The following is a true account.
It had been at least two months since the spanking I'd received in the park, and summer was at its peak. My friends had never forgotten the incident, and occasionally they'd remind me with a few jokes here and there. I'd often see the same officer patrolling the area, and I knew that there was a rotation involved. My friends and I spent more and more time at the park skateboarding (there aren't a lot of places to skate in the town I live in). We got to know a lot of the people in the area, and that included a few of the security staff. We'd often toss jokes back and forth. We'd call them pigs, they'd call us skater pukes. It wasn't disrespect, it was more like the good-natured ribbing shared by people who worked together, maybe even friends (?).
The heat on this particular day was unbearable, and so I decided to head over to 7-11 on 82nd Ave to get a slurpee before the rest of my friends showed up. Now Gazebo park isn't far from 82nd Ave. In fact you could say that the two are connected. It probably would have taken me less than ten minutes to walk the distance between the two, but despite the heat, I couldn't help looking down at my board. The temptation was so strong. I should mention a couple of things here. First, skateboarding on public streets in the town I live in is illegal. Secondly, I don't know how many of you are passionate about any kind of sport, but skateboarding is by far one of the most addictive! So when you look at the heat and the risk of getting caught, and compare it to a headstrong 15 year old with a passion for skateboarding, I don't have to tell you which won. I was on my board and flying down the sidewalk in seconds.
I was making good time, and it was still early enough in the day that there weren't many people on the avenue yet. I was just whipping by the Tim Horton's when the door opened and someone stepped directly in front of me. There wasn't enough time to stop, and not enough room to manuvre around them, so I flipped my board sideways to stop and wiped out on the cement. My knee was scraped and bleeding, but it was a minor cut. I brushed my hand lightly over my raw flesh and got up to retrieve my board.
"You OK, son?" the man asked me. The voice sounded strangely familiar, and I turned to identify the speaker. I know it's a stereotype to say that cops hang out in donut shops, but no word of a lie, you drive past any Tim Horton's in Canada at any given time, and I guarantee at least one cop car parked outside. Sure enough, it was a cop, and not just any cop. It was Constable Blackburn, the officer that had blistered my ass a couple months ago.
"Hey Raine," he said, making it clear that he had gone out of his way remembering me. "It's been a while, huh?" I blushed furiously, and he must have noticed it. "Is your knee OK?" I couldn't speak at the moment, but I managed a nod.
"Great," he replied. "Then you can follow me over to my car and we can talk about the law you just broke." I swore softly under my breath, but the cop heard me. "Care to repeat that?" he asked. I just glared back at him. He motioned me over to his blue and white squad car and opened the passenger side door for me. He slid in the driver's side.
"Skateboarding on public streets is against the law, Raine. You should know that."
"No _s_h_i_t_," I replied, not really thinking. He let the remark slide.
"So what were you doing on the sidewalk then?" I concentrated on the shredded flesh of my knee and tried to act cool. He'd already treated me like a kid once, he wasn't going to do it again. He waited for a response, but then sighed. "So I guess I take you home to your folks and hand them a ticket for two hundred dollars then."
"What?!" I spat. "Two hundred bucks! No _f_u_c_k_in' way! For skateboarding on the sidewalk?!"
"I'd advise you to watch your mouth, son," he answered in a low tone. "Or maybe you didn't learn from the last time?" I looked at him, and I was so embarassed and frustrated that it just came out of my mouth before I could stop it.
"_f_u_c_k_ you." I opened the door and began walking away. He was out the door pretty quickly. I'd forgotten about how fast he could move. He pulled me into the back alley behind the donut shop by my arm.
"I warned you, little man. How many times are we going to have to do this?" I realised what he was going to do, and I began kicking and squirming violently to get out of his grasp. He pulled me around to the staircase of a fire exit in back of the store and he sat down on one of the steps, holding me tightly with his hands. He removed my backpack from my shoulders, and then he turned me so that I was facing him while he sat and reached for the button of my jean shorts.
"Okay! Okay, I'm sorry! Please...not again. I'll watch my mouth from now on, I swear!" He ignored my begging and continued loosening my shorts. I felt them being slid to my ankles. In another second, my boxers joined my ratty jean shorts. I glanced around nervously, hoping nobody else could see me in this predicament.
"Over my knee, Raine," the officer commanded.
"Please..." I pleaded again. "I'll keep my mouth shut from now on. Just...don't spank me again. What if somebody comes out here?"
"I hope somebody does," he answered back. "It would serve you right to have someone watch me spank your bare bottom and teach you a lesson." I began to fight his grasp again, but he merely put one arm around my midsection and placed me across his lap. He pulled one of his legs over mine to keep me from kicking. I felt his leg clamp down tight over mine, forcing my backside a little higher into the air. He slid my shirt up my back to keep my bottom unobstructed. "You've earned this, little boy," he told me, and I felt the first stinging slap of his huge hand hit my bare backside. I would have been able to handle it a little better than the first time, but he hit me much harder, and this time there were to be twice as many repetitions.
I couldn't kick because my legs were clamped down by his right leg, and I couldn't try to block my backside because he held my hands together tightly with his left hand. Blow after stinging blow hit my exposed backside, and with nothing I could do to stop it, I began to cry loudly. Thirty smacks later, my backside felt like it was on fire. By the fiftieth and final smack, my bottom hurt so much I vowed never to piss this man off again. I was also crying so hard that anything I said would have been unintelligable. Finally the officer relented with his heavy hand, and I felt my arms and legs released from his grip. Although it felt good to be able to move, at first all I could do was lay across the Constable's lap and cry like a little boy.
"I'm sorry I had to spank you again, Raine," he said quietly. "But it's for your own good, little man. It's OK now...it's all over." Finally he helped me up and pulled my boxers gently over my red bottom. They were followed by my jean shorts. He pulled my shirt back down and patted my shoulder. He picked up my backpack and my skateboard from where they'd been set down and we walked to the squad car. He opened my door for me and I sat down gently, wincing from the pain of my swollen rear. He slid into the driver's side and we talked a little, this time I was much more cooperative. I apologized for my misdeed and for my choice of language.
"You know, Raine," he said. "You remind me a lot of my son Dylan. He was about your age...he had to learn things the hard way too." I had a couple of questions about that, but I didn't ask them. He began to drive down 82nd Ave, stopping at the 7-11 to buy us each a slurpee. I thought he was going to take me home, but instead he dropped me off at the park.
"Raine," he said as I got out of the car. "I'm letting you off, but you pull a stunt like that again and I find out about it, I'm gonna take the belt to your ass. Understood?" I nodded and swallowed.
"Yes sir." He watched me walk over to the gazebo where my friends were, some of them sitting on their boards, others sprawled on the grass surrounding the white structure.
Needless to say, I did less skating that afternoon than my friends did. It took me over an hour and a half before my backside felt good enough to even attempt a couple of tricks on my board. When I did skate, my leg muscles were sore, and one time when I landed on my butt, I yelped.
While I watched my friends skate, one of the security people came over. His name was Jones. I knew him OK, because he used to skate a lot, and sometimes he would come over to talk while we were taking a break. He knew Constable Blackburn, so I asked him about the police officer's son. It turned out that Dylan had been killed while riding his bike across one of the town's busier streets. I saw the constable quite often that summer. We talked a lot, and he became like a father to me and my group of friends. I still see him sometimes and he still treats me like his kid. He hasn't spanked me since I was 17, and although I'm 21 now, he still threatens me with a spanking sometimes. I guess you're never really too old. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- E-mail me with your comments about this or any other of my stories. Thanks for reading.
- Raine
Raine_Maida_21@hotmail. com