Tearaway 

I hate to have to admit it now, but in my late teens back in the 
early 1960's I was a right little tearaway and always getting into minor trouble 
with the law. I have reformed now and hold down a senior job in a highly 
respectable financial institution, a fact which I put down to the regime at the 
Borstal where I was sent just before my 19th birthday. 

My parents had gone away for a long weekend break, leaving me the run of the 
house from Friday night to some time late on Sunday. As teenagers are wont to do
under these circumstances, I organised a party for half a dozen of my best mates 
for Saturday night. 

When the time came, over 30 people turned up not just the six I had invited. Since 
everyone brought some booze with them there was no shortage of drink, only of 
food but nobody seemed to mind that. Needless to say with very little to eat and 
lot to drink we all became tipsy very quickly. 

Remember, this was the beginning of the 'swinging' 60's and smoking pot was just 
starting to become the thing to do if you were 'liberated'. Somebody produced a 
couple of joints and we all passed them round whilst drinking even more. After 
another hour or so we were all as high as can be on the booze and hash. 

It wasn't long before the party got out of hand and an expensive vase of my 
mother's got smashed. Other items gradually followed as people stumbled about in 
drunken stupor. By the time everyone had left at about 3am the house looked like 
a bomb had hit it. There was no way I was going to be able to clean it all up and 
hide the evidence from mum and dad. I knew that dad would fly into a rage as soon 
as he saw the burn marks on the furniture and carpets. Although I was, as I said, 
nearly 19 he could, and did, still wallop me from time to time. 

Although I was able to realise that my parents would be flaming mad with me on 
their return, I was still too hung over when I awoke about lunchtime to really 
think rationally enough about what I was doing. I decided that I wouldn't face my 
parents at once, but wanted to let them calm down a bit before confronting them. I 
therefore slung a few clothes into a bag, raided mum's housekeeping reserve 
purse (which I knew she kept hidden between some underwear in her drawer), and 
slipped out of the house as soon as it got dark. 

I had to get away, but how? and where to? I didn't have much money so couldn't 
catch a train or bus anywhere. A few months earlier a friend had shown me how easy 
it was to open most car doors and then bypass the ignition lock. I wandered a 
dozen or so streets away from home, to where I wasn't known, and looked for a 
suitable car to borrow to get away. I soon found one that had been conveniently 
left unlocked. It only took a few moments to slide down in the footwell, reach 
under the dash and move a couple of wires to let me start the engine. I was then 
away up the road before anyone could spot me. 

I took it easy through the shopping area. Although it was Sunday, there were 
quite a lot of folks about and I didn't want to attract attention to myself and 
get stopped. However, once on the open road out of town I let her rip and was 
pleasantly surprised to find how fast the old car could go. Unfortunately, the 
car's turn of speed was not matched by its brakes and steering, nor by my driving 
ability not ever having been taught to drive. About 15 miles from home I was doing 
60mph down a twisting country lane when a tractor pulled out of a field in front 
of me. I tried to get around it, but the car slid into the ditch and turned over.
Fortunately I was unhurt apart from a few cuts and bruises and a twisted right 
ankle; but the car was a sorry sight. 

I climbed out of the wreckage, grabbed my bag, and tried to make my escape across 
a field. The farm worker on the tractor realised that I should not have been 
driving the car legitimately and raced after me on the tractor. Needless to say he 
got to me before I could reach the hedge into the next field. I was no weakling, but 
daily work in the fields had made him very strong and he quickly overpowered me 
but not before I had kicked him in his crown jewels, which understandably made 
him very mad. 

When I refused to answer any of his questions he tied me to the back of the 
tractor and drove back to the farm. I was left tied up whilst he called the 
police. He had picked up my bag and went though it while waiting for the police 
to arrive. He now knew my name since most of my clothes had one of those neat 
woven name tapes sewn into it by my mother. They were all the rage in those days 
and zealous parents made sure you couldn't lose school or other clothes by 
sewing hundreds of them into everything from underpants to pullovers. 


The police came, examined the wreckage of the car, took a statement from the 
farm worker whom I had so nearly emasculated and took me away to the station to 
be charged with theft of a car, driving without insurance, criminal damage to 
the car and causing actual bodily harm to the farm worker. The police then 
telephoned my parents, who had only recently arrived back to find the chaos at 
home. When my father arrived I expected him to be cross, but to stand up for me. 
Instead he seemed icy calm but insisted that I also be charged with criminal 
damage at home and for smoking pot; he had found a couple of butt ends ground into 
the carpet. 

I spent a very uncomfortable night in the cells at the police station before 
being taken before the court judge the next morning. To cut a long story 
short, I was eventually sentenced to 20 months in Borstal. In those days they 
didn't have Youth Detention Centres with all the amenities of a high class 
public school and the opportunity to go on character building trips abroad. 
Borstal was a rough, tough place where you did as you were told or suffered the
consequences. The Governor had absolute power over you and the warders had 
almost as much. These places were miles from normal habitation and it was policy 
to send young men to a Borstal at least 75 miles away from their homes so that 
visits by friends and family were few and far between. 

It was about 7 in the evening when I arrived at Blackdown, the Borstal to which 
I had been allocated together with two other boys of about my own age. I was 
tired and hungry since the last food I'd been given was soup and a couple of 
rather dry rolls at lunchtime in the court cells. We were taken into a waiting 
area for the admissions office and then one at a time into the admissions office 
itself. I was the first of the three to be called in. The warder in charge read 
through the sentencing papers and made an entry in the admissions ledger. 
"Have you ever been inside before?" he asked. I had been very close a few times, 
but so far had always managed to avoid a custodial sentence so I replied, "No". 
"You will address me and the other staff as SIR in future, do you understand?" 
"Yes, sir", I said, trying to make the last word as sarcastic as possible, but 
failing to impress him. 

"Empty all your pockets and remove all watches and other jewellery", he said. 
I turned out all I possessed onto the counter and he picked them up one 
at a time, dropping them into a large brown bag whilst calling out their 
description for another warder to write into a bound book on a page headed with 
a number and then my name. "Jacket, tie and pullover on the counter." I was 
instructed. These were listed and put into another bag, after being closely 
examined to see that there was nothing still in the jacket pockets. "Now your 
shoes and socks." came the order and I obeyed. They followed my jacket into the 
bag. "Shirt and trousers on the counter now. ... And your vest too." Came the 
instruction, the addition being as I removed my shirt to display a white cotton 
vest underneath it, as was the fashion in those days. 

I felt so vulnerable now that all I was wearing was my white Y-fronts. I had 
never stripped this far with two grown men looking directly at me except when 
my father had taken me to the doctor's once for a medical when I was about 13. 
"Right, and now your underpants", came the command. I couldn't believe that I 
was to be stripped naked and so did nothing. "I told you to remove your underpants", 
said the warder sternly, "I expect you to obey orders at once, do you understand?" 
"Yes, sir", I said, "but surely I'm not required to strip completely naked? I haven't 
anything else under them." "We have to have all your own belonging listed and 
locked away ready for your eventual release. You will be given suitable clothing 
to wear here once you've had your bath and seen the doctor. Now get those 
underpants off." 

I stripped off the thin white cotton, knowing that both men were looking expectantly 
at my crotch to see how well developed I was. Back in the 60s boys developed slower 
than they do these days and I had only just started to get a bit of hair above my 
prick. I was blushing all over from the embarrassment of being naked in front of the 
two warders, when I was told to sign the book to indicate that all my possessions 
had been listed and they were, right down to my white "boys medium y-front" underpants. 
As I turned round after signing the book I found to my horror that the waiting area 
was separated from the admissions room only by a glass partition. I was thus displayed 
in all my nakedness to the two other boys waiting their turn. The warder then led me 
through a door and handed me over to yet another warder, who seemed oblivious to 
my nudity. 

He led me down a corridor and into a room where there were two barber's chairs. I 
was signalled onto one of them and the warder proceeded to cut my hair down to a tight 
crew cut, with the back and sides shaved completely bare. He ran his fingers around 
over my scalp for a few minutes and then pronounced himself satisfied that I had no 
lice or anything like that. "Now for your bath before seeing the doctor", he said as 
he led me further down the corridor and into an open area near the end with four baths 
in it. Three were already filled with water and I jumped into one of them expecting 
to find it warm and comforting. Instead I nearly screamed as the icy cold water hit me. 
I had expected also to be left to bathe myself, but the warder had donned a rubber 
apron and returned to the bath beside me. 

I'd hardly taken stock of this when he placed both hands on my head and pushed me 
firmly down into the water so that every part of me was immersed in the icy water. 
Almost immediately though he released me and my head shot up to allow me to take a 
breath after the shock of the cold. The warder took a bar of carbolic soap from a 
stand beside the bath and lathered all over my head, back, chest and arms before 
pushing me back down under the water to wash it all off. 

"Stand up!" I obeyed and found my legs being soaped from about my knees upwards. 
"Turn around." As I did so he soaped my lower back and then started on my buttocks. 
I had never ever been touched there by another man since I had my nappy changed as 
a baby. I was so embarrassed that I wanted to get out of there fast: but my 
embarrassment was increased even more when another warder entered, preceded by one of 
the other two boys who was instructed to get into the next tub. It was obvious that 
he had been in Borstal before because he had been so quick at the admissions desk and 
was making no protests at being herded about naked. I was so engrossed in watching the 
other boy arrive that I didn't realise what the warder was doing to me until I felt 
his finger rubbing around inside my bottom. "Hey! What the hell do you think 
you're doing!" I yelled and tried to pull away from him. He just reached around 
with his other hand and pulled me back towards himself. "The doctor will need to 
examine you up there, so you have to be clean for him. Now stand still whilst I 
get more soap inside you." I knew I couldn't resist even though my upbringing 
had told me it was wrong to be touched there. 

The warder soaped his hands again and this time managed to insert two fingers into 
my tight anal opening. It hurt as the two fingers stretched me and I must have 
yelped as he said, "A virgin boy eh! The doctor will just have to dilate you for the
internal examination. Now turn around again." He removed his fingers and I turned to 
face him, conscious of the fact that his fingers in my rectum had made me get a 
hardon and my penis was jutting straight out from my body, the tip of the glans just 
showing pink through the end of my long foreskin. Soapy hands were run over my scrotum 
and then my penis. The foreskin was pulled right back until it was tight and started 
to hurt. As the soap was rubbed into my bared knob I tensed and dribbled a bit 
of pre-cum. The warder saw this and immediately stopped handling me, ordering me 
to wash off the soap, get out and dry myself on the proffered towel. 

Before I was completely dry, but was no longer obviously wet, the warder ordered me 
to put the towel into a bin near the wall and go with him. My erection had almost 
subsided, but it was still obvious that I was not totally flaccid and this 
embarrassed me as I was guided back along the corridor, passing the third boy on 
his way to having his haircut. When almost back at the reception area we turned 
down a side corridor and through a door which the warder had to unlock to allow 
us to pass, and then lock again once on the other side. I was led into a 
brightly lit room full of equipment which I immediately realised was for 
photography. I was ordered to sit on a chair in front of a plain pale blue 
backdrop whilst head and shoulders pictures were taken. I then had to stand on a 
small circle in front of an L-shape of white boards divided up into squares. 
Here my whole naked body was photographed from front, left, rear and right 
sides. 

From that room I was led through a side door into a fairly dark room where I 
was given a chest X-ray. This proved to be the last stop before actually 
seeing the doctor. The warder took me on along the corridor, through two more 
sets of locked doors, the last of which led to a flight of stairs going down to 
basement level. We eventually arrived in another large, well-lit room which I 
noticed had no windows. There were the usual medical room items of scales, eye 
chart and examination couch there. I noticed that the couch was not against the 
wall like at my own doctor's, but placed so that one could walk all round it. 
The doctor, a man in his late thirties with wavy brown hair and piercing blue 
eyes, was sitting behind a large desk at one side of the room. I was led to a 
chair in front of him and the warder went to sit at the side where he could see 
everything that happened to me. 

The doctor asked me my name, home address, date of birth, etc. and recorded all 
of these on a form in front of him. He then asked about the childhood illnesses 
I'd had and noted down the mumps, measles and chickenpox that I reported to him. 
Next I was asked what immunisations I had been given. I'd had all the usual ones 
as a baby: Diphtheria, Tetanus, Whooping Cough, Polio and Smallpox (which was common 
then but is not given any longer). He asked about BCG since I hadn't mentioned it. 
I knew this one often hurt rather a lot and so dodged school on the day I was 
supposed to have it done despite the fact that my parents had signed the forms and 
I'd had the skin test. Next came questions about any other medical problems, when 
I last saw my own doctor, and then finally whether I'd had any operations. I had 
to admit to having my tonsils out when I was 8 and an operation to reset a badly 
fractured bone in my left arm when I was 13. 

Stand up, and go over to the scales. the doctor ordered. I was weighed and my height 
was measured. Next my eyesight was tested and found to be satisfactory. The doctor 
then led me back to beside the couch and then proceeded to measure my arms, legs, 
chest and waist, followed by all sorts of other things including the size of the 
smallpox vaccination mark on my left arm, the diameter and separation of my 
nipples. Eventually he picked up a sort of pair of calipers and started to measure the 
size of my testicles. This was followed by the length and girth of my, by now, erect 
penis. Having measured it, he reached down and rapidly squeezed both testicles. I yelped 
as the pain shot up into my groin and my balls felt as if they had been kicked by a mule. 
His action, however, had the effect that he desired and I immediately lost my 
erection. My penis was again measured now that it was flaccid. The doctor 
partially apologised for hurting me by saying he needed to get my erection down 
and also wanted to see how sensitive my testicles were. 

I was then told to sit on the couch and the doctor did most of the other things 
that are usually done at medicals, like listening to my chest and back, looking 
down my throat and in my ears, and taking my blood pressure. I was told to cross 
my left leg over my right and he then hit my left knee with a special hammer, 
followed by running some sort of spike along under my foot. The same was repeated 
with my legs crossed the other way. "Climb up fully onto the couch and kneel on all 
fours facing away from me." came the doctor's order. Embarrassed again by showing him 
my bum I did as instructed, only to feel my buttocks being pulled apart and the 
doctor's finger probing my anus. I was tight and he failed to gain entry 
initially. He turned away and came back to put some sort of cream on my anus, 
which somehow made it open up for him. I felt his finger probing around inside 
me until it met my prostate. He probed the prostate for several second, causing 
me to get a violent erection which he could clearly see hanging down as I knelt 
on all fours. A few moments later his finger was withdrawn and the next thing I 
knew a cold liquid was being rubbed over my buttocks. A sharp prick in the left 
buttock was quickly followed by another in the right. 

OK. Stand up beside the couch for the rest of your injections. he said. I was only 
too pleased to get out of the pose I was in and quickly jumped down from the couch. 
The doctor turned me so that my left side faced him and placed my hand on my hip 
before rubbing cold liquid over much of my upper arm. Three injections were given 
into that arm. He didn't say what they were for, but I guessed from the way it was 
given that the last was the BCG that I had so carefully avoided at school. For 
this one the needle was much longer and finer than for the first two. He 
inserted it about 3 inches above my elbow and pushed it upwards just below the 
skin. I could see where it was going as it created a ridge in the skin as it 
slid a full two inches up towards my shoulder to stop about an inch from the 
smallpox vaccination I'd had as a baby. Once the needle was almost in to the 
hilt the injection was started. The liquid was being put only just under the 
skin and as it was injected the skin ballooned up into the giant sort of blister 
that the other boys at school had described after their own BCG vaccinations 
several years earlier. When the syringe was half empty the doctor withdrew it and 
I thought it was all over. However, he pinched up another bit of skin and 
plunged the needle back in again. This time he moved it downwards towards my 
elbow and forwards so as to inject the rest of the vaccine at the front of my 
arm. When these healed about three months later I had two large lumps on my arm, 
each deepish purple with a white edge and outside that a red ring. 

Having removed the needle from my left arm, the doctor ordered me to turn around 
and put my right hand on my hips. This arm was swabbed like the left one and then 
it was scratched with a needle in a criss-cross fashion in six places until each 
just started to ooze blood. Liquid from a small glass ampoule was poured onto 
each of the scratched places and then pressed into the skin with the side of the 
needle. The treated areas were spread out between my shoulder and elbow and over 
about a quarter of the circumference of my arm. I discovered later that these 
were Smallpox vaccinations and they healed slowly to give six large, deeply 
pitted scars scattered down my arm, all about three times the size of the one on 
my left arm from babyhood. Three of the six scars were so low down that they 
would always be visible below the sleeve of a T-shirt, as was the lower of my 
BCG scars. 

I had expected that all these injections would be the end of things, but I was 
very wrong. I was ordered to lie down on the couch again. Posts with rings 
attached were slotted into the sides of the couch half way down my thighs. 
Each leg was taken in turn and lifted through the rings so that they rested 
behind my knees. Each leg was bent downwards and a strap put around my ankle to 
secure it to the post. In this position my bum was just clear of the couch and 
spread wide so as to give unrestricted access to the whole of my genitals. A 
wedge shaped sort of very solid cushion was placed under my upper back so that I 
was looking down towards my cock and balls. A strap was then passed across my 
chest to stop me from moving. Finally, my wrists were secured to two more posts 
above my head. 

Once I was secured in this inelegant position the doctor dropped the far end of 
the couch so that my bum was even more exposed. He went to a cupboard and 
brought back a cylindrical package about 6 inches long. He tore off the 
wrapping paper and extracted a soft grey mesh cylinder with a string attached 
at one end. The next thing I knew, he was pushing this into my distended anus 
and there was nothing I could do to stop him. Next I felt the area between my 
anus and scrotum being swabbed with cold liquid and then a sharp prick as a 
hypodermic was inserted into it. The injection which followed stung madly and 
I wanted to squirm off the couch but was totally restrained where I was. 
Whatever it was that had been put into my bum now felt first warm then 
decidedly hot. After a few minutes though I felt a most strange feeling come 
over me. The doctor was now touching my scrotum and I could feel everything as 
if the senses were magnified fourfold. When he pressed on my testicles the pain 
was almost too great to bear, yet at the same time I just didn t seem to care. 
Whatever they were, the drugs I had just been given made me feel somehow that I 
was observing myself from outside my own body. 

I lay there watching my erect penis as the doctor pushed my ample foreskin hard 
back down the shaft until the frenulum was stretched and hurting. He then slid 
it back up and pulled it as far forwards as he could. Having thus gauged the 
mobility of the foreskin he pushed it back again down the shaft. I watched as he 
picked up a scalpel from a tray beside the couch and sliced through my frenulum, 
releasing it from the back of my glans. The pain was greater than I had ever 
experienced in my whole life and, despite the drugs, I let out a shriek of anguish. 
More was to come though as the doctor proceded to slowly cut away my entire 
foreskin to about half way down the shaft. 

The pain of having my foreskin sliced away was, of course, excruciating 
even without the sensation enhancing drugs I had been given. Copious tears were 
running down my cheeks. I knew what was happening to me and that I would no 
longer be able to masturbate the way I was used to: indeed I thought then that I 
would never be able to masturbate again. But at the same time as I felt furious 
about having my foreskin taken without my permission, I also didn't care. It was 
such a weird situation under the influence of the drugs. 

When he had cut away more flesh than I thought I had, the doctor coated the raw 
surface with a black powder and then bandaged it up tightly. No stitches were put 
in to hold the cut edges together. The powder stung for about an hour, but seemed 
to stop the wound from bleeding. Next, a catheter was passed down my penis right 
into my bladder. I felt the end being inflated so as to keep it there and then a 
clamp was placed on the protruding part to stop urine from leaking out. 

The doctor then pulled on the string that was hanging out of my anus and the 
remains of the cylinder came out. It was now almost completely flat and empty, 
so whatever had been in it originally had now been absorbed into the walls of my 
rectum. My perineum was again swabbed and another two injections given, one either 
side, almost into the back of my scrotum. The stinging, burning sensation from 
these lasted a few minutes before my balls began to ache intensely. At the same 
time, however, I came rapidly out of my limbo sort of situation. Sensations were 
no longer magnified and I started to care about the aches and pains all over my 
genital area. As soon as I was able to do so, I started to complain bitterly about 
having been circumcised against my will. The doctor simply smiled and said, It's 
Borstal policy that all boys must be fully circumcised. It is better for you in 
the long run too. 

I was released from the straps and loops and ordered off the operating couch. 
My arms were all puffed up from the vaccinations, my testicles ached from the 
injections, my anus was stretched and burning from the suppository and my denuded 
penis looked very strange with the bandage around it and the catheter tube hanging 
from it. In this state I was led back to the door and out to come face to face with 
the other two boys who were waiting outside with a couple of warders. I 
instinctively looked down at their penises and noticed that both had been very 
radically circumcised with pitch black, very wide scars about half way down their 
shafts. Obviously they too had been cut at a Borstal and my penis would eventually 
look the same. 

We went back upstairs and along two more new corridors, with me feeling even 
more self-conscious than before now that I had been circumcised. There were several 
people coming and going in these corridors and quite a few looked at my bandaged 
cock or brushed heavily against my sore arms. Eventually we entered a room with a 
counter and a lots of racking behind it. A warder and two boys were behind the 
counter. The boys appeared to be naked apart from a pair of dark green shorts. The 
warder with me passed a slip of paper to the man behind the counter, who passed it 
to one of the boys and returned to staring at my genitals. Both boys scurried off 
amongst the racking and returned with two pairs of green shorts and a couple of 
green tee-shirts. I was instructed to put on a tee-shirt and shorts a task which 
was easier said than done with swollen arms and a padded prick. There were no 
underpants, shoes or socks. The shorts were only just long enough to cover my 
penis and the tee-shirt left almost all of my arms bare as well as not covering 
my navel. At least partially clothed at last I was glad to be led into the main 
area of the Borstal and to a small dormitory where three of the six beds were 
already taken. I chose the middle bed on the right, leaving one by the door and 
the one opposite mine. I didn't have to wait long before the other two new boys 
were brought in to occupy the remaining two beds. 

I discovered later that both had been in Borstal twice before, the last time for 
each being at Blackdown which therefore already held their records. With the 
records already there, their processing took only a fraction of the time that 
mine did. The doctor had given them a much more superficial examination and, of 
course, they didn't need to be circumcised having had it done during their first 
sentences five and six years previously. The doctor had, however, expanded their 
rectum until it hurt and given them all the vaccinations to make their arms swollen 
and sore. Apparently a complete set of vaccinations was given every time a boy 
entered Borstal and at yearly intervals whilst inside I was thus to get another 
pair of very sore arms shortly before leaving at the end of my sentence.