My most memorable spanking occured at the age of 15. Some friends and I were skateboarding in Gazebo Park just off 82nd Avenue. It was well after midnight, which meant that our being there was illegal, but that had never stopped us before, and it wasn't going to stop us this time either. We weren't being particularly loud, there was just an occasional clapping accompanied by the phrase "Good one" and the sound of metal and wood on concrete. Then we saw the red and blue lights playing off the walls of nearby buildings.
"_s_h_i_t_," my friend Mike swore out loud. My eyes took a few moments to adjust to the headlights that hit me square in the face. The cop got out of the squad car.
"What are you boys doing out here?" the uniformed officer asked us, his arms folded across his chest. "The park closes at eleven."
"What's it look like?" I replied sarcastically, holding up my sticker covered board. I had always been a smartmouth at that age.
"You're a real wiseass," he answered back. "What would you do if I took you across my knee and smacked your ass until it glowed?" A few of my friends started laughing at that, and even I cracked a grin.
"Yeah RIGHT," I replied sarcastically. "As if!" The cop looked at me, flashing me one of those "you-asked-for-it-and-now-you're-gonna-get-it" kind of looks. I swallowed, not really sure what was going to happen next. And then the cop grinned, just a little bit. Ever get that feeling deep down in your gut? It's that feeling little kids get when mom or dad is looking down at the lamp that just got broken and they know it was you, not one of your brothers or sisters. I knew right then and there that this cop was not kidding. I started to back away.
"Come here, son," he said to me. I took a few more steps back, too frozen to run. My friends watched. It was weird...we were all completely silent for once and it was like we were swimming in Jell-O. It was hard to move. The officer was MUCH quicker than I could have ever expected. In a flash he had my arm and was pulling me over to a large rock not far from where we were standing. He sat down and had me stand in front of him. I began to squirm when he reached for the button on the shorts I was wearing. They were the oversized kind, made of heavy gray cotton with large pockets on both legs. I liked them because they made me look bigger. He unbuttoned my shorts and pulled them to my ankles, leaving me standing there in my boxers and my oversized T-shirt. I tried to squirm out of his grasp, but he knew how to keep me exactly where he wanted me. He hooked his thumbs inside the elastic of my plaid boxers and pulled them to my knees. I shivered as the night air hit my exposed lower body.
"How old are you, son?" he asked me.
"Fifteen," I whispered back. I had expected my friends to have taken off, but they just stood there, staring at my predicament.
"Not a very big boy for fifteen, are you," he noted aloud. I blushed. I had always been slightly small for my age.
"No sir..." I replied, suddenly remembering my manners.
"Well, kiddo, since you look and act like a little punk, maybe I should treat you like one. How does that sound?"
"I'm sorry," I answered. And I was. I would have given almost anything to be at home in bed right then. He looked at my half naked body and looked me right in the eye.
"I think you need some help growing up," he said to me. He began laying me across his lap, and I began pleading.
"Please don't spank me. I'm sorry! Please!" I felt my long T-shirt being raised above my middle back and I knew that my pale buttocks were exposed up in the air. I felt a hand on my backside rubbing it gently, as if he was measuring how strong I was, how many smacks I could handle. The first smack landed right in the middle of my ass, and it hurt. I cried out loud. The next few smacks were a little easier to take after the initial shock of the first one, but after the sixth or seventh smack, the pain was becoming unbearable. I couldn't believe that it hurt so much! I hadn't been spanked since I was ten years old, and I had forgotten what it was like to be punished like that. After number twelve landed on my raised backside, I started to cry. To his credit, the police officer tried to be soothing, if not humiliating.
"Hey kiddo...don't cry...I'm almost finished. Shhhh...it's OK..." I felt my face getting as red as my backside, but out of embarassment. He gave me twenty-five smacks in all, and by the end I was crying so hard I couldn't speak. He rubbed my firey backside gently with his hand, trying to sooth me a little. He carefully stood me up and looked me in the eye.
"Are you gonna be a good boy?" he asked, as if I was five instead of fifteen. I nodded, not wanting to argue with anything he said. He messed up my hair and began pulling up my boxers and shorts over my developing erection. He then gave me one more playful smack on the rear that sent me sprawling towards my friends. I struggled to finish pulling up my pants. He began taking names and phone numbers, looking at our student ID cards.
"I won't call your folks...THIS time," he said. "But try and remember that the park closes at eleven." He watched us leave the park, my walking a little slower because of my warmed backside.
My friends and I were more careful about being in the park after hours from that day forward, but it wasn't the last spanking I ever received from the Constable. Sometimes I would catch his knowing glance from across the parking lot when he was on the day patrol rotation.
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