My Step-Dad Glen - Part 4
My best friend, Peter Phelps, invited my mom and dad and I over for a barbeque one Saturday afternoon during the summer after my freshman year of high school. It was the three of us, Peter and his little brother Timur, and their parents.
We had intended to go swimming, but the day was kind of overcast and a little cold. Instead, the adults started gathering inside as they cleared things away and Peter and I went out back while his brother went inside to play video games.
I followed Peter out past their garage, and I wondered what he was up to as he walked behind it. There was a large old tree back there, and the branches hung down lazily over the garage roof making a kind of "room" back there with the garage wall as it's one wall and the three branches making a roof and the other wall. Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out a mostly empty package of cigarettes and said, "Wanna try?"
I really didn't have any particular interest in smoking, but the fact that it was forbidden made it somehow very attractive. It was fun to feel like we were getting away with something, so I said, "I will if you will."
He pulled out some matches and with nervous hands lit the cigarette and took a drag on it. He coughed a little and handed it to me. I was scared, but I put it up to my lips and sucked on the end of it like it was a straw. I immediately started choking and coughing, and Peter laughed and clapped me on the back and whispered, "Shhhhh! Keep it down!" laughing good naturedly the whole time.
I don't know how the fire started. I don't know if it was the match we had dropped or the ashes from the cigarette, or just God reeking havoc on my life. But all of a sudden the pine needles at our feet started to smoke, and as we saw the first small blue flame we panicked and kicked and stomped at the flames. It only made things worse, and the flames quickly spread and went from being a little thing no bigger than our feet to a circle of fire we were afraid to stomp on.
"Get the hose!" shouted Peter as he shoved me out the "doorway" into the backyard. By the time we hooked up their garden hose and dragged it over to the garage the flames were licking up the tree and the side of the garage. As Peter sprayed the flames with the hose I ran inside to call 911 which, unfortunately, let the grownups know what was happening.
By the time the fire department got there -- two trucks, sirens blaring -- Peter had put out the flames and Mr. Phelps was soaking the tree and the side of the garage with water. My dad and Mr. Phelps were oddly calm the whole time, and they were very polite to the firemen. Their calmness somehow made me more anxious. I knew we were in a lot of trouble, and the longer it took for the ax to fall the more wound up inside I got.
When the firemen drove off my dad and Mr. Phelps came over to where we and our moms and Timur were standing next to the blackened sides of the garage.
"You boys want to tell us what happened?" asked Mr. Phelps. His face was red and I could see that he was mad, but he was controlling it well.
"How should we know?" said Peter. "Aren't you glad we -- " and suddenly my dad rushed forward and grabbed a fistful of my shirt.
Lifting me up onto my toes he growled, "Spit it out, Ryan. Right now!"
"We were trying cigarettes" I said automatically, and I had to wipe at my eyes with my hand. I flinched as my dad's hand came up, but he only rubbed it through his hair, let me go and said to Mr. Phelps, "I'm sorry about this, Ted. We'll pay for half of whatever it costs to fix that" and he pointed at the garage.
Mr. Phelps shook my dad's hand and said, "Thanks." Then he walked over to Peter saying, "How should you know?" and when he reached him he smacked him hard across the mouth. Peter put his hand up to his face and I could see he was blinking rapidly, trying not to cry. His dad grabbed him by the front of his shirt and raised his hand again, and said, "You want to lie to me some more?"
"No, sir!" said Peter, wincing repeatedly even though his dad didn't slap him again.
"Which one of you had the cigarettes?" asked Mr. Phelps.
Peter didn't say anything, just reached into his pocket and pulled out the mostly empty package. Mr. Phelps yanked them out of his hand and said, "Get in the house. I want to find you in the den in your underpants waiting to get your butt spanked."
I was so embarrassed for Peter. I knew I'd be getting it later, too, but at least it wasn't announced like that in front of everybody. Without saying a word, Peter pushed passed all of us looking at the ground the whole time.
My mother glared at me and said, "I think you have something to say, don't you?"
I was really struggling not to cry, and I kept my voice even as I turned to Mr. and Mrs. Phelps and said, "It was an accident. We're both really, really sorry. I swear to God, we didn't mean for this to happen."
"No one ever means for things like this to happen, Ryan" said Mr. Phelps. "I'm very disappointed in you."
I looked at the ground, deeply ashamed. "You look at Mr. Phelps when he's talking to you" said my dad. My head snapped up and I couldn't stop a tear from rolling down one cheek.
"I think you need to go join Ryan" my dad said.
"What?" I asked, suddenly panicked. Was he going to spank me in front of the Phelps's?
My dad nodded his head and said, "You boys want to play with cigarettes and matches together, you can get punished together."
"Dad -- " I started to plead, but he said, "You could have burnt their house down! Now move!" and I gulped and ran for the house.
When I opened the sliding glass doors to the den and pushed passed the curtains I saw Peter standing there in just his socks and jockeys. He had obviously been crying, and he angrily said, "Get out!" but then a second later the rest of the grownups and Timur pushed in behind me.
"Dad!" said Peter, snatching his pants up off the floor and holding them in front of him.
"Oh, for Pete's sake!" said Mr. Phelps. "I'm not going over this again. If you're embarrassed to be in your underpants in front of your own mother that's your problem."
"She's not!" said Peter, his voice cracking as he pointed to my mom who quickly turned sideways and looked at Mrs. Phelps.
My dad said, "Why don't you ladies leave this to us?" and my mom and Mrs. Phelps took Timur and walked back out into the yard and slid the door closed behind them.
"Let's go" said my dad to me, indicating for me to take my pants off. I kicked off my shoes and nervously pulled at the buttons on my 501's. I wasn't wearing a shirt, so in just a few seconds I was standing in my socks and jockeys just like Peter. It was so humiliating to stand there like that in front of Mr. Phelps, especially with the impending spanking.
Mr. Phelps walked over to the ping pong table that was on one side of the den and picked up two paddles. My eyes went wide in fear, and as he handed one of the paddles to my dad I said, "Dad -- "
"Be quiet" said my dad. "You know why you're being punished?"
"Yes, sir" I whispered, and I watched in horror as Mr. Phelps sat down, pulled Peter over his lap, and then pulled his underwear down just far enough to expose his butt. He immediately began whacking Peter's backside and Peter was shouting, "Ow!" after just the first few smacks.
As Mr. Phelps began spanking my best friend, my dad sat down in another chair and yanked me over his lap. I was grateful that he didn't pull my underwear down, but as he began spanking me with the paddle I realized that my thin briefs were no protection at all. I kicked and squirmed and struggled to stay silent because I didn't want to humiliate myself the way Peter was (he was now bawling openly over his dad's knee).
Eventually I couldn't take it anymore and I started to grunt and then say, "Ah!" or "Ow!" and as Peter's dad stopped spanking him I too started to bawl my head off. Finally the spanking stopped and the two of us just laid there over our dad's laps, crying quietly.
We were allowed to get up and out of the corner of my eye I saw Peter reach back and yank up his underwear. We couldn't look at each other just then.
"You take a corner there" said Mr. Phelps, indicating where Peter should stand. My dad scowled and pointed me to the opposite corner and then said, "Why don't we leave them here to cry a bit without the two of us watching?"
Hot tears stung my eyes as he said that, but I managed not to make any noise.
"You're not to talk to each other, is that clear?" said Mr. Phelps. "You just stand there quietly and think about what you've done."
"Yes, sir" sobbed Peter, and I whispered an echo of the same.
As soon as the door closed behind them Peter totally gave in and cried hard, and for a few seconds I did the same. This was SO humiliating! We had both been spanked in front of the other's father, and Peter had gotten his on the bare AND my mom had seen him in his underpants. As much as my butt stung just then, I did think he was getting it worse. I wanted to tell him so, but we weren't allowed to talk.
Eventually our dads came back into the room and Mr. Phelps said, "You boys want to get dressed now?"
We both bolted for our clothes without saying anything. We pulled on our pants and my dad handed me my shirt as Peter yanked his own down over his head.
"You're going to remember this the next time you think of playing with matches or cigarettes?" my dad asked.
"Yes, sir" I said, and again I couldn't stop a few tears from spilling out of my eyes.
"Okay" he said, and ruffled my hair. "You shake Mr. Phelps's hand and apologize. Come here, Peter."
I walked over to Mr. Phelps and shook his hand and said I was sorry, and behind me I heard my dad say to Peter, "I'm glad you two are friends" and Peter sniffed loudly.
I felt I had to say something, even though I knew I was courting danger as I said it. "You could have punished us without humiliating us, too" I said.
My dad crooked his head to one side and said, "What do you mean by that?"
"Well," I swallowed my tears, "Peter got his pants pulled down and mom saw him in his underwear and you spanked us in front of each other" and my voice got tight and high on the last couple of words.
"Listen" said my dad, pulling me to him and keeping one hand on my shoulder. "You both got exactly what you deserved, and if I were in your shoes I'd count myself lucky that your moms weren't here to watch. I know you were embarrassed, but we're all guys, right? You can be in your underpants in front of Mr. Phelps, and Peter can do the same with me."
"That's right, Ryan" said Mr. Phelps. "I don't see how you can run around naked in front of me all day long and then be embarrassed to be in your underpants."
"I've never done that!" I said indignantly.
"Yes, you have" said Mr. Phelps, frowning. "Was it last week or two weeks ago? You and the boys must have spent half the day skinny dipping."
"You saw us?!?" said Peter.
"Of course I saw you. My office is, what, 10 feet from the pool?" It was a weekday after school that Peter and Timur and I had gone skinny dipping. Both their parents' cars were gone, and we checked to make sure that Angela, their housekeeper, was gone for the day. Mr. Phelps must have been working at home that day, though that didn't explain where his car had been. I was too embarrassed to ask.
He walked up to me and patted my shoulder. "You didn't know I was there?"
"No, sir" I said, laughing embarrassedly and looking at the floor.
"Well, kid" he said, patting my face gently, "I've seen it all so just relax about being spanked in your underpants. Your dad's right. You both got what you deserved, so I'd quit complaining while you're ahead."
He pulled Peter over to him then and hugged him and my dad did the same to me. They held us like that for a little while in silence, and then my dad said that I'd have to pay for the garage repairs out of my allowance and that I could do extra work at home or for Mr. or Mrs. Phelps to help pay off the debt.
I didn't want to see Mrs. Phelps or Peter's little brother any more that day, but eventually we all sat around in the kitchen eating ice cream. At one point my mother patted Peter on the back and he blushed.
It took five months of allowance and extra weekend work before the garage was paid for.