It was the summer of my thirteenth year when something happened that changed the entire course of my adolescence.
My best friend Jim and I began this day like most days that season, that year. I peddled my bike over to Jim's house after breakfast and found him eating. His widowed father had gone to work -- had blown his horn at me in fact as he passed me coming down their street -- and we gassed a bit about television, or songs we'd heard on the radio, until Jim finished his cereal and toast. Then we went to our bikes and cycled out, going nowhere and in a vast hurry to get there.
Jim lead the way, as usual. I was generally more than happy to let his enthusiasms carry us wherever they lead. And as I watched him peddling in front of me, I found my gaze fastened, not for the first time, on his graceful brown legs and tight round rump as his butt-cheeks lifted up and down, his backside off the seat as he cycled. Jim had always been the most attractive person I knew. The chiseled face with its perfect cheekbones and wide lips, the dark complected skin, the slightly longish hair that covered his ears and fell in a graceful lock over his right eye, the bright and shining black eyes, the lithe and lean tightness of his legs -- all these I had long been aware of, and with a warm electric undercurrent that stirred in my groin. But lately, he's seemed more beautiful to me -- if I had known the words, I would have seen that Jim had become DESIRABLE. That I was in love with him.
I gazed at his young muscles pumping away, his brown hair flying behind him, and thought back to a day when we were nine or so. My family had YMCA membership, and on a free-style swimming afternoon, Jim had been my guest. In the locker room, we stripped out of our street-clothes, but we'd both worn our trunks beneath our trousers. We'd gone swimming for the appointed hour and went back to change into our street clothes again when the change occurred.
Because we didn't want wet trunks under our pants, we shucked them off and dried. And in that moment I was brought to full awareness of his body before me. The talk remained casual, and un-selfconscious, but I was acutely drawn to the hitherto covered parts of his body now reveled to me: that his skin was dark all over (up to then I'd thought the golden brown of his face and hands revealed simply a quick and lasting tan) and when his trunks fell, I realized with a shock that Jim's was the first male friend's body I'd ever seen naked, that his penis and testicles (although I was too young to have words for his _s_e_x_ organs) were the first I'd seen belonging to someone outside my family for whom I had affection.
And when he turned to take his underpants in hand I tried not to stare at his brown and perfect buttocks. The sight was brief -- all too quickly they were back in his jeans and the moment passed. But I felt a stirring in my loins, and I knew something had altered in that moment. What, I didn't have the words or knowledge or imagination to guess. But as I stared hard at his butt rising and falling before me, and my young penis hardened in my shorts, I began to suspect that what I'd thought that previous year was true: that I wanted his body naked against my own. And the thought was both thrilling and frightening.
_s_e_x_ education had begun the previous year, in sixth grade, and I knew that the penis was supposed to meet the vagina. That was _s_e_x_. But this yearning, this desire for Jim -- wasn't that _s_e_x_, as well? My face burned suddenly, and I forced my eyes to look away from his peddling thighs and tight little butt. And suddenly, he was stopping. I looked around and realized we were at the shopping center on the outskirts of town. We'd cycled two miles in the Time I'd spent dreamily removing Jim from the pants he was wearing.
I had no money, but I guessed Jim did. His father seemed wealthier than mine, and Jim dressed better than I, and had more expensive toys and games. Our very bicycles reflected the disparity in finances -- his, gleaming and sleek and expensive; mine, smaller and clunkier and cheaper.
We always parked our bikes in the racks out front, but this Time Jim motioned to go around back of the stores. We left our bikes and I started to ask him, "Why --?" but he cut me off with a grin and a forefinger to his luscious full lips. We walked around to the front again and went into the Kresge five & dime store. I wanted to look at the books (as usual) so we spent a few minutes in the paperback racks, where I found something I wanted to read, a new novel by Frederick Forsythe called "The Odessa File". But the cost was steep -- $1.50 -- and I was strapped.
Jim had also found a book he wanted, a MAD magazine collection. "You got the money for it?", I asked. He shook his head in the negative. "Oh, well," I started to say, when he suddenly turned his back to me and looked around slyly. Then he quickly thrust up the front of his shirt, shoved the book into the waist-band of his jeans where it rested against his belly, and dropped his shirt again. I stared at him, appalled. He was going to steal that book!
He grinned and whispered, "Now you do it". I shook my head, and he punched my arm playfully. "Come on, chicken!," he whispered. Finally, I realized this was a test, a test of my nerve and his, and I was NOT going to fail it. I copied his movements, glancing around to see if the aisles were deserted, and quickly scooted the novel beneath my shirt, its lower end resting just above my crotch.
"Now, we go normal pace, not too slow, not too fast. Okay?". I nodded. He trotted off and I followed. And what neither of us saw at that moment was salesman who had seen every movement we'd made in the overhead mirror above the aisle. Nor did we see him pick up the telephone by his counter and dial. Unaware of this wrinkle, we came out of the store, and on a signal from Jim, hit the street running. We raced back to our bikes, tore the books from beneath our shirts and for once I was grateful for the dorky wire basket mounted to the front of my Schwinn. Jim tossed his book into it, I did the same, and off we raced, whooping.
We laughed together all the way back to Jim's house, slightly hysterically and certainly giddy at our success in petty theft. We looked forward to an afternoon of reading in the shade of the big tree in Jim's back yard. But as we neared the house, we saw the microbus Jim's dad drove in the driveway and something like apprehension cut the laughter off at the stem.
Why was he home? The thought occurred to me that he knew. I didn't know how he knew, but it seemed utterly, terrifyingly certain. Both of us had seen the bus at the same moment and had slowed down to a crawl. As we coasted slowly into the driveway, Jim's father appeared at the front door.
"Jim, get in here -- NOW!"
Jim looked at me, shaken, and I ducked his glance. I was embarrassed and felt like bolting. As Jim deliberately parked his bike and slunk toward the house, I could see that this reaction satisfied something in his father, was proof of guilt. I stood, unable to move, and as Jim got to the door, his father barked at me.
"You, too. Come on. And bring those books from your basket with you."
My hands shook as I let down the kick-stand and slowly made my way up the walk. Jim was standing, miserable, in front of his father, and our eyes met briefly. When I got to the door, Jim's father stood aside and Jim and I slumped into the house.
Jim's dad closed the door and told us to go into Jim's bedroom. He followed us down the hall, and we sat uneasily on the bed. Jim's dad held out his hands.
"Give me those books."
I handed them over, hands trembling.
He glanced at them, and flipped through the pages.
"There aren't any receipts in these, are there?," he mused. "Did you steal them?"
Silence. Then Jim said, "Dad, I --"
"Did you. Steal them?"
Jim's voice was a hoarse, frightened whisper. "Yes."
His father grunted and glanced at the covers. "A dollar-fifty. Don't I give you an allowance? Was a dollar-fifty too much?"
"No."
"So there was no excuse."
"No."
"And you --", he shot me a stern look, "-- why did you take this?"
"No reason."
"No reason. No excuse. Do you two think I enjoy being called at work and told my son has stolen something from a store? Do you think I like taking off work to come home and deal with a couple of petty thieves? Jim, this is just about the worst thing you've ever done. I'm furious at you. Now, what do you think I ought to do about this? Hm? I think you two will have to take these back to the store and apologize for taking them. Don't you?"
"Yes, dad."
"Yes, sir."
"That'll hurt, but I don't think it'll be enough. I think this calls for something extra. Something that'll hurt even more. Jim, do you remember the last time you got a spanking? I do. You were eleven. I didn't think I'd ever have to spank you again. Todd, do your parents spank you?"
"Yes, sir."
"You two sit right there and think about this. I have to make a call."
With that, he went into the hallway and down to the living room. I looked at Jim, he glanced back at me, but there was not much either of us could say. In a few minutes, his father returned. He closed the door.
"Todd, I just talked to your mother. She's very, very angry. She gave me her permission to punish you. So, you just do what Jim does." He sat on the small chair next to the bed.
"Jim," he said. "You know the drill."
A furious blush came to Jim's face. He refused to look at me, but merely stood and unzipped his jeans, slipped his fingers beneath the waist and brought his pants down to his ankles. He stood facing his father, then walked toward him. I was terrified, embarrassed and yet I couldn't take my eyes away from Jim's near-naked backside; his buttocks swayed enticingly in his white cotton underpants as he shuffled toward his father.
His father spread his thighs apart, gripped Jim's arm and hauled him over his lap. He put his hand beneath the elastic band of Jim's white cotton underpants and roughly lowered them in back, revealing the naked glory of his son's delicious rear -- as golden and trim as I'd remembered it. His penis and testicles were bunched up in the cloth, resting in the space between his father's open thighs. There was heat at my crotch, and I felt my _c_o_c_k_ begin to stiffen in my pants.
"I want you to watch this, Todd," the man said suddenly. "Because what Jim gets now, you're going to get, too."
He needn't have bothered telling me; there was no way I could have looked away at that moment if he'd ORDERED me to!
Jim's father seemed to be judging the distance between his open palm and his son's behind: he raised his hand up, brought it down at an angle close to Jim's ass and then shook his head, appearing not to like the angle the blows would take. He lifted the boy off his lap and as Jim stood to one side, his father lowered the front of his son's underpants and slipped them down to the boy's ankles.
I gazed furtively at Jim's fuzz-dusted penis and tight golden balls. His father roughly laid the teenager back over his lap and I watched as Jim's penis slipped between his father's open legs; his own long legs dangled down, knees bent, ankles tangled in his trousers and underpants. His glorious butt was raised, and I stared with fascination at the sight before me. With his legs spread apart, I could see right into my buddy s ass-crack. His little anus was tight in fear and anticipation. I stared at Jim s most secret place and felt my young _c_o_c_k_ engorging.
Jim's father planted his right hand on Jim's back, raised his right hand and brought it down, squarely on Jim's bare ass.
The sound of the SPLAT!, hard flesh against soft, rent the air. Jim flinched but did not cry out. His father wasted no time, but raised his palm and brought it down in a rapid series of powerful blows, one after another. The sound of the spanking filled the room, and my eyes were drawn to Jim's butt as the slaps on his cheeks changed them from golden to blush to a deep, angry red. His penis bounced between his father's thighs and though he let out no sound, I could see the pain reflected in his face, mixed with deep mortification at having his body bared in so humiliating a fashion before his best friend.
Yet I was aware that, however embarrassed Jim was at that moment, a sensation other than shame was at work: Jim's penis was growing harder as his father spanked his lovely butt, and nestled as it was between his father's thighs, was rubbing against the adult's right leg with each new smack of palm against naked ass.
After what seemed an eternity -- I wasn't counting, but I calculated Jim's father had whacked his bottom about two dozen times -- the man stopped the paddling and gently patted his son's red-hot backside.
"All right, get up now," he said softly. He removed his hands from his son's body and Jim stood, turning away from both his father and me in red-faced fury, and quickly brought his pants up -- but not before I drank in my fill of his gorgeous ass, golden-brown suffused with scarlet-red that glowed on his cheeks, warming his skin to what I could easily imagine was a vivid heat. My penis had grown hard as I watched Jim s spanking, and I realized with horror that I was going to be fully erect when it was my turn!
"Come here, Todd."
I went to him, terrified more of being revealed in a state of arousal than of the bare-ass beating I was about to receive. I quickly unzipped my pants and stood beside the seated figure. Bending as I slipped my shorts and underpants down and trying to conceal the hardness of my penis, I threw myself over Jim's father's lap before he could move to pull me down. I raised my bottom and felt my _c_o_c_k_ nestle between the man's open thighs. With a shock, I sensed the warm after-glow where Jim's nakedness had touched his father's lap a moment before. The thought that my _c_o_c_k_ was touching the place where Jim s had just nestled made my dizzy. Then I felt a distinct hardness in the adult's groin as my penis pressed against his leg: Jim's dad had a hard-on, too!
"Jim, you watch me now," his father said sternly. "I want you two boys to learn something from this experience."
I looked up at Jim, standing by his bed and rubbing his sore, fresh-spanked butt with his hands. Our eyes met briefly, and I saw his blush of embarrassment was fading. Was it being replaced by curiosity? I steeled myself, shut my eyes and waited. A hand pressed down on my back and my buttocks quivered in anticipation. Then a blow struck them squarely, the big man hand spreading delicious pain through both cheeks at once. I felt it before I heard it: a SPLAT! that rended the silent air and spread crimson heat through my ass.
The spanking was no shorter than the one Jim had received, but lasted no longer either. My head raced with conflicting feelings and emotions: Pain -- sharp, ringing, stinging bolts of ass-searing pain -- hit me in wave after wave as Jim's father mercilessly beat my naked butt with his practiced hand; embarrassment as keen as Jim's own at being humbled and revealed this way so thoroughly. I imagined my cheeks parted as Jim's had been, and knew he was boring into my reddening flesh with his bright eyes -- seeing my pale flesh turn scarlet -- seeing too, perhaps, flashes of my puckered butthole as my cheeks involuntarily spread and clenched, just as I had seen his own little rosebud exposed a few minutes before. And yet a keen sensual appreciation held sway, intensified with each new blow on my bare butt, seeming to coarse through my bottom and around my balls and up through the head of my hardening penis, where it exploded in a delicious thrill of _s_e_x_ual pleasure as Jim's father turned my white buttocks red with his hard slapping palm.
Finally, he was done.
"Okay, Todd. Get up now," he said quietly.
As he patted my hot butt gently, just as he'd done with Jim, I was sure I felt his own penis straining against his trousers. I leapt up, turned away as Jim had and stuffed my hard and tingling penis back into my pants and gingerly lifted the cloth up over my steaming buttocks. When I was done, I shuffled to the bed where Jim stood, grim-faced and silent; we kept our eyes locked on his father as he stood and walked to the bedroom door.
"I'm going back to work now," he said. "But I want you boys to return those books as soon as you can bear to put your butts back on those bikes, you understand? I don't want to be forced to spank you again, either of you. And I want you both to remember this. I hope you learned something."
And he was gone. We looked at each other, neither saying a word. I had my hands on my throbbing butt, rubbing it gently. When he heard the microbus roll out of the driveway, Jim glanced at my crotch, then up at my face. I returned the gesture, and saw that there was a conspicuous bulge in his pants. I stared into his eyes.
"You, too?," he whispered huskily. I nodded.
Suddenly, I wondered what Jim's dad had really meant. He'd hand a hard-on, too, I knew -- did Jim? What did he hope we'd "learned"? Did he not want to have to spank us again because he disliked it -- or because he DID like it? Or did he want us to have learned how to spank each other?
I suddenly knew I had to explore this weird scenario further.
"Was mine as red as yours?," I blurted out.
Jim was far from shocked. "I think so -- man, was your butt on fire! Was mine that red?"
I nodded. "Jim, your ass GLOWED!"
We giggled, despite our hand-warmed butt-pain.
"Let's compare 'em," he whispered, his eyes shining.
"Sure."
He gestured with his head toward the door and opened it. I followed him down the hall and into the big bathroom. There was an enormous full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Jim closed the door then, turned his back to it and unzipped his trousers. Shaking with unacknowledged desire, I followed suit. He slid his pants down to his ankles once more and gently slid his underpants down until they sat just below the delightful curve of his perfect buttocks. I did the same with my own underwear and we turned our necks back, craning to see the full effect.
Except for the difference in the natural hues of our skin -- his dark, mine light -- our naked asses did indeed glow with angry red: all four cheeks were aflame with scarlet, almost evenly distributed across the width and breadth of our buttocks, from the base of the spine to the cupped lower reaches. Jim slipped his hand onto my aching butt and felt its contours.
"You're butt's real warm, man," he grinned. "Like you've been sitting on a heater!"
I gently palmed Jim's brown ass. "Yours is hot, too. Wow."
Our eyes met in the mirror, and we grinned at each other. Jim turned his head around and with his left palm still connected to my still-smarting butt, reached his right over and cupped the hardness of the pouch in the front of my underpants. I gasped and my penis leapt at his touch.
My right hand was still clamped on Jim's ass and I reached my left to his own crotch. Identical bulge of hard flesh met my sweating palm. His _c_o_c_k_ jumped beneath my hand.
"Let's go back to the bedroom, okay?," he whispered. I nodded. He lead the way once more, and I was more than ever mesmerized by the graceful up-and-down bounce of his muscled ass, losing some of it redness now. When we were both inside the room, he closed the door and locked it. Then he turned to me and grabbed me around the waist, pulling me to him. Our bodies collided, and the hard throbbing _c_o_c_k_s pressed together, only thin skeins of white cotton to separate them from each other. His lips met mine and we kissed, as I lowered my body backwards onto his mattress and he followed in a graceful arc.
When my body made contact with the coverlet, the cloth against my naked skin sent a thousand pinpricks through my rear, reminding me immediately of the soreness in my poor, battered, hot-spanked butt.
"OW!!," I yelped, as Jim's weight pressed down on me, making the pain even more vivid.
"What?," he exclaimed, eyes wide.
I giggled at the concern in his face. "My butt hurts!"
He giggled, too. Then he turned me over on the mattress and slapped me, hard, across the ass.
"You mean like THIS?," he laughed, slapping my cheeks again.
"Stop it! Stop, you fink!," I cried, as the pain percolated, running against the previous pain and exploding in a fresh hail of needle-sticks. Instead of stopping, Jim continued to deliver sharp cracks of his palm on my defenseless ass as I squirmed. He turned me onto my side and spanked with his right hand, while with his left he grabbed my quivering prick.
"You liked it, didn't you?," he whispered, as my body shuddered from his touch. No one outside myself, my parents in my infancy or my family doctor had ever touched me there, and I was astonished at how his damp hand seemed to burn the imprint of his palm along my _c_o_c_k_-shaft. He leaned over and said, "Wait here -- don't move. Be right back!"
He left me there on the bed, my backside flayed and exposed, my penis jutting out in front of me. He returned in a moment with a pair of towels. He slid one in front of me, level with my crotch. Then, astonishing me, he slid up against me and I felt his own hard penis slip between my aching, red-flushed butt-cheeks. He rested there, his hardness kissed by the cheeks of my ass, leaned over my face and kissed my mouth as his right hand snaked back around to my penis and took hold. He massaged my _c_o_c_k_ from the base of the shaft to the damp crown of its tip, then took hold and his hand slid up and down, masturbating me. I felt my climax approach -- I'd only begun to ejaculate the year before, and was so excited by my new-found _s_e_x_ual maturity that I always came fast -- and as his mouth burned its contours over mine and his hand moved faster and faster on my _d_i_c_k_ and my ass rhythmically pushed back on his little hard _c_o_c_k_, the cheeks opening and closing, clenching and unclenching, I felt the sap rise and exploded, hurtling hot spunk onto the tissue before me, closing my eyes and crying out as my ass ground against his crotch and my butt-cheeks clutched the rigid pole between them.
At the highest peak of my orgasm, I felt Jim go stiff, and to my amazement felt warm liquid being spurted between my buttocks as he came, not inside me, but almost, his _c_o_c_k_ thrusting forward and hitting against my tight, clenching butthole. Our bodies slammed together, thrusting and relaxing, rigid and rhythmic and our sphincters thudded, our balls tightened, our _c_o_c_k_s spewed hot cum and our throats produced sounds I didn't know either of us could make.
When it was over and we lay together, panting and sweating, I turned to him with questioning eyes. He smiled that sweet smile of his and kissed me quickly on the lips. How had our punishment become this pleasure?, I wondered. I put my arms around his body and he lay full against me; our softening young _c_o_c_k_s, sticky with semen, slid pleasantly against each other. After we lay for a Time, our hands idly caressing each other's naked bodies, I ran my eyes down to his back and saw the delicious round half-melons of his dark bottom.
"You're still red," I muttered, laughing.
"Yeah? Well, it still hurts! You?"
The dull burn was fading, but still there. "Yeah, me too."
"Let's take a shower, okay? We're all sticky."
"Okay."
Under the warm water we cleaned each other's bodies, and our penises grew hard again. My head was spinning -- so much information, so much sensation, on one afternoon! When we finished dried off, we tried to ignore our hard-ons and dressed. We still had one task left today. I tried to forget the dressing-down I was going to get when I got home. A nagging question thrust itself forward, wiping out my fears.
"Jim? Will your dad spank us again?"
"Naw -- I don't think so."
"Did that ever happen to you before? Getting spanked like that and it hurting like hell but enjoying it anyway? I mean, getting a hard-on?"
"Yeah, a little. But not like today. Anyway, if you want, we can do it ourselves. We don't need him."
That was somehow what I thought his father was suggesting to us.
We rode out to the store, returned the books and apologized. It was embarrassing, but we'd been more embarrassed today already, so it passed quickly. The manager spoke gravely and sternly, warning us to never, ever steal again, and I think we both knew never would.
I guess your Dad whalloped your tail, didn't he?, the manager said, smiling.
Yes, sir, Jim answered.
I poked Jim in the back and we both had to stifle our giggles.
When we got back, it was late -- almost dinner -- and I knew I had to go. When I said so long to Jim, he whacked me hard with his palm on my ass. I yelped, then turned and looked at him. He was grinning. I grinned back.
"Tomorrow," he said.
"Tomorrow," I answered, getting on my bike and peddling off.
I got sent to bed without supper, but it didn't matter much. I could barely concentrate on anything but the lingering images in my mind of Jim's body and my own, of his red-hot butt and mine, of our bodies together, of our coming together. My bottom still throbbed warmly from the spanking, and I had to fight the urge to grab my young _c_o_c_k_ and rub it until I came, but I held off. I wanted to save it. Save it for tomorrow. Save it for Jim.