Thom's Tom

by Thom

I don't remember when I first met him, but when I went back to visit for Hell Week that year, he was one of the pledges. He had those Italian good looks--dark hair, dark features, dark moustache--and he had a perfect build--not too slender, not too muscled, but just enough, with a nice round firm ass, just begging to be paddled.

And, after all, what is Hell Week for? Tuesday I spent some time in the pledges' room. That year the pledges had to carry a real paddle, not those stupid paint sticks we had to carry. If a pledge lost his paddle, or let it go, any active could use it ono him. But also actives could paddle for infractions as well.

I don't remember just what Tom did, but I had gotten the right to give him a swat. So I made an offer--a choice, in fact: Pick a number, and give me swats. If I could take all of them, then Tom would get the same number from me. if I couldn't take his number, then I wouldn't swat him the rest of Hell Week. And either way, he got all his black marks forgiven. If he wouldn't go for this he could just give me one swat and I would give him two.

Boy, did Tom ever think on that one. Bob also came in, and considered the options on Tom's behalf. (I thought later I could have made the offer to split the festivities--Bob and Tom pick a number together, then take turns swatting me, and if I took their number I'd give each of them what they each had given me. Didn't think of it, though.) Tom finally turned down my offer, so I gave him two fairly decent swats. Then, I bent over, grabbed my ankes, and THWACK!! Fire hit my backside. WHAT A SWAT! Tom ran away with my paddle, afraid, I guess, that I'd retaliate. I just wanted him to keep on swatting!

On Friday afternoon, when I went back to the pledge room, there were a bunch of actives in the room. They all ganged up on Tom to steal his paddle, and rather than fight for it and probably lose it anyway, he just gave it up. He bent over, facing the fraternity crest, grabbed his ankles, said "To the glory of the frat" before each swat, and seven actives each hauled off and gave him GOOD swats. After the first three or so, he'd grab his ass after each swat. He was really hurting. Then, last of all, I gave him the eighth swat. When he saw me with the paddle, you should have seen the hurt look in his eyes. I had already given him two, and now I was giving him another. I suppose I had left him with the impression that he was safe from me, but I hadn't intended that since he didn't go through with the earlier deal. After it was all over, we should have had him drop his paints like the XXX's did, and show all just how red and black and blue his ass was. Our loss, no doubt.

I've always felt a little bad that I took advantage of him that Friday. So I came up with a payback, though it never happened: I would go to Tom's room the next week, tell him I'm sorry I gave him another swat. "Let's see, you took eight on Friday, didn't you?"

"Sure did."

"Still feel it, don't you?"

"You bet."

"Tell you what. Since I'm such a good guy, I want to find out just what you felt. I never got it during Hell Week, you know. So, you give me eight of your best, just like YOU got. I'm the pledge, you're the active. No strings. Eight swats, guaranteed."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Nope, I'm serious. I never had it like that."

"All right, 'Pledge,' assume the position!"

I do. And WHACK... WHACK... THWACK... THWACK... WHAACKK!... WHAACKK!... THWAACKK!!... THWAACKK!! If Tom's as good as he was last Tuesday, I won't be sitting easy anytime soon. What a set!

I saw Tom a few years later at homecoming, after he had also graduated. He gave me a hug. I wonder, do you suppose he would ever...

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