Dear James,
You could hear the sounds coming from inside that house as soon as we drove up the drive and turned off the motor. The crack was just too distinctive to have been anything else. It was the unmistakable sound of a strap landing on a boy. Then came the howling and crying loudly. We sat there, unsure as to whether to get out of the car or not. Tears were flowing inside that house and "No's" and "Pleases" were soon very audible. The strap landed again and again the boy inside yelled and sobbed more loudly now. We looked each other, unsure if it was really a good time to go up to the front door. Maybe we should come back later?
"It's just my Brother, that's all," he said as if in answer to our unspoken question. "Dad's just spanking him, that's all."
Still I wasn't sure. He beat us to it, though, and was out of the car and on his way up the sidewalk toward the front door with both of us then following, however reluctantly.
"You sure we shouldn't just come back later?" I'd asked again.
"No, it's no big deal. It's OK," he'd said continuing up to the front door.
The whipping was obviously continuing inside. If it was his little brother who was being disciplined for something, it had to have been for something serious, heavy duty. A man's voice was clearly ringing out, "You've been told time and time again about that, haven't you?" That strap cracked and the crying continued, "I'm sorry, sorry. I promise, it won't happen again. Pleaseeeee. . .." Crack. "I've warned you before. Get your hand away, NOW!" Crack! "Noooooo! Pleaseeeee!" Crack. "Yeooooooo!. . .." "Get your ass back over there, RIGHT NOW, I'm not through with you yet, I SAID NOW!" "Pleaseeee. . . OK, OK, I'm trying. Pleaseeee. . .!" A moment later that strap clearly landed again. Crack. The tears were flowing as the whipping continued inside while we were at the door. It had to have been something very serious from the sounds of it!
I guess we were about to find out as he was already reaching for his house key and starting to open the door. Inside the boy was crying.
"It's OK," he looked back and said instinctively knowing we needed re-assurance. "Dad's just spanking my brother, that's all. It's no big deal, really. It happens all the time around here."
He was about 5'8," maybe all of 130 pounds, thin distinctive features with a full mop of light brown hair flowing over his temples and almost over the classic wire rim glasses that added to his more academic look. His eyes were large and brown, with just the slightest of eye brows on his very thin, but starkly handsome, boyishly young face. His lips appearing wet, distinctive, narrow filled out into a smile. But somehow full and the combination was lethal as he smiled and turned his back toward us with his key in the front door of his house.
A classic prep school Senior kid, he was in his dark green polo, light khaki docker-type slacks with a brown webbed leather belt . He had on tan crew cotton socks and penny loafers, even had a copper penny in each one.
All together he could have made a classic Peter Pan, or maybe an artist with a French burette. He was smart, very smart. He'd just graduated at the top of his class.
For the past few days he'd been with Chris and me on a trip down the Virginia Coast just to get away for a few days and relax after Chris' high school graduation. It had been the break I'd promised Chris when it just hadn't been possible to visit his Californian Buddy as he'd wanted to, so when he'd asked, I'd said sure, he could come along. Why not? Still, the more I learned about this young prep school buddy of Chris,' the more I was amazed he had even been allowed by his parents to come along. The first I'd met him was that afternoon of their graduation. His folks had refused him permission to go to the prom and all night after that prep school graduation, but Chris' had also initially. Both families were extremely conservative but when I'd said I'd chaperon and drive Chris so he could go and he folks had agreed, for some reason Chris' Dad had suggested to this boy's folks that they reconsider as I'd be there driving Chris and chaperoning Chris and his date. No one had told me, but that first day when I was introduced to him he'd asked so quietly and politely if he and his date could go with us, there was no way I could have said no.
"Please, Sir, I wonder if I might ask you if my date and I could go along in your car this evening? If it's OK with you, Dad said I can go to the party, but it's up to you, Sir."
Of course I'd let him and there started an evening where I hung out with a bunch of parents with the guys and their dates celebrated in as good a style as one could in that particularly well supervised function. I'd finally fallen asleep in the front seat of the car when they'd returned suggesting breakfast and something like six in the morning and then bowling. OK, I'm over doing it here, even I can enjoy bowling sometimes though evening's more my style. Watching the two couples play and get into it was nice, enjoyable. Chris hadn't had a lot of excitement in his life and this was his night (and morning) to shine and shine he did. I had never seen him with his best Buddy, though, and the two played and talked and laughed about old times at the high school just the same as the guys and I did when I graduated back a bit.
The next morning I had planned a surprise graduation present trip down to the coast. It was meant to be just a time for Chris to unwind and to talk, but when he asked is he could some along, I'd agreed. It was so obvious he wanted to bring his friend. I was even more surprised though when this boy's parent's agreed. As it turned out, they were going somewhere out of town on business for a few days and were happy to have him supervised.
So we'd done it. The long drive had turned eventful, at least for me, as I heard the boys talk. Chris was playing it for all it was worth, telling about my place and all we'd done, but Chris had also told him about his other American big brother in California, as he put it who couldn't get away from work. That had been the bummer. It's amazing, kids at that age, I hadn't thought Chris was really so close to his brother in California but as we drove he just let out with all kinds of things and details about the brother he clearly models himself after and then some. Who knows? Maybe Chris was dreaming, but friendship and having someone older to look up to is extremely important at Chris' age. At some point Chris had just up and told his Buddy that first afternoon in the car there that he had to remember to be careful because I'd spank him if he messed up. It was as if this were the most natural thing in the world. Chris had come a long, long way.
His friend, surprisingly, didn't seem to bat an eye lash at that thought that Chris was subject to spanking, but instead told both of us in rather hushed terms that his own Dad straps him and "all the time."
I looked over across Chris sitting next to me in the front seat of the car and at this pixie-like boy riding shot gun and couldn't imagine what that tiny one could possibly do that would cause his Dad to strap him "all the time?!" I mean, sure a boy his age is always going to need a good spanking now and then to keep him going the right direction and I'd be the first one to congratulate his Dad on taking the time to bare his tight young bum for him and spank him when he needed it, but strap him "all the time?"
But the boy had continued and it was clear that he really did get strapped "all the time."
He said he was adopted and when he and his younger brother arrived with their new family they were just treated like family. He said when he was about 12 his Dad had decided spanking him was not working. He had gone out and had a "special strap" made for disciplining the boys and that first night at dinner he'd calmly announced to the boys that from now on this was the strap they'd be feeling if they didn't behave or failed to do what they were told. He said he remembers clearly how scared he was that first time he saw it laying there on the lace dining room table cloth as his father finished his meal and had told them what it was for. He said after dinner that night he and his younger brother were taken down to the basement and told to strip off everything as Dad stood there, the new strap in his hand, watching. Both boys were going to get their first taste of that new strap across their bottoms so they'd know for sure what was coming if they'd disobeyed. They needed to feel what they were both going to come to fear and what was from then on going to guide their daily lives.
He said that first slapping was painful, but it was short and merciful, just a "taste." He said he hadn't even thought twice about being told to strip with his brother as they'd both always been spanked that way anyway. But he also said both he and his brother had cried that first night when that strap struck them again and again in that basement.
But his Dad had been brought up on a strap back on his Grandfather's farm and believed this was how a boy should be brought up there days. So even in urban city of Washington, DC, that was how it was going to be. He said thereafter his Dad gave him that strap "a lot." To his Dad's way of thinking there was no such thing as a second chance or a minor mistake. There were never any discussions, never arguments, nothing. His Father's rule was clear and firm: "Go to the basement and wait for me there." That strap would be picked up from the spot beside the door where it always hung as his Father came down and he'd be strapped regardless of what he'd done. He'd said it was worse when his father was home or around the house for vacation or anything. Those days he'd often felt it in the mornings when he father would get up and have time for his him. He got it a lot. In fact, he'd been strapped the morning of his graduation that Sunday morning. His Dad had judged his too excitable and "getting close to out of control." He needed calmed down and so he'd been send down to the basement and strapped that morning. That was just the way it was.
The differences between this boy and Chris, who had never been even spanked before I gave him his first in Europe a bit over a year ago, was amazing. Chris spoke of his discipline as something he'd do everything to avoid but something that had turned him around and his school stuff do. He wasn't afraid of it at all. He said he saw a future now. This boy, however, spoke of simply the routine of having to strip down and bend over the work bench to have that strap send him howling in tears into oblivion, often not knowing what it was he'd done or why?
At the resort, I'd watched then play in the pool, hit the arcades, check out the chicks, everything together. Two seniors and good Buddies. Hopefully they'd stay that way forever. Still, I had a plane to catch and Chris has some backing to do so he could join me later, and we were returning his friend to his parent's home.
He turned and looked at Chris and me, the key still in the door, and it looked like he had tears in his eyes. "Thanks for taking me along, you guys. I really had a great time."
Inside the house, behind the front door, the strap was still flailing out and his younger brother was still screaming out in pain inside, apparently in the living room.
"Ah, just a minute," I said, ringing the door bell. "Let me go in with you."
"Sure," he's said, stepping back a bit.
The crying inside continued, but the strap turned silent and in a moment an older man answered the door. I'd only met him once at the ceremony Sunday night, but he immediately recognised me. It was his Dad.
"Well, look who's back! Come in, Come in!" As he held open the front door I entered first and notice him looking momentarily back toward his son standing there was his small satchel, "I hope he was good for you? Give you any trouble?" The strap was doubled up in his right hand. His white shirt had had it's sleeves rolled up to his elbows and he's loosened his dark blue tie.
"Nah, no problem at all." I replied honestly.
"Well come on in. I'm just having a little discipline session with the younger boy here, but no matter, it's nice to see you back. We thought you'd be getting in a bit later."
Standing in the hall as the boys entered behind me and Chris and his friend started to the bedroom with the suitcase, I could of course immediately see into the living room where a boy I recognised as his brother from graduation lay over a hassock in the living room sobbing. He was naked, had no cloths on at all, hanging over that stool with his head in his hands, sobbing, not looking up, just sobbing. His back and legs were strung out there, but his bare bottom was well reddened from where that strap had been landing. He wasn't marked or bruised in any way that I could see, only very well strapped nicely just on his bottom. That wide leather strap still in his father's hand had obviously been applied effectively and skilfully especially as the boy was still sobbing as if he hadn't noticed others in the room. I wondered what he'd done?
As if he had read my mind, his father answered my unspoken question, "I've had to spend some time giving my son some discipline, unfortunately. He missed his curfew last night. Mel's told me about your disciplining Chris, so I'm not going to explain or anything, but give me a moment or two to finish it up."
I nodded, and the Father went back to that hassock and brought that strap down several more times across his young son's bare bottom. As soon as the man had stepped toward that hassock the boy had started sobbing more earnestly. When the strap landed and left it's white mark, his whole body jerked and he screamed and cried in earnest. After several more, the Father jerked his son up by his arm and with the boy frantically trying to shield his privates from view, the Father again reviewed his curfew hour and sent him to the closest corner to spend some time thinking, "right here where I can keep my eye on you."
A few minutes later his mother appeared with some juice the three of us sat there talking about the last several days trip and what the older boys had been doing. It was just an ordinary conversation, the kind everyone has when returning from a trip. In this case, though, that young stud there in the corner crying. It was as it this was an every day occurrence.
In fact, it is, according to Chris' buddy. It is just the way it is in his family.
When Chris and his buddy came back down from putting the suitcase away and sat down with us, sure they both glanced at the brother, especially Chris, but then sat down and talked about all they'd done as if nothing at all was usual.
"And how did you behave yourself, young man?" His father asked abruptly.
"Fine, Dad, Fine." He'd replied
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, Dad, I'm sure."
"You don't have to be shy, Son, not around these friends. You've been gone for several days now and haven't had the benefit from our conversations." The man said, I though, rather threateningly and smugly. "I've already got the strap out for your brother. We' don't have to wait for later you know."
"Yes, I know, Dad, but Dad, I'm fine. Really, I am, Dad." Jason had a concerned look on his face.
"Has he been?" he said to me. "I don't believe in sparing the rod in this family and I might just as well give him one now as later. I know what he can be like after a few days especially on long car trips, know he can't sit still." He'd smiled.
I looked at this cute pixie-like boy, and wondered. I knew my reply would make the difference between whether he got strapped right there and then in front of us. I wasn't sure what I'd answered would matter much as his Dad had seemed to imply rather clearly that "later" was going to happen anyway. Maybe it would go easier on the boy with Chris and I there?
But he'd done absolutely nothing.
"Nah, he's been fine the whole trip. Actually, he's a hell of a boy, you should be very proud of him."
"I am, but I intend to keep him that way." He replied.
We sat and talked about a lot of things. Chris brought up whether maybe his Buddy could come with us for at least part of this summer? Surprisingly, the Father did not reject it immediately, but instead said, "You know, I know how much this foreign trip turned you around, Chris. Your father and I have talked a lot about it.," he looked at his son, "Let me think about it."
Then he turned to me, "Does Chris have your permission to ask that question?"
I sighed feeling put on the spot, thought a bit and then finally answered, "Yes."
His name is Jason. Did he get strapped later that night by his Dad for who knows what reason? We'd been gone four days. I don't know, but my hunch is Chris will tell me later.
Cal