Summer Surprises

by Graham

I felt like I was swirling with emotions as the plane taxied to the terminal: fatigue and exhaustion, nostalgia, apprehension, excitement, sadness, homesickness, and on and on. I had gotten on a plane in Toledo at 3 a. m., and after a layover in Atlanta, had changed to this plane headed to Naples, Florida, scheduled to arrive at 7 a. m.

My parents had told me they would be waiting for me there – at the end of the long corridor that would lead from the exit of the plane to those awaiting the deplaning passengers. It was the first time I had gone home to spend the summer with my parents in almost 9 years. Since I had graduated from college, I had taught math and logic courses, German, and English, and coached soccer, basketball, and track, at a small, private, boys school in Lucas County, Ohio.

At 29, I was still the youngest teacher and coach at the school. In late May, when school ended, it looked like my position was going to be eliminated from the curriculum for the next school year, for budget reasons. If that happened, the football-golf coach, and the baseball-track-tennis coach would have to divide up my coaching duties as well. It was not certain, but I was alerted to the possibility that my position at the school might be eliminated. I was promised that I would be notified for sure some time in July, and I was hoping that they would be able to keep my positions so I could stay.

There was no summer school for me this year. It was the first summer I had not been working and coaching for nearly 9 years. Being out of work for the summer, and unsure of a continued teaching position for the next school year, I decided to make a vacation visit for the summer to my parents who lived in Naples, Florida.

So, I had a last paycheck coming, and with some savings on hand, I called my parents and asked if I could come and spend the summer with them. They seemed surprised, but pleased, and so I subleased my apartment for the rest of the year, and bought a red-eye, one-way plane ticket to Florida.

My Mom and Dad were at the airport to pick me up, greeting me with the love and enthusiasm that parents forever keep for their children. I spotted them waving excitedly to see their 6'1" blond, blue-eyed, slim, young son come walking up the hallway. Then they hugged me and helped me with my luggage. We drove in their car from the airport to their condo near the Gulf beach. On the way home, we chatted about many things, and they asked me about my plans for the summer.

I told them, Well, I kinda hoped to have a real vacation this summer, since its the first one Ive had in 9 years – not counting Christmas breaks. I thought Id play some basketball, work out, run, read a bunch of stuff Ive been wanting to get to -- and take some tennis lessons that Ive never had time to before. Then, if I have to, look for a job in the Naples area – but Im still hoping that Ill be going back to Lucas Academy, after this many years. They said they understood, but the possibility that I might be permanently located nearby seemed to please them very much.

I had only been staying with my parents in their condo for a couple of weeks, when my father asked me why I didnt get a job for the summer while I was there. I was a bit surprised, and replied that I really wanted to relax for a while this summer, since I had been teaching and coaching over summer school programs for the past 7 summers.

But, Kurt, how are you going to spend your time? I mean, theres still a lot of time to fill in. You cant just lay around here all summer. Thats not a good thing for a young man like yourself, and youll soon get under your mothers skin. Dad told me. He didnt include himself, but I knew he meant it too.

Mom and I are really glad to see you, and have you spend the summer with us, but you have to understand that we want you to fit in with our lives, not to disrupt it. Not being up all night, disturbing us, or laying in the bed all day, so we cant do what we go about each day. You understand what Im saying, son?

Ah, Dad, look, I really need some down time. But I wont be a problem. You can count on it. I promise.

Listen, Kurt, we want to respect you and your choices for using your time, but you have to respect our wishes and abide by the rules and conditions of our home while you are living with us. I hope thats clear to you and you understand that you are expected to conform while you live with us. Understand?

There it was, that same, old word conform that Dad had lectured and threatened me with for so many years as a teenager, and even as a college student when I would return to live at my parents house.

What? Oh, ah, sure, Dad, I quickly replied to reassure him and dismiss the subject.

Good, son, Dad answered encouragingly, because Id like for us all to live together as coordinated, responsible adults – but you have to accommodate to us in our home, Kurt. I hope you realize that.

Me, too, Dad, and . . . ah, I do. I hastened to assure him again.

We arrived at my parents condo, and carried all my luggage into the spare bedroom that was to become mine while I was there. I decided to stay up, and spend the day with my folks, and Id be really ready to crash that night, which I did about 9:30 that evening. I slept until 10 the next morning, and was shocked that Id slept more than 12 hours! I showered and shaved, dressed, and had lunch. Then, I began unpacking and putting things away in my bedroom. That night, after supper, I went out for a walk along the beach, and returned about 10 p. m. My folks sat and talked with me for about an hour or more, and then they went to bed. I did too, and awoke at 6 a. m. the next morning.

Despite my verbalized, good intentions though, I slipped into a lazy, relaxing life at my folks condo as the summer unfolded. I was staying up late at night, taking drives or running along the beach, talking to people by instant messages on my notebook computer, playing basketball in a city league and two church leagues, taking tennis lessons twice a week, or reading some of those books I had mentioned to Dad. The condo where my parents had theirs had a pretty well-equipped gym and workout room, which I knew my Dad used frequently. So, I started using it regularly too.

My father asked if he could go to some of my basketball games with me, and I was pleased that he still was interested in me playing sports. So, sometimes he drove me to the games and watched in the stands. My car was still in Ohio, so I borrowed my Moms car when I wanted to go somewhere, like the basketball games, the tennis lessons, or for those late-night jaunts. Then, Id sleep till 10, 11, Noon. Often I was sitting down to eat breakfast when Mom and Dad were finishing lunch. A tension developed as their annoyance and uneasiness with my lazy lifestyle increased.

Sometime in mid-June, I went out about 10 p. m., and didnt return until 4:30 a. m. As I quietly unlocked the door, stepped in, closed and locked it behind me, and began walking towards the hall and the bathroom next to my bedroom. I noticed a low light in the living room, and turned towards it. At that moment, my father stepped out of the room right into my face.

Kurt, where have you been? he demanded in a stage whisper. Look at the time!

I know, Dad, I began. I went over to one of the church league gyms and played basketball until after midnight. Then, some of us drove down to the beach where the little causeway goes out onto Cormorant Key. We sat our there talking, and before I knew it the time had gotten away. Why are you up, though? I questioned.

Thats an easy one, Kurt. If youre ever a Dad youll understand right away. Your sister, whose 3 years younger than you, already understands, since shes got kids of her own. You never stop being a parent, Kurt.

I guess I understand, Dad, but thats silly – you sitting up waiting for me. After all, Im . . .

Actually, its ridiculous, and wrong, that you should put your parents out like this with your irresponsible and immature behavior. We should be able to rest at night knowing that, while youre living with us, youre safe and secure here during the night, instead of wondering and worrying about you. That really isnt too much to ask, Kurt.

Right away I felt really crummy. Im sorry, Dad, I conceded right away. I just didnt think about it. Besides feeling worn out, I was embarrassed to be put on the spot, on the defensive, by my father.

Ill tell you that you have no business being out on Cormorant Key – especially at night. There he was again – the super-boss-father, trying to order and restrict my actions. Did you even know when the tides were, Kurt?

No, I mumbled.

Well, there have been several criminal incidents, including a homicide, discovered on that key in the last year. And people have been trapped in the trees on the key when the tide comes in, because it is such a low key. One guy drowned. See what I mean? he asked.

Really? I asked the question with surprise. I had no idea of any of this.

Thats right, son. Thats why Id recommend against going there – even in the day, and even knowing the tides. But at night, and not knowing the tides? Thats crazy. You need to be smarter and more careful than that, Kurt. In any event, while youre living here, I dont want you going to Cormorant Key – period. Day or night. Got it?!

Oh, Dad, you are really overdoing it with worrying about me, I complained.

Maybe. Thats for me to decide, however, and you to comply. Got it?! There were those same stock words again.

All right, sure, Dad. I grudgingly gave him what he wanted to hear.

Okay, Kurt. Lets not wake your mother. Get to bed, and well discuss this more in the morning. We both need some sleep now.

Okay, Dad. I gladly grabbed for his offer to postpone addressing the situation. He turned and went off to bed, and I headed for a quick shower, after which I pulled on clean sleep shorts and crawled into bed for long-overdue sleep.

The next morning, at 10 a. m., Dad was in my room calling me to get up. I could scarcely hear him or concentrate on what he was saying, I was so tired. Eventually, I scraped myself out of bed by 10:30, and headed down to the bathroom. A quick shower and shave took about 8 minutes, and I was back in my room pulling on a t-shirt and some khaki shorts, and my sandals. I hurriedly pulled the sheet and spread up to make my bed, and came out to the kitchen where my father was sitting, waiting. I poured a quick bowl of cereal, a cup of coffee, and sat down with him to gobble down my late breakfast.

Kurt, this has got to stop – this going and staying out late into the early morning hours. Your mother and I do not want to be awake during the night, wondering and worrying about you. There was that same demeaning talk and thinking, like I was a little kid.

You may still think that is silly, and treating you like a little kid, – he must have anticipated my thinking, – but it isnt. You arent a parent yet, and this is not your house – its ours. We want to be able to sleep restful and easy at night, knowing that you are either safely here in our home where youre living, or that youre out living in and establishing your own home.

He kept on lecturing without letting me have a chance to swallow my breakfast and speak up. Youre our son, and youre always welcome to live with us in our home. But while you do, you have to live by our rules and our conditions. We had this conversation a few weeks ago, and you told me I could expect your compliance. But so far, we havent seen it.

I looked down, conscience-stricken. So, . . . were laying down the law, Kurt.

Oh, no. Not this again. It was like I was 16 all over again.

You are to be home – in the house – by 1 a. m. No exceptions that havent been cleared ahead of time. You dont have to get our permission to go places and do things, but you do have to let us know where youre going to be, so we can locate you and get hold of you if we were to need to. No more late-night computer access. We need our telephone lines clear in case of emergencies, and you need to be in bed, so you can get up in the morning.

But, Dad, . . . I reacted.

But nothing, Kurt! Dad cut me off. Just your butt, – if you dont comply, young man! You are to be up each morning by 8. You are to clean the guest bathroom weekly, so Mom doesnt have it to do. Mom says she doesnt mind still doing your laundry, but its time you began acting like the 29 year-old man you claim you are. Well allow you your down time, but by August you are to have a teaching job somewhere. So, you also need to use your down time to find yourself a position somewhere – whether here, or in Ohio.

I guess my eyes and the look on my face reflected some of my surprise, because Dad went on emphatically.

And dont say youre going to obey these rules – and then not do it. I am in no mood to put up with your hollow promises and wanting performance any more. Were not asking you, Kurt. Were telling you how it has to be if you are to remain here with us, and live here. Youve got to accept and abide by these conditions – or else.

I was somewhat dumbfounded, at 29, to have my father laying down these strict rules for me. Who did he think he was telling to accept it or else? I tried to think of a way to avoid them, but I knew that my conduct over the past month left me no negotiating room.

Sheepishly, I looked up at him, now standing over me at the table. Okay, Dad, I muttered. I guess I messed things up. Im sorry. Ill do better. Ill obey. Youll see.

At this point, Kurt, you better. Theres no exceptions – no slack anymore. Understand?

Yes, sir, Dad. I hastened to tell him what he wanted to hear, and what I needed to reassure him.

After that, he and Mom left to go out for awhile, and I got busy and cleaned the bathroom, and took Moms car out and got it washed and cleaned. When they came back, it was mid-afternoon, and I had gone down to the pool at the condo with a book to sit and read.

Around 6 p. m., I came back up to find my mother fixing supper. We sat down about 7 p. m. to eat. I helped Mom clean up the kitchen afterwards, while Dad looked over the newspaper and watched the evening news. About 10 p. m., I laced on a pair of running shoes, and left to run the beach. I made sure I was back in a little over 2 hours, but before 1 a. m.

By 1 a. m., I had pulled on my sleep boxers, slid into bed, and turned out the light. It was almost weird to be going to bed this early after so long. But the next morning, at 7:30, I was awakened to the sound of my fathers razor in the bathroom. I pushed myself to get up and out of bed.

I had a tennis lesson at 11 that morning, and took Moms car to it. Afterwards, I met some guys from one of the church-league basketball teams at Checkers for lunch. We hung out there for a couple of hours, and by 2:30 I was back at my parents condo. That night, I left at 8 to play basketball, but came back home by 12:30 -- within the 1 a. m. curfew that Dad had set. After a shower, I dressed for bed, and stretched out to read for a short while, until I shut off the light before my eyes shut.

Things improved and proceeded along my busy schedule of vacationing, and within Dads rules, for the next 3 weeks. Then, on a Thursday night, the first week in July, I left my parents condo about 8 p. m. for a basketball game at the Methodist church gym. Besides the basketball shorts and shoes, and t-shirt, I wore, I took along a pair of running shorts and another t-shirt, intending to run on the beach after the games were over, if there was time. I drove Moms car to the gym.

We got started late and finished our game about 10:15 p. m. I played shooting guard, had several good baskets and a bunch of rebounds, and we won. I started to walk out to Moms car when several of the guys called out, Hey, Kurt. Where are you going? Are you doing anything?

Turning to look at them, I replied, Yeah, Im going to drive over to the beach and run awhile. I brought my running gear to change into in the car.

Greg, one of the guys on the basketball team said, Well, some of us guys are going to go over to Cormorant Key, cookout some barbecue and down a few cold brews. How about it? Come on along, and you can get your running in on the key. Its 3 miles around. Then, when you finish, you can join us for whatever is left. He laughed.

I debated with myself. I hadnt been back to Cormorant Key since Dad had told me about it, and told me to stay away from it, and Id promised him. Besides, I just needed to get my running in and get home before I risked being late. But it did sound like fun, if I could squeeze everything in.

It sounds like fun, but I need to get moving so I can get the running in and get back. Why dont I just drive on over right away, start running, and meet you guys back on the beach when Im done. I should take me less than an hour and a half to circuit the key three times.

Three times?! Man, youre a jock, Kurt! But, okay. Catch you there, man. Later, they called to me. I hurried to Moms car and drove at once to the low, narrow causeway, crossed over to the key, and parked the car on the beach. Then, speedily changing clothes, I put my bag with basketball gear in the trunk, but left the windows down for the car to air out with the cool Gulf breeze. It was almost 10:35 when I picked up my first pace for a 9-mile run.

A little before midnight, I was back to the beach where the guys were sitting around a campfire, with barbecue cooking, and cold beers circulating. I came bounding up, dripping sweat, and somebody shoved a cold bottle in my hand. Leaning my head back, I swallowed large gulps down. It was refreshing and tasted wonderful after so much hard exercise. I dropped down on the sand by the fire, and began eating, talking, and rapidly emptying several more cold beers.

The next thing I knew, I was lying out cold on my left side in the sand. In what seemed like seconds, I awakened to find several guys kneeling around me, bending over me, surrounding me, trying to revive my consciousness, as I lay stretched out on the sand. Groggy, I looked up and around at them with unfamiliarity, then shook my head to recapture my senses. When I started to sit up, to stand up, several arms pushed my shoulders and chest, keeping me held down on the beach, as some of the guys admonished me, Woaaah, buddy. You gave us all a surprise, there. Just lay flat until youre sure you can get up. Take it easy. Are you okay? Dont stand up yet.

Okay, guys, I resignedly replied. After a few minutes of lying stretched out, with everybody staring at me, I wanted to get up. So, I began to sit up. Im Ok, guys. I can get up now – really.

Here, lets get you up slowly. The number of hands and arms that had kept me lying still, now hoisted me up onto my feet. I was a bit unsteady, teetering for a minute, as they held me up while I tried to regain my consciousness and composure.

What happened? I asked urgently.

I dunno, Greg, said. You were sitting there eating, drinking, talking, . . . , and the next thing I knew you were out cold lying on the sand. Are you sure youre okay, man?

Yeah, I think so. I replied. I guess I just downed those beers too fast, after playing b-ball and running 9 miles. I think Ill be okay, though.

You sure? You look kind of pale, man. Maybe one of us should drive you home. Youre sure not in any condition to drive home, Greg, said. Wherere the keys to your car, buddy? he asked.

Home?! I exclaimed, looking at my watch for the first time. It was 2:10 a. m. Oh, nooooo, I groaned to myself.

Yeah, home. Your folks condo – remember?

Oh, ah, . . . yeah, . . . that, I stumbled.

Thats it, man. Danny here will drive you home in your car, and well follow him. Then we can pick him up and take him home like we were going to anyway. Hey, Danny!

I didnt want any more fuss over me, so I protested. No, Im fine. I can drive myself home – really. I tried to step quickly away towards Moms car, when I lost my balance, and fell into the sand. I felt really foolish. Several guys ran over and instantly had me scooped up off the beach.

Right, Kurt. The way you fell down and lost consciousness, cause youre so clear-headed. Give me the keys, man.

No, guys. Im okay, really. I just drank those beers too fast, thats all.

Ok, man, were not gonna argue with you. But were not gonna let you drive yourself either. Then, putting my arms over their necks and shoulders, they walked me to the car, and put me in the passenger side. The guy named Danny asked me again for the keys, and I told him they were under the mat. He found them, turned over the engine, and we drove off with the others following behind.

He asked directions, and I guided him to my parents condo, and to the space where my Mom parked her car. By that time, my senses, though weary, had returned. I climbed out, took back the keys, locked the car, and thanked the guys. They reminded me of another game, with a different league that coming evening. I watched them drive off, then headed up to my parents place.

It was almost 3 a. m. when I tried to unlock the door and step in quietly. The door was quickly pulled open before me, and my father was looking angrily in my face.

Get in here, now, Kurt, he barked in a hushed voice.

Automatically, I stepped back instead of forward. Oh, hi, Dad. How come youre up? I was trying to be real quiet . . .

Dad stepped forward, and reached out and grasped my left arm and the back of my neck, dragging me forward, through the door. Dont start that stuff again, Kurt. I said, get in here, Dad instructed. I followed his tug without resistance. He closed the door and locked it silently. Then he swung around behind me, his hands still clasping my arm and neck, and walked me down the hall to my room. It really ticked me off to have my father forcing me down the hall and into my room, but at that hour I wasnt about to voice an objection. We both entered the bedroom, and he closed the door behind us.

Where have you been?! You look terrible – like a derelict. And you reek of sweat and beer. Whats been going on?! he demanded.

I was tired, grubby, sweaty, thirsty, and sandy, and really in no mood to be hassled about my whereabouts. I went out playing basketball, and then running on the beach, I replied tersely.

That was 6 ½ hours ago, Kurt! What have you been doing until this hour of the morning?! he demanded again.

Really, nothing, Dad. I replied. I determined not to let him know Id gone back to Cormorant Key. So, I changed the story. After basketball, I met some guys from the community college at the beach, and ran with them. Afterwards, we sat down on the beach and talked for a while, and that turned into a lot longer than anybody thought. Next thing I knew, it was after 2. So, I came home.

Cmon, Kurt. Most of those guys are a lot younger than you are, and youre acting just like them – irresponsible, inconsiderate, unbridled lack of self-discipline.

Dad, . . . I began, but he interrupted me.

Be quiet, Kurt. Youve been here almost a month and a half, and Mom and I have seen nothing but a decline into irresponsible immaturity from you. You dont work; you dont contribute anything to your keep; you depend on us to facilitate you; and youre undependable and inconsiderate of your parents. You may be an adult, but you sure havent been acting like one. Instead, you act more like a spoiled, adolescent brat. Now, thats no way to behave. And its not allowed with us – as you should well know. I thought we had a meeting of the minds when we gave you the ultimatum.

I was irked by my fathers lecturing me like a child, and crestfallen that he looked at me in this way. So, I decided to defuse the situation by conceding my misdeeds, and pledging to reform. Ah, . . . I guess youre right, Dad. Im really sorry. I dont know what got into me. I know I should do better. And I will. I promise.

Well, Kurt, we were basically at this point a just a few weeks ago, and before that, a few weeks earlier still. And you promised, both times, to conform to our conditions, and not to be a problem. Remember?

I remembered. There was that lecture about conforming again. Yes, Dad, I remember, I acknowledged.

Well, its late, – or, really too early. Both you and I need some rest. So, we will deal with this in the morning. But there are limits and rules for you while youre living with us – and consequences for disregarding them, young man.

Aw, Dad . . . I began.

Aw, nothing, Kurt. Hush up. Well finish this in the morning. Get to bed for a few hours – and I dont mean till noon. Im getting you up when I get up. Good night. With that said, he got up, opened the door, walked out, and closed it behind him.

I was so bone tired that I didnt even take the time to shower off the dried dirt, sweat, and sand. Instead, I stripped off my nylon running swim shorts, and slid naked and dirty into the bed. In minutes I was sound asleep.

About 10:30 a. m., Dad walked back into my bedroom. He reached down tosseling my head, as I lay face into the pillow, spread out on my stomach. Okay, Kurt, up and atem, boy! he called. I groaned at the first sound of his voice. Cmon, buddy! Revelie! he barked. Rubbing the back of my head and my face deeper into the pillow, he just stood there, next to the bed. I realized he wasnt going to leave. So, grunting, I began to turn and slide out of bed. I had almost slid out with my feet touching the floor when I realized I had gone to bed naked.

Ah, Dad, . . . ah, I dont have anything on. Let me get up and put a robe on, and then Ill get ready for the day. I explained.

Okay, Kurt, Dad responded, but you dont have anything different today than weve seen in many of the past 29 years -- whether powdering or paddling!

Daaaad! I exclaimed. He just walked out laughing. Instead of finishing getting out of bed, though, I curled back up under the sheet, collapsed back down into my pillow, and resumed sleeping immediately.

Kurt! Kurt! Are you up? Come on out here, we need to talk – now! Through my fatigue-foggy brain I heard my father calling, but I fell back to sleep.

The next thing I knew, the blanket and sheet were ripped off me. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

AIEEEYOWWW! I screamed – shocked awake by the burning sting of a hard wooden surface against my exposed backside. Instantly, I was up on my knees, my butt towards the sheet, with my hands shooting back to try to soothe and protect it. My head shot around to look over my left shoulder. I could see my fathers angry face, as he held the same old, wooden hairbrush in his hand that I recalled from years ago. He shoved my upper back and head down flat onto the mattress and into the pillow, and delivered a series of more smacks to my exposed rearend.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Oooooaaayow! Yaieow! Ouch! Ouchaa! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Oweeeeeee!

I rolled on the bed, over towards the wall, trying to get away from his grip and the brush. Dad walked right up to my bed and sat down on it, trapping me between him and the wall. I was embarrassed to be lying there naked, with my butt to the wall; but trying to avoid further discipline, I clasped my hands on my sizzling behind, rather than in front.

Dad twisted around on the bed, and grabbed my arms, pulling them away from my burned butt. As he did so, he began to drag me away from the wall, across the bed. He lifted me up, off the mattress, hauling me across his lap. His strong left arm circled my waist, locking me into his hold across his knees, pushing down on my back. Then he swiftly juggled me further across his knees, sliding my head, shoulders, and arms down towards the floor, and lifting my bare bottom up at an angle aimed for spanking.

With the realization of what was happening sinking in, I gasped, grunted, and shouted, demanding, "WAA-AA-AIT! Ah-nooooaa-ahrrghaa-noooo! Dad! What are you DOING?!"

His answer was to pick up the hairbrush and begin raining a volley of 25 or more spanks against my behind. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! . . .

I couldnt believe this was happening. I was outraged, and already experiencing unbelievable discomfort from the battery of blows administered to my overturned, exposed backside.

Uhnnn! Uhmmmah! Nnnhaaaa! Whaughaaaaa! I was grunting and snorting heavy breaths from the smoldering smacks to my bare behind. Wha-aat dya think-ah yourre DOING, Dad?!" I shouted. "You can't DO this! Uhmmmnnn! Haughunnnnaah! I'm not some KID, you know! Who did my father think I was, and what did he think he was doing?!

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

He kept on punishing my bare bottom and thighs with that hairbrush. The pain was incredible. Later Dad said he had never intended to do something like this to his adult son, but the daily and weekly sight of me, acting lazy, immature, irresponsible, disobedient, defiant, had given him an ever growing determination to teach me – to make it clear – who was the boss while I was living with my parents.

I erupted. "Dad! Ummmmph! Cut it out right now! You can't do this! Uhnnaah! I'm too old for this! I'm a grown man–uhnah-29! Stop it! Stop it! Right now-aaaaaah! You caaaant-aaa-owww! Ow! Uh! DO this! Aaaa-ah-ow! Stop it! Stop it! Uaanaaah! STAAAHP IT!" I stormed my orders at him.

"You think I can't, Kurt? Just watch me, young man." Then he struck swiftly, fifteen more times.

"Waaaa-augh-aaait a minute! Ooo-ah-oww! Agh-ah! Uhnaaa-umhaaa! Waaaa-uh-aaaaaait!" I gasped. My behind was heating up real fast and real hot!

Without uttering another word, he loosed 30 more swats to my reddened behind with machine-gun rapidity. For this to be happening, and my father paying no attention to what I said, incensed me. Besides that, I was shocked and gasping from the affront to my pride and the mounting fire on my backside.

"Aughummm! Listen, Dad! Oooaauhnnnn! I'm 29 years old! Ow-ah! Aaaa! Im too OLD for this! Oooooo-aaaaaah! Aaah! Ow! Aaa-haaa-ow! Dad! Cant you think of something else to do? Ooooo-aaa-owwww! Dad! Not this! Ahummaaa-ow! No! Ow! Daaad! For-aaaaaah! crying out loud-aaaah! Dad! Aunghaannnaaa! I'm 29-uh! Ow! Aaaaaaaah! Ow! Ow! Ooooooooo-aaaaoo-ow! Oooo-aaa-yow! Ow! You caaaaaant DO THIS! Oooooo-aaaaaa-ow! Ow! Aaah-ow! Aaaa-oooooo-aieeeyowwww!!"

Unrelenting, he escalated the punishment to my rearend. Another 36, rapid-fire whacks seared my inflamed bottom. I was squirming and wriggling, trying to get away from that hard, powerful, flat, wooden hairbrush that was crashing down against my behind – trying to get off his knees, to run for all I was worth. In my hysteria combined with outrage, my strength seemed t o redouble. I fought furiously, violently, against the vice-like lock, and the machine-like licking that I was caught in – wildly twisting and writhing, wriggling and bouncing, thrusting and bucking, kicking and flailing! All to no avail. It was futile.

I had never experienced – or even imagined – such a thing happening in all my adult years. I was an athlete and coach, 6'1", 170 lbs, in excellent physical condition, and I considered myself a strong man; but this was more than I had ever anticipated. At 51, my father was in overpowering condition – 6'3" and 260 lbs. He had sold his business and retired the previous year, and had only increased his conditioning by working out every day. He was incredibly strong and in shape! I was no match for him.

You may as well stop fighting, Kurt, Dad admonished. I dashed my right arm and hand up to try to protect my flaming behind! Releasing his clamp on my waist, Dad grabbed my right hand and arm, and jerked them up, pushing up against the small of my back. Wresting my arm against my back, produced new pain that quickly, if momentarily, settled me down, while the spanking went on.

WHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK!

"For a month-and-a-half now, Kurt, youve been looking and acting like a 29 year-old brat whos needed his backside tanned a long time ago! We'll see now who ends up crying out loud, young man." With that he resumed the rapid-fire swats to the seat of my butt and thighs. At this point, my arm was wrenched painfully up between my shoulder blades, and my bottom was aflame and really hurting. I needed to find a way out of this, to get this stopped, before I could no longer hold on and hold back.

"This is the end, young man. No more of this wild, irresponsible behavior, up at all hours during the nighttime, coming in at all hours, not listening, not obeying, lying around the house and in the bed during the day! If you do, this is what youll be getting! Understand?

Another 15 whacks against my blazing rearend reinforced his words! Okay, okay. I'd concede my mistake, and try to get him to cut this short and let me go.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"Okay! Okaay, Dad! Aaaaah-uh! Uh! Okaaay! Uh-aa-ow! OKAAAAAAY! Uh! Uh! N-no, sir, OW! Uh! Uh! I meeeen-uh-uh-uh! Yeeoww! Uh-uh-yes, sir-uh! Dad!" I shouted my answer. I g-guess you're right, uhh! Dad! Uh!" I gasped, my voice almost breaking and revealing me to be at the edge."

Without a halt or hesitation, he kept on bombarding my bottom and upper thighs with that hairbrush. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"You won't have to guess, Kurt!

WHACKWHACKWHACK!

Youll know, . . .

WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK!

without a doubt!

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Every time . . ."

WHACK! WHACK!

"you go to sit down,"

WHACK! WHACK!

"stand up"

WHACK! WHACK!

"walk"

WHACK!

"and bend over"

WHACK! WHACK!

"you're going to remember this"

WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK!!

and remember who – and what – is right!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Thats for sure!

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Oaaaaaaah! Unnnnnoooooo! Whewhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Here I was, a big, 29 year-old man, teacher, coach, being spanked and bouncing around on my strong father's lap like a 10 year-old. My bare feet were in the air more than they touched the floor or the bed, and my butt was smoking as Dad stoked the mounting inferno on my unprotected bottom. I was desperate, frantic, kicking and bucking involuntarily, trying anything and anyway to avoid the blazing barrage.

My butt was angry red, and hot to touch. I jumped and jumped in Dads secure grip each time a smack blistered my behind more. I yelled and wailed, heaving and shaking, coughing and gagging through my strangling sobs. My sense of shame, embarrassment, and disgrace were pushed to the background by the mounting intensity of affliction to my bottom from the fiery torch that was singeing me over and over. I was a captive, powerless in the jaws of an unceasing spanker who was my father.

Many more, faster and harder, smacks with that brush brought me to the threshold of my humiliation point. I felt tears begin to gather in my eyes. My sighs, grunts, and moans had become shouts and shrieks, and were becoming louder, just short of breaking down to bawling and sobbing. Abandoning my pride, I began begging, promising, pleading.

"Ahhh! Look, Dad! Ouch! Ouch! Listen, Dad! Ouch! Ah! I'm sorry. Oooooo-ow! Oooooo-oww! I'm sorry! Aah-aah-aah-aah-aaaaah! I-uh! know-uh! W-what you mean! Aaaaa-yaaa! Oooooo-aaaa-yoww! Please! Please! Uh-uh-aaah! I've learned-uh! Aah! Uh-lesson! Aaaaaaah-ooooo-aah! Nooo-ah-STOP! I'll-ah! N-never-ah! Uh-ooeeoweeyoweeyow! Nah-never!! Aaaaeeeyoww! D-do it again! Oooooooo-aaah-owww!! Puh-leeeez! Uh-nooOOOO! Uh! I PROMISE! Oooooooo-ah! Puh-pleeez! Uh! Uh! I PROMISE! Uh! I PROMISE! Aieeyaaah! Uh-huh-uh-yaaaaah! I SAID! Aieeeyaaowww! Uh! ISAID-uh! I PROMISE! Ooooeeyoweeyoww! Yeeeowww! Oww! Oww! Ooooaaaa! Uh-augh-uh! Yoww! Aigughaaa! Eeeeeyow! Ooooo-uh! Uh! N-noooaaa! St-op! Nnngh-uh! Puh-leez! Ooo-stopspanking-uh-uh! Meeeee! Uh-uh-uh! O-pleeeez! Ilbegood! Ilbegood! Ilbegoooooood! Ah-uh! N-never! Uh! Uh! Aieeyaughaaa! Oooooo-uh! Uh! Neverrrrr! Aa-uh-uh! gain! Ooooo-uh! Pleezaaah! Nnnnghaaa! Uh-augh-uh-uh! Rrrghaugh!! Uh-uh! Uh! Oooo-augh! Aah! Uh-uh-oooooo! I SAID-uh-uh-uh! N-NEVER! Ooo! Oooo-puh-leeez! Augh-uh! I Promisssss . . . ooooo-uh! Promissss! Aaaaa-yaa! Oweeeyoweeyoww!!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"Stop! Stop! Augh-uh-uh! Ow! Uh! You-uh-uh! were RIGHT! Aieeeyow-uh-uh! STOPIT! STOPIT! STOPIT! Ooo-aaaaa-uh-uh! Aaeee-yow! Stop SPANKING! Uh-uh-uh! Stop! Uh! Stop! Uh-Spaaa-augh! KEEENG-ghaaa!! Ooooo-aah-yow! Ah-uh-uh-uh-uh! N-n-n-noooooo! Uh-uh-nuh-noooo-uh-MOOOOR-uh! Oooaugh-uh-sp-spaaank-uh! EEEENgaugh! Nnnnnn-nuh-uh-ooooo-uh! Nooooo! Uh! uh! uh!" I hollered.

Dad was not misled or moved by my frenzied thrashing or vows. He unleashed another series of smacks, making the brush dance all over my buttocks and thighs. How could my father go on – seemingly forever – igniting my behind with this unending onslaught?! But he did. I howled and screamed through my snarled sobbing, kicking and writhing, bouncing and bucking.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Just at the moment that I realized I was not going to be able to bargain or talk my way out of this, the pain that was torching my backside and jolting my brain pushed me over the edge. I was broken – plummeting down from the plane of an over-confident, 29 year-old, to a wailing, little, bad boy who was being carted to the woodshed for his misbehavior.

I couldn't help it, couldnt hold back, couldnt fight it off any longer. My blazing bottom was afire, the agony tormenting me to capitulate – and I did. I jumped and squirmed, then stiffened, tensed, arched, and finally collapsed, succumbing to the tears that were welling up from deep within me and pouring out of my eyes. I crumbled into howling, bawling sobs, heaving, choking and gasping, kicking my feet, as I hung over Dad's lap, and he continued pummeling my behind.

"Ah-uh-augh! aughaaa! Ooooo-yaugh! Stopit! STOPIT! STOPIT! Ooooo-aaaaa-YOWW!! Grrrnghaaa! Haugh-augh! Uh-uh! Oooooo-uh-uh! Aaaa-uh! Uh! No, Dad! Noooooooo! PLEASE!! I shouted my pleas.

Noooooaaaa! Oooooaaah-puh-LEEEZ! Aaaaaw-uh! Uh! Uh-aww! Waaaaaa! Waaaaaa! Ooooeeeyow! Aaa-uh-huh! Augh! Nnnghaaa! Uh! Uh! Oooaaa! Augh! Nnnghaaa! Oooo-uh-uh! Ooooo-uh! Uh! Yaaannng-augh! Ow-ow-ow-OWW! Owee-owee-owee-OWW! Ooooo-uh! Oooooo! Aw-aw-uh! Aw-uh-uh-waaa! Waaah! Uh! Uh! Waaaa-aaa-uh! Waaaaa! Uh! Awwww-uh-waaa! Aw-aw-unn-uh! Uh! Aaaa-uh-waaaaaa! Uh! Waaaaa-naughaa-waaa!

Still the spanking continued. Astonishingly, my Dad showed no sign of tiring or slowing down! He trounced my branded bottom with at least 50 more whacks.

I have no memory of when he stopped. After a while I realized that I was wailing and choking, still dangling over his knees, but he had finished my spanking. He let me hang there for a while, before he reached over and pulled me up off his lap like a rag doll.

My face was steeped in red, drenched in tears, sweat, and mucous. With reddened, flowing eyes and disheveled hair, I was immediately jumping up and down, my hands plastered on my throbbing, flaming, thrashed rearend. I felt so belittled. But my legs were too quivering and faltering to hold me up. I fell forward on my face, releasing my hands just in time to break my fall. My bottom felt like it was smoldering against the cool air conditioning. I was a mess as I sobbed on.

My father reached down, pulled me back up onto my feet, and with a wrench-like grip around the back of my neck, marched me out of my bedroom, down the hall, and into the bathroom. My head was down, and I continued crying and weeping.

Get showered and cleaned up, Kurt. Once youre dressed, I want to see you back in the kitchen. And be quick about it – dont delay! Im not in a mood to put up with anymore of your insubordination, or well have a second session today! Understand what Im saying, young man?!

Dad, the CEO, was in charge – and I knew it. Ggghyesss, I answered. Gently, I stepped into the shower, turned it on, and let the cascading water wash away my sweat, dirt, salty grime, and still-streaming tears. Turning around was anguish as the water seemed to tear open my raw, red bottom. I shaved in the shower mirror, then turned off the water, dried, and stepped out with the towel carefully wrapped around my tender, aching behind. I brushed my teeth, then walked woodenly down to my bedroom.

Dads prediction had been right. Pulling on my boxers, and some light, running shorts, hurt so bad that I started whimpering and weeping silently. Stretching to pull over a t-shirt was also painful. Bending over to put on socks and basketball shoes was excruciating agony to my behind. I quickly combed my hair, straightened up my bed, and hobbled out to the kitchen, where Dad was sitting, waiting.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, took a soup bowl from the cupboard and placed it on the counter. Limping past my father, I reached into the pantry for a box of Special K cereal, which I poured into the bowl back at the counter. I poured milk on the cereal, orange juice into a glass, and standing all the while, ate my breakfast, drank the juice, and poured myself a second cup of coffee. I couldn't bring myself to speak to my father.

Finally, Dad broke the tense silence. I never, ever thought I would have to do that again, Kurt! he admonished.

Why the hell did you, then?! I almost shot back, but kept just the thought.

But your actions brought it on you. The way youve been behaving sure earned it, – it was past due – young man.

I-uh-uh-Dad. Uh-uh! Im-uh! sorreeeeaah-augh-uh! Uh! Awaaa! Uh-uh! Awaaa-uh! Ahwaaaaaaa! I began bawling again.

Now we should understand each other, young man. While youre living with us, obey our rules, and we get along as adults. Disobey, and you know whats coming – what to expect.

Uh! Uh! Imaaaah-uh-uh! sorry, Dad! I wont, er, I mean I will, or I wont. I was sobbing so heavily again, and my butt was so sore, I didnt know what I was saying. I mean – you know – Ill do what you tell me! Uh-uh! Ill-uh-doooo-uh-uh! what you-uh! saaaay! Uh! Uh! Waaaa! Huh-uh-uh! Waaaaa! Uh! Uh! I was sobbing plentiful tears again.

Dad got up and walked over to me, gently rotated me towards him, then collected me into his chest, wrapping and holding me in his arms as I wept over his shoulder, patting the back of my head. At the same time, though, he was firm in his warning.

This should have been totally unnecessary, Kurt. But dont make the mistake of thinking it cant, and wont, happen again. If I see youre noncompliant, and defying what weve told you, you know what to expect! Understand?

Yessssss-uh-uh-sir! I wailed. Once again, my father waited for me to regather my composure. Then releasing me, he asked, Do you have another basketball game tonight, Kurt?

Uh! Uh! Aaagh . . . yeah, Dad. Uh! . . . at 9:30.

Okay, well, I think Ill go with you tonight. I think Id like to see my son play some basketball again. And we can be sure that you get back home plenty early too.

What could I say? He was telling me that he was going with me, and would be bringing me back afterwards.

Sitting down was something I dearly needed to avoid, so I changed into a baggy pair of swim trunks (to cover my red-battered upper thighs), and went down to the pool to swim laps. The water was not very cool, but it was still soothing to my throbbing behind. When I returned to my parents condo, they were out for the afternoon. I went into my room, picked up one of the books I was still reading, and laid down on my stomach on the bed to read.

It was after 5:30 p. m., when my parents returned, finding me sound asleep on my bed, still stretched out on my stomach. Dad came in, once more tousled my head to wake me. I rolled over onto my back and butt, and winced and yelped. When I tried to get up, I couldnt bear to sit on the bed, but scooted off while lying on my abdomen.

I was so sore and stiff, that I hobbled down the hall to the bathroom, and then to the living room where my parents were sitting, reading the newspaper. I knew right then that my aching bottom and upper thighs were in bad condition for the rough and tumble of a basketball game. But I was embarrassed to mention it. I went back to my room and laid back down on my chest and stomach, to rest until supper. For the first time since Id come down to spend summer vacation with my folks, I felt self-consciously like a kid. My fathers long, hard spanking had changed everything for me.

Around 7 p. m., Mom looked in to call me for supper. I slid off the bed and walked stiffly to the kitchen. Sitting on the wooden chair was going to be torture. When I pulled out my chair and saw the big, fluffy pillow my mother had placed on it, my face flushed burning crimson. I said nothing, but eased myself down onto it. After supper, I pushed myself up and then helped Mom clean up the table.

Then, I headed down the hall to the bathroom, filled the tub with lukewarm water, and slowly lowered myself into it, face downward, to let my wounded bottom soak. After about 20 minutes, I got out and went to my bedroom, to change into my basketball shorts and our team t-shirt. About 9 a. m., I came out to find Dad already waiting for me. Picking up a basketball, I walked over to take the set of keys to Moms car, when Dad said, Ill drive, Kurt.

I knew what he was telling me: he was in charge, and he would see that I got back on time after the game. Being treated like a kid under supervision really irked me, but what option did I have at this point? I just shrugged and walked out with him.

At the gym, the guys on our team were surprised to see my father again, but were polite and friendly. The game began late – almost 10 p. m. Once, I was knocked off my feet and landed hard on my wounded behind. Immediately, my eyes filled with tears, but I choked them back and struggled to my feet. We won, but I had a sub-performance night, not playing as well as in other games.

After the game, several of the guys on the team asked me if I was going to join them later, but I made some excuse about needing to get my father back. Dad came up to me afterwards, his eyes shining with the pride and enjoyment that a father feels watching his children perform. Well, well be back at the key, if you can catch up with us, Greg told me.

With my Dad present, and remembering his proscription against going there, I quickly replied, I dont think Ill be going, guys. They all said goodbyes, and Dad and I walked out together.

On the ride home, Dad said, Not bad tonight, Kurt. I know you were playing hurt, with painful circumstances, and Im sorry about that. Not that you didnt bring it on yourself. But I know it hampered you. So, overall, Im still impressed – and at 29!

Then why dont you treat me like a 29 year-old man?! I thought to myself, still seething inside over having been handled like a disciplined, small boy by my father.

Was that Cormorant Key that guy was mentioning to you? he asked.

I think so, Dad. I was afraid he was suspicious, so I hastened, After what you told me about that place, I really didnt want to go over there with them.

Good thing, Dad replied. We told you to stay away from there, and you gave your word; so youre wise to avoid it.

We got back home just around midnight. I called out a whispered goodnight, Dad, as I headed into the bathroom to shower. Dad got ready and went to bed. Fresh, but exhausted, I crawled in between the sheets belly-first, and lay reading for a few minutes. Sleep overwhelmed me, and at 3:15 a. m., I was awakened abruptly by my injured butt, and quickly rolling back over onto my chest, I reached up and turned off the still-burning light.

The next morning, I was up at 7:15, got ready and ate breakfast, then headed out to contact some of the different schools, public and private, in Collier County. At the county school district office, I filled out an application. Then, I drove Moms car to several of the different private schools, and filled out applications with them too.

It was past noon when I drove back to my parents condo. Mom and Dad were gone somewhere, so I made a quick sandwich, poured a glass of milk, and ate two oranges and two bananas. After that, feeling kind of sluggish and sleepy, I went into my room and gently stretched out face down on the bed. It was nearly 5 p. m., when my Mom looked in and called to me, Kurt, are you sleeping again? I wonder if you have sleeping sickness, she teased.

Looking up, I smiled through my fogginess, then carefully pushed myself up off the bed without turning over onto my behind. I ate supper with my parents, helped my mother clean up, and then borrowed Moms car to go to a movie with some friends, some of whom were players on the basketball team. At 12:30 a. m., I walked through the door, to see my father turning off lights and heading towards bed.

Hi, Dad, I called out softly.

Hi, Kurt. Glad youre home. Did you enjoy yourself?

Yeah. The movie was kind of dumb, but it was fun just to get together with some friends, I replied.

I know, Kurt. Youre life is kind of on hold this summer, while youre waiting to find out where you will end up working. After you know that, you can start to make more friends and get yourself established, whether back in Ohio, or down here.

Right, Dad. I hope I hear something, somewhere, soon. Well, Im going to get ready and go to bed, and start out early again tomorrow. Good night, Dad.

Good night, Kurt. See you in the morning. Dad walked down and into his and Moms bedroom, as I walked into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

After that, I was getting up around 7 a. m. everyday. I applied to every private and church school in the county, and called back up to the school in Ohio to try to learn whether my position was going to be funded or eliminated for the coming school year.

For the next three weeks, my father kept me on a short, tight leash – which irked me increasingly as time passed. I wanted to work out daily at the gym at my parents condo, so my father would make sure I was up and then take me with him each morning, when he followed his regimen. While I definitely was getting into better conditioning, I was also astonished at how strong and in what good shape he was. He continued to surpass me in weight-lifted, repetitions performed, and even in time and speed. In a way, I was both proud and jealous of him.

I drove Moms car to tennis lessons, swimming, running every evening. Dad went with me, driving me, to my basketball games, at least 3 nights a week. He sat in the stands watching and cheering me on, and then also saw to it that he brought me home on time afterwards.

When Id meet them for lunch sometimes, the guys on the team joked about my father being my personal trainer, chauffeur, chaperone, and fan club – and how he was really actively involved with my playing games. I explained it as my having been away from him and Mom for so many years, and now being back with them for the summer gave them a chance to renew their involvement with me – which I think satisfied their curiosity.

Then near the end of July, I was awakened about 6:30 a. m. by a call from my sister who lived in Columbus, Ohio. She had begun to go into labor with their third child. My father got me up to help, as my folks packed up instantly, and left within 2 hours. My father drove his car, and my mother left me the keys to her car.

My Dads parting words to me were more admonishing instructions: I was to be careful and be smart, to be in at the same time and keep up the same routine, not to have anyone in the condo while they were gone, stay out of trouble, and keep looking for a teaching job. Knowing my mother and father, they would be calling from time to time to check up on me. In a way, I was kind of relieved to see them go, as it relieved some of the resentment I felt about being treated in such a juvenile way by my folks, my Dad especially.

My sister had another boy before my parents arrived, but they were thrilled to be there and see her and the newborn within a several hours after delivery. The baby was big, healthy, and named Kurt, my folks called to tell me. My birthday was 5 days later, and Mom and Dad called again to wish me happy birthday, and say theyd celebrate with me in a couple of weeks or so, when they got back. I choked back a gulp when Dad joked that my birthday spanking would have to wait, but I decided not to say anything. I was now the magic 30.

My routine held for a few days, but then I got sucked into going out with the guys on the basketball team after games, and was coming back in at 3:30, 4 a. m., and then sleeping till noon. They asked me what happened to my handler, since my Dad was no longer driving me, and I told them my sister had another baby and my folks had gone up to Ohio to be with her. On my birthday, we played a late game, and then all headed over to Cormorant Key for a night of cooking, drinking, and partying – the occasion declared as celebrating my birthday.

At 6:30 a. m., I was so inebriated that some of the guys drove me in Moms car back to my parents condo. They not only helped me out of the car, but virtually carried me up to the condo, unlocked the door, and carried me in. I had to go to the bathroom bad, so they stood me in the bathroom. Afterwards, they hoisted me down the hall to my bedroom, and one of them pulled down my bedding as they dropped me into bed. Late that afternoon, at about 4:30 p. m., I was awakened by my folks call from Ohio to see how I was doing. Checking up on me! I thought.

When I was startled awake and jumped up for the phone, I was only in my boxers. My clothes were in a pile on top of my shoes on the floor next to the bed. Wow! I had really been wasted! I stumbled to the phone, and answered in a garbled voice. Mom told me about the new baby, and Dad asked if Id gotten a job yet. I told him not yet, and he asked if I had been out looking more. I said not today, as I was feeling a little under the weather. I sure wasnt going to tell him what that really meant.

Afterwards, I showered, shaved, dressed, and grabbed a frozen dinner to heat up in the microwave. Then I was off to an 8 p. m. basketball game, but took along a change into running gear for later.

My working-out regimen fell apart, but I continued to play basketball and run at night. On another night, after a game, instead of everybody going out somewhere, I suggested that the team come to my parents condo. Some of the guys stopped to get pizza, wings, and beer, and pick up their girl friends. I raced home and showered and changed, ready for approximately 16 of us that crammed into the condo, eating, drinking, with the cd player blasting. It finally broke up about 5 a. m., and I was too tipsy and tired to bother cleaning up before I hit the bed.

At 11:30 a. m., I was awakened by the telephone. Collier Episcopal Day School wanted to interview me that day for a teacher-coach position for middle school. I raced down the hall to the bathroom, and through the shower, to get ready for a 1:30 p. m. interview. The interview took nearly two hours, included a tour of the school, campus and facilities, and seemed pretty encouraging. The only problem was the salary was more than $7,000 a year less than I was making up in Toledo. They wanted an answer that week, but I told them I would need at least 2 weeks, because my Dad was up in Ohio and I needed to be able to discuss it with him. They agreed that I should let them know my decision no later than August 30.

When I got back to the condo, it was after 4 p. m., and I had a game scheduled for 9:30 that night. I hurriedly crawled back into bed, and slept until 6:30, when I was awakened by the telephone. My parents were calling again. They asked how I was doing, and my Dad made a point of asking me if I was behaving myself, and following the instructions they had left me. Sure thing, Dad, I lied, exasperated that he always checked up on me.

When they hung up, I fell back to sleep until 8:30. I was exhausted from my late-night activities! I jumped up out of bed, pulled on my team jersey and shorts, and shoes, and stuffed my running gear into my bag to take with me for afterwards. I grabbed some leftover pizza, heated it in the microwave, drank two glasses of milk, and raced out the door to get to my game. I promised myself that tomorrow I would clean up all the beer cans, dishes, bags and boxes lying around.

That nights game started late, and it was 11:30 before we finished. The usual Gulf breeze had turned into strong gusts, and there was heavy humidity in the air. In the parking lot outside, I inquired, Anybody doing anything tonight, dudes?

I dont know, Greg replied. With that tropical storm coming up the Gulf, I dont know that being outside is such a good idea tonight. We probably all ought to get inside to some shelter, just in case that thing comes ashore anywhere near here.

Eager for some more companionship and fun, I was disappointed. But I knew I still needed to get in my run. Well, Im going over to the Key for my run. If any of you guys wants to meet me there, I should be done around 1:30. We could plan to meet at the low-beach parking and hang out for a while. I proposed.

Not me, Kurt, Greg said. Im going to batten down the hatches for the night.

We might join you there, then, Kurt, Danny, Chris, and Robert said.

Great! my voice, eyes, and attitude perked up. Ill look for you then.

I drove Moms car along the low, narrow causeway onto the low-beach parking area south of the causeway on Cormorant Key. The wind was definitely getting stronger, and I could feel a mist in the air. I changed into my running gear in the car, then left the windows up, but the car unlocked, as I began my 3-circuit run around the key. During my second trip around, the winds increased and began to drive rain across the key. I could tell that water was beginning to rise, because I was splashing in ankle-deep water in places that were dry the first time around.

I determined that I could complete the third circuit before I had to get out of there, so I began again. After 10 minutes or so, the sky opened up and began dumping heavy, flooding rains with gale-like winds across the key. I was drenched, but also finding it difficult to run pressing against the wind. I tripped and stumbled, falling into water that came up over my back.

The key was beginning to flood! Man! Ive got to get out of here! I panicked. Which way to run? Back was along the south coast that was rapidly submerging with floods. Further along the north side was more shallow, but probably 70% farther. I pressed on northward.

Before I had completed the second mile, the whole key was suddenly deluged, and I was engulfed in water nearly to my waist. Now I was really scared. What if this continued? What if I got swept out into the Gulf?! In this storm, Id drown for sure. The winds were battering the trees, scooping up waves in the water covering the key, and beginning to force me to collapse into the water. I was struggling to stay on my feet and trudge forward in the deepening water, against the strengthening storm.

I spotted an old boathouse, and decided to try to take refuge in it, for just a brief rest, before I fought my way back to the inner shore of the key. Just before I climbed up into the boathouse, a big 8' x 6' sign, identifying the key as county park property, came rushing along the rising, wind-driven water, obviously torn off the wooden posts by the wind. AIIIEEEEAAAAUGHAAAAAAAA! I screamed as it slammed into my left ankle, knocking me off my feet from the sudden, acute pain. As I floated along, I reached out and grabbed it, and grappled to pull it with me over to, and up into, the boathouse. I couldnt put any weight on my left ankle, it was so painful.

Inside, however, was a respite from the fierce, gale winds, and certainly drier, although the building was in need or repair and leaked. As I heaved and gasped trying to catch my breath, a part of the southern wall of the boathouse was torn off and flew away. A sense of terror seized me. There was no place safe refuge from this storm. I looked down and could see the water had risen another half a foot already.

I spotted a long rope, obviously used to tie up boats. Fearing that the whole boathouse could be torn apart and swept out to sea, and me with it, my brain dashed to come up with some security. I took the heavy mooring rope and tied it around my waist, knotting it several times. Then, I stood the 8' x 6' sign up and wrapped the around it and then around myself, over and over, until there was only about 8 to 10 feet of rope left, and I knotted the rope again several times. The other end was tied to one of the wooden pilings.

If the rope does get torn from the piling, being bound to the sign would make it a raft on which I could be sure to float, without losing grasp of it, I thought to myself. I wrapped the 10' of rope around and around the piling, and then laid down on top of the sign to which I was fastened, next to the piling.

I must have fallen asleep in the midst of the storm, because I was suddenly awakened by an explosion. The whole boathouse was ripped away! I was lying in water, and the sign-raft was floating and rocking in the waves, still tethered to the piling. I stretched out my arms to try to reach the sides of the sign and secure myself even firmer to it. The raft flipped over, pinning me in the water under it. My feet were scraping away, trying to find the floor of the boat house. My shoes came off and were swept away in the stormy sea. My bare feet touched the surface of the boathouse, and with as much force as I could gather with my right foot and leg, I hurled myself into a flip-over trying to turn the raft and right myself on top of it. It worked. I was again bobbing with the sign-raft as the wind and rain hammered me.

CRAAAAACCCK!! The pilings of the boathouse were broken off, and with them the mooring for my raft. Swwooooooosh! The sign-raft, with me attached, was swept and swirled in the deepening water and ferocious winds. I was terrified. It felt like the raft was being lifted and tossed up and down along the waves. I was sure I was on my way to a watery death in the Gulf.

WHAM! WHAUP! Oww! Owwww! Ooooooooooo! Owwwwwwww! The raft struck something and stuck. My right arm was caught between the raft and whatever had stopped its sweeping path to the sea. Ooooaaaaooooo! The pain was severe. When I tried to pull my arm out, sharp, shooting pain pierced from my fingers to my brain! My right arm was riveted into whatever had caught the raft. It felt like it was broken, but I couldnt be sure because I couldnt move it.

Then I realized that the raft was stuck sideways and downward, with my trapped, right arm pinned just below the water level, and my legs upwards. I tried to thrust and kick my legs to move the raft enough to release my arm, but it sent intense pain onto my arm, and I was afraid of the raft breaking loose and floating away in the wind and waves. What a mess!

Yet, in the midst of this terrible, terrifying storm, oddly enough I felt a sense of relief as I was secured in the snare that had arrested the rafts drift. So, I hung lashed to the raft in the downpour of rain and the beating winds all night long and into the dull, gray morning light. At times I must have passed out with pain and fatigue, but each time I awoke I remembered my pinned arm and being strapped to the raft that had probably saved my life.

In the overcast daylight, I could see that my arm was smashed badly between tree trunks and the raft that had wedged between them, holding me roped securely to it. Afternoon passed, and evening dusk came on. The rain had lessened, but the winds were still gusting strong. I was hungry, thirsty, exhausted, and feeling somewhat ravaged by the long exposure to the weather without relief, food, or drink. Still, I hung in the harness of my own making, saved by the raft that had jammed among the trees and on my arm.

During the night, a steady rain resumed, and the winds were blustery, but no longer furious. I began to shake with chills, as I experienced hypothermia from the cooler climate and my lack of food. Even so, I drifted in and out of slumber and consciousness. Each time I reawakened, I became more fearful and scared that, having escaped death by drowning in the tropical storm, I would now die of hunger, dehydration, and exposure before anyone found me.

Morning light brought a calmer surrounding, and I was able to look up and around at the wreckage that had befallen the submerged key. My arm was still lodged beneath the raft below water level, and I remained suspended by the rope web that had successfully held me to the raft during the storm. I was so dizzy and lightheaded from hunger, thirst, and pain, that I felt disoriented.

Sometime around mid-day, I heard a boat engine, and looking upward spotted a Coast Guard cruiser a couple of miles away. I tried to shout for attention, but my voice was dry, frail, and cracking. I watch as the boat halted. About 10 minutes later, a small, inflatable raft was put down, and a couple of cadets made their way towards me. After another 30 to 40 minutes, they came up alongside me.

Hey, there, young fella, one of them called out. Weakly I lifted my head to peer through darkened eyes. Did you ride out the storm here – on that thing? he asked. I could only slightly nod my head.

Hang on, buddy, he called. Well get you. As if after these many hours strung up by my own attachment to the raft I could do anything else.

Oh, oh. His arms smashed in there pretty bad, the guy called out. Weve got to free that, in order to get him outta here. We better not cut him loose from the rest of this thing until we can get his arm free. That could do worse damage. They brought the rubber raft right up near me, and tossed out some ropes to secure it to some of the trees. One of them had put on a wet suit, and slipped over the side of the raft into the water to reach the right corner of my sign-raft, where my arm was smashed. He took a rope from the Coast Guard raft and tossed it over the sign-raft, dove down and pulled it up and around, then attached it to their raft.

He then called for an axe, and with it he began to chop at the corner of the sign raft that was wedged on my arm. Each time he hit the sign with the axe, I screamed feebly from the radiating pain in my arm. I was softly moaning and crying from the pain (and probably some delirium due to the length of time I had been snagged there). Hang on, buddy, he encouraged. Were going to get you out.

Finally, enough of the sign was cut away, that it collapsed away from the trees, overturning and trapping me under it and the water again. The diver submerged instantly, and with a knife, cut the bonds I had fashioned to secure me to the sign, releasing me from it. Then, he grabbed me from behind, under my arms, and pulled me up. Choking and sputtering water, I bobbed to the surface. There, the cadet in the raft reached under the front of me, pulling me from my underarms, up over the side of the raft, and the diver in the water grabbed me legs and pushed them up into the raft. Then, he crawled into the raft again.

I landed on my right side, and let out a howl from the painful pressure on my right arm. They turned me over on my back, and immediately applied a temporary splint to my arm. One of them placed a thermos to my mouth and slowly gave me some water. Anxiously and desperately, I swallowed some down. Then, they headed back to the cutter. I dont remember the trip to the cutter, but I do remember being maneuvered from the raft to the cutter.

From that point on, I was unconscious until I awoke in the emergency room of the hospital. Somebody had replaced my weathered running shorts with a hospital gown. IVs were connected to me, reintroducing fluids and antibiotics into me. My arm was in a splint and bandaged. My left ankle, which had been completely overridden with the excruciating pain to my right arm, was now swollen and wrapped in a tight, temporary cast too. For the next +48 hours, I drifted in and out of consciousness, mostly sleeping.

When I finally awoke, a deputy was sitting in the room across from my bed. He would talk to me off and on, but I couldnt sustain consciousness long enough to respond with conversation. The following day showed some improvement. I was awake more, and conscious of the casts on my right arm and left ankle. Another deputy was present, and he got up and came over to speak to me.

Can you understand me, buddy? he asked.

Yes, sir, I can. I answered.

He proceeded to advise me of my Miranda warnings, and began questioning me about how I ended up trapped amongst trees on submerged Cormorant Key. I told him Id gone out there, admittedly after posted hours, to run, when the storm had come in rapidly. I did not mention anything about planning to meet friends there.

He asked my identity and where I lived. I told him I lived in Toledo, Ohio, but was down here spending the summer with my parents. As I no longer had any identification, he asked who my parents were and where they lived. I told him, but also informed him that they were not there, that they had gone to visit my sister, in Columbus, Ohio, who was having a baby. He asked her name and phone number, and I gave him her name, but I couldnt remember her phone number.

I asked about my mothers car, and he told me it had been overrun by the flooding waters, and then swept with the wind down the key into a clump of trees (much like me on my makeshift raft). It was ruined, he told me, with salt water in everything, and the gas tank and oil pan had leaked out into the water and reappearing vegetation. The pollution was not widespread, but it was a mess.

I felt sick. I spent 11 days in the hospital, with the IVs removed after 4 days. While I was still in the hospital, the sheriffs department located my sisters telephone number and called her house. They spoke with my Dad. We have your son, Kurt, in custody, Mr. Schiller. I know hes an adult, but he says he lives with you, at your place down here, so we felt like we needed to call someone who was responsible for him.

What has happened? Why do you have him in custody? my father exclaimed.

Your son is being charged with several offenses, and should be arraigned in a few days, as soon as he can be moved from the hospital?

Charged?! Hospital?! What has happened? my father repeated.

He was found trapped out on the water covering submerged Cormorant Key, after the big, tropical storm hit. He was in pretty bad shape from the weather, but hes going to be okay. His right arm and left ankle are broken.

What?! Cormorant Key?! I told that boy to stay away from there!

Anyway, bail is set at $50,000 right now, and we wanted to let you know. Do you plan on returning to Naples soon?

Actually, we had planned on staying here with our daughter and new grandson for another couple of weeks. But I guess we need to come back now. Darn that Kurt! That boy doesnt listen for more than 24 hours!

No, sir. You dont need to rush. He will probably be in the hospital another week before we transfer him to the jail, and then hell have his arraignment. So, you could easily stay there another week or so. It probably wouldnt hurt him to sit tight in custody for a while, too – to get a taste of what hes brought on himself, if I do say so.

Well, all right, I agree with that, officer. Well plan to come back in about 10 days or so, unless we hear something otherwise. Thank you. Can I speak with Kurt?

Well, sir, youll have to call the hospital, and tell them youre his father. Im not sure whether they will let you speak to him. Hes in custody, you know, even though hes in the hospital.

Oh, great! Well, again, thanks for calling, officer. Well see you in about 10 days then. Call us if there is any change, please.

Fine, sir. You can count on it.

On my fifth day in the hospital, a tall, thin nursing assistant with dark hair came in to my room. It was my first day without IVs, and I was feeling pretty weak from the ordeal out on the key, and then from having been in bed so long without getting up. All right, buddy. Weve got to bathe you, change your gown and sheets, and give you a shot, she explained as she untied the back of my hospital gown and pulled it off the front of me. But first, do you need to use the bathroom?

I had to pee, so I nodded and softly muttered, Yes.

What do you need to do? she asked.

Now I was embarrassed. Pee, I answered tersely and softly.

She went over and brought out a long, vase-like urinal for me to use while still in bed. What?! I thought to myself. I dont want her here while Im doing this! But while I was objecting in my mind, she reached down and took hold of my penis, to guide it into the urinal. The touch of a female stranger aroused me immediately, but she seemed to ignore it, trying to guide me into the urinal.

No! NO! Get away! Get away from me! I shouted. I dont want any help! I can do it! Go! Get OUT! I heard myself shrieking, probably out of embarrassment and frustration. She backed away, looking at me with offended indignance. Then she left the room. When I had finished, I pulled the urinal away, and reached down with my left arm to set it on the left side of the bed, by the window.

Not a minute had passed when a huge, large-boned woman – probably taller than my father – came marching into the room, right up to my bed. I was lying under the covers without a stitch on, since the aide had removed my dirty gown. She pulled a small stool up alongside the bed. Then she pulled the covers down, off me, leaving me lying shocked, stark naked before her. Without a missing a heartbeat, she reached over, grabbed my left ear with her right hand, pulling me up, off the bed, and over to her. The pain was instant and excruciating.

Ow! Oww! OWWCH! STOP! That HURRRTS! I screamed.

She sat down, pulled me across her lap, pushing my arms and head down towards the floor. Oh, wow! My mind flashed back 20 years to having been taken across my mothers knees and spanked as a young boy. Pulling a large hair brush out of her pocket, she began raining down a torrent of smacks against my bare behind. Ow! Ow! Ow! OW! OWWW! It hurt like the devil.

This was so humiliating. Here I was, with a cast on my left ankle and one on my right arm, a long, 6'1", 170 lb, 30 year-old guy being restrained and controlled over the lap of this irate head nurse, while she blistered my bare, upturned behind. I thrashed about as I lay sprawled across her big lap – and all the while she kept on peppering my butt and upper thighs with that stinging hairbrush. I looked up and over quickly at the deputy sitting in his chair by the door. The slight, quizzical grin on his face bespoke how much he thought I was getting just what I deserved, and his own enjoyment of watching it.

I was aghast with outrage that his indignity should be happening to me again – at my age. Only a few weeks earlier, I had received a licking from my father that was unthinkable to me previously. Now, here I was getting another one – from a lady! And one who intent on punishing me for insolence and impertinence shown to the staff on the floor of the hospital where I was a patient. What a summer this had turned out to be!

The pain of repetitive spanks from that hard hairbrush, against my overturned bare butt, was unbelievable, not to mention the embarrassment of writhing and kicking all over this determined womans knees as she spanked my bottom fiery red and hot. She spanked and spanked, scolding me over and over for giving trouble to the girls whose job it was to take care of young brats like me.

At the first spanks, and for a minute or two, I fought and fought, trying to break free from her hold and the scalding of that brush against my rearend. She did a good job of keeping my arms and hands away from my burning bottom, and in a short time, I became hysterical from the pain and the shame of receiving this trouncing, at 30 years-old, over the knee of a lady with a hairbrush, like I was 10 years old. In a matter of minutes, she had me completely beside myself, and vanquished. I broke down wailing and sobbing, begging, pleading, apologizing, and promising to be good, to cooperate, not to do anything like that again. The deputy sat there, thoroughly bemused, wide-eyed and grinning, observing my capitulation to the spanking being administered to my seared behind.

When it stopped, I was shaking and shrieking with sobs. I couldnt believe this had happened to me, leaving me in a whipped and broken condition by the mastery of a large lady with a hair brush. She next yanked me roughly up off her lap and placed me back, stretched out face down, on the bed, like a misbehaving, punished child.

Deputy, please watch this troublemaker while I get Marla to come back in and bathe him and change his bed. Then, hes got something else coming to his now- warmed up bottom, she forecast.

The deputy stood up and walked over, standing next to the bed, looking at my torched, red bottom, as I lay heaving and bawling. I guess she showed you whos boss, didnt she, youngster? he commented. I sobbed on.

Marla, the aide, came back and filled a large basin of water. Then, she washed me everywhere – and I mean EVERYWHERE! – while I lay flat on my stomach on the bed. She asked the deputy to help her roll me over, and the next thing I knew, I was laying on my agonizing behind, my bare front exposed to her view. She paid little heed, as she proceeded to bathe everything in view from this side. Again, I jumped into excited condition as she touched and washed my genitals. She seemed to ignore it, vigorously washing my scrotum and penis, as she earlier had my anus. Besides the pulsating stimulation, I was straining with dismay at having to undergo this from this girl, but also with fear of her supervisor coming back in and administering more punishment to me.

Afterwards, she sat me up and pulled a clean gown on me, tying it in the back. Then, she and the deputy stood me up on my right foot, helping me to hop over to a chair where my blistered butt made contact with the vinyl seat. Ooooaaaummmphh! She put fresh linens on the bed, and then they both helped me hop back to the bed, to lie down. Once she had pulled up the sheet and blanket over me, though, I managed to roll over on my left side, to take some pressure off my throbbing rearend. In a few minutes, she returned with a shot which she briskly injected into my deeply reddened, right buttock. I jumped, and momentarily broke down whimpering again.

Over the remaining days I was in the hospital, even though it seemed as if some of the aides took extra liberties with touching my private parts when they bathed me and changed my gown and bed, I was on my best behavior – knowing the deputy was sitting less than 20' away, and shuddering at the threat of the head lady returning to reprimand any misconduct on my part.

After a few more days, I was transferred from the hospital to the Collier County jail to await arraignment. Two days later I was taken in prison uniform to court to appear for arraignment on charges of trespassing, contamination, destruction of public property, and vandalism. Afterwards, I was transported back to the county jail and remained there almost a week.

In the meanwhile, my parents returned to Florida, and walked into the huge mess that Id left in the condo from the party we had there. They telephoned to verify that I was still at the jail, and the next day an officer came in and announced, Youve got a visitor, mister. I looked up to see my father walking in escorted by a security guard, and I groaned to myself silently.

Okay, sonny, boy. You can leave now. Daddys taken care of posting the bond for you, the guard declared disdainfully. I felt belittled by the situation. Dad had brought me some clean clothes: a pair of boxers and baggy, orange running shorts, and a white t-shirt. With difficulty I pulled the boxers and running shorts on, but I needed help to get the t-shirt over my head and cast. When I had changed into them, out of the inmates striped uniform, I stepped my right foot into one of the sandals Dad had brought.

Getting up was difficult, but with the support of a crutch, I followed my father and the guard down the corridor. We waited for the electric lock to open, and then walked further into the public area of the jail. My gait was hobbling from my injured left ankle, and my father took hold of my left arm, and put it around his neck and shoulders, to hold me up as I walked alongside him.

We walked outside, and down the long ramp towards the sidewalk that led past a park to the public parking where my Dad had left his car. He assisted me getting into the car. After driving for a few minutes in silence, my father began speaking, telling me what lay in store for me. At 30 years old, Kurt, you seem intent on getting into more trouble, disobeying, and suffering the consequences of disobedience, more than in all of your life previously! Frankly, I dont understand it.

But dont think for one minute that youre going to get away with any of this, young man – because youre not! You are going to find it difficult to sit easily for a long time, because your butt is going to pay the price for each and every one of your wilful, defiant acts of misconduct.

Daaad, nooo! You caaaant! What did I do to deserve this? I whined, knowing now full well what was in store for me.

What did you do to deserve a spanking? Lets see. Theres your disobeying instructions to stay away from Cormorant Key. Your disobeying not having people in the condo while we were away. Your leaving the place in deplorable condition. Your breaking the law and now being charged with criminal violations. Your drinking and driving. Your destruction of Moms car. Your vandalism of public property. Your necessitating the expenditure of bond for you, when you have no money to pay it. Your behavior requiring hiring an attorney to defend you, again when you have no money to pay for it. You disobeying strict instructions to stay out of trouble altogether. And your lying to cover up your disobedience of our orders. Id say that, at a minimum, thats at least a dozen spankings you can expect, young man.

I gasped and inhaled sharply as I listened to what my father unfolded before me. Daaaad! No! Cmon! This is not right. You cant DO this! Daaad! Im a grown man! Im 30 years old! Youve got to stop treating me like Im some little kid! Im not a little kid, you know! Cant you think of something else?! Theres got to be something else you can do! You cant DO this – Im not going to LET you do this – to me! I was becoming exceedingly agitated and distraught in the face of my fathers unmistakeable plan to discipline me over and over for each of the wrongdoings he had pinned on me.

Youd better pipe down, Kurt. You know youve got these coming to you, young man. You deserve them, and youre going to get everyone one of them. Youre getting the first one tomorrow.

I grimaced and remonstrated, No, Dad. You caaaant! Pleeeez! I was getting panicky at the prospect of what was awaiting me. Please, Dad. Nooo! Not that! Find another way! Im sorry. I know I screwed up. But I wont do it again. Please! Not that! Do something else! Please! Ill do better. I promise! Daaad! Pleeeez! I promissss! I whined. My fathers silence gave me my answer. I moaned and slunk down, sulking in the car the rest of the way back to my folks condo. When Dad had parked the car, he got out, came around and helped me out, holding me steady by my arms, assisting me to walk up to the condo.

When we walked through the door, I was trembling slightly, and not simply from having been off my feet, and now moving on basically one foot to stand and walk. Until a few weeks ago, I never would have thought I had to fear being disciplined by my father. Now, I knew exactly what he intended to – and would – do, and I hated it. But what could I do? I couldnt even get around independently in my condition, and I had no job, no car, no place to live.

Dad spoke sternly at me. Kurt, we will deal with each one of these on Saturday mornings, for the next dozen weeks or so, after your mother has gone to the beauty parlor to get her hair done. You can plan on the first tomorrow morning.

Awww, Daaaaad. Nooooo – pleeeez! I fussed.

Aw, nothing, young man. Your behind is going to serve as the repeated gateway to your learning and relearning lessons about following orders, obeying, and staying out of trouble.

The next morning, my father came into my bedroom and woke me about 10:30 a. m. I had been so worn out that I was sleeping in deeply. All right, Kurt. Your mother is at the beauty parlor, and its time for the first of your discipline lessons.

I groaned, but scooted myself over to the side of the bed, attempting to get up by myself. My father reached down, helped me up, and then shuttled me down the hall to the bathroom. He helped me pull my boxers down and step out of them, and then supported and lowered me down into the tub, where he ran water to rise above my stomach. My left leg was raised up on the side of the tub; my right arm was elevated alongside the shower door.

Sitting back in the warm water, I was able to wash most of my chest, right underarm, private areas, and right thigh and leg. Dad took a wash cloth and bathed my back and neck, my face, my left thigh and leg down to the cast on my ankle. Then, he told me to lean forward, while he washed my low back and my bottom. Afterwards, he pulled me up, out of the tub, and helped dry me. Little did I realize that this dependent ritual would be repeated at last once every day for more than 12 weeks. At the time, though, I was irked that, at 30 years old, I had to have my fathers assistance with such basic practices of personal hygiene.

Once I was dried off, Dad wasted no time in getting down to business – the first of my series of spankings. Without allowing me to dress, he ordered, You come with me now, Kurt, and marched me, hobbling naked, out from the bathroom, into the kitchen. He sat down on an armless kitchen chair and immediately hauled me over his lap, hanging arms and face downward tow the floor. Then he reached over his left leg, to the right side of my head, and took hold of my right ear, pulling it sharply upward.

I squealed at once. "Hey! OUCH! Dad, let go! Whatre you doing?! You're hurting me! OWCHaaaaaa!!"

"Not yet, young man; but you will be hurting very soon." My father picked up the old, wooden hairbrush that was lying on the counter, and began rapid-fire smacking of this horror-struck young mans behind, upended over his lap.

"HEY! Aaah! What is this? Ow! Whatr you doing, Dad?! Ow! Nooo-uh-oooo! Not that! Oooo! Ow! Ow! You cant do this, Dad. Im a grown man! Dad! Dad! No! No! You cant DO this! You cant! You CAAANT! Stop! No!! Not this! Noooooooo!"

"You think not, Kurt? You told me that before – the last time you promised to behave and then did just the opposite. Well, just watch me, young man! And Dad made his answer unmistakeable against my overturned bare seat and thighs.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Gasp! Hey, Dad! Wait! You cant DO this! Im a man now, and I wont STAND for this anymore! You cant do this! Stop it RIGHT NOW! I fairly shouted my orders to him.

Like I said, Kurt, you just watch me. You are going to get all the spankings that youve got coming, but this is the first, and its going to happen right here and now. You are about to find out how much worse it can get, when you insist on behaving like a spoiled brat. Im going to deal with you like a brat deserves."

From my upended position, I could see only the bare table legs. I tried to raise my head enough to see what my father was doing, but he bounced me forward nearly toppling over his left leg by bobbling his legs. Then he pushed my upper back and neck downward powerfully, so that I lost my balance and my face and head bumped against the tile floor. All the while he kept up the volley of spanks against my upended behind.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"Dad. Please!. This is ridiculous! Youve made your point! Lets talk about this! I can explain. I can explaaaain-uh-aaaa!" I tried to seize control of the situation and halt it, but it did no good. Dad kept up an unrelenting barrage of blows to my upturned bottom.

"Its way too late for that now, son. Do you really think I want to sit here, with you laying sprawled over my lap, fidgeting and wiggling around, and giving me more of your lame excuses, Kurt? And all before you get the attention and treatment administered to your rearend that youve been begging for weeks. Its time I made sure that the next time I give you an order, you won't even think about disobeying – not while youre living with us, young man."

Feeling my fathers hand at my waist, securing me firmly across his lap, I panicked. From long ago I remembered what this foretold – a long, painful, and humiliating spanking.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Repeatedly, Dad brought the hard, flat surface of the hairbrush against my small, hard, flat, but upturned, rearend, as I lay wriggling across his knees, ready, aimed, and receiving the blistering that he told me I had coming.

"Aaaaah-uh! Nnn-nn, ah, . . . Noooo, Dad, wait! Ahaummaaah! Noo-nooooooo!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

My father kept spanking my behind for what seemed like many, many minutes. The pain became worse and worse. Secured in Dads grip, every blow became more devastating than the last. Frantically, I struggled under and against the beating to my burning, stinging behind. Dad wasted no time, bringing the brush down, over and over, with loud cracks on my squirming backside.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Oh! Ow! Ah! Ouch! Ah-uhmmmaaa! Nnggghaaaa! Ow! Please, Dad! Ow! Stop! What are you doing?! Oooo-ah-ow! Im sorry! Dad! OW! Please STOP! Ooooo-ah-ow!

My father looked down at me, his helpless, lanky son, in two casts, writhing and pleading with intense pain. My gasps, screams, sobs, and choking coughs were mushrooming. Again and again he pounded my throbbing, heating-up seat and upper legs.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"Please, Dad! PLEASE! It wont -uh! Ow! Uh-uh-happen-uh! again-uh! Oooooo-ah-owowow! Dad, please! STOP! I promise! Oooo-ah-STOP! I PROMISE! Oooooaaaa! Aaaaa-yowowoweeeee! Uh-uh! Aaaa-uh-uh-ooooo! Im sorreeee! Daaaaad!" I begged.

Gathering all of the strength I could, I grunted and groaned miserably, trying to balance myself on my only sound arm, my left arm, pushing up, while I raised the other one, laden with the cast on it, up to grasp my fathers left knee and leg, trying to force myself off his lap. Suddenly, I felt my right arm and cast gripped and wrenched painfully upwards into the small of my back, quickly subduing my rebellion.

Just as suddenly, I felt the barrage from the brush intensify against my buttocks and thighs – all in a matter of seconds.

AAAAARAAGGHAAAAA! NOOOOOOO! OOOO-AGHAAAO-NOOOO!

I exploded my protests: it was unthinkable my father had pulled me over his lap again. I was already disgraced and humiliated beyond anything I had imagined to be turned over my Dads knees like a small, bad boy, and then spanked. But now to have my struggling and movements restrained, while he delivered continuing, fiery smacks to my bare, aching, smoldering backside was more shame and embarrassment than I could endure. My firm, small, round, flat butt had already turned red, steaming from the heating up it was undergoing. I was started by the contrast of the soft, evening gulf breeze caressing my vulnerable, hot, exposed bottom, while my face flushed as red and hot as my behind felt, and I began to break out in a sweat.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Without any let up, my father slammed that hairbrush against my blazing bottom again and again.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"When I tell you,"

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"To do something,"

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"I expect you to do it!"

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

When I tell you not to do something, . . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

I expect you to stop -- or not to do it!

SMACKSMACKSMACK! SMACKSMACKSMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

And without,"

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Argument,"

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"Endless discussion,"

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"Or outright defiance!"

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

He was really walloping my scorched, smarting, reddened rearend.

"Do you hear me, Kurt?"

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"Aaaaah! Yes, SIR! Oooooo-aaaaah! OUCH-H-H-H!" I was bucking and kicking, wriggling and squirming all over my fathers lap as I twisted, thrust, and thrashed, trying in vain to evade the fiery smacks against my bare bottom.

"Somehow, Im not very convinced of that, Kurt."

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Here I was, a young teacher-jock-coach, trapped and desperate to get this humiliation and escalating pain stopped. I kicked and twisted furiously, violently, and my feet flew up, as I kicked and thrust my legs in vain trying to elude his peppering my behind.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!! Another series of strikes hit my raw rearend.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

As I lay helplessly in the lap of my father, the older man was determined not to lessen any aspect of this lesson until he had beaten some discipline into the impertinent and incorrigible little brat that he felt I had come to believe I could behave as.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"You have been acting like a spoiled, little brat, Kurt – in need of a good tanning to straighten you up! Your promises are worthless; but after all of the spankings youve earned by your rebellious, disobedient behavior, you may begin to think again about how you promise and then behave.

Helpless and hoarse, I could only whisper my reply. "Ooooooo-uh-uh! I will! Er, ah, . . . I mean, ah, I won't, Dad. Uh! Uh! Honest. Ow! Owooooo! Uh! Uh! I-uh-promise! Uh-augh-uh-uh! Huh-uh! Ooo-ow-ow-oww!"

I did not beg and plead any more. I shrieked and wailed as the assault on my bare backside ignited a fiery inferno, when all at once, I arched and then collapsed forward, hanging in submission over my fathers knees. I recognized now that I could only put up with my fate, endure my punishment, and take what was coming to me like a misbehaving, little boy. I was beaten, defeated, vanquished. My screams turned into groans and gasping, choking sobs, and I lurched and jumped as each new pounding torched my burning, bare behind.

This time, when he had finished spanking me, Dad did not wait for me to recover some composure and self-control. Instead, while I was still gagging and wailing, he roughly pulled me up of his lap. "Get up, Kurt! he yelled to me. I scrambled from this unfortunate position I was in, falling off his lap onto the floor, looking around desperately for something to cover me, still hoping to salvage a smidgeon of dignity and flee the situation at once. It was not to be.

He reached down, pulled me up, and stood me on my right foot, steadying me by gripping my left arm. I couldnt stand still, though. As he held me, I hopped around, reaching back with my casted right arm to caress my blistered behind. Am I starting to get through to you, young man?! he demanded, as I sobbed over his talk.

Uh-ughuh-awww-uh-yesss! Ooo-uh-waaaaaa! Uh-uh-waaaa-uh-yes, Daaaad!

"Thats what I thought," he replied. At the end of three months of these weekly, you should be real clear-minded about what you are to do, – how youre supposed to behave, boy! He was lecturing me sternly, like a naughty, misbehaving child, and I hated it. But I had no energy or ability to resist what he said and what he was going to do.

"Okay, Kurt, Ill help you to your room, and you get yourself over to a corner in there, and place your nose in it. You are to stay there until I tell you youre free to move. Understand?! If you move without permission, youre going to find yourself back over my knee, young man!

Ooooo-noooooo! This was too much disgrace and humiliation, to be compelled to do what he used to make me do when I he discipline me as a little boy. He guided and supported me, hopping naked into my room, over to a corner by the closet. I leaned my nose into the corner, and broke down into sobs again. Dont let me catch you outta that corner until I tell you, Kurt – or youll get an encore! Got it?!

Uh-waaa-aaa-uh-waaa-uh-y-yes, uh-sir-uh-waaaaa! I was crying uncontrollably again.

He walked out and closed my bedroom door. It must have been almost an hour that I stood there, my tears subsiding, my butt smarting unbelievably, when I heard my mother come into the condo. After a bit of conversation, my father opened my door, walked in, and told me I could leave the corner. He helped me over to my bed, and I lay down on my right side, to ease my battered bottom. Dad pulled out some boxers, a pair of basketball shorts, and a t-shirt for me to put on and placed them next to me on the bed. Get dressed, Kurt. Ill be back in to help you get to the bathroom again, so you can brush your teeth and comb your hair. Then, well have some lunch. Moms back.

He acted like wed just had a little chat, and now were to go about our business. I thought to myself, how did I manage to get myself into this situation – such a mess?! Once again, I found a pillow waiting for me on my chair, and with unspoken, self-conscious embarrassment, I eased down onto it. After lunch, they helped me to walk out on their deck, where I laid stomach down, on a long lounge chair. They sat down to keep me company for a while.

We finally had a chance to talk about the offer of a teaching-coaching job at Collier Episcopal Day School. Despite the serious reduction in pay, they thought I should take it. After all, it was the only prospect I had! But how can I even do it – in this condition? I asked, pointing to my two casts.

Youre right, son, Dad answered. But youve got call them and tell them, see what they say – whether they can accommodate you for about 3 months, he instructed.

I know, I said. I dreaded having to do this, since I felt certain that my only hope for a job would vanish. Dad went out and brought back the portable phone, and still lying on my stomach, I called and spoke with the headmaster of the school. When I told him who I was, and that I was calling back concerning the offer they had made me a couple of weeks ago, there was a noticeable sound of interest. Then, I had to tell them what had happened to me. That led to a pause on the other end.

Id read about a guy who had got caught in the tropical storm out on Cormorant Key and managed to survive while trapped out there. I never even thought about you, Kurt. How are you doing, anyway? he asked. I told him about my two fractures, and limited mobility for the next 3 months.

He said how sorry he was to hear that, and knew it must be tough for a young guy like me to have to endure it. However, he said that they couldnt hold open a position that long. They needed to find somebody to fill it, because school was starting in about 10 days. I was crushed, but told him I understood. He asked me to keep them in mind, and get back in touch with them when I had recovered and was back in shape. I said I would.

I then hung up, wondering what I was going to do now. Here I was, over 1400 miles from what had been my home for 9 years, now totally dependent on my parents for a place to live, for support, even for personal, physical assistance. And at the mercy and under the thumb of my father! How much worse can it get? I thought to myself.

The next 3 months were the humiliating crucible for this 30 year-old, young man. Besides 12 weeks of Saturday thrashings over my fathers knees, I was unemployed, needed my parents help to get up and get ready each day, and to go to bed at night. The attorney my father hired was able to persuade the prosecutor that what had happened out on Cormorant Key that night was purely unintended and as much a harm to me as to the property of the State. Eventually, most of the charges were dropped, and the rest reduced to a misdemeanor of criminal mischief, to which I pled no contest. I had to pay a $2,500 fine and court costs – all of which my Dad paid for me. Even going to court for sentencing required my fathers help and attendance, so my disgrace only deepened. I called back up to Ohio, and one of my friends where I had left my car was able to sell it for $1,100. I gave it all to my Dad at once.

In late November, my casts came off and I finally completed the course of unbearable discipline from my father. I began physical therapy with a vengeance. I was determined to regain my physical strength and conditioning, not to mention my independence. On a Monday in mid-December, with still no job, my parents prodded me to call back to Collier Episcopal. When I did, my call was answered by the headmaster again. He was surprised to hear from me, and asked how I was doing. I told him I was out of the casts, and making good strides to regain full mobility. Then he shocked me.

We never were able to fill the position we had offered you, Kurt. Its been really tough without that key person in that position. Do you think youd be up to it next semester? And if so, are you still interested?

Am I? I gushed way-too-excitedly. Yes, sir. I sure am. And I know I can do it. After all, Ive had 9 years of experience with kids – boys – up in Toledo, I reminded him.

Okay, Kurt. Come in at 1:30 Thursday afternoon, and well see what we can agree on. In the meanwhile, Im sending you an application to complete and bring with you.

Sure thing, sir, I confirmed. Ill be there. Thank you.

When I hung up, I told my parents, and I could see their pleasure and relief at hearing of this possibility for me. My only concern was that I could walk in there without any limp or apparent disability that might make them hesitate to hire me. So, I started walking carefully down to the outdoor basketball court, and the beach, to walk on the beach (in place of running for now), and to begin shooting and dribbling again.

By Thursday, I drove my mothers new car to the school, and made a point of pulling myself out of it quickly, and walking firmly to the office. I could tell the headmaster was looking me over closely, but he was impressed – especially when I asked if there were basketball teams to coach. He said there were kids who wanted to play, but no one to coach them – except for one father who was coaching the middle school girls team on which his daughter played. I promised that, if hired, Id start with them now, and even have practices over the Christmas break, even before I officially started my employment. He responded enthusiastically, and told me he had to take it before the schools board of education, but he felt very optimistic about it.

The following Monday, the headmaster called to confirm and congratulate me on my new position. Mom, Dad, and I went out to dinner that night to celebrate. In a week, I had my middle school boys, high school girls, and high school boys teams together, and established a practice schedule for them all.

In January, I officially began my teaching-coaching position. Except for the substantially less salary, I really enjoyed it. My teams did well, and the kids took to me at once. In late May, I grabbed the chance to teach and coach summer school, to supplement my income.

Having no car, I had to use my mothers car to get around. Having no apartment, I remained living with my parents. That continued for two and a half years, as I repaid them for their expenses for me because of my trouble over the summer. Over that next two and a half years, I remained under my fathers close supervision and strict discipline. I was undoubtedly the most restrained and restricted 31, 32, and 33 year-old teacher-coach anybody had ever seen. But I knew what to expect if I didnt, and only very rarely did I slip up and find myself painfully being brought back into line.

I saved up to buy a car; and after that, I saved enough to have some reserve before I looked for an apartment. My Mom and Dad helped me find, choose, and move into, an apartment. At 33 ½ , I was once again about to embark on another venture of independence. Of course, my parents were nearby, and I often went over to their condo for meals. I was 36 before I met a girl – a teacher at the school – who really grabbed my heart.

In 10 months, we married and moved into my then-crowded apartment. My parents helped us buy a small house, and in 14 more months, we presented them with their first grandchild living in Collier County, Florida. I remained a jock, loving to run and play basketball – but obviously limiting greatly the extent of both. My maturity and responsibility were unquestionably produced by my fathers persistent discipline and no-nonsense training, to do what was expected and what I promised.