understand why my aching backside made my heart sing, but it did!

Eventually I bent to pull my pants up, hissing as the stretch put pressure on my sore spots. Brandon steered me to the sofa where he lay down, gently guiding my body to rest partly on top of his own. When we were settled comfortably he began to run his fingers though my hair, slowly brushing the curls back from my sweaty forehead. The repeated motion was calming and I closed my eyes to enjoy the impromptu head massage. He must have tired of the caressing motion after a while and when he stopped I opened my eyes to look accusingly at him.

“You used that cane on Tony, didn’t you?”

Our faces were so close together he could read my expression and know that my challenge wasn’t serious. He must have seen that it was no more than affectionate teasing on my part because I could read the answering laughter in his eyes.

“Once or twice, yes,” he admitted.

“Well, you won’t be using it on me again,” I said with conviction.

“I hope not, no,” came the calm response.

The implication seemed to be that my behaviour would be the deciding factor. I lay still and pondered that thought. Brandon saw me work it out.

“I’m never going to do anything so stupidly dangerous again,” I vowed. “You won’t have any reason to cane me.”

“’tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.”

“Shakespeare,” I responded promptly. I recognised the quotation and Brandon wasn’t going to get the last word.

I wasn’t interested in getting anywhere near a racing saddle for some days but I’d always planned to take a break from riding after California. I needed time to recover my zest and energy before plunging into the training schedule which would get me to peak in time for the Tour de France, the greatest cycle race in the world. It had always been my dream to win this most gruelling chase through the mountains, valleys and plains of France, with occasional forays into neighbouring countries. This year I would be starting as one of the favourites. I could never have got to that point without the support of my coach who organised my training schedules, planned my race tactics and managed all my travel arrangements.

But Brandon was so much more than my coach. He was my lover, my best friend and my life partner. He understood my temperament better than anyone else, better than I did myself. Much as I desired sporting success, I lacked the self discipline, the drive and the dedication to make it to the top unaided. I was too easily distracted, too ready to take shortcuts with my training and too eager to engage in mischief. When I first worked with Brandon I would never have admitted all that, even to myself. But then I never learned from my mistakes either. Oh, I could be as remorseful and repentant as the next man; I could tear myself apart with guilt over my mistakes and failures. And then I went and did the same thing again.

It took time to appreciate and understand that destructive trait in my personality. It took me even longer to appreciate and understand how my lover’s brand of discipline addressed the problem. I was very fearful at first when Brandon spanked me. I found it humiliating to be bared for his hand or the paddle and I dreaded the pain of the punishment. But there was no denying it worked. I began to think more carefully about my behaviour and I learned not to repeat my mistakes. I knew that Brandon punished me only with my consent. I grew to value the fact that I paid for mistakes painfully and speedily but then I was forgiven and the offence forgotten. Brandon never shouted, never nagged and never lost his temper although I must have sorely tried him at times.

I never lost the lively apprehension which made my stomach turn cartwheels whenever I was due a spanking but when it was all over, when I was slumped smarting but forgiven over Brandon’s lap, I had such a sense of connection to him, such an overwhelming sense of dependence and trust that I was overcome with love for this man who is the guiding light of my life. It took me a while to learn to place all my confidence in Brandon but finally I came to realise, beyond any possibility of doubt, that nothing I could do would ever undermine his love for and trust in me. With that knowledge I could go out and conquer the world.

The End