Holiday ja vu
Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 07 Jun 2010
It was mid-summer before my senior year of high school – the long Independence Day weekend. Friday was the Fourth, actually, and my parents had decided to leave on the preceding Wednesday to visit my Aunt and Uncle (Mom's sister and her husband) in Virginia for an extended weekend. They left early Wednesday morning, to make the long, nearly 12-hour trip from Saranac Lake, New York, to Norfolk, Virginia, before sundown.
I was 4 months from being 17, with brown hair and large, very dark blue eyes. At 5'9", 135 lbs, my thin frame had lean, lanky legs and arms for my size. My waist was thin, my hips boney, and my butt was compact, yet muscled, curvaceously projecting narrowly outward against the snugly taut fabric of whatever shorts or pants I wore.
Since I had a small, part-time job in Mr. Amstead's hardware store, and was also delivering a paper route at 5 a.m. each morning for the summer, my parents agreed to leave me at home over the long, holiday weekend. Dad took me aside and told me straight out, in solemn, warning tones, that I was to have no visitors at the house, was to be in the house by 11 p.m. at the latest, to drive myself to church on Sunday morning, and otherwise to behave myself.
My Dad was a strict, take-no-crap, disciplinarian. So, of course, I knew to take his admonishment seriously, even though I hadn't been spanked by him in almost 20 months. I truly intended to comply completely; but I was also pumped about being on my own for 5 whole days!
I lasted a little more than 2 days. I was up at 4:30 Friday morning, and completed my newspaper deliveries by 6:30 a.m. Returning home, I indulged in the lazy luxury of stripping off my clothes and crawling back into bed. I slept in until after 11 a.m., and had just finished showering and shaving, when some guys in what was going to be our senior class came by. They said they were going out on the lake and wanted me to go with them.
My resistance melted like warm butter, and I hurriedly pulled on a pair of board shorts (as a bathing suit), a t-shirt, and flip flops. The next thing I knew, I was riding with them in their car to upper Saranac lake. We spent the day there, met some other guys and girls, had a lot of fun, got soaked, and also really sunburned.
About 8 that evening, I was riding in one of 3 cars heading back to my house. When we arrived, I climbed out, but was surprised to find everyone else piling out and following me. Before I unlocked the door, while I was pulling out my key, I remembered my Dad's warning, not to have any visitors at the house. I shuddered slightly, but told myself, he'll never find out. When I unlocked the door, 3 other guys, and 6 girls came following me in. They began opening the fridge to look for food, and found hot dogs and buns.
They asked if we had a grill, and I told them there was a small, portable one in the back yard. They grabbed the hot dogs, bags of potato chips, the condiments, and hotdog buns, and headed out into the back. All at once, there was cold beer everywhere – and an ipod playing music. We ate, and drank, listened to music, and drank, had fun laughing and horsing around, and drank.
About midnight, one of the guys raced out to a car and came back with fireworks. We were all quite intoxicated and feeling giddy and light-headed when the fireworks show began. The bottle rockets and cherry bombs were loud and flashing, and we continued laughing loudly, while we downed more cold beers. Then, somebody decided to play tag in the dark. We stumbled around, running and laughing and shouting, until things became rougher.
When I was it, I wandered around until I found 3 of the girls. Then, the other 3 jumped out, and they all started racing around me, taunting and teasing me with sensuous laughter. I was embarrassed and annoyed, at the same time my impulsive frivolousness was uninhibited, lured, and tempted.
Suddenly, the tag game degenerated into a melee of loud, drunken guys and girls, shouting and chasing around – mostly the guys chasing the girls – with loud, low, male voices hollering and cursing; and higher, female voices laughing and shrieking, with some cursing as well. The girls eventually ran to their cars, screaming with inebriated hysteria, and drove off laughing – leaving us looking exactly like empty-handed, frustrated, horned-up guys.
We sat down in the back yard, wrapped towels around ourselves, and downed more beers. The cool night air felt especially chilly on our sunburns. The other 3 guys were starting to feel sleepy, as was I. "Let's crash here," they said. I looked exactly like I felt – wary and wishing I'd not started down this road, but they promised, "we'll be gone in the morning, and you can clean up then."
We began trudging slowly back to my house, when all at once I felt a strong, firm grip grasp my shoulder. I turned around to stare in the face of my neighbour, Mr. Daniels. "What are you doing out here, at this hour, Evan, making all this noise, chasing girls around, and indulging in underage drinking?" he fired at me.
"Ooooooaaaah, Mr. Daniels, you, ah, startled me, ah, we, . . . we were, ah, just going to, ah, goooooo . . . " I never finished my stammering answer. With his powerful, strong arms, he simply and immediately picked me straight up and slung me upside down over his shoulder with one move; with the next, he began applying hard, echoing smacks to the seat of my shorts, which stretched thinly across my otherwise protruding, bare behind and provided scant protection.
At first the other 3 guys stopped in their tracks, turned to watch, and laughed briefly, though also nervously. When Mr. Daniels told them to leave, and that "Ethan is coming with me and is getting a spanking," their eyes widened, but they awkwardly guffawed as if he were joking.
When, however, he resumed smacking the thin seat of my board shorts stretched around my now-upside-down butt, they quickly turned around, and instantly vanished in their car, leaving me hanging over my neighbour's shoulder as he marched us both back towards his house next door.
"Heeeey, Mr. Daniels," I called out. "What're you doing?! You can't spank meeee!" I retorted.
"Oh can't I?" he replied. "We'll find out about that right now, youngster," he promised.
Once inside his back, screened porch, he sat down on a white birch, wood bench, shifting and dropping me off his shoulder to land, stretched out across his lap. Without any forewarning, it began. His rock-like hand began swatting the seat of my shorts. I twisted and bumped around, calling out, "Let me go! Lemme go, dammit! Lemme goooooo!"
For the first minute or so, I was just shocked and irritated at finding myself upside down over my neighbour's lap, receiving a fanny warming. But when the heat began to become more intense, and the swats were stinging and increasing in pain, I shouted: "Staaaahp it!" He responded by doubling the speed and intensity of the swats to my butt. I found myself quickly wriggling and squirming and thrashing around, trying to elude the swats, trying to twist off his lap or wrench myself free – but I couldn't.
"Mr. Daniels!" I called out. "Don't doooo thisssss! I'm, aaaah, ow-ow! aaaa-sarrrr-eeeee! Ow-ow! Staaaaahpl-aaaaaa-pleeeeeez!"
Suddenly, Mr. Daniels did stop. He grabbed and pulled me up off his lap, and stood me on my now bare feet. (My flip flops has flown off while I was kicking and bucking on his lap.) My hands instinctively flew back to my buttocks, grasping and clasping them to try to knead some relief from the hot, painful stinging.
Mr. Daniels wasn't through. He roughly and quickly unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts, and yanked them forcefully down in record seconds. I was shocked to find myself now completely naked, but I had no time to figure out what to try to do about it in my dopey, intoxicated condition. Next thing I knew, I was back upended, tipped even farther upside down again across his lap, my shorts lying on the floor.
Worse was to come. My drunken stupour was interrupted by the burning, hot sensation of a hard, wooden object peppering my buttocks – inside, out, and underneath – along with my thighs. I kicked and screeched, but he held me firmly and unswervingly in place. My head flew upwards and turned around, to spy over my shoulder a large, wooden hair brush in his hand.
He made that brush dance and bounce all over my behind – concentrating on the super-sensitive sit-spots, the tender inner thighs and inner buttocks – until I was completely beside myself and demolished from anything other than a sad, sorry, bad boy who wished he'd never even flirted with the idea of misbehaving, much less been as rowdy and rude as we'd been.
My voice, in desperation, then in despondent despair, rose in volume, pitch, and earnest tone. I pleaded, begged, confessed I was bad, apologized over and over and over, promising repeatedly never to do anything like that again – until breath and words were no longer possible.
I was broken, defeated. I surrendered to the spanking – to being punished – spanked – like a naughty child – and all I could do was bawl and wail and shriek, amidst gagging, choking gasps, and convulsive sobbing, until I no longer knew if it was still night-time, or daylight, trapped, suspended, in my neighbour's hold on his knee, receiving the fullest, soundest measure of tanning I could remember in my young life.
Finally, I realized I was still being held, dangling on his leg and knee, but the whipping had ended. I gagged and gasped, struggling to re-gather my breathing and some semblance of poise and self-control. That was not to be, however. Once again, I felt myself hauled up off his lap, then immediately led, bouncing and stomping on wobbly legs, to the corner of the porch.
"Stand here and wait, boy, 'till I get a place for you, and keep your hands on your head," he ordered. I stood with my face in the corner for a few minutes, just itching to reach down and back and rub my scalded bottom and thighs.
In a few minutes, he returned. "Follow me," he ordered, and I turned to see him pointing to the door leading into his house. He led me to a bathroom. "You'll need to empty your bladder of all that beer, no doubt," he commented, remaining standing there while I urinated into the toilet. Then, grasping my arm again, he led me like a meek, chastened child down the hall to a bedroom, and into it.
"Get into that bed for tonight – as much as is left of it," he directed, "and I better not hear another sound from you tonight, young man!" as he pulled down the spread and sheet for me to crawl in. I quickly did so, plainly displaying my deeply wounded, red butt as I lay on my stomach and chest, my face in the fluffy pillow. Then I felt the sheet and spread pulled up over me to my neck. "Stay put 'til I call you in a while to go out on your newspaper deliveries. Good night," he called out.
"Guh-oooooood-uh-niiiiiight," I replied whimpering and still crying. I did not cry for long, though, as I fell into a deep, sound sleep.
In less than 3 hours, Mr. Daniels was at my bedside, calling to me to awaken. It seemed like he was standing at the top of a deep well, calling down to me; but I couldn't rouse myself enough to lean upward and catch what he was saying. Instead, I turned back into my pillow and descended back into slumber.
Suddenly, it was chilly in the room on my bare, sunburned frame, and my equally scorched butt, as the spread and sheet were ripped off me. I began to turn from my stomach onto my side when the iron-like strength of Mr. Daniels' hand met my rump and thighs with another series of hot, hard, stinging smacks.
"Ooooo-aaaaa-ow-ow-Mr.-ah-Daniels-uh-ow-aaaaaa-ow-ow!" I cried out.
"Get up right away, Ethan!" he ordered. 'It's 4:45, and you've got papers to pick up at 5!"
All at once, the memory pierced my foggy, fatigued brain. I jumped up, clutching my butt, and realized I didn't have any clothes – except for my board shorts that had been shed during Mr. Daniels' spanking of me. "Ah, Mr. Daniels, I need to go home and get dressed," I explained. "Can I have my shorts to put back on?"
He left for a few minutes, to go back to the porch and retrieve my shorts, returning to toss them to me. "Hurry it up, Ethan," he called, and launched another set of swats to the seat of my shorts as I zipped them up.
"Okaaaay, ah, ye-esss, sirrrrr!" I called out, and raced barefoot out of the bedroom, down the hall, out onto the porch, and outside to flee to my house next door. Arriving, I realized the door had been left unlocked all night. I hastened inside, used the bathroom, then changed into boxers, jeans, a long-sleeve t-shirt, socks and shoes, and a windbreaker.
Then, I ran outside, locked the door, and hopped onto my bicycle to ride to the office where my newspapers would be waiting. The instant my butt touched the site I stood up on the pedals. The ride was very uncomfortable, as I tried to sit as little as possible on the hard bicycle seat.
It was 5:15 when I arrived, and I was late. Mr. Mindenhall was waiting and in no lenient mood. He handed me my stacks of newspapers, with a grudging, austere question. "Oversleep, Ethan? You're usually early."
No way did I want anyone to know what had happened to me, so I replied with a taciturn answer. "Yeah, Mr. Mindenhall, . . . sorry, ah, sir. It won't happen again."
"It better not, youngster, or you may find yourself not wanting to sit your behind on that bicycle seat."
I gulped and looked away, busying myself with getting my papers ready to take and deliver. I was the last one to leave, and as I rode off, I saw him closing up the office.
The morning – like almost every summer morning – was one of enchantment. Dark for almost an hour, the early morning dawn broke through, slowly lightening the surroundings. Sitting on my bike was uncomfortable, and I stood up to pedal a lot; but I delivered all the morning papers, and before 7 a.m., I was finished and riding wearily home.
When I got to my house, I put my bike back in the garage, and started to walk to my house. "Where're you going, Ethan?" It was Mr. Daniels.
"Ah, I was just gonna go in and get cleaned up, maybe have some breakfast, and clean up the place," I explained deferentially.
"That all sounds like a good idea," he replied. "But are you going back to bed for a while first?" He must know boys pretty well, flashed through my mind.
"Ah, I might." My words were hesitant.
"That's kind of what I thought," he responded. "In that case, you come on back over here and you can go back to the bed where you were sleeping, until it's time to get you up and do the things you mentioned."
Wow! He was being tight-leashed and tough. "I can, ah, go back to sleep in my own bed," I weaseled, breaking into an easy, generous grin as I looked at him.
"Evan!" he barked at me. "You've done enough harm for this weekend, young man. You can go back to your house to clean up, and clean it up. But these next two nights you're staying at our house. We're not going to have any more late-night shenanigans disturbing people. Now, come on, son. You know where to go."
As unpleasant as it was to be commandeered like I was, I was also unwilling to try to disregard, or act in opposition to, his directives. So, I found myself plodding along with him back to his house. He opened the door and stepped back for me to enter first, which I did. Then, I tip-toed down the same long, narrow hall to the bathroom and used it – again while he stood making sure I was sincerely there, then followed him to the bedroom he'd assigned me more than 5 hours earlier.
"You can snooze for a while, Ethan. We'll wake you when you need to get up," Mr. Daniels assured me, then walked out leaving me to undress and crawl back into bed in the early morning sunlight. I stripped out of everything except my boxers, and slid right back into the bed, on my face and stomach.
Having been up so late the previous night, and missed out on a lot of sleep; and being out in the cool-aired, enchanting, pre-dawn, early morning hours; and then viewing the surroundings slowly lightened by the emerging sun, I was physically and emotionally depleted. I was uninhibitedly overcome with the warm, snugly, cozy feelings of comfort of the bed, pillow, sheets, and blanket coalescing with my weary body and mind. In mere minutes, I was sound and deeply asleep.
It was shortly after noon when I awakened. I felt groggy, yet restful and relaxed. My rod, hot and thick, and sticking straight up past the waistband of my boxers, was demanding my attention, telling me it was craving some excited release. Ordinarily, I might have just rolled over on my side and shaken the dynamite stick until it exploded – or scurried out of my bed to the shower to do the same thing.
But I wasn't at home. I tried to lie quietly still on my stomach, to allow my erection to recede – but it was hard, as the sensitive, quivering pole kept intruding on my consciousness, trying to make its need known.
From down the hall, Mr. Daniels' voice suddenly interrupted my torn struggle with my clamoring lust. Is he everywhere? flashed through my mind. "Ethan! Ethan! Get up now, son. You've got work to do, and you won't sleep tonight, if you don't get up now.
I quickly scrambled out of bed and pulled on all of the clothes I'd donned earlier to go out delivering newspapers. After stopping by the bathroom to relieve myself, and wash my face and hands, I walked down the hall and over to the large kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Daniels were waiting, sitting at the table. "Have some lunch, Ethan," Mrs. Daniels warmly invited me.
"Wow, thank you very much," I responded, walking over to the chair to which she had pointed, and sitting down gingerly as my backside was still sore. We ate a healthy, hardy lunch, and I felt re-invigorated. Afterward, I cleared my table setting, taking the dishes and cutlery to the sink. Mr. Daniels asked me if I was going to do the clean-up I'd mentioned earlier in the morning, and I told him "yes," after I cleaned up. Then I thanked them for their hospitality and left to go back to my house and clean up.
Before getting in the shower, I stepped out of my boxers and peered at my butt in the mirror. It showed plenty of dark, red-purple marks from Mr. Daniels' hair brush. Touching and squeezing my butt cheeks hurt and momentarily brought back the smarting pain from the smacks they'd received.
The shower felt warm and was welcome. I shampooed and shaved while in there, and made use of the opportunity to lean back, eyes closed, and wank my hungry dick until it had spurted long, repeated loads of jism out into the shower. Afterward, I felt like a new man. I dressed in just another pair of board shorts, and stepped back into my flip flops, then turned to the work before me.
It took me almost 3 hours to clean up our house and the yard, and put everything away so that nobody could tell anything had been removed, or used, or anything had happened. By that time, it was 4 p.m., and I was feeling the need for something to refresh me and pick me up. I walked down the back yard toward the lake where the long, thick rope hung from a tall tree, to swing out and jump off into the water.
Encircling the huge knot at the end of the rope with my legs, I held on to the rope with my hands and walked backward as far as I could before pulling up my feet and legs and beginning the long, far swing outward across the lake. When the arc was at its outmost from shore, I let go and bailed out, falling downward and splashing to dive deep downward further into the cold, brisk water. Then I swam around and back to shore, to repeat the same thing maybe a dozen times. The chilled water was soothing on my wounded behind. Once I quit, I sat on the wooden dock, near the old ice house, and let the later afternoon sun warm and dry me.
About 6 p.m., I was startled by Mr. Daniels' voice behind me. "Ethan, come now, and have dinner with Mrs. Daniels and me."
Warmed and dried by the sun, with my shorts only slightly damp, I got up, slipped on my flip flops, and followed him over to his house. Inside, he told me to go wash up and come to the large kitchen for dinner. Mrs. Daniels complimented me on how nice and handsome I looked all cleaned up, which made me smile and I thanked her for that.
The meal was great, and it was a relief not to have to scrounge for myself to find something to eat. Although still shifting around on my chair at times, to relieve the discomfort to my bottom, I actually enjoyed their company, and we talked a surprising lot for the substantial age differential between us. Dinner was topped off with wild blackberry pie.
As I sat there devouring a second piece of pie, I wondered if I'd embarrassed myself with the enormous quantity of food I'd just consumed. Finally, Mrs. Daniels got up, and I got up with my plate and accompanied her to the sink with them.
"Ethan, go over to your house and get your toiletries and clothes for tomorrow. Are you going to church tomorrow morning.
"Ah, yes, sir, . . . I'm supposed to," I explained.
"Good for you. So bring back extra clothes for that too, and be back here by 9:30."
"9:30?! That's less than an hour and a half! It's still light out!" I protested.
"That's alright, Ethan. It'll be dark soon after, and you're in by 9:30."
"Mr. Daniels . . .," I began wheedling.
"Ethannnnn!" he replied with a firm, austere sounding voice.
"But, Mr. Daniels, that's too early," I replied. "I'm almost 17," I added.
"Doesn't matter. It's not too early, and, anyway, it's your curfew, regardless. Make sure you're in this house no later than 9:30, Evan – or else."
I battled my emotions, wanting to burst out with objections that he wasn't my Dad, I didn't need this kind of control, and shouldn't have to be on a short chain. I wanted to go meet up with some of the friends I'd spent yesterday with, but Mr. Daniels' restrictions wouldn't allow for that. Feeling frustrated and trapped, I threw in the emotional towel, conceding, "Okaaaay, Mr. Daniels." Then I quickly left.
I had no opportunity to meet up with any of my friends, although I called a couple of them from my cell phone while over at my house.
As I walked into the porch at the back of the Daniels' house, at 9:35, I was met by Mr. Daniels who reminded me I was late, and said he was heading out to get me. Instantly, I felt a kind of warm, embarrassed flush of emotion that combined both annoyance at having to be in at 9:30, and his strict supervision; and apprehension about not sparking his displeasure that might lead to another session of discipline with his brush.
I mumbled: "Ah, sorry, sir."
"Come in right away, Ethan. We're locking up for the night, and you can put your things in the bedroom that's yours for the weekend." He closed and locked the porch door, followed by the same thing after we entered the house. I trotted down the hall to the same bedroom I'd slept in last night, and again this morning, and hung up and put away my clothes for tomorrow: first for delivering the Sunday morning papers early; and after that to dress for church.
Then I came out and joined the Daniels' in the large, lodge-like room, where they had a fire going in the fireplace,. I sat down on a cushioned sofa, to watch television on a huge, wide-screen tv. At 10 p.m., they watched the news, then rose and announced it was "time for bed."
I was surprised, but Mr. Daniels anticipated that by saying that I would need to be up in 6 hours, and needed to get to bed – as they did too. "Once you're in bed for the night, no lights and no cell phones," he decreed – which also surprised, and irked, me. He thinks I'm a kid, I thought to myself.
Anyway, I didn't have nay choice and went down to the bathroom to get ready for bed, then padded to the bedroom where I slid my board shorts down and off, and crawled naked into the bed (that Mrs. Daniels had made for me). Lying on my stomach and chest, I stretched out my skinny legs and felt myself relaxing, even though I was angered about having to be in at 9:30 – before dark – and now having to go to bed. Strangely enough, though, even while lying there agitated, I slipped down into the long, deep hole of sleep until Mr. Daniels came in to awaken me to get up to deliver the newspapers.
Mr. Mindenhall was placated that I was on time again, there with everybody else, to get the papers. Resting my behind on the bicycle seat was still uncomfortable, but I tried to sit more, even though intermittently raising up off the seat for relief. The early, Sunday morning was bewitching, like always, and I seemed to relish being out in it, in the quiet, enjoying the magical-like transition of daybreak.
When I'd finished, I road back to my house, returning my bike to the garage. Although tempted to enter my house, I remembered my clothes and personal items were at the Daniels'. So, I walked back in to find Mr. and Mrs. Daniels were already up, in the kitchen, savouring the first coffee of the morning. After they greeted me, I said, "I think I'll go back to bed for a little while, okay?"
"Sure, Ethan. We'll be sure you're up by 9, to get ready."
In bed, I felt the same, luxuriant, surrounding comfort of the bed, and dozed off again quickly. At 9, Mr. Daniels poked his head in and called to me. I awoke and sat up, facing him, with morning wood poking up between my legs, as he called that it was time to get up and get ready.
In the shower, I capitulated to the clamouring need of my rod. Strangely, I was rubbing my still sore and marked bottom with one hand while I wanked a huge one from my aroused member. I hurried through getting ready, then hustled back to the bedroom to dress for church in a pair of clean khaki pants, a clean, Hilfiger polo shirt, belt, and dress shoes and socks.
When I walked down the hall to the big kitchen, Mr. Daniels whistled: "You do clean up nice, Ethan!" and we all laughed. Mrs. Daniels offered me a quick omelet and toast for breakfast, along with orange juice. I rushed them down, and she picked up my plate, gesturing me out the door: "You don't want to be late"; and Mr. Daniels called out, "and don't speed!"
I actually arrived in time for the high school, Sunday School class. My folks would be pleased with me, I thought. Sitting with some of my friends, the guys from Friday night whispered, "what happened? Did he really spank you?"
"I'll tell you about it later," I whispered back, in no mood to relive that experience right now.
We then headed to the bathroom, before going into church. "Okay, Ethan, fess up," they insisted. "Did your neighbour give you a spanking – like he said?"
"No waaaay," I lied with bravado.
"Oh, yeah. How come he said that was what was gonna happen? How come he was spanking your butt when he had you over his shoulder?"
"Do you want to see my butt?" I dared them, betting they'd back off and leave me alone.
"Yeah, let's see, Ethan," they challenged back.
Quickly trying to extricate myself from this blind alley, I replied, "Oh, yeah, knowing you guys, you love to see guys' butts. Well, forget it, this guy's not going to feed your wants, perverts," laughing and turning to leave.
"Hey, Ethan! Stop that crap! We're gonna find out – and if you're bs'ing us, we'll just have to add another one!"
Immediately, I felt hot and sweaty and clammy at the same time. "Forget it, guys," I tried to put them off, moving towards the door.
Then they were on me. Five guys grabbed me, unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants, and pulled them downward to drop at my shoes. Bending me over, forward, they pulled my boxers down over my hips and buttocks to join my pants at the floor.
"No waaaaay, Ethan?! What's this? – red, dark marks all over your butt cheeks and thighs, buddy! Boy, your neighbour really did a number on your behind! But you lied, you little shit! That calls for another one!" and being held bent over forward, I felt almost countless, hard, hands smacking my butt and upper legs, one swat after another.
Finally, I couldn't stay stoical any longer and I called out, "Heeeey, staaaahp! It's hurrrrrteeeeng!" That evoked loud laughter and a flurry of more, hard smacks. I couldn't stop the water works from gushing forth at my eyes, and hiccuping, little sobs began to burst forth from my mouth. At that, they must have taken pity on me, because they stopped, rubbed my hot, stinging butt with their hands, and then pulled up my boxers and khakis.
Standing back up, I tucked in my shirt, zipped up my pants, and buckled my belt. Meanwhile, one of the guys handed me some paper towels to wipe my face and eyes, while I felt the hands of others – hand that probably had just administered a bare spanking to me in the church bathroom – tousling my hair. "It's okay, Ethan. Nobody likes being spanked – much less admitting it – but we all get it sometimes." It was the voice of my friend, Doug Kirkwood. It helped to hear somebody I knew, amidst all these guys I knew from school, admit the same thing; and I appreciated him for doing that.
Sitting in church was more discomfort after the recent, brotherly bathroom spanking. I tried my best to keep my mind on the service, and especially the sermon, despite shifting repeatedly on the bench to try to lessen the embarrassing soreness.
Afterward, these same guys suggested getting together in the afternoon, back up at Upper Saranac. Eager for some contemporary company, I agreed, telling them I'd call them after lunch at the Daniels. When I got back, Mrs. Daniels had a lunch ready for me, and led me into the large kitchen area to sit down and eat. During lunch, which was tasty and hit the spot, I told them I was going with some friends to Upper Saranac Lake for the afternoon.
"Okay, Ethan," Mr. Daniels responded. "We'll have dinner ready about 7, if you want to plan your time and get back for supper. Otherwise, you can fix yourself some leftovers when you do get back. Remember, though: 9:30! You're to be back, and in the house, no later than 9:30."
Damn! That stupid curfew he was imposing could really ruin a fun, Sunday afternoon and evening.
"And, also, Ethan: no drinking." His face was somber as he spoke that edict.
"Okay," I conceded, getting up, taking my plate to the sink, and heading down to the bedroom to change clothes. Back in a t-shirt, another pair of board shorts (as a bathing suit), and flip flops, I headed out of the Daniels' house, to my car, to meet the guys.
The afternoon was a lot of fun. The sky was sunny and clear, the water cool and refreshing. Fortunately, nobody said anything about my being spanked by my neighbour on Friday night, or about the bathroom spanking at church this morning; and my board shorts covered my thighs and butt so no telltale signs were visible – although some of the guys deliberately took the liberty of smacking my butt from time to time, as a so-called expression of enthusiastic fun.
As the afternoon wore on, rolling into evening, somebody produced a cooler of beer and several pizzas. In and out of the water, my appetite made itself known, and I stopped a couple of times to devour slices of pizza. At first, I avoided the beer – remembering the most recent warning from Mr. Daniels, as well as my Dad's admonitions. After a while, though, with everybody else indulging and feeling loosened up, I gave in and took a bottle. I drank it slowly, trying to avoid doing any more.
By 7 p.m., however, I'd had 6 slices of pizza and 4 beers, and was feeling uninhibited. We built a fire and sat around it in the early evening hours, and that's when I had my 5th beer. After that, I was so relaxed, I didn't care if I spent that night at Upper Saranac.
As the sun was setting about 10 p.m., it dawned on me that I was late! I jumped up, but stumbled in my stuporous condition. My buddy, Doug, rushed up to me to ask "what's wrong, Ethan?"
"Ah, ah, I, ah got to goooo," I spurted out.
"Can you drive?" he asked.
"Of course, I can drive," I replied with far too much bluster.
"I don't know about that, Ethan. You're eyes are red; you're not steady on your feet; and you've had a lot to drink."
"I have not!" I retorted.
"I think somebody should drive you home in your car, and then can leave in one of the other cars."
"Noooo, nobody drives me home!" I protested. No one gave any credence to my words, however, and Doug ran ahead of me to my car, grabbed my keys, and hopped in behind the wheel.
"Get in, Ethan," he instructed. I started to object, but a bunch of guys swept me up to the car, opened the door, and pushed me into the passenger side. Doug started the engine, and another car pulled in behind as we proceeded out to return to my house on the lake. Riding along, with the added effect of the beer, made me sleepy, and I was awakened as we drove into my driveway.
Then, Doug handed me my keys, he got out as I did, and he walked back to the car behind, got in, and the pulled out and left. Good thing! No sooner had they pulled away than I felt my shoulder being turned and I looked up to stare in the face of Mr. Daniels.
"Where have you been, Ethan?" he demanded. "You're late." Then, "you've been drinking, young man, haven't you?" The question was rhetorical, and he grabbed my ear and began dragging me along with his to his house, ignoring my calls of pain, and to stop.
Entering the back porch facing the lake, he towed me over to the same, hard birch bench. Sitting down, he released my ear, but grabbed my arms pulling me forward between his legs. Once again, my board shorts were unfastened and tugged down, over my hips and rump, falling at my feet. He turned me about 45 degrees, and hauled me upside down, bare butt rising, over this left leg and knee. His right leg swung over my legs, securing me in place, upended.
The shock of the same, old brush blasting against my still-sore rearend pierced much of the fogginess from my drinking and drowsiness. The rapid strikes of the brush against my buttocks and thighs, inner and outer, ignited a quick fire that was scorching my behind. I shrieked and screamed in an elevating voice, that tumbled out into weeping, sobbing, apologies, confessions, promises, pleas, until finally I could not coherently say anything more. I just lay there, jolting slightly, with each blistering impact of the brush. Not only was a truly a bad, naughty boy being spanked for my misbehaviour; I cried and squalled like a child being punished for bad behaviour.
Finally, he stopped, and I lay sobbing and choking and shuddering in the cold night air from the trouncing administered to me. I felt myself being pulled up off his lap onto my now bare feet. Bouncing up and down, doubled over, bawling, I threw my hands back to try to assuage the agony on my backside. Mr. Daniels pulled my arms away from my behind and directed me back to the corner where I'd waited for him on Friday night.
"What do you think your father is going to think about all this, Ethan?" he asked.
My Dad?! This was the first time I had even thought about him finding out. "Uh-uh, Mr., uh, Daniels, uh-uh-doooon't-uh-tellll-huh-uh-himmmmm!" I squalled out my plea.
"I have to, Ethan."
"Whyyyyy? You've already punished-huh-uh-meeeee-uh-uh-waaaaaaa!" I cried.
"Because, Ethan, he's your father. He's the one who has ultimate responsibility and final say over you; and it would be wrong to withhold this from him."
"Noooo, it wouldn't," I begged in disagreement.
"He's going to know, Ethan. Now, you just stand there a while, with your hands on your head, and think about how much trouble your disobedience and misbehaviour has caused."
I did, and wailed like I was heartbroken: because of the severe pain and grievous embarrassment and humiliation I'd experienced; because of the sorrow, regret, and remorse that was now seeping into my consciousness; and because of the dread of what lay ahead when my father found out about all of this.
He left me standing there about 30 minutes, then released me, ordering me to the bathroom and bed, where I lay face in the pillow, sobbing myself to sleep. Astonishingly, he was up at 4:30 to awaken me and get me on my way to deliver the newspapers – which was a trip in virtual standing on the pedals. When I returned, he let me go back to bed