"Hello"
"Hello. Uncle Jim? This is Brett . . . Brett White, . . . your nephew."
"Well, hi, Brett. How are you? Where are you?"
"I'm fine, Uncle Jim."
This was his brother, Phil's son. Phil had three kids, a son, Brett, and two younger, twin daughters. About 14 years ago, he had run off with another woman, divorced his wife, and left her to raise the three children alone. It had been a terrible tragedy in the family, and he had not seen any of Phil's kids for many years – Brett was 10, and the girls were three.
"Where are you, Brett?"
"I'm at home, here in Madison."
"Are you still in law school?"
"Oh, yes. Yes, sir. I'm really in it – first semester of my second year."
"Well, how's it going, Brett?"
"Oh, ok, I guess. Finals are coming up in about three-and-a-half weeks, so I'm always worried about that. . . . "
"So, what's up, Brett?" The pause and silence signaled to Jim that Brett had something on his mind.
"Ah, Uncle Jim, my law school hockey team is entered in a tournament just north of Dallas, and, . . . ah . . . I thought maybe I could see you then."
What a surprise! How could this kid take off a week from law school to go to this tournament, with only 3 ½ weeks before finals? But it would be nice to have his family become acquainted with their cousin-nephew.
"Sure, Brett. Great! Just let me know, and I'll come pick you up and bring you to our house in Ft. Worth."
"Okay, thanks, Uncle Jim. . . . "
More pause. "Is there a problem, Brett?"
"Ah, . . . well, . . . it's really expensive to participate in this, and I, .. . ah . . . was wondering, . . . ah . . ."
"Do you need some money, Brett?"
"Ya-yes, sir. It would just be a loan until I get out of law school, and then I'll pay it back as soon as I'm working."
"Never mind that right now, Brett. What does it cost to participate in the tournament?"
"Ah, $800 – it covers the entry, air fare, and hotel. It's really a great tournament, Uncle Jim. Teams from different law schools around the country are entering, and . . ."
"Now, wait a minute, Brett. It's fun and exciting to be in a tournament, but what about school? You said you're still in law school, and just 3 ½ weeks from finals! How can you take the time off to do this?"
"Oh, don't worry, Uncle Jim. I'll bring my books with me. Besides, this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to play in this tournament."
Once-in-a-lifetime chance to play in a hockey tournament, when he's a student preparing for law school! What's this kid thinking?! He sure sounds pretty juvenile! Still, he wanted to be a "dad" to this kid as much as possible, since his brother, Brett's Dad, had been absent from Brett's life for more than 14 years.
"Ok, Brett. I'm not convinced that this makes sense at all for you to do, but I'll send you the $800, plus some cash to eat from. Let me know your arrival and departure times, and when you get there, and then when you finish up, so I can plan to go pick you up."
"Gosh, thanks, Uncle Jim. You're terrific. Ah, could you send it to me marked "Confidential" – so no one else will open it?"
"Yes, sure, Brett. But are you hiding this from your Mom?"
"Ah, yeah, sort of. She really doesn't want me to do this, Uncle Jim, . . . and she'd kill me if she knew I called you."
"Well, Brett, that gives me some considerable second thoughts about this. If your Mom is opposed, I shouldn't be making something possible that she is against."
"Nononooo, Uncle Jim. That's not it. It's just that she wouldn't be willing to take on the financial burden for me to do this. So, she'll be ok, I know, I promise."
"Is she there right now, Brett? I think perhaps I ought to speak with her."
"Noooo, Uncle Jim. Ah, she's at work right now. But I promise, it's ok."
"Alright, Brett; but I want to say that I do feel a bit uneasy about all of this."
"Nothing to worry about, Uncle Jim. Thanks again, sooo much!. Gosh, your great!"
This kid for sure was immature, to be gushing over something like that!
"Ok, Brett. Be sure to call me when you arrive at DFW airport, and be sure to call your Mom first! Understand?"
"Sure, Uncle Jim. Thanks again, ah . . . see you soon."
Jim White sent out a check for $900 the next day, accompanied by a letter reminding his nephew to call him when he arrived at the airport, or when he was settled in his hotel room, and to do the same – first – with his Mom.
Sunday afternoon came and went, and Brett should have landed at DFW. Jim and his wife and kids waited throughout the evening until after 10 p. m., but no call came from Brett.
Monday morning, Jim went to his office, before heading out into the field for the day. He called his sister-in-law's house, in Madison, Wisconsin, to see if she had heard from Brett. To his annoyance and dismay, Mary had said that she had not received a call from Brett. She sounded as if she were making excuses for him: "He probably got busy playing a game right a way, and then was too tired and forgot before he fell asleep."
"Perhaps, Mary, but I made a point twice of asking him to do that. This is fairly inconsiderate and noncompliant, it seems to me." Jim replied.
"You're right, Jim. I've just not been very good about making him call me and let me know where he is, and what he's doing. You know, . . . no man in the house." Jim did know, and instantly blamed his brother for abdicating his responsibility.
"I understand, Mary. But I'm going to get after his behind when I see him. There's simply no excuse for being that inconsiderate and disobedient."
"Ok, Jim. Good luck with him. And thanks again for taking an interest in Brett."
After the call, and before he left the office, Jim left word with the switchboard, "If my nephew, Brett White, calls, tell him to call his Mother – at once!"
Thursday afternoon, about 3:30 p. m., a call came in to Jim at his office. "Your nephew is on the phone, Jim."
"Hello, Brett?"
"Hi, Uncle Jim. We won! We won the tournament! Wow! I can't believe it. What a high!"
"That's great, Brett. But I was wondering if I was ever going to hear from you."
"Ah, . . . oh, that. I did try to call you Monday afternoon, but you were out. Then I just got busy and hung up on everything, and didn't get a chance to call."
"Did you call your Mom?"
"Oh, yes. I got your message when I called, and I called her then. Yes, sir."
"Have you called her since?"
"No."
"Ok. When are you ready to get picked up and come to Ft. Worth?"
"Right now."
"Right now?"
"Yeah!"
"Well, Brett, why didn't you call and give me a little advance notice? I can't leave at once, and it'll probably be a couple of hours or more before I can get away. Where are you?"
"I'm at the rink. I had to check out of my hotel, or they'd charge me for another night."
"Alright, Brett. You stay at the rink. Is there a pro shop there?
"Yes, right outside the stands."
"Ok. You meet me there. If I leave in about 5 or 5:30, and it'll still be another two hours before I can get there. So, let's plan. You start being on the lookout for me about 7 p. m. Okay?"
"Right, Uncle Jim. See you then."
It was about 7:30 p. m., when Jim White parked his car outside the rink and walked inside. At once he spotted the pro shop, and the benches outside of it, before you walked through the double doors into the frigid rink itself. He looked around. No one who even resembled his nephew. Walking into the pro shop, he looked around. It was deserted, except for an aged sales clerk sitting behind the counter.
"Have you seen a young man, about 23, 6'3", around 190 pounds?"
"You could've just described a bunch of guys who look like that about four hours ago, mister," the elderly clerk said.
"Ok. Thanks," Jim replied and walked outside again. Still no one around. He walked over to the double doors and spotted a game underway on the ice. Walking into the rink area, he heard shouting and screaming from the stands. As he came up the stairs, he saw a group of young guys hanging over the railing that overlooked the ice surface. He decided to try them. He walked up to them and called out, "Bret?"
All at once, the group separated and one of the guys, a tall, slim, blond, blue-eyed fellow, broke into a grin and came rushing over to him.
"Uncle Jim!" He stuck out his hand and shook his uncle's hand firmly and warmly, and then grinned and semi-snuggled into his uncle's big hug.
Then, looking directly at his nephew, Jim White flatly stated: "I've been looking all over for you, Brett. Didn't I say to meet at the pro shop?"
"Oh, yeah. 'Sorry, Uncle Jim. I got bored, and these guys were watching the consolation game, so I joined'em."
"Well, Brett, I don't know how you are at following your coach's directions, but I'm beginning to think you need practice in doing what you're asked. Now, come on. Where are your bags? We need to get going." His voice betrayed an edge of irritation as he barked questions and directions to his nephew.
"Oh, I put them in the back of the pro shop, Uncle Jim. We can get'em with this claim check."
They walked quickly, but silently, down the stairs, out of the rink area, and over to the pro shop. Entering again, Jim White found that the shop was completely empty – even the old clerk was gone. He walked over to the counter and tapped on the bell by the register. A couple of minutes later the old gentleman walked in from the back.
"We have some bags in the back, sir. Here's the ticket. Can you let us get them?" Jim asked.
"Sure enough, fellas. Follow me, and they're yours."
Jim picked up both of his nephews suitcases, and his hockey sticks wrapped together with tape. "Get your hockey bag, Brett," he called. Brett shouldered the hockey bag, and walked out following his uncle to the car.
It was now about 8:15 p. m., and Jim felt like he had spent a solid part of his day spinning his wheels due to his nephew. They put the bags in the trunk, lay the sticks along the length of the car along the side of the seats, and got in. Driving away from the rink, Jim breathed deeply, calming his irritation with his young nephew. Turning his head, he asked, "Are you hungry?"
"Yeah, Uncle Jim. I'm starved."
"Ok. Well, we'll drive into Dallas before we stop for dinner, Brett. Susan will have served dinner a long time before we get home, and the kids will probably be in bed by them."
"I guess I can last that long."
Jim's mind tossed on that last statement, the openly self-centeredness of it.
Approximately an hour later, they pulled up to the Lone Star Café, where the blazing neon sign announced barbecue, chili, Tex-Mex faire. The parking lot was full, and Jim drove around behind the restaurant to find a space. They walked in the front door and were greeted by a waitress: "How many? Smoking or non?"
"Two, non," Jim replied.
She directed them to follow her and led them to a large, wooden booth, where they sat down.
"This is some of the best barbecue, Texas-style chili, and Tex-Mex food you'll find anywhere, Brett."
"It sure looks cowboy-like, Uncle Jim. What do you recommend?"
"The ribs are terrific. So's the Texas chili, and Tex-Mex is always great. You can safely take a stab at anything, Brett."
"OK, I guess I'll bet some ribs and a bowl of the chili."
"Great choice, Brett."
Twenty minutes later, they were eating ravenously and Brett was talking rapidly about the tournament he had just finished. "We went undefeated, Uncle Jim; and I scored 11 goals in 5 games. You should have seen some of 'em! They were sweet – really pretty goals, off great passes and rebounds. I love this game!"
Jim was somewhat surprised that this second year law student should be raving so about playing hockey on an school team.
"How were your accommodations, Brett? Was the hotel reasonably clean? Did you get enough to eat?"
"Oh, the hotel was fine. We just collapsed and slept there. We ate good. Breakfasts were provided by the hotel, and the money you sent was great. I just ran out at lunch today. 'Seems like I was constantly hungry, though."
"Undoubtedly from all the strenuous exercise you've been undergoing over the week. But how come I didn't hear from you, Brett? Why didn't you call me, like I asked?"
"Oh, that. I guess I just got too distracted and hung up on everything, and didn't give it much thought."
"But, Brett, you didn't even give any thought to calling your Mom, either."
"Well, I did after I called your office," he rationalized.
"Right, and only after you called," Jim returned.
"Oh, well. No big deal."
"Wrong, Brett. It is a big deal, for a bunch of reasons. You traveled over 1500 miles from home, to a place you've never been before, and no one knows whether you got there, where you are, how you are, how to get in touch with you. Then, your Mom deserves – and you owe – more thoughtfulness than that. Not to mention that you were explicitly requested – several times – to call, and you didn't do it."
"Well, I'm just not used to looking at it that way, Uncle Jim."
"Then, you need to adjust the way you look at it. After all, you were asked to do that, several times. And its just fundamental courtesy and responsibility. I wouldn't travel 1500 miles away from home for more than a week and not let anybody know that I'd gotten there safely, where I was, how I was. You not only owe that, Brett, you need to shape up to become a reliable man – now, before you become a husband and a dad."
"C'mon, Uncle Jim. You're making a big deal about nothing."
"No, Brett. You haven't caught on yet. This is your basic obligation as a guy who is accountable to people, especially when directed to do it. All it would have taken would be a couple of quick calls: "Mom, I'm here and safe, no problem, don't worry. Talk to you later. Uncle Jim, ditto."
"Ok, I don't want to argue any more, Uncle Jim. Maybe you're right. Anyway, 'sorry."
'Sorry. That was a lame response from somebody who obviously still did not recognize his responsibilities.
They ate in silence for a while, and then Jim got up to pay for the meal while Brett went to the restroom. When Jim had finished at the cashier, Brett was waiting at the exit. As they walked out, Brett said he wanted to get his trophy out of his bag in the trunk, to show Jim. They walked through the parking lot, around back towards the car, and went to the trunk. Jim opened the trunk while Brett feverishly looked through his hockey bag, until he pulled out his trophy. Jim closed the trunk and let Brett walk to the front passenger door, and then unlocked it. Brett opened the door, and bent down to place his trophy on the console between the front seats. As he straightened up to slide down into the front set, Brett's head and shoulders jerked upward, as he felt a sudden, series of swats resounding on his backside.
WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP!
"Wha-what's that for?" Brett asked quickly, as his right hand instinctively reached around behind him to protect his rearend from Jim's repeating swats.
Jim immediately grabbed Brett's right hand with his left hand, and pulled it up on Brett's back, which bent his young nephew over a bit more. Meanwhile, Jim's right hand and arm continued the machine-gun repetition of swats back and forth against Brett's behind.
WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP!
"This for not calling, and not doing what you were asked to do – what you were supposed to do."
"Ah, . . . ok . . . ah, I don't get it, . . . ah . . . but . . . ah . . . stop it."
"You are getting it, young fella, right now, and you are not to tell me when to stop, understand?"
WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP!
Brett was twisting and turning, as Jim's grip on his right arm bent him over, with is face against the low roof of the car. Jim's constant pounding of his bottom was heating up his butt, and it was starting to hurt.
"NO! . . .ah., I mean, yes. Ok. Listen, Uncle Jim. This isn't right. Stop! Now! Stop! It's HURTING!"
WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP!
Now, Brett was at the brink of tears, and he began begging and pleading for his uncle to stop.
"Ooo-ah-owtch! Augh-ah-owww! Ooooo-ah-yoww! Uncle Jim! Oooo-ah-wait! I'm sorry! Oooo-ah-oweee! Yowww! Oooo-ah-oweeeyoweee! Wait! Please! Please, Uncle Jim. Aieeyowww! I'm sorry! I'm-ah-sorrrreeee! Ah-ooooo! Ah-yoweeyoweeeyoww! OOOOO-ah-STOP! STOP! IT'S HURTING! IT'S HURRRRTING! OOOO-AH-OOOOO-AAAA-YOW-AH-OWEEEYOWEEEYOWWW!"
Brett was wailing out in the back parking lot of the café. Jim deliberately said nothing, but continued delivering another rapid, hard series of swats to the seat of his nephew's shorts.
WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMP! WHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMP! WHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMP! WHAMPWHAMPWHAMP! WHAAAAMP!
"P-PLEASE, UNCLE JIM! STOPIT! STOPIT! OWOWOWWW! I'M SORRREE! OWOWOWEEE! I'M SORRY! PUH-LEEEEZE!"
Releasing his nephew's right arm, Jim gently, but firmly, pushed him into the passenger seat of the car.
"OOOO-AAA-OWWWUMPHH!" Brett exclaimed.
Jim closed the door tightly and went around to the driver's side, opened his door, and got in, starting the engine as he fastened his seatbelt. "Buckle up, Brett," he instructed. Sniffling and breathing brokenly, Brett obeyed without a word.
They drove on for a while, until finally Brett spoke in the darkness of the interstate highway.
"I-I'm-ah-sorry I didn't call, Uncle Jim. I didn't realize how important it was – I do now!"
"Ok, Brett. If you've learned from this, you've advanced and will be better for it. I hope so. We'll see. Anyway, how's law school? You're in your second year, aren't you?"
"Yeah, er, yes, sir. 2L. It's going ok. My grades could be better, but I can't spend all my time studying law."
"That's true, Brett. But while you're in law school, your job is to study law. It's a full-time job. Other things are miscellaneous, extras."
"I suppose so, Uncle Jim. But I really like participating in sports – especially this team!"
"It looks like it, Brett. How long until finals -- 2 weeks?"
"Yes, sir. I brought my books with me – but I've never had time to look at them."
"Well, you've got three solid days at our house, Brett, with no one to disturb you. Tomorrow, the kids will be in school and Susan and I will both be at work. She'll be home about 3 when she picks up the kids. You get up and get going early, and until 3:30 or so in the afternoon, you should have a block of quiet time. On Saturday, I can let you use my office, and Sunday after church, until it's time to take you to the airport for your flight back to Madison."
"Ah, . . . ok, Uncle Jim. I'll do that."
"Good. Maybe you can make up some lost time."
They drove up at about 10:50 p. m. to Jim White's house in Ft. Worth. Once inside, Jim showed Brett to the small room that served as Jim's study and the guest room. "This couch pulls down into a bed, Brett. Here, I'll get it down for you. It should be made up already for you. Yes, sure is. Here are towels and a wash cloth. The bathroom is across the hall down on right. When you finish in there, just turn out this light, and you're in your "bedroom" – ready to sleep. I have to leave by 8:30 tomorrow, so I'll check and make sure you're up before then."
"Ok. No problem. Don't worry, Uncle Jim. Good night."
"Good night, Brett."
Jim walked out of his study, down the hall and across the house to the master bedroom on the other side of the house. He slipped into bed, kissed his wife, and began to snuggle down into the sheets and mattress . . .
About 2:30 a. m., he was awakened by a dull sound and a light from the family room area of the house. Getting up quickly, he walked down the hall from the master bedroom to the family room. The television was on! As he walked into the doorway of the family room, he surprised Brett who was sitting barefoot, in a t-shirt and shorts, in a wicker rocker, in front of the television, watching a late-night sports event.
"BRETT!"
His nephew jumped, startled, off the seat of the chair. "Uncle Jim! Whew! You really scared me!"
"Scared you? What are you doing up at this hour?"
"I couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd watch some basketball to get myself tired."
"Well, you figured wrong, young man! You'll wake up the whole house the way you're going; and besides, you're supposed to be asleep so you can get up and put in a hard day of study tomorrow."
"Oh, that. I will, Uncle Jim."
"Well, we'll see. But for now, you're through. Get out of here and get yourself into that bed in the study."
"Awwww, Uncle Jim," Brett pleadingly whined.
"Aw, nothing, buddy. Now, get in there, and get that light out."
Brett looked really irked as he stared at his uncle, and then slowly and reluctantly got up out of the chair, turned off the television, and padded barefoot back to the study that was his bedroom.
Jim followed him back, watched Brett slide under the sheet and blanket, and still reluctantly turn out the light.
"Good night again, Brett," he said firmly, as he closed the study door behind him and walked back to his own bedroom.
RRRRRRRRRNGGGGGGGGGG! The alarm intruded on Jim and Susan in their sleep about 6:30 a. m. He hopped out of bed at once, showered, shaved, dressed, and headed to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Then, he began getting his three children up for school, as Susan showered and readied for the day. At 7:50, Susan and all three kids were in their minivan, backing down the drive to head over to school, and then Susan to her work.
Brett! It was the first time Jim had thought of his nephew. He walked rapidly across the house to the study. The door was still closed, and no sign of life was stirring. Softly, but firmly, he knocked at the door. Nothing. He turned the knob, opened the door, and walked in. The room was still quite dark, but he could discern his young nephew, deep asleep with his head buried in a pillow that he clutched in his arms.
Walking over to the side of the bed, Jim stooped down and began gently shaking the top-back of Brett's head. "Brett. Brett. C'mon, buddy. I almost forgot, and let you oversleep."
No response.
Jim shook the head of his nephew again, and then reached down to grasp the back of his neck, as he again gently bounced the boy's head and torso against the pillow and mattress. "Brett, get up. You've got to get going."
"I will. I will. Go 'way and leave me alone," the young nephew groggily replied.
"Nothing doing, Brett. You promised me that you were going to get up and use this day. Now, that's exactly what you're going to do."
"Right. Right. Now, go 'way."
Exasperated with this indolent behavior, Jim grabbed the blanket and sheet and pulled them off Brett.
"GO 'WAY, _d_a_m_n_ IT!" the lad exploded.
"What?" Jim replied. "That's no way to talk, and this is no way to behave. Now get your sorry behind out of that bed before I add a quick motivation to do it."
"Get the hell out of here and leave me alone," the sullen boy mumbled.
WHAAACK! WHAAAACK! WHAAAAAACK!
Without hesitation, Jim delivered three solid, resounding spanks to the bottom of Brett's boxers.
"HEY! CUT IT OUT!" he shouted. "STOP SPANKING ME, UNCLE JIM!"
"Listen, Brett. Besides being unbearably irresponsible and immature, you're a mouthy kid as well. That was no spanking – just some reminder, prompting swats. But neither your attitude, nor your mouth, sit well with me. And if I show you what a real spanking is, you won't be sitting well for quite a while either."
Brett wisely said nothing, but instead reached down and pulled the sheet and blanket up over his head, settling back down into the pillow.
That's it. This kid is not only asking for it, but has been needing it – probably long overdue, thought Jim. He reached down again, grabbed the sheet and blanket, and yanked them down off his nephew.
"CUT IT OUT AND GET OUTTA HERE!" his nephew shouted, sitting up enough to reach for the blanket and sheet.
Jim quickly sat down on the side of the bed, reached over and grabbed his sitting, reaching nephew, and hauled him up, off the mattress, dragging him across Jim's lap. With his right hand, he instantly yanked his nephew's boxers over his hips and buttocks, down his thighs, past his knees to catch at his ankles. With Jim's left arm he grabbed his nephew around the waist, pushing down on Brett's back.
Brett gasped, shouted, and demanded, "WHA-AA-AIT-AH-NOOO-AHRRGHHA-NOOO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
Jim swiftly juggled that young man further across his knees, sliding Brett's head, shoulders, and arms down towards the floor, and lifting the boy's bottom up at an angle aimed for spanking.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Jim began raining swats against the backside of his overturned nephew, who was twisting and bouncing a bit, as he tried to get loose, get up, get away. Trying to shield his warming bottom with his right hand, Brett balanced on his left arm and hand, and lifted his right arm up to cover his behind. Like the lightning strike of a snake, Jim grabbed Brett's right arm and pulled it up against the young man's back, just beneath his shoulder blades. Then he bobbled the boy on his knees a bit more to elevate Brett's behind, lifting his feet off the floor. Then the pounding resumed.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Whew! Wow! Oh, man! This was too much! Brett had already been spanked soundly last night on the seat of his khaki shorts. But he had long ago forgotten what faster, harder spanks on his bare backside felt like. This was hot, hurting, and stinging! He felt himself moaning and breathing hard – near gasping – as he tried to control his emotions and keep calm. But he couldn't do it. His bottom, already sensitive from the spanking in the parking lot last night, was igniting, burning, blazing! He squirmed and wriggled, pushed and bumped under the constant, inferno of his uncle's spanks.
"AH-UH-UNCLE JIM! STOPIT! OWWCHAAA! STOPIT, UNCLE JIM! OOO-AH STOP! OWOWOWW! P-PLEASE STOP! OOOO-AAA-OWOWOWEEE! N-NOOOO! OOOOO-AH P-PLEASE! AIEEYOWW! UH–UH-OOOOOO-AH N-NONONOOOO-AH!" He was kicking and thrusting his legs, bucking and bouncing on his uncle's lap, twisting, writhing, and thrashing, trying to escape the relentless spanking. His boxers had flown off his flailing legs.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHAACK! WHAACK! WHAACK! WHAAAACK!!
Suddenly, his external resolve collapsed, and he began screaming, begging, pleading, amidst choking gasps and sobs.
"NOOOO! AIEEYAUGH-UH-UH-P-PLEASE! I'LL GET UP! I'LL GET UP! AW-UH-UH-OWOWOWWW! AUGH-UH-UH N-NOOOO-UH-MOOOR-UH-P-PLEASE! OOOOO-UH-NOOOO-UH-STOP! I'LL BE GOOD, UNCLE JIM! OWOWOOOO-UH-YOWW! UH-UH-UMAHYOWWEEE! I'LLBEGOOD! I'LLBEGOOD! I'LLBEGOOD! UH-OOOOO-UH-YEEOWOWOW! AIEYOW-AUGH-UH-OW-UH-UH-OOOOO! P-PLEASE! IT'S HURTING! OWOW-UH-OOOO IT'S-UH-UH-HURRRTING, UNCLE JIM! OOOOO!"
WHACK! "Brett" WHACK! "You" WHACK! "are a spoiled" WHACK! "immature" WHACK! "unreliable" WHACK! "young brat!" WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! "If you" WHACK! "can't" WHACK! "get up" WHACK! "to do" WHACK! "your studies" WHACK! "then I guess" WHACK! "while you're here" WHACK! "it's up" WHACK! "to me" WHACK! "to see" WHACKWHACKWHACK! "that you get" WHACK! "what" WHACK! you're obviously" WHACK! "needing" WHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK!
Brett couldn't speak any longer. His uncles was raining, pouring incessant spanks down all over his backside and upper thighs. He no longer could find the strength to try to fight or resist, much less plead, beg, or shout. He simply lay hanging over his uncle's knees, gasping, shaking, shuddering, sobbing, and jolting across his uncle's lap each time another spank scorched his fiery bottom.
When Jim finally stopped, he pulled his nephew up, off his lap. Brett stood sobbing, doubled over before his uncle. Grabbing the young man's neck, Jim marched him out of the study, across and down the hall into the bathroom.
'You have 10 minutes to shower, get yourself dressed and out to the kitchen with your law books. There's coffee already made, and . . ."
"B-but, uh-uh-Uncle J-Jim, uh-uh-I d-don't even like uh-uh-c-coffee," Brett interrupted, haltingly.
"Well, you'll be drinking one cup this morning, young man – just to make sure you're awake and alert to hit those books. Understand?"
"Y-yes, uh-uh-s-sir."
"Good. Then get a move on, buddy." Jim barked sternly.
Ten minutes later, Brett, dressed in a clean t-shirt and apparently the same khaki shorts, and sandals, came hobbling into the kitchen. Jim pulled out a chair at an end of the table, and directed Brett to sit down. "Here, Brett. This is your library study table for today. And here's a cup of coffee, with plenty of cream and sugar to doctor it up for you. I'm heading off to my office, but you better make the most of this time. Let me see you open up a book – now – and get moving, understand me, Brett?"
"Uh-I d-do, Uncle Jim. I do." Brett hastened.
As Jim walked out the kitchen door, he saw that his nephew was peering at a book about UCC sales. Finally! he thought. This kid has really been let run loose to the point of almost being incorrigible.
At 12:30, Jim drove into the driveway of his house. He decided to stop by at lunch time to see how Brett was doing. He opened the door and walked into an empty kitchen. Brett's books were still on the kitchen table, and the same UCC book was open in almost the same place as when he left. Where was Brett?
He walked through the large dining room, around a corner and into the family room down. There, seated on the floor in front of the big-screen television, with his back to Jim, sat Brett, with a Nintendo 64 controller in his hand. He was keenly entranced in playing a video game, NHL 2000.
"What are you doing?" Jim barked.
Brett jumped and turned around at once, the look of shock on his face, but the controller still in his hand. "Ah, . . . ah, I was just taking a break – a short break, Uncle Jim. I got so bored of studying."
"This is incredibly bad enough, Brett; but don't make things many times worse by also lying to me. You haven't done anything since that book was open when I left about 9 this morning, have you?"
Sensing that he was trapped, and had better grasp some honesty to gain the favor of his uncle, Brett reluctantly acknowledged. "You're right, Uncle Jim. I was going to take a short break, and then I got hung up – involved – with this game. But I can still get a lot done – honestly. I'll turn it off and go to it right now, I promise." He was obviously scrambling. He stood up, quickly reached out and turned off the television and video game, and turned to walk back towards the kitchen.
"No way, Brett. There's no way you're going to think you can get away with this – and after everything else! You are still asking for it, young man! You still haven't learned, and you have sure got it coming. Now, get over here this instant!"
Brett's eyes were wide with apprehension froze in his place.
"NOW!" Jim barked the one-word, one-syllable command.
Slowly, he stepped toward his uncle. Jim let his young nephew trudge ominously over and stand in front of him. Then, he reached out, grabbed the boy's left arm with his left arm, and spun him around.
WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP!
With rapid fire force he began swatting the seat of his nephew's shorts – the same ones he had warmed the previous evening!
"Oh, NO! Uncle Jim! Not this time! No way, no MORE!" Brett protested.
Jim simply tightened his grip on the youngster's arm and pulled him with him as he walked over to a couch in the family room. Then, bending Brett over and towards him, Jim sat down on the couch, and pulled the young law student once more over his lap.
"NO! NO! NO! NOT AGAIN! PLEASE! You've got to STOP SPANKING ME!" Brett shouted his objection. "I WON'T STAND FOR THIS! YOU CAN'T DO IT! – I'M TOO OLD FOR THIS AAAA-OOOOO-AAAA-OWOWOWW!"
WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP!
"Listen up, young man. You've had every opportunity to prove yourself to me, and you deliberately do the opposite, – and then TRY TO LIE ABOUT IT! I'll decide when, and if, to stop spanking you, Brett. In the meanwhile, you are going to learn you're in no way too old to have your backside torched with a good, old fashioned, sound spanking – something you've been undoubtedly needing for years!"
As he spoke, Jim had jostled his nephew into position once more over his knees, and began pounding the bottom of Brett's shorts. Already Brett was squirming and bouncing, kicking and flailing, across his uncle's lap under the unending barrage of swats. Yikes! His bottom was throbbing and aching as it quickly heated up under the third spanking from his uncle in less than 24 hours! Quickly the tears and pleading came this time.
"OH, NOOOO! OEEEYOWW! I'M SORRY, UNCLE JIM! OOOO-AH-OOOO-AH-OWEEEYOWW! REALLY! OWW-AH-UH-AUGHAA! REALLY, REALLY, I'M SORRY! AAAA-OOOAAA-OOOAAAOW! OKOKOK! AH-OWOWOWEEE! I AGREE! YOWWW! OWOWOWEEE! SCHOOL WORK BEFORE GAMES! AAAA-OWWW! OOO-AAA-OOOO I'M-UH-UH-AA SORREEEE! UH-UH-N-NOAA MOOOOR! OOOO-AH-OW-AH-OW-AH-OWOWOOOOOO! P-PLEASE! OOOOO-AH-STOP! OWOWOWOOOO-AH!"
Jim paused, and Brett choked in a breath broken by wailing and began to push himself up. Jim reached around, over his nephew, and rolled him on back and behind, sitting on Jim's lap. He pushed Brett's chest down forcefully, and the boy lost his balance, falling backwards. In that instant, Jim unbuckled Brett's belt and unzipped his shorts.
Immediately, Brett realized what was happening to him, and shot straight back up on his uncle's lap. Jim grabbed his nephew's right arm and twisting it behind Brett's back, turned him back over on his stomach, dangling across Jim's knees with head down on the floor. Then, Jim reached down between Brett's legs, grabbed his khaki shorts, and jerked them off his butt, down his thighs and knees, to his feet. Reaching up the waist band of Brett's boxers, he snatched them over his young nephew's bottom and hips, down his legs to join his shorts at his feet. Then, positioning Brett's backside higher, and feet and legs off the floor, Jim once again lit into the bluish-purple-now-reddening behind of his nephew.
WHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK!
He was pummeling Brett's butt, and his nephew was screaming and sobbing, as he thrashed and writhed under his uncle's fiery, third spanking.
"OH, AUGHAA-NOOO! UH-UH-AUGH-AAA-OWWW! I'M SORREEEE! OOOO-AH-YEEEOWOWOW! I'LL BE GOOD! UH-AH-UH I PROMSE I WILL! PUH-PLEASE! YOWOOO! STOP! OOO-AAA-YOWEEE! STOPIT-STOPIT-STOPIT-STOPIT-STOPIT! OOOO-UH-UM-AUGH NOOO-UN-MOOOOR! UH-OOOOO-AH-UH I PROMISE I'LL BE GOOOOOD-AH-OOOO! OWOWOWEEEE! NOOOO-AH-UH-MOOOR SPANKING! OW-UH-UH-OWW! STOP SPANKING! OOO-AH-OWEEEOWEEEYOW! I WON'T BE BAD AGAIN! OWOWOW-AH! OOOO-AH-OOOOO-AH-UH-UH I'LL-UH-NEVER-UH-DO VIDEO GAMES-UH-OOOO-UH-OWW-UH-AGAIN UH-UH-BEFORE STUDYING! OOOO-UH-AAAYOWOWOOOO-AH-UH-UH- I PROMISE!"
Jim continued applying the whack of his hand to every part and area of his nephew's backside and upper thighs – only harder and faster.
WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHAACK!
When he was satisfied that Brett had undergone a lesson he ought never to forget, Jim stopped, letting his nephew sob, choke, gasp, and heave as he lay hanging over Jim's knees. After several minutes of Brett's uncontrollable wailing, Jim reached down and under the young man's arms, and firmly, but gently, lifted him up to stand in front of him. Once more, Brett was doubled over in sobbing and shaking. After several minutes of Brett standing bent over, Jim broke into his nephew's weeping.
"Pull up your underwear and shorts, Brett, and then follow me into the kitchen."
Slowly and gingerly, Brett pulled his boxers up over his blazing behind, and then he winced again as he pulled up his shorts over his blistered bottom. Jim had already left the family room when Brett started stiffly following after him.
In the kitchen, Jim had retrieved a pillow, which he had placed on the chair in which Brett had been sitting earlier that morning. He motioned to the chair, and Brett grimaced as he woodenly moved to sit slowly down on it. As he rested his behind on the pillow, he groaned. The stinging torch of three spankings had pretty much branded his bottom.
"Alright, Brett. I'll warm up some pieces of pizza in the microwave, and you begin – for real – studying."
"Uh-uh-I-uh-uh-will, Uh-uncle Jim," he replied sniffling.
Jim heated the pieces of pizza, poured Brett a glass of milk, handed to him, and then sat down next to Brett at the table. "Eat up, son. You need energy. Now, I'm heading back to my office. Susan and the boys should be here about 3:30. So, you've got a little over two hours of quiet to pour it on. And pour it on is what you better do, Brett, if you understand me and know what's good for you. Otherwise, you could be looking at a record four spanking in less than 24 hours! I don't think you want that, young man!"
"Uh-n-no, way, uh-I-uh-uh don't – ah, CAN'T! I'll be good. I will study. No more video games, no more excuses. I promise."
"You'd better mean it, Brett, – and do it. Or you may find it necessary to stand all the way back on the plane to Wisconsin Sunday evening!"
When Jim returned about 6 p. m., Brett was nowhere to be seen. Susan was in the kitchen, getting dinner ready, and told him that Brett had gotten up from the kitchen table and gone into Jim's study when she and the boys returned from school.
"Did it look like he was studying?" Jim questioned.
"Well, as far as I could tell, it did," she explained. "He took his books with him, and has been back there ever since."
Jim walked quietly back to the hall and up to the closed door of his study. Silently and quickly, he turned the knob and opened the door. Brett was seated on two pillows at Jim's desk, and he looked up from his books to see his uncle entering the room.
"Oh, h-hi, Uncle Jim. I'm studying! Really, I am," he hastened. "Admin law, look!" Brett held up the book for his uncle to see.
"Good, Brett. It's about time. That makes sense for you. Now, Susan has dinner prepared, so c'mon out to the dining room."
Brett followed his uncle into the dining room, and slowly eased himself into a chair at the table, where dinner had been set out. After dinner, Jim told Brett that he could return to the study for another two hours of study, after which he could come out and join his aunt and uncle for awhile.
"Awww-ah, . . . ok, Uncle Jim," Brett quickly corrected his initial instinct to protest. Then he got up from the table, and started to walk back to the study.
"Just a minute, young man. Please clear your dishes from the table and take them into the kitchen."
Brett spun around, face reddening, as he realized his uncle was again correcting him for bad manners and inappropriate behavior. "Sure thing, Uncle Jim. 'Sorry, Aunt Susan. I wasn't thinking." Then he carried his dishes out to the kitchen.
About 9:45, Jim walked back to his study and opened the door to find Brett again sitting on the two pillows, peering intently at his bankruptcy book. "Want to take a break with us, Brett?" Jim asked.
"I sure do!" Brett burst forth, then adding, "Is it ok?"
"Sure. C'mon and join us in the family room." Brett followed his uncle, and looked for the most overstuffed chair to ease himself down into. They sat and talked until after midnight. Jim stood up and said, "Well, Brett, it's been fun chatting, but you and I have got to get up early tomorrow morning. So, it's time to call it a night. We're headed to hit the hay. Make sure you head straight to the sack, yourself, son. Good night."
"Good night Aunt Susan, g'night, Uncle Jim."
At 7 the next morning, Jim was already showered, shaved, and dressed. He walked back into the study where Brett lay soundly sleeping on his stomach. Reaching down, Jim grabbed the back of his nephew's head, just above the neck, with his right hand. Then, pushing Brett's face gently back and forth into the pillow, he called, "C'mon, young fella, it's time to get going. You've got a hard day of studying to put in."
Brett groaned and moaned, "Ga'way," trying to wriggle himself deeper into the pillow and away from his uncle's grip. Jim removed his hand from the back of Brett's head, replacing his left hand on his nephew's neck, and with his right hand he jerked the blanked off of Brett. Instantly, Brett understood what was about to happen, and sprang to his knees on the bed.
WHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMP!
Jim wasted no time or effort in pounding the seat of his nephew's boxers.
"AIEYOOW-AH! I'M UP! I'M UP! STOP IT, UNCLE JIM!"
While shouting ,Brett just as swiftly rolled off the bed and began pulling under his uncle's grip to go out the door and across the hall to the bathroom. Jim followed, pushing his nephew along under his back-of-the-neck grasp. When they entered the bathroom, Jim applied several more swats to his nephew's backside.
WHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMP! WHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMP!
"OOO-NOO-AH, UNCLE JIM! OOOO-AH-I'M-AH-UP! I'LL-AH-OWOWOOO-AH- HURREEEEEEE! AH-STOP! PLEASE!"
Jim did stop, and turning his nephew to stare straight at him, ordered,"You've got 10 minutes, Brett. Shower and dress and be in the kitchen. If you're not there, I'm coming for you, and you'll get yourself another motivation lesson. Understand?"
"Y-YES-SIR!" Brett turned, leaned into the shower and turned it on. "I WILL!"
Brett was in the kitchen within 9 ½ minutes, dressed, and sitting at the table with his uncle. They ate a quick breakfast, and then walked out together to the car. They drove to Jim's office, where he showed Brett where the restrooms and kitchen area were, and then installed him nephew in a conference room, while he went to his own office to work.
At lunchtime, Jim ordered a couple of turkey sub sandwiches for Brett and him, and joined Brett in the conference room. Brett had highlighted and marked cases in his labor and employment book. As they ate, Jim talked with his nephew about law school.
Brett really didn't seem to like it at all. He was doing pretty mediocre, and was having a hard time with the exams. It sounded to Jim like the boy was so undisciplined and unmotivated that he had no self-control to make himself turn down distractions and sit down at the books for long enough periods of time to master the material. From everything that Jim had observed about his nephew, living in his mother's house did not supply any of the structure and organization that Brett needed to help him develop self-control and self-discipline.
That's when the idea hit him. What if Brett transferred to law school in Dallas, and spent his last year and a half living with them? He knew he could provide a setting where Brett had to buckle-down and comply with the requirements of a serious study life. And Brett would have to do it, – or else! But before he would even mention the matter to his nephew, he needed to talk it over with Susan.
All afternoon, Brett poured over his books, with his uncle periodically peeking in to see how he was doing. At 4:30, Jim came into the conference room to get Brett, and they packed up his books and headed down to the car for the drive home.
"How'd you do, today, Brett?" Jim asked.
"Oh, Uncle Jim, I got a lot done," Brett replied. "I've only got another day's work left, and I'll be caught up."
"What about Monday's classes, Brett?" Jim rejoined.
"Oh, yeah, I still have to prepare for Monday also," Brett added.
"Sounds like you need to devote a few more hours this evening, too, and maybe some more tomorrow afternoon, after we get back from church," Jim stated.
"Oooh, ah, . . ok," Brett replied with obvious reluctance.
That evening, Jim and Susan took the boys to a rodeo at the stockyards, leaving their nephew alone in the study to continue his catch-up work. About 9:30 p. m., they returned. Jim walked through the house, back to his study. The door was open.
"Yeah, it was great! I took a pass of the winger and lifted it into the right, top shelf! You should have seen it, Matt! We won the whole thing! It was so exciting. Yeah, I already spoke to Rick, and he said he called you when he got back. I stayed over, for the weekend, at my Uncle's – it's my dad's brother. He's nice, but real hard-nosed and strict. Yeah, it's kind of dull, but I'll be back to school Monday. We've got a game on Tuesday night, don't we? So, I guess practice Monday will be a bear . . ."
At that moment, Brett turned to see his uncle standing four feet away from him in the study. "Ah, Matt, ah, I've got to go. See you Monday. 'Later, man." He quickly hung up the phone.
"Have you been on the phone, young man – instead of studying?" Jim interrogated Brett. "Think carefully, Brett, before you tell me a lie."
Brett began breathing rapidly, in panic. How much had Uncle Jim heard? He was embarrassed, but even more scared. "Ah, I, ah, . . . I just made a couple of calls, Uncle Jim – to friends. I'll repay you for them. I'm sorry. It wasn't too long, I promise."
"Brett, do you have any idea how many times you've said 'I'm sorry,' and 'I promise' in the last 48 hours? And, yet, you don't do any better. What's wrong with your head, young man? Do I need to keep pounding on your bottom until I get to your head?"
At those words, Brett's mouth opened a bit, and his eyes stared with foreboding. "Uncle, Jim, please! I just got so bored of studying – I got sick of it. Can you understand what I'm saying, please? I really am sorry."
"Sure, I understand, Brett. But that doesn't change the fact that you have got to claw your way out of an academic hole that you dug for yourself. So, bored or not, you've really got no choice – the work has got to be done! Yet, once again, you didn't keep your word, didn't follow orders, and didn't get it done, did you?"
"No," Brett spoke softly and unwillingly.
Turning around, Jim shut the door to his study and turned back to his nephew. I guess you're going for a record fourth one, buddy. Drop those shorts and get over here right now." He sat down on the sofa-bed in the study and patted his left thigh.
Brett backed away towards the window. "No, Uncle Jim. I'm not doing it. You're not going to spank me again!"
"You've just earned yourself another one in the morning, young man. Now, get those shorts and shoes off right away – before I get up and take them off you. I promise you – and I keep my word – you're behind will be blazes!"
Brett knew he was trapped again. He froze again. He fumbled to untie his shoes and kick them off. Like a strike of lightning, Jim stood up and was quickly at the left front of his stocking-feet nephew. With his left hand, he reached to grab Brett's left arm, but Brett instantly pulled back. Jim forcefully twisted his nephew's arm up behind his back, bending the boy over towards the floor.
WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMP! WHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMP! WHAMPWHAMPWHAMP! WHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMPWHAMP!
Again, Jim was warming the seat of his nephew's khakis with solid swats. At once Brett began struggling, while trying to jump from one foot to the other.
"NOOOO-WAY, UNCLE JIM! NOOOO! UH-STOP SPANKING ME-UH-NOWW! OOO-AAA-UH-UH-I WANT TO GO HOME! STOPIT! NOW! OOOO-AAA-UH-OKOK!"
Brett reached down to begin unbuckling his belt. Then, fumbling under the continuing swats to his backside, he unzipped his khakis, to drop them to his socked feet. Jim halted the spanking so the khakis could drop and Brett step out of them. Then he hauled his nephew over to the sofa-bed, where he sat down, pulling the young law student with him, over his lap.
Already Brett was sobbing and pleading.
"NOOOO-AH-UNCLE JIM, PLEASE! I'LL GET RIGHT BACK TO IT! PLEEEEEZ! I PROMSE! I'LL DO IT RIGHT AWAY! PLEASE! PLEEEEZ-AH! LEAVEMEALONE! NOOOO-AAAH! IJUSTWANNAGOHOME! I'LL DO THE WORK, BUT STOP SPANKING ME!"
No doubt, at this moment, his young nephew felt like a small boy who wanted to run and escape to home – if it were possible. That was the problem, though Jim. Too long home had been a place where this misbehaving young man could return, with impunity, for his bad behavior. Well, not this time – not here!
Brett was already twisting and wriggling over his uncle's lap, before any spanking had resumed. Without any more delay, Jim grabbed the waistband of Brett's boxers and yanked them down the boy's butt, thighs, past his knees to catch at his socked feet. Then, Jim undid his own belt and quickly pulled it from his belt loops. Tripling it over in his hand, he began rapidly and repeatedly to thrash Brett's bare, bruised bottom.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRAACK! CRAACK! CRAACK! CRAAACK! CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACKCRACK! CRAACK! CRAAACK!
Jim did not speak as he whipped his nephew's bare behind into a burning, fiery, blistered inferno. Brett collapsed right away into shrieking and sobbing, choking, gasping, and trying to find breath to plead and promise. He bucked and kicked, bumped and bounced, slid and struggled, thrashed and writhed – all the while wailing as the belt bit his butt over and over again.
"AIAUGH-AAA-OOOO-AAA-YOWW! NOOO-AH-UH-UH-NOOOO! OOO-AAA-NOOOO! AAAA-PUH-PLEEEZE! I WAS WRONG! YOWEEEOWW! I KNOW IT! OO-AH-AUGHAA-UH-UH-I-UH-WAS WRONG! IWASWRONGIWASWRONGIWASWRONG! AIEEEEYOWW! OOO-AH-NOOO-AH-MOOOR-AH! UH-STOP! STOPIT! UH-UH-YOU-UH-YOUVE-UH-GOTTASTOPSPANKINGMEEEEE-AAA! OOOOOAA-UH-UH-AIUGH-AH-UH-UH-UH-UH-OOOOYAIEEOW-AUGH-UH-UH-P-PLEEEEZE! LEMMEGO! N-NOMOOOOOOOOR! I'LLBEGOOD! I'LLBEGOOOOOOOD-AH-OOOO-UH-UH-YEEOW! UH-I'LLBEGOOD! UH-UH-HAUH! UH-AH'LLBEGOOOOOOD! OOO-AH! UH-OOO-AH-UH-UH-AUGH-AH-UH-UH-OOOOOO-UMAH-OW! -AH-OOOOOO-UH-UH-UH-OO-UH-HAUGH-UH-UH-NOOOAAA-UH-UH!"
This kid really needs taking in hand, Jim thought as he stopped and let his nephew shake and sob hanging over his knees. It seemed as if Brett would never recover his breathing and be able to stop sobbing and gasping. Finally, Jim reached under Brett's chest and began lifting him up. Brett shook and choked, and doubled over as he faltered to stand on his feet.
Jim walked over and picked up his nephew's boxers where they had flown off his flailing feet and legs, and then the khaki shorts, handing them to the boy. "Put these back on, Brett, and then get yourself back on that chair. I'll be back in after I've gotten the boys to bed. You better drive yourself now, buddy. You know you've got another one coming first thing in the morning, now!"
Brett said nothing, but stiffly bent down to pull up his boxers and then his khakis. Jim walked out and closed the door again. About 11 p. m., Jim checked on Brett, whose eyes were swollen and red. Jim thought that the young man's rump must be far redder and more swollen. No doubt, this kid had walked into a no-nonsense, disciplinary situation at his uncle's that he had never before experienced, but sure had been needing for a long, long time.
At midnight, Jim came back and ordered Brett to stop and go to bed. The young law student obeyed at once, without comment.
At 8 a. m., Jim returned to the study, awakened Brett and allowed him to go to the bathroom, before returning for another spanking. Jim pulled his young nephew's boxers off again, and this time with a wooden hair brush smacked and paddled Brett's behind and upper thighs until the young man was wildly kicking and convulsing in sobs, gasps, and screams. When it was over, Jim again marched his jumping nephew to the bathroom, ordered him to be ready in 20 minutes. Brett was dressed for church by 8:50. They all ate a quick breakfast at the table, Jim's boys staring at Brett without uttering any of their thoughts.
That afternoon, Brett again returned to the study, again concentrating on his law books until about 5 p. m. Jim called Brett for dinner and as they sat together at the dining room table, Jim told Brett that of his idea for Brett to transfer to law school in Dallas, and stay with them for the remaining year and a half.
"You'll have the structure and support that you need to complete this, Brett. And, of course, as you well know – now – the rules of the family apply to everyone living in this house – including a curfew, Brett . So, you would know exactly what to expect and to count on."
Susan smiled and agreed that it would probably be good for Brett, and the boys could have their cousin handy, to help them as well as babysit when needed. Jim told Brett that he had already talked with Brett's mother, and she was agreeable if Brett wanted to do that. Brett hesitated.
"Ah, . . . I don't know. I'll have to think about it, Aunt Susan, Uncle Jim. Right now, I've got to get back home, and get ready for finals."
"Ok, Brett. It's your decision now. If you decided against it, we'll understand why. On the other hand, if you decide to do it, let us know and be prepared to fit into this family. Understand?"
"Right, Uncle Jim. I do – I sure do. Ok."
At 8:30 p. m., Brett hugged his aunt and uncle, and his young cousins, and walked woodenly onto the plane, and they watched it taxi out and take off.
Two days before Christmas, the telephone rang and Jim found his nephew calling him again.
"Ah, Uncle Jim. I don't know, but I've been doing a lot of thinking about yours and Aunt Susan's offer; and it's kind of weird, and scary, but I think I'd like to do it. Is the offer still open?"
"Sure is, Brett. But you'll have to get in gear to get transferred and then moved down here by the time the spring semester begins in January!
"I know, I know, Uncle Jim. But I can do it, and I don't know why, but I really want to."
"Well, that's great, Brett. You'll fit right in, and this will be very good for you, Brett. But you understand the rules – and the consequences, too – don't you, young man?"
"Ah'um . . . yes, I sure DO! But I'll take it, 'cause I want to do better. I really do."
"Great, Brett. But no second thoughts later on, or requests to go back home, – no matter what. Understand? No matter what!"
"Mmmm, . . . aaaah, ok, Uncle Jim. No matter what."
Brett moved to Ft. Worth, transferred to law school in Dallas, and lived in his aunt's and uncle's house until he graduated and passed first the Wisconsin, and then the Texas bar exams. The first four months of second-year, second semester, he received two to three spankings a week from Jim. Then, he began to recognize that the rules could not be bent, ignored, or violated, without paying the penalty. Next, he began to do what was necessary to comply, and avoid infractions and their consequences. Finally, he started manifesting self-discipline and self-control on his own initiative, refusing friends' attractions, enticements, and invitations, when he had responsibilities that had to be met.
His entire third year of law school, Brett incurred only seven spankings from his Uncle Jim, although the last one – an unforgettable, bare-bottomed licking with Jim's belt – was only two days before graduation (for having driven Jim's car, intoxicated, from a party). He raised his grade point average to be able to graduate with honors.
During the summer, Brett lived a monastic life, as he spent almost all of his waking time studying for the bar exam, his only break being an occasional pick-up hockey game north of Dallas. After flying to Madison, to take the Wisconsin bar exam, he spent a few days visiting his mother and sister, and then returned to his aunt's and uncle's home in Ft. Worth, to resume studying for the Texas bar exam that fall.
In late September, about two weeks before the Texas bar exam, Brett received notification that he had passed the Wisconsin bar exam. He celebrated with his aunt and uncle at an expensive steakhouse, where he ran into a couple of his former classmates, who had already passed the Texas bar exam. When he told them he had passed the Wisconsin bar, and was preparing for the Texas bar exam, they insisted on taking him out for further celebrating.
As Jim and Susan and the boys left, Jim reminded Brett that midnight was the deadline to be home. Without hesitation, Brett immediately agreed and promised he would be home. Regrettably, he was at the mercy of his friends to take him home, and they refused to honor, or be bound by, Brett's curfew. About 2 a. m., they drove up to the residence, Brett quietly got out of the car, and walked up to the front door. Before he could insert the key into the lock, Jim opened the door, staring straight into the eyes of his errant nephew.
"Oh, no, Uncle Jim. I tried. Really, I did! Those guys wouldn't bring me home any sooner. Honest!" After all this time, Brett knew that his violation of family rules meant certain, definite consequences.
"You could have called me, Brett. Then I would have known how much you really wanted to meet your curfew. Instead, it looks like, once more, you just caved in to the pressure to go with the flow, rather than turn around and obey. Get into your room, young man, and take those jeans off. We'll deal with this right now!"
Brett shuddered as he trod resignedly back to his bedroom – the former study. He pulled of his sweater, then kicked off his shoes, unbuckled his belt, unzipped his jeans, and pulled them down, stepping out of them as they lay on the floor. Then he picked them up, folded them, lay them across the back of the desk chair, and stood in only his t-shirt, boxers, and socks, waiting for Uncle Jim.
Jim walked in with his belt in his hand and sat down on the opened bed, beckoning to his nephew to stretch himself across Jim's knees. Without hesitation, but slowly, Brett walked over and draped himself across his uncle's lap. Jim jostled the young man up further, pushing the boy's butt up higher into position. Then, he quickly pulled Brett's boxers down his legs, off his socked feet, and raised the belt.
Repeatedly, he blistered the bottom and thighs of this new lawyer. His nephew cried and sobbed, screamed and pleaded, kicking, thrusting, bucking, bouncing, twisting, turning, writhing, wriggling. Brett begged Jim to stop, pleaded his apologies, promised never to breach Jim's order's again, until he could speak no longer through the wailing, shaking gasps and choking sobs.
With discomfort and difficulty sitting, but without one interruption for social break, Brett studied continuously over the next two weeks for the Texas bar exam. He went to Austin, took the exam, and in late December learned that he had passed it as well. Then, Brett accepted a job in the Wisconsin attorney general's office, relocating back to Madison. He rented an apartment, later met a legal secretary whom he married, and began a family of his own.
Only once or twice a year did Jim and Susan see Brett. However, they knew for sure that they had given their nephew, while he was a floundering young man, the security, certainty, and structured framework of living that he had lacked, needed, and eventually integrated into his own personality and life to enable him to be a responsible, accountable, and successful individual.