Through almost nine years of school, I never once received a paddling. It wasn't that I was such a model student or anything, but I knew how to stay out of trouble.
I made it through six years in grammar school and through nearly three in junior high without getting "swats.'' I sometimes secretly wished that I would get in trouble just so I could see what it was like to be paddled.
Many of my friends had received school paddlings and would talk, almost braggingly, about it. They told of the "sting" that the paddle left on their bottoms for hours afterward. It was almost like a badge of honor to be paddled, and I desperately wanted to earn my stripes.
I had been spanked plenty of times by my father at home, mostly with a belt although it usually was bare-bottom. The spankings I received from him were very painful. Sometimes, they even left bruises. Still, it wasn't the same as getting the board. Just once, I wanted to get a taste of the wood.
Paddling was not allowed at the high school where I grew up, so I knew if I ever hoped to get a paddling I had to get it before I left junior high.
Time was quickly running out. With only a few weeks of school left, I was desperate. I had to do something - anything - that would get me paddled.
It wouldn't be easy since I'd always been a good student. I didn't know how to get in trouble. Even if I did do something wrong, some teachers might overlook the offense and go easy on me since I'd never been in trouble before.
I didn't want to go to all this trouble and only end up with detention. No, I had to do something so bad that it would guarantee a paddling.
Finally, I came up with the perfect plan. I had to do the one thing that teachers hated most and that no teacher would tolerate - I had to be disruptive in class. So disruptive in fact that the teacher would have no choice but to paddle me.
I knew the perfect teacher to put to the test, too. It had to be my math teacher, Mr. Porter. Mr. Porter had a reputation for busting students' bottoms. I knew that he wouldn't tolerate any tomfoolery in his classroom. With my game plan laid out, I set my plan into action.
I had Mr. Porter for first period. As class got under way, Mr. Porter began his usual morning lecture. I started out by talking to my friend while Mr. Porter was explaining a math problem on the blackboard.
Several times, Mr. Porter turned around to tell me to be quiet, but I was undeterred. I was loud, talkative and generally disruptive throughout the lecture. I became the class comedian, telling jokes and making strange noises while Mr. Porter's back was turned.
Finally, after repeated warnings for me to settle down, Mr. Porter had had enough.
"Johnson, I don't know what's gotten into you today, but I'm not going to tolerate that sort of behavior any longer," he said.
Mr. Porter reached into his desk drawer and produced a paddle. I had seen the paddle many times, but never before had I been its intended victim. Suddenly, my eyes became as big as saucers, and my heart started pounding fiercely.
The paddle was 18 inches long and half an inch thick and featured several small holes. It was a enough to put the fear of God into the toughest of boys.
"Johnson, we need to take a little trip down the hall," the teacher said.
This was it! I was about to get my butt paddled. I got up and followed Mr. Porter into the hall.
Mr. Porter was silent as he led me down the hall, but I knew he was furious. My bottom was tingling in anticipation of the paddling.
Mr. Porter paused briefly at Mr. Hanson's door.
"Excuse me Mr. Hanson, could you help me out here for a minute?" Mr. Porter asked, securing the witness needed for my paddling.
Mr. Hanson surprised to see me with Mr. Porter. I had Mr. Hanson for third-period science and never had caused any trouble in the class.
The two teachers proceeded down the hall, leading me into the boy's restroom. They stopped just inside the doorway where Mr. Porter addressed me for the first time since we left his classroom.
"Johnson, even though this is your first offense, don't think that I'm going to take it easy on you," he said. "You have disrupted my class, and I'm going to have to teach you some manners."
I gulped, thinking I might have gone a little too far.
"What do you think, Mr. Hanson?" he continued. "You think about 12 swats is about right?"
"That sounds about right," Mr. Hanson replied.
I couldn't believe it! Twelve swats! I thought I might get two or three licks - four at the most. Just enough to get a feel of the paddle against my backside. But I never dreamed I'd get 12. Suddenly, my anticipation turned to fear. How could I hold up for 12?
"All right Johnson, I want you to bend over and grab your ankles," Mr. Porter instructed. "Look straight ahead and don't move until I have finished."
I took my position and waited for the first swat to fall. I was both excited and petrified.
Mr. Porter took the wind up and planted the first swat solidly on my behind. At first, I didn't feel any pain.
I was surprised. It didn't even sting like I had imagined. I thought "this is going to be easy.''
But then the second swat landed. It landed on nearly the same spot - on the upper leg just under my buttock. This one smarted a little more, and I moaned quietly under my breath.
Mr. Porter spaced the licks a few seconds apart. Just as I was starting to recover from the impact of the second swat, the third, harder lick pelted my upper thigh.
"OH!" I gasped, aloud this time. It really stung this time, and I almost jumped up. Mr. Porter held me in position.
"Hold still," he said, "or I'll have to start over."
Suddenly, the next swat came down hard against my bottom. My backside was beginning to feel very tender at this point. I could feel tears starting to come and I wasn't sure how much more pain I could endure.
Then after the fourth swat, Mr. Porter paused.
"Johnson, what have you got on under those jeans?" he demanded.
Uh oh, I forgot I had my gym shorts on under my clothes! If a teacher even suspected that a student had extra padding on underneath, he was allowed to make the student remove any or all extra layers.
"Well, boy, let's have it," Mr. Porter continued. "Are you wearing extra clothes?"
"Just my gym shorts, sir," I said. "I have P. E. second period so I wear them from home."
"I'm sorry, Johnson, but those jeans are going to have to come down," Mr. Porter said.
"Please sir," I begged him. Actually, I wanted him to pull down my pants, but I couldn't seem too eager.
"Sorry, those are the rules," he said. "Get them down now!"
I unbuttoned the snap on my jeans and then slowly began unzipping my pants. I pushed my trousers down below my knees and started to bend over again.
Mr. Porter stopped me before I got back into position.
"Not yet," he said and he motioned at my gym shorts.
I couldn't believe it! He wanted me to drop my shorts, too. All I had on under them was a jock strap.
"Drop those shorts, too," he ordered.
"But . . ."
"NOW!" he said.
I hooked my fingers in the waistband of the shorts and lowered them.
Both Mr. Porter and Mr. Hanson chuckled when they saw that I wasn't wearing regular underwear, but a jock strap instead.
"This is even better," Mr. Porter said, laughing. "OK, bend over."
I slowly turned around and grabbed my ankles, exposing my bare buttocks.
"Now I really should start over and give you all 12 swats again, but since it's your first time, I'll just give you the remaining eight this way," Mr. Porter said.
I braced myself as he touched the paddle to my exposed skin and then pulled back to give me the next swat. It came down with a loud crashing sound as it hit my right cheek.
"OHHH!" I hollered out in pain. I couldn't believe how much more it hurt without my clothes to soften the blow.
"Quiet," said Mr. Porter, "or we can add on a couple more."
After two more swats, I was crying freely. Mr. Porter delivered each blow to the same spot on my lower buttock. With each remaining swat, the pain intensified significantly.
Each swat echoed through the open hallway. I knew that students in the nearby classrooms could hear each time a swat was given. I had overheard many paddlings from the classroom and had wished that I was on the receiving end of the paddle. Finally, I was getting it and good.
Three more swats and it would be over. But those last three swats were the hardest yet. Mr. Porter seemed to be enjoying giving me a paddling.
"You've made it too long without a paddling," he said. "But now you're getting what you deserve."
With all his might, he swung the paddle.
"OWW!" I screamed out after the 10th swat. I tried to refrain from crying out after the 11th swat for fear Mr. Porter would give me extra licks, but I couldn't hold it in.
"OHH!" I cried again. My buttocks were stinging.
The final swat almost sent me flying across the room. I had to fight to stay in position. Finally, it was over.
"All right, you can pull your pants up," Mr. Porter said.
I jumped up and my hands immediately went to rub my soar bottom. It had never hurt so bad, but it also had never felt so good.