As always a cool draft drifted overy my naked ass just before Dad's trusty strap descended upon it. I associate that coolness with the total, naked exposure I also experience waiting to be whipped. Whop! The first searing strip of pain crosses my ass. Thwack. Two, then three, four and finally five. Each stroke gains in pain until abvout eight, then it evens out. In my younger days the increasing pain led to panic, thus to grabbing my poor asscheeks, jumping and running, crying or other embarrassing actions which only led to more punishment. Now at twenty I I fought the panic and kept my postion over the old western style chair we call the whipping chair. Thwack. That was number twelve, so I can stand slowly and take a break while the others get theirs.

Earlier the four of us had been sitting, showing varying signs of dejection. My brother Roger lay on his bunk, but with both sneakers pressed against the mattress above him. Neither of us cared to admit how much we looked alike, each slim with brown hair and light skin. Roger is a year younger, nineteen. Our cousins Dave and Cooper are the same ages, however while Dave resembles Roger and me Cooper is much darker with a great deal of body hair, even on his chest. The youngest of us all, Cooper looks older and more mature. Dave flopped dejectedly in a chair, one leg thrown over the arm, knowing that we were royally screwed. The basement playroom we used as a dorm when our cousins visited from Toronto seemed a little like a jail today.

We love each other like brothers, although the word "love"would never fall from our young male lips. Each summer we spent at least a month together, either in Toronto or here at our house, almost on the Jersey coast, in the same town our father and his brother grew up in.

As I say, we are dejected young men. A delightful Sunday afternoon at sea in my Dad's boat and a few smuggled beers had turned dark at the moment we arrived home. Dad knew and his face clearly said so.

Our day at sea had been all fun. About a half mile out we passed an anchored boat with three fishermen, one middle aged, one much older, and one maybe thirty. We came a bit close to their boat, I admit, but the one beer we had had helped make the megaphone the middle-aged guy used to yell at us seem just too much. With no discussion, the four of us understood that a second pass at Loudmouth's boat was required. Very soon four young asses joined in a salute personal to these three fishermen, but also meant for anyone older trying to tell us what to do--a mooning at sea.

Well, Loudmouth had gone to school with our dads, and the two others were priests on holiday. The old one had taught religious classes to our dads and Loudmouth. Hard to imagine a worse setup for trouble. Our boat registration number led to a phone call which led to the present condition. The next three weeks of the cousin's visit--what a pain. Definitely no boat, maybe no car, funds cut off. Were we too old to be grounded?

Dad looked stern as he came down the steps to our room but I thought I caught a glimmer of something else in his eyes. "I called Toronto, and my brother is as upset as I am about what you guys did. However, neither of us much liked the old priest, Father Murphy, he was a pompous ass. I wish I could have seen his face when you mooned him."

"However, you did misuse the boat, and risk somebody getting fined. Therefore you have to be punished." That word startled us. "Never, never too old guys. Now here's your choices. You lose the boat for the summer, the car, the trip to New York city, your spending money cut in half. Second choice. No boat without an approved older person on board, evereything else you keep, but you also get one last whipping from the strap, right now, from me. Think it over. I'll be back in half an hour."

The decision was not hard, since choice one was unthinkable. Also we knew Dad was fair. He would not whip us and then take away stuff later. By now we felt a little guilt for our actions, as well as anger at ourselves for getting caught. Dread it we did, but deserve it probably.

I started it. Reluctantly, I tugged out the tail of my tee shirt, slowly pulling it over my head. Just as slowly Dave shifted toward his sneakers, working on a knot in his left lace.

"What is it, some kind of law? I know every whipping I ever stripped for I had a knot in at least one _d_a_m_n_ed shoelace."

"Good. We get it over at once. Four dozen, twelve at a time, reverse age order."

Cooper, the youngest, looked the oldest as he took his place over the back of the whipping chair. We had to bend our knees to get in the correct position, thus elevating our asses even more.

Dad never led into his whippings. The strap, seventeen inches of black ugliness, hung on a nail in the next room. Now firmly in Dad's hand, it wavered for a moment before descending and striking my waiting cousin. Immediately a light red band appeared on Cooper's hairy, well-shaped ass. Crack! Two, followed by three four and five. Crack. Pow. The three of us waiting tried not to flinch, but we couldn't help it. On six Cooper groaned slightly, then more loudly on seven. Light, then darker red bands crossed and then recrossed the no doubt painful ass. Finally Cooper stood, to be replaced on the chair by a blonder, slighter Roger.

The firstr stroke for Roger made a more obvious red strip than Cooper's. Roger wiggled around more also, while never once losing his grip on the chair seat cushion; no doubt Roger hoped to avoid the pain of each building stroke, but of course he could not. Craack! Pow! Roger's first sound was of air escaping, followed soon by a moan. When he stood the pain was reflected in his eyes, but some pride was there too. Roger was still dry eyed.

Dave held his position better than the rest of us. His ass was as red, and naturally I was anxious because I was next. Craack.

Roger broke the tear ban during his third session, about lick eight I think. Dave must have cursed because his first tear came in the last round. Bad luck, but we were all a bit tearful at the end. Cooper did not even wait for the rest of us to get our last round. At his number forty-eight he fled to the bathroom and the cool tiles surrounding our tub--shower. None of us saw the humor, but the sight of four naked men crowded into the same shower with their asses eased onto the cooling tiled sides would have been funny to any outsider.

We four are all much older now, living mostly apart, but we are Family, usually sharing vacations. The sons among our thirteen children have felt a strap when necessary, but the probably won't top Dad's last strapping, earned when we only meant to spend a happy day at sea.