[Grand Station, Nebraska, October 17, 1952]
"Ezra, what did I tell you would happen the next time you I got a call from Mr. Dobson?"
"Geez, Dad, we weren't doin' anything you didn't do when you were my age! I mean, _s_h_i_t_!"
"Don't you sass me, boy, and don't you take that tone, either! Now you answer me, Ezra. What did I tell you was coming your way if I got another call from Mr. Dobson?"
"_d_a_m_n_, Dad, don't get all bent out of shape."
"One more four letter word from you and you'll find out what naptha soap tastes like, boy. And this is the last time I am going to ask you: what did I tell you would happen if I got one more call from your principal?" He took hold of his son's chin and raised Ezra's head so their eyes met.
"You said I'd get a lickin'," Ezra whispered, averting his eyes. "But, geez, Dad, I'm in high school now," he whined quietly, "and none of the other kids gets a whippin' any more."
"Don't you be too sure about that, boy," he father answered knowing full well several of his friends still made regular visits to the woodshed or its equivalent. "According to Mr. Dobson it was you who got the pack of cigarettes, Ezra, and you who initiated the hooky from afternoon class. True? And don't you ever lie to me, son."
"Yes, sir." Ezra answered truthfully and simply.
"That's better. Get the strap and go out to the shed. You're gonna get a licking. I'll be along after I finish a couple of chores." Family history had it that this "punishment strap"-as his father called it-went all the way back to his great, great grandfather.
Ezra watched his father disappear out the kitchen door and felt that familiar dread in the pit of his stomach. He had hoped with graduation from elementary school all this was behind him. Well, there was no getting out of it now. So he squared his shoulders, gave a big sigh, and went up the stairs to his parents bedroom. There, on a hook in his father's closet, he took the old worn razor strop down and thought back to the last time he had been made to get it out. That was the night he had nearly set the barn on fire lighting matches to smoke a cigar in the loft. This smoking stuff sure was expensive, he thought. And the price he was about to pay was a little more than he had figured when he talked his two best friends into playing hooky. He trudged down the stairs, out the door, across the yard, and into the shed where he pulled the saddle trestle out into the middle of the floor. Then he sat down to wait for the executioner to arrive.
Half hour later he looked out through the window and saw his father walking toward the shed from the barn. He knew the drill from here. When his fathter came into the shed, Ezra gingerly handed him the strap, turned his back, stripped his jeans down, and waited for the lecture.
"I am really sorry you chose to behave the way you did, son. Really I am. If you think I like having to take this strap to you, you're sadly mistaken. But I have a responsibility and intend to take that seriously. Boys your age belong in school, not out playing hooky. And when you are eighteen, son, you can smoke if you are still dumb enough. But not at fourteen. I intend this to be so burned into your memory that the next time the thought to skip or to smoke crosses your mind, you won't even be tempted. Because as hard a spanking as I intend to give you today, you can count on double dose if ever I have to take you out here for the same things again. Do you hear me, boy""
"Yes, sir!"
"Good. Now you know what I need to hear from you."
"I am sorry, sir, for cutting class and for smoking." Ezra almost choked on the words, hesitated, then continued for fear of provoking worse punishment. "It will not happen again, sir. It really will not. . . . And I . . . and I . . .deserve this strapping." There, he had done what needed to be done to minimize the damage, he hoped.
"Take your briefs down, boy, --you're getting this one on the bare-- and you bend across that trestle. You best get a good grip on that rail cause I intend to give you a whipping the likes of which you won't soon forget."
Ezra pealed his white jockey briefs down to his ankles baring his backside for razor strop. Then he bent across the trestle and grabbed hold of the horizontal bar near the floor. His father moved slightly back and to the side, raised the strap high over his shoulder, took aim at the milky white butt cheeks, and flashed it down across the fullest part of Ezra"s buttocks.
Crrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!
A two inch wide pink band soon appeared from hip to hip. Ezra's knuckles whitened a bit on the bar in response and he felt the fire start to spread through his backside.
Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuppppppp!
A second band sprang into a scarlet stripe just below the first, and Ezra's butt wriggled in reaction to the horrific sting spreading now through his ass. In a very slow rhythm Ezra's father continued to lay the strap to him, slow and very, very hard.
Ssssssssssssssssmmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaccccccckkkkk!
While he still clung to the bar with his hands, Ezra's whole body now danced to the crack of the old razor strop. His ass wriggled side to side, feet hopped up and down like a tap dancer, but Ezra remained in position, hips even slightly thrusting as the strap continued to snap across his now crimson butt. The cross hatching of darker purple lines marked where the edge of the strop cut in. Finally, after about twenty or twenty-five wicked licks, his father stopped. But only to change sides and move to his backhand.
Thhhhhhhhhhhhhwwwwwwwwwwuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccck!
Once again his father picked up the slow rhythm. Making sure each lick was delivered on target and giving a few seconds for the "message" to register, his father strapped him hard once again, working from the top of his ass down to the middle of his thighs. It was, Ezra thought, easily the worst whipping he'd ever gotten. And it was all he could do to hang on to that bar. But he knew if he let go, he would only get it worse. Then, suddenly, mercifully, it stopped.
"Now you think you can remember this one, boy?" his father asked rhetorically.
He almost winced when he looked at the damage to his son's posterior. Dark lines and welts crisscrossed in every direction across the dark purple background. And he had no small amount of admiration for his son taking such a whipping without letting go or crying out. But he also had no doubt there were tears rolling down Ezra's face -- and he was right.
"Yes, sir! It will not happen again, sir!" Ezra whispered loudly, stifling a sob. "I deserved every lick, sir, and know you love me or you would not have done it, sir!" He felt a hand on his shoulder pulling him upright; then his father gave him a powerful hug. He was embarrassed by the erection he had acquired during this ordeal and hoped that his father would not notice.
"Now I got to finish the chores," his father said, " and you can put the strap back where you found it, boy. Never know when I may need it again." He handed the razor strop to Ezra. Then he went over to the workbench, took a towel from the rags box, and handed it to him. "And you might want to do something about that hard on you got there, boy," before you come back to the house. He smiled. Then he left.
Ezra walked gingerly to the shed door, threw the bolt into place, hung the towel over his stiff _c_o_c_k_, and lathered up his hands with saddle oil. Then he started to stroke himself, feeling the waves in his belly build quickly. Barely in time he wrapped the towel in place and felt the hot spurting which always felt so good.
Well, maybe it was worth it, after all. But next time maybe just hooky would be enough -- no need to smoke and make things quite this bad. He smiled to himself. Like father like son, he thought. As he approached the edge of shooting his load into the towel, he concentrated on the heat in his backside and fastened his gaze on the supple old strap which had brought the fire. Then, with a powerful jerk, he emptied himself into the towel with spasm after spasm till he was drained. And smiled. That, he thought to himself, was worth the worst lickin' he had had to take--and the best.
The ghost of his great great grandfather looked down into that old barn and smiled.