When I was a kid there was an abandoned house not far from where I lived. In fact it was within sight of my house. Naturally it was off-limits to all us neighorhood children, since the house was falling apart and dangerous. This made it all the more attractive to us, of course.
One afternoon when I was nine years old I was in "the old house," as it was called, with Doug and Mark, neighborhood friends, and Jimmy, a friend from my class at school who had stopped by to visit. We climbed the rickety stairs, on the verge of collapse, all the way to the attic. There we had discovered a trap door onto the roof!
We dared each other and got up our courage for quite a while, then climbed out. The tiles on the slanting roof seemed to be reliable. It was a sunny day and it was glorious out there. We surveyed the fields and houses around us and felt like kings or mountain climbers.
After a while we realized that we could be seen from the houses around us, and went back inside the attic to avoid being caught in this off-limits location. We sat around, picking through the old junk in the attic and talking. Doug decided he'd go out on the roof once more. He dropped back inside almost immediately.
"Terry, your father's out there!" he said breathlessly. "And he's got a belt!"
My first reaction, completely sincere, was that he was playing a trick on me. My father hadn't spanked me since I was six years old, and even when I was young he'd only used his hand. He'd never even threatened to use his belt. The idea of my father standing in wait with a belt in his hand was simply unbelievable.
"Oh, come on," I said, unimpressed. "He is not."
"He is! I swear! We'd better get out of here. He's in the back. If we sneak out the front maybe he won't see us!"
"Yeah, right," I said. "I know my father isn't out there." I was so sure of myself that I climbed right back out on the roof, so that I could look around and prove Doug was just joking.
I practically had a heart attack. There he was - and he was holding something. Was it a belt? I couldn't tell. He'd been waiting for me to come into view. "Terry!" he yelled. "Doug! Jimmy! You boys come down here RIGHT NOW!"
I jumped back in the attic. We looked at each other, aghast. We were in trouble for sure. But... that couldn't be a belt? Could it?
I couldn't imagine he would even give me a spanking at my advanced age, let alone use his belt. On the other hand, there had been changes recently. He had been locking horns with my 15-year-old brother Joe for the last few months. Dad was frustrated at Joe's rebellion, and I had often heard my parents talking about the need to show who's boss. Mom and Dad both had been stricter recently.
I thought again about the brief view I had had of my father standing out there, holding something. It had looked like a belt. What else would he be holding? I began to feel real nervous.
"_s_h_i_t_," I said. "Doug, are you sure that was a belt he had in his hand?"
"Yeah! I saw it!"
"_f_u_c_k_," said Jimmy. "My parents are going to ground me for sure. But I don't think I'll get a whipping or anything."
They looked at me with a mixture of fascination and compassion.
Mark said, "I didn't know your father whips you when you get in trouble."
"He doesn't!" I shouted. "I haven't even been spanked since I was in the first grade!"
They just looked at me. Then we heard my father again: "Terry! Jimmy! Doug! Downstairs, NOW!"
Mark had in fact been afraid to go out on the roof, and my father didn't mention him. Apparently he hadn't been spotted. We all agreed Mark should sneak out the front while we went out the back to confront my father.
We marched solemnly to him, with me leading the way. I saw immediately that it was indeed his belt that he held in his right hand, folded over. My heart began to thud painfully in my chest.
"How many times do you kids have to be told to stay away from that house!" he growled. "Do you realize you could have been killed? That thing would fall right over if you pushed it hard enough!"
"I'm sorry," I mumbled.
"Not as sorry as you will be!" His meaning was clear.
I looked at his belt. I had to know. I swallowed hard. "Are you going to use that?"
"Yes, I am. I hate to do it, but it looks like I have to teach you a hard lesson, young man."
He grabbed me by the right arm and started marching me in the direction of our house. "Doug, Jimmy, you come with us. I'm calling to call your folks from our house."
It was a trip of three or four blocks. We passed a group of kids on the way who stared as we went by. An angry father, belt in hand, dragging an anxious-looking boy with him: the scenario was plain. I was mortified. They were all kids I played or went to school with.
When we got inside, Dad let go of my arm and put his belt on the kitchen table. He knew Doug's phone number since he and Doug's father went bowling together, so he called and made his report to Doug's mother.
He hung up and said, "Doug, you get right home. Your mother is waiting for you." Doug sped out.
Dad asked for Jimmy's phone number and called his house. After a somewhat longer conversation, he hung up and told Jimmy to wait in the living room until his mother drove over to pick him up. Jimmy lived in another neighborhood about twenty minutes distant.
Jimmy went and sat glumly on the living room sofa as my father and I went up the stairs. I was in a panic. Not only was my father about to whip my ass, but everyone was going to know about it. And Jimmy was going to hear everything!
My stomach was doing flip-flops as Dad took me into my room and closed the door. I felt panicky and wanted to pee.
He looked around. There was an ancient leather armchair that had wound up here. He pushed it into the center of the room.
"Take your pants down and lie over the arm of the chair," he said. I started to plead with him, but my voice choked up. He was impassive and repeated his order.
In despair I stood by the chair. As I did so, to my shame I could see through my open window that a large group of kids, including those we had passed and Mark, had come to sit on the curb directly opposite our house. They wouldn't be able to see me when I was lying over the chair, but they could see me from the waist up as I stood there, and guess what was happening as I dropped my pants. Also they'd be able to clearly see my father wielding the belt. My humiliation was total.
Feeling their eyes upon me, I undid the button on my jeans and lowered the zipper. Then I pushed them down to my knees and started to bend over the chair. My father stopped me. With a quick motion he yanked down my underpants as well and pushed them and my trousers all the way to my ankles.
I lay with my bare bottom directly over the broad, rounded arm of the leather armchair. My legs were straight and my toes touched the floor. I lay my head on the opposite arm of the chair, with my arms thrown up over my head.
Dad's belt was broad and heavy, and the cracks of the belt on my ass were loud and sharp. He whipped me a good fifteen or twenty times at a slow, deliberate pace, and I was howling like a banshee from the beginning. I hated myself for giving the kids outside - and Jimmy downstairs - such a good show, but I couldn't help myself.
Sure enough, my whipping was the talk of the neighborhood and the school for some time. I stopped playing with Mark, for having practically sold tickets to the event, and Jimmy, for telling so freely about it, complete with sound effects, to anyone who would listen.
And it ushered in a new era, one where Dad was intent on putting a lid on any budding rebelliousness on my part. I was spanked or whipped rather frequently over the next three or four years, ending when puberty set in. Dad thought my brother Joe, arguably the reason behind his tough new approach, was too old for such treatment. Meanwhile, Joe thought I was only a brat getting exactly what I deserved, and didn't hesitate to tattle on me. He thought it was hilarious when his tattling led to me getting spanked.
My situation with Joe became more complicated over the years. But that's another story.