A Gym Class Paddling


by Paddled Buddy

Charlie and I went to a public junior high school for our ninth grade year. The change in schools created some strain on our friendship. He knew alot of the kids from the neighborhood that attended there; I didn't.

In other words, Charlie had a much wider circle of friends than I had. I have to admit, I was jealous of the guys he was hanging around with -- especially the first time he got a paddling with some of those other guys!

We had been "partners in crime" throughout elementary school. He and I got into trouble together and were proud of the way we took our punishment -- together. Neither one of us, through nine years at the private, fundamentalist christian school, had been paddled without the other.

Then came the day in gym class during the fall of our ninth grade year. Charlie was hanging with the "in crowd" and I was quite the outsider. In gym class was where Charlie could really be macho with the cool guys. And on this particular day, he was the leader of cool -- at least in the minds of the ninth graders in Coach Schmidt's gym class.

It was our class's swim rotation. For six weeks we would swim every day during gym class. At the pool, were many rules: NO Diving! NO HORSE PLAY or ROUGH HOUSING! SHOWER BEFORE SWIMMING! So many rules; so many opportunities to be defiant!

With that typical Charlie style, he was defying all of the rules behind the Coach's back that day. And he definately looked great in his tight, blue, nylon swim trunks as he lead the "cool gang" in acts of defiance! He was playing tag (with the in crowd gang). They were diving and running and ....in walked Coach Schmidt!

"Charlie, Patrick and Gunther!" yelled the Coach in his deep and hostile voice, "Get OUT OF THE POOL NOW!!!!"

I remember watching Charlie get out of the pool. My heart sank. He was gonna get with the other guys!

I watched his firm ass climb out over the edge of the pool. His wet, nylon, bikini-style trunks clung to his well-shaped, about-to-be-paddled ass. He seemed a bit nervous, but I knew he could take it.

Coach told the three of them to stand at the end of the pool and wait for him to return. He told the rest of the class to be seated along the edge of the pool and prepare for a demonstration of what happens to those who break the rules!

The three of them were whispering to eachother and laughing. I watched and grew angry that Charlie had deserted me for these guys!

The Coach returned with a rubber paddle in hand. (The public schools weren't allowed to use wooden paddles). The paddle was black and looked as if it had been cut out of an old tire.

"Bend over and grab your ankles, Charlie. assume the position, NOW!" he commanded! And Charlie did as instructed. He was bent over with his ass facing the rest of the class. His swim suit, still wet, was stretched across his ass very tightly and showed his "assets" quite well.

I watched Coach Schmidt raise that paddle high and bring it down with incredible force -- WHACKKKKKKKKK! And Charlie jerked from the pain and force of the swat. He lost his grip on his ankles, but basically stayed in the bent-over position. I could only imagine what it felt like to take that hard swat with only a thin, wet, nylon swim suit between his ass and the paddle.

"You're getting five! Stay in position!" the Coach said in a firm voice! Charlie took four more swats. He was obviously wracked with pain, but didn't cry and didn't flinch!

"Get up and stand facing the wall!" the Coach said to Charlie.

Charlie stood up with an attitude of : yeah, it hurt, but I can take anything you can dish out!

The class watched the other two take their swats. I watched Charlie standing at the end of the pool, facing the wall. I watched him rub his ass every once-in-a-shile. I knew it must have been stinging like hell! I looked at his freshly-paddled ass and couldn't believe he had taken swats with anyone else!

After all three had been paddled, the Coach yelled the rest of the period about the dangers of horse play around the pool. After his more than 30 minute lecture, he told all of us to go upstairs and get showered and dressed.

In the locker room, the three punished guys were laughing and talking about their punishment. I watched Charlie and the other two enter the shower with their asses as red as a flame. I watched Charlie joke with those other two guys just as he used to do with me after a severe paddling.

Charlie didn't talk to me that day. Or the next few days, for that matter. He was too busy hanging with the cool guys. He was just too cool for me -- his former paddled buddy and partner in crime.


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