The following, put into story form, is based on correspondence with and the permission of its author. Both Mac and Peter as well as the man writing are real. I have met them. Cal
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You could even hear it some days if you happened to be strolling by on the street. Actually you could not help but hear it! And if you happened to live next door, as we did, you were forced to hear it some times. Weekends were the worst, but actually you could hear it coming from inside that house or out in that garage almost anytime.
Mac was definitely from the old school and he was not about to "spare the rod and spoil the child." He was a Russian immigrant, a large crusty man, bald as a baby's bottom too, but everyone around town and in the bar called him Mac. He loved his beer and smiled in that cuddly bear kind of a way while usually chewing on some kind of tobacco, but he was always quiet. Old fashioned, old school, traditional for sure, but still he was not such a bad guy those who knew him always said.
Peter, on the other hand, was a shorter, a bit thin, good-looking boyish guy with black wavy hair, too long when I first caught a glimpse of him, but always with a good polite manner to everyone he encountered. He ultimately became just one of those teenage guys around town that everybody knew about and liked though Peter did not interact much with any of us at first. Back then he was real quiet. Still when all was said and done, Peter was just another good looking high school boy with a beautiful smile that he did not show too often.
What was clearly known for sure and early on too was that Mac dealt out firm discipline to his younger charge! Some nights those sounds immediately proceeding a high school boy's tears were clearly those of a paddle or strap landing across a boy's bare ass. No mistake about that at all. And it just was not a slap or two either. The cries and some yells coming from that house could at times go on and on and on. Tears were flowing and no matter what else was happening inside there, a young Peter was being disciplined . . . again.
Talk in some of the bar circles, most with origins from Mac's best drinking buddies (of which he had only a very few), was that Peter was a kid who fell on bad times after being kicked out of his own place on a big farm outside of town by parents who had given up on him. He had tried living on the street and with the Salvation Army offering help too, but the boy was not able to make it. Then Mac had accepted him as simply a teenage boy who needed a place temporarily and some help. But, Mac turned out to be far more old school than anyone would have guessed back then. Mac figured out Peter needed a hand to set him right and that, he was sure, meant his hand as a crack or two across Peter's bare bottom to set him right and going back in the right way! Mac's hand was large and callused from construction work, his black leather belt was long, large, and effective when he pulled it off, but his paddle, slipper and hairbrush were always handy too. Mac knew how to use them.
Then there was the switch you might catch a glimpse of Peter occasionally cutting out behind the garage at the end of their property. On more than one occasion I watched him out there with a pen knife as he somberly stripped the leaves and branches off a switch and hung around near their garage waiting. Mac would ultimately walk out their back door and head toward him. The boy would stand, freeze, and look up, then down, while twirling the switch between his fingers. Mac would take it from him. Then, ultimately, usually with his hand on Peter's tight backside, Mac would nudge him on inside the garage out there. Shortly after that door closed on both of them, Peter could be heard getting yet another lesson.
By that point it was obvious to me. Mac was just an older, more gruff man providing good guidance and discipline to a younger, cute and handsome high school boy in need.
One guy, who knew Mac well and had first picked Peter up outside of town that one day when it was raining hard and Peter was trying to hitch a ride away from here, claimed to have been there when Mac agreed to let Peter stay and had witnessed the first conversation with all three of them in Mac's kitchen.
"How long you think you'll need a place to stay for, son?" Mac was said to have asked while thinking about allowing the kid to stay there out of the rain.
Peter was not exactly good house guest material that first day. He stood there neat the back door in Mac's kitchen with the oversized wet and dirty backpack he had been lugging flopped on the floor by his feet which were surrounded by an increasing puddle from his having been out in the rain for so long while trying to hitch a ride. Standing at about 5'8" and still rather small at only about 130 pounds, the kid's deep black but striking eyes looked almost afraid for some reason then. He was running from something, but he was also filthy at that moment from having been sleeping in a park and on the streets somewhere for several cold and rainy days. His wavy black hair was too long; he looked liked he needed a haircut in addition to everything else. The boy was wearing a wet old denim jacket with an equally wet, dirty white tee shirt visible where the jacket was parted. Then there was the huge black leather belt holding up his pair of over baggy jeans that were even more than just wet and dirty. He wore cowboy boots! Black leather, maybe more like the ones those heavy construction workers sometimes wear but with larger and heavier heels, they completed the image of a kid _c_o_c_k_y with himself but in need of something else for sure.
"Ah, I don't know, Sir; but I'd be grateful for a roof over my head for even a few days while it's raining and I decide what I'm gonna' do, Sir. I was planin' I'd go South but, well, no one was willing to give me a ride though I've been trying for two days and then all this rain! I'm glad to be here if you'd let me stay, please."
With his boyish manner and cute smile, Peter looked like he could have been anyone's son or nephew once he was scrubbed up and those clothes burned. He kept looking down at his toes. He seemed anything but confident standing there and hoping. Maybe he was just shy or maybe it was something else? Who really could tell anything just by looking at a dirty kid who had been out in the rain for a couple of days trying to get out of this town?
"Don't have much to offer but I guess you can stay in the back room a couple of days," Mac seemed to be considering it, "but I won't put up with no trouble," Mac had reportedly said. "No drugs, no drunks allowed and no smoking. I'm a health nut." And Mac was, but he was also as strong as an ox from working outdoor construction. Mac was perfectly serious, but his manner still was too much like a kind, almost teddy bear guy in spite of his gruff look and the roughness about everything in the kitchen around them. Nothing was ever put away in that kitchen or around that house!
"That's fine with me," Peter seemed to brighten up a bit. At least he looked at Mac now and not just down at the floor!
"But I want it clear, boy, that I'm not gonna' have any trouble with you around here. You screw up or cross me and I'll whip your butt. You understand me, boy?"
Peter's face quickly flushed red with surprise and embarrassment, but no one could take Mac completely seriously. No way. The guy seemed too kind with his smile. He had to be just blustering.
"Ah, uh-huh," Peter looked down again now while replying, "I won't cause you no trouble, promise, but I understand."
"Good!" Mac had replied. Mac had always been blunt. "Your dad ever whip you, son?"
"Ah," the boy seemed shocked and even more taken back and surprised at that question but he looked up at Mac. "No, Sir, never."
"Never took down your pants and even spanked you?" Mac pursued it with what seemed a slight sadistic streak.
"No, no, Sir. Never, nothing like that! Never." The boy almost seemed to be squirming now, even quietly indignant, but he answered anyway. Clearly he was uncomfortable. "He was drunk and yelled all the time but he never hit me."
"Really?" Mac had looked at him with disbelief. "Never slapped your ass for you?"
"No, Sir! Never!" the boy was clear.
But Mac was not about to let up. "Well, maybe that's what's wrong, boy, what led you to all this that got you kicked out. You don't know how to behave yourself." Mac had smiled almost too kindly and looked down at him while he spoke firmly but very slowly, "But make no mistake about it, boy, no trouble from you or I will whip you sure. Understand me? You accept my rules here?"
"Ah, you won't have any trouble from me, Sir; but OK. It's your house. I won't give you any grief, promise."
"Deal," Mac had said, "now, get out of these clothes," Mac had begun tugging at his jacket. "They're filthy! Get 'em off right here and I'll toss 'em all in the washer and you go soak in the tub upstairs."
"Here, Sir?" Peter looked surprised. "You want me to take my clothes all off here?" He was dirty and wet but still.
"You heard me, son. Strip 'em off, get out of 'em. Leave 'em here and get up stairs. Take a bath. I'll find you something, bring up something to make do. Yours are wet and filthy. Do it! Ain't nobody here to see you anyway."
"Yes, Sir," Peter had agreed surprisingly quickly while pulling off his jacket, emptying his pockets on the kitchen table. He produced a single steel key, a pocket knife, an white Bic ballpoint pen, and a grand total of 43 cents! Peter dropped his jacket on the floor beside him and pulled off his white tee shirt before sitting on the kitchen chair and taking off his shoes and socks. Peter seemed shy but never mind, he stood up without much hesitation and without looking at Mac undid that thick, black leather belt he was wearing and unbuckled his baggies while dropping them to his ankles. At the same time he pulled down his dirty briefs, bent down and picked them all up in his hands and tossed them all in that same pile on the kitchen floor. Then it was Peter stood up naked though protecting his privates with his hands from any possible glances or scrutiny. Strangely enough, Peter did not seem especially embarrassed now that he was naked. He dropped his hands to his side and stood there naked. Actually he seemed fine. What I was told Peter look good too. Very good! So good, in fact, that that the man who had brought him there wished he had offered the boy a couch at his own house.
"OK," Mac had said. "Now get out of here!"
Quickly the naked boy had bound up the stairs with his _c_o_c_k_ flopping in the wide and his tight white buns on display, we were told. A few moment later the water was heard running in the tub.
Mac was reported to have shaken his head back and forth a few times and grunted a few indecipherable comments to the guy who had found Peter and brought him over, but then he had picked up the pile of dirty clothes and pushed them all into the corner washing machine, adding more than just a normal amount of detergent and some Clorox bleach as well. The boy's tee shirt and briefs were so dirty and torn he tossed them in the garbage can.
No one ever knew what had happened after that, but we all did hear from another guy in town that Mac had been seen with the boy at Wal-Mart that night and had bought him new clothes. Everything! Underwear, socks, tennies, jeans, shirts, everything! Peter's jeans were suddenly tighter, nice and snug ones too. Mac did not care much for trendy baggy fashions. He preferred a boy in Western jeans that showed his buns and basket and made him look good for sure! They were both seen coming out of Wal-Mart after dumping those old clothes Mac had let him wear on the way in into the Salvation Army's Donation Box. It was said the boy seemed happy and was actually smiling and talking by then a mile a minute!
How long after that was it that Peter first got his ass spanked over old Mac's knee?
No one knew though we all speculated in the bar.
It could not have been too long, but I did not become aware of it until a few weeks thereafter when it finally dawned on me that the two the bar folk were talking about lived next door. All I really knew for sure was that Peter was still there two weeks later and Mac was spanking him!
The next gossip to fly around was when we were all completely surprised to learn the boy was back in high school too! I learned it first from my own son in that same school. And, yes, as the semester wore on, the boy seemed to be doing good! Mac, who did not have much education himself, believed in education anyway. Thus it happened that Peter ended up in our local high school, soon after that playing school sports, and, yes, still being spanked too.
As I said, we lived in the next house and could hear it. The paddle and strap do, after all, have a clear sound about them. Peter was definitely still being spanked!
Nevermind about that. Every time we saw them -- my son and I saw them, that is – the boy seemed more than happy though. He was always smiling and talking away with Mac too. The two of them would work together outside in the yard and often could be seen joking around. Some nights they could even be seen tossing a baseball around together! On most weekends Peter worked construction projects with Mac. They seemed almost inseparable when Peter was not in school and genuinely to enjoy each other's company. Even on some of those Saturday afternoons when I could hear Peter getting his ass paddled next door and the boy crying, still a little bit later you might see the two of them leaving the house together or in the Mall and both would be looking fine and joking even when the boy's face showed hints of redness, sometimes even from a fair distance! Regardless, together they both still seemed like almost every other guy and his father out doing things and getting things too, only these two seemed much happier. Actually they always seemed happy and were constantly talking! What had started out as a few night's stay had somehow turned out to be a bit more and apparently somehow by mutual agreement too. Peter was getting his ass spanked. Mac was spanking him.
Peter also was wearing more Western style ranch shirts and tighter jeans that showed he was certainly one of those rare high school boys blessed with it all a good physique, a fine basket, and an especially nice ass that looked real good in those tight jeans too. Mac, it seemed, was spanking it. Peter was taking it, getting it a lot -- and he was staying with Mac anyway.
It was not until that next "semester," they liked to call it, that he and my own son became friends in school. Some nights they did homework together given they lived just next door to us. A simple fence separated us and both of our full acre yards in this more rural area. Peter never spoke of his discipline to my own boy, but there were some evenings when Peter rushed home more than a little concerned about being there before Mac got home. On those occasions Peter never said why? He always seemed a bit edgy but nothing worse than that.
Ultimately Mac and I were introduced at the bar and got to know each other. You could not have met a nicer red-neck guy who was now a neighbor. When Spring came we would pop a beer and sit on the porch talking while the boys worked on school stuff at the dining room table. Mac was earthy but the salt of the earth. He seemed to live in overalls that covered his beer belly and his white Yankee's cap I never saw off his head. He had a red, round nose, short trimmed bear and wire framed spectacles . . . and he was always smiling too. Mac really was like a big teddy bear. Quite a contrast to this smaller, almost tiny, soft looking but cute high school boy with the child-like grin and small boyish features who was living with him.
Then one night on my front porch I saw him smile like Santa Clause and heard him say to Peter, "Time you get your ass home and get the paddle out for me, boy. I'll be over in a minute to tend to you."
Peter, looking nervous and seeming very embarrassed about my son and I sitting there and hearing those words, had quickly folded up his school books and left immediately. He had said nothing and he never looked back toward us either as he rapidly walked straight back to their place across our grass, jumping the fence, while his tiny buns in his own jeans drew your eyes to them. He was so small he must have looked good bare over the much larger man's lap when the kid got a spanking.
Mac had looked over at me then, "Sure," Mac said, "I spank him. Been good for him too, never got it growing up, and besides," he grinned, "I like to slap ass. Beautiful with a guy his age." Mac laughed to himself as he pulled himself up off that chair he was plopped and headed back off across the grass, but around the fence, in pursuit of his boy, Peter. Mac was off to paddle that good looking boy's ass. And, it was very clear, he was looking forward to doing it too.
That occasion broke the ice. After that Mac and I began talking openly about it and lots of things. After all, we were both gay. From then on, Mac was more open about Peter including his spanking him. Peter also was forced to be more open about it with my own son after that night when we watched Peter sent home next door to get the paddle. My son began to relate some of Peter's conversations though, I am sure, not all of them! But I do not mean to imply they went public. No way. Our "conversations" have been kept limited to the four of us now. In this community none of us are really "out."
Mac it seemed had had a long interest, more like fascination, with turning a young man's ass bare up over his big knee and spanking a boy good and long. Mac knew what he was looking for even before Peter had arrived, but regardless before Peter had arrived dirty and wet, Mac had never spanked a boy or even tried, he said. In a dejected and homeless Peter that one day things changed, Mac had all of a sudden stumbled on a more than willing teenage boy who, it turned out, had previously not only dreamed about the same thing happening to him over the knee of a blue color worker, but also a boy who wanted it in a more family context where it could happen anytime. Mac referred to Peter as a "dream come true." Interestingly Peter used similar words in referring to Mac once or twice.
Mac was quick to add another factor – Peter had been heading in the wrong direction with his life and he needed it! Peter was happy to have been taken in and the fact that Mac had made it clear he believe in spanking not only made Peter want to linger more but ultimately resulted in Peter's asking to stay. Mac had taken to spanking the boy and was by then eagerly spanking the boy and slapping his bare ass for him.
Still, it was Peter who wanted it, craved it, and even sometimes sought it over Mac's knees even more. Peter, in short, had blossomed when he finally found a man who loved to bare his ass and spank it for him. Mac was in heaven. Peter loved being pulled over his knees and spanked. He not only loved it, he would do things to insure he got it too!
The results were not too bad either. This runaway street boy from a farm far outside of town had begun to turn into an impressive guy with good grades, good sport's accomplishments, and overall a guy with good goals and ambitions. He may go to high school with his ass rosy under his tight western cut jeans some mornings, but it was his dream and he was finally living it now.
So impressive had Peter become that after some very open conversations with Mac around my own kitchen table, I finally decided to spank my own son again after an absence of many years. That particular night there was a rude awakening in the case of my own boy when all his clothes came off! I too discovered something I had been missing even if my boy would have preferred I had not. It has made a difference in this house too and on my own boy's grades in school! In short, I too discovered a boy's bare bottom is a joy to spank and it also works!
Last night I watched while taking a break from cutting the grass and talking with Mac and Peter when Mac suddenly reached over and grabbed the seat of Peter's jeans and held him there roughly. The boy tensed, looked nervously at Mac and then back and forth between him and me saying nothing until Mac said, "Time we be getting back home. I got me an ass to spank tonight." Peter looked at him with respect, even admiration in his eyes, and simply said, "You're the Boss, Dad." The front of Peter's jeans were growing noticeably fuller when Mac, still holding the boy's ass, guided him back across the lawn to their place. And when I finished the rest of my mowing, the sounds from their house sure sounded like Peter was getting that spanking he needed and wanted too.
Although I have never actually seen Mac spank Peter and I probably never will, I have been present when Mac's taken Peter aside into an other room or upstairs and spanked him. Peter turns on to such phrases from Mac's mouth as "time I spank you," or "go get me the paddle, boy," or "we'll talk when we get home but you're getting a spanking." Mac and I now talk openly about it as do Peter and my own son.
While I always knew some boy's like to be spanked, Peter is the first one I ever met myself.
Regardless, as of this time two boys in their final year of High School are spanked and I suspect there are others as this is conservative, rural, red-neck country. Both Peter and my boy, however, will be graduating this Spring with grades good enough to almost assure them of a scholarship to the state university not too far away. Mac and I have already told the boys we will help them get an apartment near campus, but not too near as it will need to be one where both will still be able to be spanked.
Peter more than craves it. My son, unfortunately, does not.
Too bad.
I've enjoyed our correspondence! Thanks for the coaching!
Tom
PS. One other thing. Peter's lost his long hair and now sports a buzz cut.