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In 1997-98, I posted a series of true-life stories that got a lot of very positive e-mail response from readers of this website. I never finished the series, until now. In reviewing these original submissions, I have edited these stories and now repost them with typo corrections, etc. These repostings will be done every couple of days, and the series completed with new stories. This series begins when I was 11, and ends a year ago, with the stories posted chronologically. Enjoy!
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After Denny's & my paddlings for the Indian raid stunt, we tried to keep a low profile. It really didn't work. We didn't get into any kind of big trouble, until after the 4th of July camp pageant, then we got the last and final spanking of our summer camp lives.
Through out summer camp, I had developed a reputation for two unique talents. The first was perfectly acceptable. I was the second best .22 target rifle shot in camp that summer. My brother Bill was the best. Long ago, we were ranked #1 and #2 in the junior NRA summer camp matches.
The other unique talent I had was with the slingshot. I had brought to camp with me, my Whamo slingshots. I had two, one for hunting & screwing around, the other for artillery. The second sling shot I had modified the pouch for only one purpose. To increase the accuracy of shooting cherry bombs and M-80 firecrackers at my chosen targets.
In my childhood, M-80s & cherry bombs were powerful...really powerful. Either one of them, placed under a #10 peach can, would send the can 20-30 feet into the air. When it landed, the can's shape also had totally changed. Today, they are illegal as hell. Back then they were not.
I had modified the second slingshot to allow the cherry bomb in particular to have less air turbulence on the way to its target. (My Dad had been a Pacific theatre WWII bomber pilot) I practiced by the hour when I was at home, sending unlighted M-80s & cherry bombs to different targets. The reason they were shot unlighted is simple. You could not safely light a cherry bomb, place it in the pouch and send it accurately on its way, without running the immediate & severe risk of blowing your hand & face to hell and back.
Plus, for a young teenager living on a chicken farm, you couldn't afford to keep blowing them up all the time. (Remember that bottle rockets weren't invented then. In place of bottle rockets, we had actual Roman candle shootouts, 50 feet...shoot to hit.)
Denny & I would go into the woods and I taught him how & when to light the things, so that I could shoot them at a specific target accurately...very accurately. Every once and a while, we would do this stunt. We would crawl under our cabin and shoot cherry bombs at the entryway of the next cabin's outhouse. We made sure that the younger camper was on the crapper, not standing in the front of the urinal...simply by timing him. If he was in the outhouse more than 90 seconds, he was taking a dump. We would then send a cherry bomb his way, a distance of about 40-50 yards, making sure it landed just in front of the doorway. I'm sure that based upon very loud comments made after each incident...Denny & I had helped him rapidly complete his task at the crapper.
One of the senior counselors was in charge of the 4th of July camp pageant. He got the brilliant idea to reenact an Indian attack. (Boy that was original as hell!) But in his reenactment, he wanted to have the camp/fort, fire artillery at the Indians attacking by water in their canoes. Since this guy's little brother was in the bunks next to Denny & I, it was easy for him to get his "volunteer". He had me demonstrate my accuracy with the slingshot & my artillery to the camp director. For whatever reason, he approved it.
The night of the pageant, I took my place on top of the roof of a building behind the log seating area. I had been assigned a new counselor as my launch lighter. They didn't trust Denny & I up on the roof, doing our own thing. He & I practiced it the night before, using lighted cherry bombs. The camp director liked the realism. Back then cherry bombs & M80s would float on top of the water and go off. The fuses they made for them were waterproof. When they went off, each explosion caused a 3-5 foot waterspout. The night of the pageant it went great.
As the canoes rounded the point, about a 150 yards offshore, I began my barrage. As they got closer, I made each shot more & more realistic, by landing the cherry bombs close enough to spray water on the "Indian's" canoes. This junior counselor/artillery officer wannabe, kept encouraging me to make it more realistic. I did and it did. I put them in front of the canoe bows, causing one "Indian/camper" to bail. That got such a great reaction from the audience, he wanted to know if I could put one into a canoe. Since they were only 30-40 yards off shore, it was a piece of cake. That canoe tipped over, putting two more "Indians" in the drink. At that point the camp director, got up, turned around, looked up at us...and gave us a look that could "kill". When the other "Indians" picked up their wet, fallen and comrades and beat a retreat around the point, the pageant was over.
For the next few minutes I got to watch something very interesting. For an act of mine, someone else got blamed for it. This was really neat! The camp director chewed on the junior counselor something fierce. I have to give the guy credit, he took full responsibility for what I had done.
Therefore, the only thing that happened to me was a new reputation around camp. But that reputation would eventually cause Denny & I to get our butts paddled.
My slingshot had gotten confiscated by the camp director after the pageant, and I didn't want to alter the leather pouch of my remaining slingshot. There wasn't any reason to prove what I could do with cherry bombs...I had definitely done that already. However, we did devise a new scheme for our remaining cherry bombs/M-80's and the camps' outhouses.
Most people today think of outhouses as a single hole, inside a fiberglass shell. "Wrong pilgrim". Up until the invention of inside toilets, going to the outhouse was a family occasion. A "plush" outhouse at the turn of the century was nothing like we see today. Depending upon the size of the family, outhouses back then were at least a two hole affair, with most of them being three holes. The outhouses at our camp were no exception. They had to accommodate 16 boys per cabin.
Therefore, each one had three holes, plus a urinal that could easily accommodate 2-3 guys. Each outhouse was the same. One hole, then the urinal and then the next two holes. Something this large stunk. Therefore lots of lime was tossed down it periodically to kill the odor. Since lime creates a gas when it kills the odor, an outhouse has to be vented. At the back of the outhouse on each side, were two square vents, with screens on them. These vents were below the crapper/seat bench, therefore venting directly from the waste below. The waste area itself was put at 8 feet below the ground line. By the time camp was finished each summer, it had risen at least four feet. So at the time of our stunt the waste level was probably 5-6 feet below the seat bench.
Denny and I put our plan into motion. We noticed that the lime was always put in on Friday. Therefore we would do our deed on Thursday, making sure that nobody got hit with fresh lime. (Those of you who have played baseball or football with lime field markings no why I make this statement)
After lunch each day, mail was passed out before our one hour long rest period, before beginning the afternoon activities. Within 15 minutes of getting their mail, a number of campers liked to take their mail to the outhouse and read it. (I am NOT making this up, readers) Plus, you always had a couple of guys taking a piss. Over the period of several days that week, Denny & I loosened the each of the vent screens on one corner, for the outhouse that was closest to our cabin.
On that momentous Thursday, he and I had taped together two cherry bombs together for each one of us. We waited in the bushes in back of the outhouse until the time was perfect. Two campers were at the urinal and three crapping campers made it a "full house". Denny took one screen and I took the other. We both lit the double bombs at the same time and dropped them in and ran like hell back to the cabin. Just as we hit the door, a chain reaction 4 part explosion took place.
By the time we hit our bunks and looked back at the outhouse door, five guys came flying out the door, screaming & cussing as loud as they could. The two guys standing at the urinal were covered from head to knees. The three others' butts and upper thighs were covered even more thoroughly.
Between the explosions and screaming, our cabin's counselors had run out the other door to see what was going on. They started laughing, almost as hard as Denny & I were laughing. We literally were in tears from laughing so hard. (As I write this story, I am still laughing at the visual picture I remember of these guys)
The counselors told the campers to go jump in the lake and take off their clothes and wash off. They then began to question who could pull such a stunt. These guys must have been college rocket science majors, because they all came to the same logical conclusion at the same time. Jason & Denny.
The rest of that afternoon and evening, we were questioned by virtually everyone but the camp director, if we had done it. (Remember something readers! Your chances of being caught for a crime, increase geometrically for every person you confide your success.) Denny & I admitted nothing to anyone. But, it didn't matter.
At dinner that night, the camp director ordered the guilty campers to report to his cabin. Needles to say Denny & I didn't report, though we did wonder how he could be so about saying campers and not camper.
At breakfast the next day, the camp director made an announcement. He had seen the two campers running away from the outhouse and run into the cabin. He would identify the two campers who had pulled this prank at lunch. The two campers had to report to him before lunch, or the punishment would be increased. Denny & I spent the morning considering our options. We had none, if had really seen us.
Just before lunch we knocked on his cabin door, the same cabin we had "teepeed" not too long ago. He told us to come in by name from his back room, out of sight from our entry. We were screwed. We confessed and he told us to meet back with him after lunch. During lunch we saw him speak to each of the guys we have covered in crap, piss and toilet paper, along with my fullback spanker/counselor from our Indian raid spanking.
After lunch we all congregated in front of his cabin. The victims were taken inside with the counselor. After a few minutes they came out, actually smiling at Denny & I.
The camp director then announced our punishment.
"You will accompany these boys and your counselor to the rifle range. You will strip to your underpants here, wearing nothing else on your walk. At the rifle range each camper will spank you four times on your underpants and four times on your bare. This representing the number of fireworks you set off. Since your cabin mates haven't had much experience at swatting, I am asking your counselor to assist them." Denny & I didn't like the sound of the last statement at all.
The camp director continued. "Before camp started this year, I noticed that almost all the counselors had brought along their fraternity initiation paddles. I didn't want them to use the paddles on any camper, so I confiscated them until the end of camp. However, I have all of them in my bedroom. While you to strip to your underpants, these five boys are going to pick out one paddle apiece, to swat your butts. Do you two have anything to say for yourselves?" By this time, the five guys were practically glowing in anticipation of their payback opportunity.
We shook our head no, and he ordered us to strip. We pulled off everything but our white cotton briefs. When the five guys came out, they really started shooting their mouths off about what they were going to do to our butts. The camp director ordered us to give him our clothes and we did. Then he told the counselor to take us to the rifle range.
The rifle range was at the far end of camp, a good 1/2 of a mile away, down a combination dirt and gravel road/path. It passed right by all of the camper's cabins. On the way by, we were put on display by the verbal cat calling from our soon to be spankers and the campers in the cabins, also adding to the loud chorus. Plus, we couldn't walk normally, because of our bare feet and the rough ground. But eventually we did make it and the counselor took over.
He and the other campers pulled out from the wall a table we used to clean the rifles with at the end of each firing session. They placed it in the center of the room. Then they picked up a sandbag that was used to prop the rifles off the ground during each cease-fire, at the end of a round of shooting. They placed two bags on the edge of the table. Both were placed at the end of the table, one on each side. Then Denny and I were ordered to bend over the bags and stretch across the table.
We did, up on our toes. But, the counselor lifted us off the ground, so our hips rested on top of the bags. Then he instructed four of the campers to put down their paddles and each grab a wrist and pull it tight. They did, and our white briefs formed a tight second skin, as they pulled us down and tight. I could see Denny's briefs crease into his ass crack and might felt the same way. My head was about even with his shoulders and therefore I had a terrific view of what was about to happen him...as he did of me.
The counselor then gave detailed instructions to the first camper on how to swing the paddle and where to hit. He made the camper place his hand where the counselor told him to swat us. This guy rubbed his hand first across my briefs and then Denny's. As he rubbed Denny's he looked at me and gave me a real nasty wink. Then he came around behind me.
Crack! The first swat landed on my butt and my body jumped and my legs kicked. "God _d_a_m_n_" that fraternity paddle hurt. I had never been spanked with a fraternity paddle before.
Then he walked around to Denny. I then understood why my first swat hurt so much. This kid swung like he was hitting a baseball.
Crack! Denny's jerked even more than I had.
Slowly but surely each camper did the same thing. Denny got to see each swat land on my butt and I got to see each land on his. By the time, all 20 swats had landed, ten minutes had passed. We were sweating, crying and apologizing. It didn't matter.
The counselor, walked up behind each of us, and pulled our sweat soaked briefs completely off.
Then the cycle of 20 swats given very slowly and with great force was repeated. Now, we gave up all pretenses, and just cried and begged. Nobody listened, and in fact we were jeered & laughed at because of our reactions to the hard fraternity paddle swats. Finally it was over.
We were released and ordered to stand, with our hands on top of our heads. And not to rub our butts. That was hard, as we watched them put the table and sand bags back in place.
Then came the final punishment. We were told to drop our hands and to not rub our butts. Then the counselor put our briefs into our hands and ordered us to march back to the camp director's cabin.
Once we hit the first campers' cabin, the campers poured out of the cabin and starting following along, jeering us and the condition of our butts. By the time we made it back to the camp director's cabin, the whole _d_a_m_n_ed camp was behind us, loudly expressing their opinions. The camp director stood on the front step of his cabin.
The throng stopped. He ordered us to turn around and show him the results. He laughed. He ordered us to go into his bedroom and put our clothes back on. When we entered his bedroom, we saw his final jab....a roll of toilet paper on each of our pile of clothes. He had gotten back at us after all!
After we got dressed he stopped us as we were leaving his cabin.
"Boys I am going to give you a piece of advice. Never and I do mean never, play poker for money. You two can't detect a bluff, much less call it, worth a _d_a_m_n_", he said grinning at us both.
Denny and I looked at each other and then it hit me. He had never seen us at all. We had been bluffed in front of all of the campers and weren't smart enough to figure it out.
Denny and I have only seen us once since that fateful summer. He now owns his Dad's successful lumber business. That was the last time he and I got spanked in that camp...though the following summer in another camp...I lead a group spanking of a real jerk.
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This story is true, just certain names have been modified. I travel in my own business, and have the freedom to safely satisfy the spanking needs of interested readers.
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