I stormed out of my guidance counselor's office, steamed after what he had just told me. I was not going to graduate on time with my friends! I was missing 3 credits of community service. It was hard enough getting through school with my teachers and parents yelling at me the whole way. Who knew I also had to do some stupid volunteer work too! This sucked! I was so angry and stormed out of school even though it was only 8:30 in the morning. It was already mid-May and the student parking lot was not that filled. Most seniors were already skipping out of class in anticipation of the prom and graduation next month. And I was not going to be one of them unless I did 100 hours of community service. 100 hours! It sounded like some probation sentence given to a first-time drug dealer or something. I immediately pictured myself standing on the side of the road in an orange jumpsuit, with a bunch of convicts (probably eyeing my chicken ass the entire time) picking up trash with a stick. No _f_u_c_k_ing way!
I sat and sulked on the hood of my car, cursing to myself the entire time. I did not even notice that my guidance counselor, Mr. Babson, had come looking for me and had walked up alongside the car. "Hey, Jon." I mumbled a hello and tried to ignore him but he put his arm across my shoulder and said, "Listen, I want you to graduate too. But this is a state requirement for your diploma. And I think I can help you." "I ain't picking up trash with a _f_u_c_k_in' stick!", I immediately snorted back at him. Mr. Babson laughed quietly and said, "Well, that is one of the acceptable community service projects. However, listen. I think I have another project in mind for you if you think you can handle something difficult."
I looked up at him and he was smiling a little. "Handle it? What does that mean? I do not want to do anything too hard." "No, not hard, but this project requires a special person." I immediately thought that he was pulling some reverse-psychology _s_h_i_t_ with me and I was NOT going to go for it--"Special?" "Well," he said, "I have a friend who was in a motorcycle a few years ago and he is in a wheelchair. He gets around okay by himself but he needs someone to help him out with some of the things he still cannot do for himself. You know, mow the lawn, whatever." "I am NOT going to be some cripple's asswipe!" I spat out. Mr. Babson just smiled and said, "Listen, you do not have many options. If you are going to get in 100 hours of service in one month, you will have to give up your job. And then how would you pay for this nice car of yours that you like to use to cruise for girls? Since this is a special kind of project, I could get the hours to count double so you would only have to do 50 hours. That is only about 8 hours a week between now and graduation. You are not going to get a better deal than that." I grunted to myself. He patted my back, "Think about and call me, Jon." He gave me a piece of paper and left me there alone to consider how I could fit in even 50 hours of babysitting a guy in a wheelchair with school and work and my girlfriend and working on my car and hanging out with the guys. I shoved the paper in my pocket, decided to cut school the rest of the day, and went home.
At home, I shut myself up in my room and threw things around enough to let the whole house know I was mad. But I could not tell my parents. Especially my dad who would freak if he found out I was not going to graduate. He hadn't hit me since I was 11 or so but I could see that this was serious enough. And it was not a beating I was afraid of--It was the though of losing my car. So finally at about 9:00 p. m., I took my jeans off the floor and hunted for the piece of paper and found that Babson had given me the name, address, and phone number of his friend. I picked up the phone and dialed the number. It rang for what felt like forever and I was about to hang up when I heard a gruff, deep voice answer, "Yeah, what do you want?" "Umm, Mister Burns...Mr. Babson told me that you needed someone to help you out and..." "I don't need any help! Who is this?" "Uh, Jon. Mr. Babson is a friend of yours, right? He said you are in a wheelchair and needed someone to help you out and he told me to call you and I need to do this and he said that..." "Babson, yeah, he told me. You have to do this or you ain't gonna graduate. I hope you ain't some skinny kid afraid of a little hard work. The yard is a mess and I can't get out there much. But that doesn't mean that I can't see you loafing around in my yard, either! If you're gonna come here, you better be able to work" I started sweating listening to this hardass on the phone, "But Mr. Babson said that it wouldn't be anything too hard or.." "_f_u_c_k_ Babson. I need someone to help me out. So are you coming or not?" Realizing my options were few at this point and that if this guy was a real asshole I could at least complain to Babson and get at least some credit for the work. So I agreed to come the next day after school.
So the next day, I dragged myself after school to his neighborhood. I easily found the address. There were weeds and grass clogging the entire yard. It looked like no one had mowed it in years. I knocked at the door and waited a while figuring it would take him a while to get to the door. But it opened immediately, although just a crack. I could not see in but he shouted out, "You're late. The weed whacker is in the garage. Start on the front yard." And he shut the door in my face. "_f_u_c_k_in' bastard!" I thought. Babson never told me this guy was a jerk. I remembered the real reason I was there and opened the garage door. The first thing I saw was an awesome Harley parked in the middle. It was amazing. And in perfect condition. If this guy was in an accident, this bike was fixed up well. I ran my hand along it as I walked to the back of the garage and got the weed whacker. I figured 50 hours was going to be too much time at this wack's house.
SO I started cutting the mess in the front yard. In the late afternoon sun, sweat poured off me as I tried to get at all the growth. And the whacker kept getting jammed, the weeds were so thick. In just one hour, I was covered with grass stains. My jeans were soaked and stained green. I took off my t-shirt to wipe my eyes and was cursing this guy and Babson the whole time. And the jerk never offered me a drink or anything. I ended up using a hose on the side of the house to cool off my face and chest and get a drink. After 3 hours of the hardest yard work I had ever done, I had gotten most of the front yard cleared. The weeds were in a huge pile and what was left look like a scraggly lawn. I had not even touched the sides or back of the house which were just as bad. I figured I would quit now--I had 3 hours worth of service--and I was going to call Babson and demand he give me another project.
I went and banged on the front door and this time there was no answer. Good, I thought, he is asleep or something. I will just sneak out and say I had spent 5 or 6 hours. I went into the garage to put the weed whacker away. After I put it back, I went over to the bike and could not resist it. I had always wanted one and had driven a friend's but my father would never let me have one. I looked at the shut door in the garage leading to the house and figured what the hell I could probably hear the bastard's wheelchair coming. I slipped onto the bike and put my stained sneaker up on the starter. I was fooling around with the dials and playing with the hand accelerator when the door opened. "What the _f_u_c_k_ are you doing?" I jumped and in trying to get off the bike quickly I knocked the whole thing over. "You son of a bitch!" "Sorry, mister, sorry I was just looking. I'll pick it up" As I struggled with the huge bike, he hit a button on the wall and the garage door started to close. Then he rolled his wheelchair over and grabbed my arm. "You punk. Look what you did. And you can forget your community service. I'm telling Babson you never even showed up." "Man, no, please, I need those hours. I've been here 4 hours--just look at your yard, man." "3! Don't think I wasn't watching. And look, you scraped the side of the bike." I set it back up and sure enough, there were scratches along the side from the garage floor. I immediately grabbed my t-shirt and started rubbing at them, hoping it was just dirt.
I looked at him in his chair and saw a man in his 50s but built with big chest and arms from rolling his chair around. He was not wearing a shirt and his hairy, broad chest looked out of place on top of his skinny legs that looked like just bones in his sweat pants. Although I knew I could outrun the wheelchair, I got scared thinking about the closed garage door. He rolled up right next to me, still rubbing the bike with my shirt, and grabbed my arm again. I tried to jerk it away but he was much stronger than I was. I struggled and then with his other hand, he snapped handcuffs on my left wrist and cuffed me to the bar on the back of the bike. He wrestled my other arm in and cuffed that one too. "You're gonna pay for this, kid. And if you think you are going to tell Babson or mouth off to me, forget it." And then he slapped me across the face so hard I fell over the bike. "_f_u_c_k_ you!" I spat. And with that he hauled off and spanked my ass so hard, me and the bike almost fell over again. Even my father who had an arm on him had never spanked me that hard. And in my wet jockeys and jeans I could really feel the sting. I was stunned at first and did not know what to do.
Then I felt him working at my jeans snap and zipper and I started cursing and crying at the same time. "No, _f_u_c_k_, man, please...don't rape me, man, _f_u_c_k_, I'll tell...Babson, the cops!" "Shut up, punk! I ain't interested in _f_u_c_k_ing your skinny ass. I just want to teach you a lesson for messing with someone else's property and for being such a loudmouthed, _f_u_c_k_ing brat!". He had some trouble dragging my wet jeans and underwear down. I was so sweaty they were sticking to me. "Listen, Mr. Richard _f_u_c_k_in' cripple Burns, my father will _f_u_c_k_in' kill y.." SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! Three hard slaps to my ass that felt more like punches. I shut my mouth so fast I bit my tongue. I could taste blood in my mouth and my face was streaked with more sweat and tears stung my eyes. I started blubbering like a little kid getting spanked for the first time and I did not know what to do. SLAM! My ass was stinging and my sweaty stomach and thighs were being rubbed by the metal and vinyl of the bike. I pulled against the handcuffs which made him slap me even harder. SLAM! Then nothing...
He stopped. I was afraid to look up and behind me. I could feel a throbbing in my asscheeks unlike anything I had even felt before. It reverberated through my body and I could feel it in my balls and in my stomach. I also had to pee real bad and the throbbing was making me squirm uncomfortably. I heard some noise and before I could turn around to see what it was...ZZZWHACK! ZZZWHACK! I almost passed out from the pain. It was not his hand this time. The pain was more intense and concentrated in a smaller area, smaller than the palm of his big hand. But I felt it all over me at the same time. And I could hear a whizz in the air before each strike. Before long I was cringing at the whizzing sound before I even felt the sting. My head rolled from side to side as I starting pleading, begging, "Please, mister, whatever you want, please stop" "Shut up!" That is all he said the entire time. And he did not stop. ZZZWHACK! Unlike the spanking which concentrated on my ass, this time he was aiming for my thighs, calves, upper back. ZZZWHACK! Once across the shoulders and this time he let whatever it was linger there. And I realized. He was whipping me with a piece of garden hose. ZZZWHACK! That was it--my bladder gave way and I peed on myself, the bike, and the floor of the garage. By this time I was silently sobbing to myself. Then I felt his hand slowly move across my ass and thighs. Even though his touch was soft, I started to twitch and get chills. Especially now that I realized that his hand was feeling raised welts on my ass and legs.
He unlocked the handcuffs. "Get up, kid. And clean your piss off my bike and garage floor." I slumped to my knees off the bike and grabbed my t-shirt and rubbed at my own sweat and urine on his bike. I tried to soak up the puddle on the floor with my shirt but there was too much. "Listen, kid. I just wanted to teach you a lesson about touching my bike. And being such a punk. You clean up the rest of the yard and some other things and maybe, if you ASK PERMISSION, I will let you ride it. I'll even tell Babson you were here 10 or 12 hours already." I thought _f_u_c_k_! This guy IS crazy and all I want to do is get out of here. "Yeah, mister, whatever." "OK, good. You come back tomorrow. See ya, kid." And with that, he rolled himself to the door, hit the garage door button and rolled himself into the house, shutting the door behind him. I was left kneeling with my jeans around my ankles with my piss-soaked t-shirt in my hand as the door opened to the cool night air. I reached behind me and felt my own ass. My own hand made it sting and feel worse than sunburn. I felt like I had sat on a barbecue grill and burned ass skin off. And my hand could feel the raised welts.
I struggled up and pulled my jeans and underwear up slowly. Every inch up it hurt more. And the wet jeans were tight on my sore thighs and ass. After I got them up I walked out of the garage but then realized that anyone could probably see the marks on my bare back. So I had to go back in that torture chamber and take the only thing in there to cover myself. My sweaty, grass-stained, and piss-soaked t-shirt. That also, was a struggle to get on over my sore back and shoulders and I stunk. I could not even stand up straight from the pain in my ass and I walked home all hunched over. I walked the long way home trying to avoid any people. I finally snuck into my house through the back and went straight to the bathroom. It was even harder to get my clothes off again. I tried not to look into the mirror but I saw my grass-stained and tear-streaked sweaty face. Naked from the front I really could not see anything that was wrong. Then I turned around and looked over my shoulder. What I saw made me gasp again, almost like I was hit. My ass had definite red handprints but worse! The garden hose left thin red welts all over my ass and the back of my thighs, calves, and shoulder blades. I started crying and immediately got into the shower. The cool water hurt at first and I stayed in a long time before the pain subsided. I ran from the bathroom to my bedroom in just a towel carrying my stinking, dirty clothes. I locked my door and shoved the clothes under the bed. Then I laid down on my stomach on the bed. Still feeling the echoes of his spanking and every so often I flinched...hearing the whizz of the garden hose just before it made contact with my skin. It was a while before I realized that the phone was ringing and I leaned over and grabbed it from the floor. "Hey, Jon, my friend Richard called and told me what a great job you did yesterday and today. I cannot believe you completed 15 hours already. Really, guy, take it easy. Remember you still have school." "Mr. Babson, I can't go back there." "I know, Jon, Richard told me. He said he would give you the bike for your graduation if you completed your community service. You must have really impressed him with your hard work." "Give me his bike!?!" I rolled over quickly but the pain made me gasp, "Aagh!" "I know that might make you uncomfortable but he told me he really wants you to have it. He said he might even let you ride it tomorrow after you finish in the garage." "Garage?" I said weakly. "Yeah," Babson said, "Richard said you did a great job in the garage and he wants you to do more of the same tomorrow. Good job, Jon." I cannot believe this! Then I saw myself sitting on that bike and driving past all the cheerleaders down at the school...and I thought that I was a real man and could take anything that wacko had to shell out. Especially if it meant getting my own Harley! "Um, yeah, Mr. Babson. I gotta keep working in the garage tomorrow."