You may remember from another story I wrote that I grew up in group homes; the place they send kids who have nowhere better to go. Shortly before I turned 18, I was living in what the state of Texas, Department of Human Service social workers call, an independent living facility. Basically, this means I had an apartment I shared with one or two others at times and was somewhat responsible for learning how to live on my own. One of my roomates was a guy from Michigan named Chris. Chris was Italian and he was very good looking. His only drawback, according to my tastes, is that he (and therefore his butt) was a bit hairy. Other than that, he was simply irresistable. Chris and I were both seventeen.
The particular facility in which I resided was not strictly independent living, they also had the more restrictive residential treatment for younger children as well. One night one of Chris' friends, JP, ran away from his place and came to ours. Chris and I were not going to turn him in, but we didn't want him on the street either; he was only 10, after all. It was agreed he could stay the night and we would work it out in the morning. Well, the next day, I went to work and Chris got a conscience. He decided to tell the staff JP was in our apartment. JP found this out and came to see me at the mall.
I called up the apartment and chewed out Chris and, after we hung up, he took one too many Vivarin; he lived but, oh, was he wired for about three days thereafter. JP and I weren't sure what to do. Even though I was 17, I was scared. I mean, could they bring charges against me or what? I didn't know. So, I suggested to JP we get a motel room for the night to give us time to think. So, we did.
I told the manager our parents had been in a car accident and we had to stay the night in the motel. After JP and I got settled, I asked him to join me at the table for a talk. I said, "JP, tomorrow, we could be in so much trouble. We have tonight to think about that, but I need to ask you a question. There are two ways we can handle our time in the motel tonight. First, we could just pretend we are friends, or second, I could be `dad for a day' and you could be my son. If you choose the first, we will probably have a decent time together. If you choose the second, we will probably still have a decent time together. The only difference is that as my son, I want your permission and full cooperation if I have to discipline you, and that means spank you. Well, what is it going to be?"
JP was a smart, good-looking kid. He was also pretty sensitive. All evening he had been apologizing for the trouble he had caused and telling me he was sorry. Thoughtful at first, then with a grin, he answered, "I want you to be my `dad for a day,' well tonight anyway."
"Are you sure you are willing to cooperate if I believe it is necessary for you to be disciplined?"
"Yes, sir."
Looking deep into his eyes, yes, I was sure he knew what was coming. "OK, son, please walk around to where I am sitting."
"John Paul, you know the trouble you have caused, don't you?"
Head down, he mumbled, "Yes."
"I am going to be very honest with you John Paul; no secrets. Last night when I was the one who got chosen to be with you in the restroom for your bath in case someone came in, and you were getting undressed, I wanted to spank your butt then. I even suggested Chris do just that but he didn't agree. Well, I have thought since you came to me at the mall how I would handle this given the opportunity, and you just agreed to submit, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"The question I have been asking myself is should I spank you before or after your bath? If I spank you before, I reasoned, you may feel it briefly, but the bath will quickly ease the effect. If I spank you after, you butt will be so red, I would have little recourse if you do anything else. So, I reached a compromise with myself: I will spank you now, after which you will stand in the corner until I am convinced the effect is over, and you have been made to feel the full impact of the lesson you're about to receive. Then, you'll take your bath and if you have it coming again later, I won't have to hesitate to warm up your bottom for you again. Is that clear?"
Stammering, "Y--eess, ssiirr," and tears began to fill his eyes.
"OK, John Paul, we have spoken long enough--I know you know I am not going to spank you in all that clothing, don't you?" Knowing he was going to run away the night before, JP dressed for the occasion. On top he wore a t-shirt, long-john top, and flannel, with briefs, shorts, long john bottoms, sweats, and jeans on his bottom.
"Yes, sir."
I reached foreword and unfastened his pants. "Remove your shoes, socks, jeans, sweats, long john bottoms, and shorts, and I will take care of the rest." Systematically, he obeyed: He sat down on the bed across from me and removed his shoes, socks, jeans, sweats, bottoms, shorts, and was left standing clothed in only his briefs and what he wore on top. "OK, son, approach the chair."
I reached out to pull him closer, slipped my fingers in his jockey and pushed them to his ankles. He never resisted, and his boyish submissiveness was arousing. I placed him over my knee and positioned his baby-soft butt just so, raising his shirts to his back, exposing his full boyish, hairless, firmly rounded cheeks. I said, "Son, I am not going to lie and say this will hurt me more than it hurts you," and I began to spank him. Slowly, methodically, one cheek, then the other. Even the sides of his butt. SMACK! Everywhere. SMACK! Up one side and down the other; up, down across. SMACK! Quietly, he began to cry. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Then I paused, "Stand up."
My little boy faced me with tears and cries, stammering, "I-I-I'mmmm sorr-eeee." I pulled him to me and hugged him. My left arm wrapped to his right shoulder blade, mr right, cupping one of his little, blistered cheeks. His innocense was arousing, but it also made the spanking hurt me too. I placed my hands gently on his shoulders and stood him in front of me, his briefs still around his ankles. Softly, still crying, he started to pull them up but firmly I said, "No. Remember what I said came next, son. Part of the punishment is for you to feel the full impact. That means no rubbing your butt, and a lengthy stand nose-in-the-corner. It also means every five minutes I will ask you to approach the bed, raise you shirts and inspect your butt. After you have finished crying, the swelling and most of the redness has gone away, you will take your bath and come to bed. Because of and with your continued cooperation, I will order pizza and we can watch movies the rest of the night but, understand John Paul, this does not have to be the only spanking you receive. If you disobey me, I will spank you again. Is that clear?"
Through his cries, he managed, "Yeesss, sssiirr."
"Very well, take your place in the corner. Hands at your side, nose touching the wall."
There he remained, for about the next thirty minutes. He had long ceased crying. When I called him to me, he was a well behaved young man. "Turn around, raise your shirts." The swelling was gone, and so was most of the redness. If necessary, and it would be later, he could stand a few more swats. There were, however, one or two spots to avoid. "You may go take your bath. Call me when you are finished and before you dress to be inspected. I want my son clean."
Smiling now, "Yes, sir."
About thirty minutes later, "Dad!"
I walked into the restroom and was astonished! Hey, I was 17, I had long forgotten what messess I made as a little kid. "John Paul!"
"Yes, dad?"
"What is this mess? You have every piece of your clothing hung from every thing in this place, water on the floor! John Paul, come with me."
By the bed, "John Paul, if you thought I was kidding about spanking you again, you are surely about to find out different. Get me that wooden cleaning brush from under the sink."
Head bowed, he brought it to me. The brush was about 8 inches long and, at its head, was about four inches across; four inches each for the handle and for the brush, but the brush was made of very hard, two-inch thick wood. "Bend over the bed John Paul." His hands over his head, as if they would shield him from the pain... SMACK! SMACK! Fast paced, one cheek then the other. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! He was really crying, "Pllleeeeeaassee Daaaddd!" SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Then I stopped. Ten licks in all; one on one cheek, then the other. His butt was blistered. Though he must have known the spanking was over, he just laid there crying. "You go get your clothes folded and put away. NOW!"
Startled, JP got up crying, shaking, naked, and hugged me at my waist. Then he went to clean up the rest room. "When you're done, come in your briefs to bed." Later, he did just that. Climbing under the covers, he cuddled up next to me, head on my chest. I ordered pizza and pop and we watched about three movies before we drifted off to sleep.
The next morning I tried to wake him up, but he wasn't very agreeable. "John Paul," I said to a very sleepy boy, "I am still dad for about three more hours. If you don't get out of that bed, I am going to remind you of what that means." I tugged at his covers and warned him about three more times before he said, "No!" That was the last straw. He was lying face down when I tore back the covers and jerked on his briefs. He was fully awake now, rolling on one shoulder, "Dad, please," he started to cry. With my hand still in his briefs, "I'm sorry son. I have about two and one half more hours left of being your dad. I plan to spend at least the next few minutes teaching you not to disrespect your elders. I was willing to continue to gently wake you up until you said no to me. Roll back over." Crying, nodding, he complied.
I finished the job of pulling his shorts down to his knees, straightening him out on the bed. His butt was fresh as the new day. Incredibly, no one except us would have known the punishment his butt endured the night before. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! My hand rained swats on his bottom. His cries became more pronounced; his butt more red than ever. I swelled his butt cheeks shut almost. Breathing heavy, "Now, son, go get your shower and get back out here and make the bed." Crying, he sat up and again hugged this man who had just punished his bottom so unmercifully. Then, he went and bathed.
John Paul and I returned to the home. As it turned out, I wasn't in any trouble. An investigation revealed nothing inappropriate had gone one the evening John Paul was in our apartment or when we were alone in a dark motel. John Paul never said one word about the spankings he received. Occasionally, we would see each other. He looked at me with the utmost admiration; and I him. We spoke of a day when I would be released from the home, come again to rescue him, and I would be his dad for more than a day.
It is every orphan's dream: a good man, claiming to be their dad, will one day appear and take them away. The two shall live happily ever after. It is just that, a dream, which seldom comes true. John Paul and I had more than most, for we had lived the dream for a day.