WHACK!! "AARRGHH! That HURT!" My classmates nervously laughed. Each one was harder than the previous one, this time as I rose up on my toes slightly and had to reposition my left foot to keep from falling forward. My pulse was beating in my bottom as I retightened my grip on my ankles.
WHACK!!! "OUCH!!! Pleassssssse no more!" I moved my hands up about halfway to my knees to reduce some of the pressure on the now burning red stretched boy hide--but knowing just one more to go, I quickly returned my hands to my ankles. I didn't want to get out of any of the pain of my sentence--Determined to let my classmates know that I knew that I deserved more and could take more than they had gotten yesterday.
WHACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! "OOOMMMMPPPPHHHHH, OOOOOOOWWWWWW!" Was it because of the damage already done to my poor buttocks or was it the fact that he really hit harder--but that final lick seemed to knock me for a loop as I sprang up straight, grabbing and rapidly rubbing life back into those hot welted cheeks--bending backwards to try to relieve the intensity of the pain.
That night, I went home and decided to go right to bed and enjoy the slow lessening of pain from my paddling--telling my father that I hoped to never have to get paddled again with that thing.
None of my classmates ever mentioned the fact that I had lied though, only commenting on how horrible an experience the Butt Buster had been, and all that I could do was tell them how I never wanted to again face that paddle. There were three more times that I became eligible for the Stinger that year, and each of those times I gladly admitted my infraction and took my three licks with the smaller paddle. I had been right--it was not nearly as painful as the Butt Buster--and I was one of the few members of my class to be able to compare the two.
But, Then again, I was fourteen and if there was any way to get in trouble, I could find it. More about fourteen later.