The summer after seventh grade was one that is forever engrained in my mind. Those days in the twilight of childhood, when adolescence and all of its associations are within reach, possess a magical quality that is limited to those early years when life is still so new and nothing is impossible. Already a big fish in a pond that felt smaller by the day, my friends and I—now officially eight graders as proclaimed in the middle school graduation ceremony—began the vacation with an air of invincibility.
There were four of us, close friends since the beginning of sixth grade who would only grow closer as we went through high school. Jordan and Mark would end up going to Columbia together; Danny and I would attend Yale. But in the early '90s, inklings of college were as distant as thoughts of retirement; we were living only in and for the present. Jordan, the natural leader of our group, was by far the most handsome. At thirteen, he could easily pass for two years older. Captain of a junior club lacrosse, his developing muscles always seemed natural and deserved. His brown hair was fairly short and trimmed neatly. Jordan wore a t-shirt and jeans during the winter, t-shirt and mesh shorts during the summer, but he never looked unkempt. If Jordan was the leader of our clique, Mark was the prankster. With two older brothers came the ability to wow us with his knowledge of _s_e_x_, drugs, and music. When it came to the latter two, Mark was all talk, but the tapes and CDs he brought to sleepovers have informed my taste in music to this day. Mark had an infectious smile (a _s_h_i_t_-eating grin, I'm sure a few teachers have said), and a gorgeous head of dirty-blond hair. Danny was smaller than the rest of us; puberty wouldn't pay him a true visit until the middle of sophomore year, but his insecurities—wildly apparent when occasionally teased at school or whenever interacting with girls—all but vanished in our presence. A mess of straight brown hair fell over his forehead, in need of a perpetual trim, it seemed. Danny, even in these years, dressed well. Collared polo shirts tucked into khaki shorts were his summer uniform. And then there was me. At the tender age of thirteen, I, Zachary Gerber, was a lanky kid who was totally unsure and yet wholly confident—a paradox that isn't one in the formative years.
Our parents, knowing how we cherished the time we spent together, and perhaps fearing the possibilities of an unstructured two months, enrolled all of us in a day camp located a few miles from our neighborhood. Just before school ended, however, Jordan was offered the chance to participate in a lacrosse clinic and Danny decided he would take a math course so that he could switch into the advanced algebra class in the fall, leaving Mark and I to enjoy summer camp by ourselves. We would all be done with our respective activities by four o'clock, and the evenings were ours. We took full advantage of all our time together. Sleepovers occurred Friday and Saturday nights without fail.
Sleepovers seemed to lend themselves to mischief; the four of us were nearly always restless and in search of some new adventure. Mark, it seems, always provided the idea, Jordan the energy needed to follow it through, and me, wild enthusiasm that balanced out Danny's calm rationality. One Saturday night, at Mark's house, well past midnight, Mark decided that we should go for a walk. To us, this seemed like a perfectly reasonable suggestion, if a bit risky.
"C'mon, I bet we can make it to the McDonalds on Park Avenue and back before morning. Think how much fun it will be." Mark, no doubt, had gotten this idea from hearing about his brothers' escapades.
"Sounds good to me," Jordan offered. "I'm not tired at all."
Danny wasn't so sure. "What if we get caught?"
"Who's going to catch us?" I joked, a bit _c_o_c_k_y. "It's late. No one's out." Danny opened his mouth as if to say something but decided against it. "Don't be a pussy, Danny." Jordan shot me a glare; he had begun to grow pretty protective of Danny. So we opened a first floor window and jumped out. We made it about a mile up Summit Avenue, clad in our PJs and sneakers, before a police car pulled up next to us and matched our speed.
"It's pretty late for you to be out on the street, boys. Where do you gentlemen live?" The officer was nice enough, and he seemed genuinely concerned. In spite of this, we all felt severely ashamed and desperately nervous. We were silent for about twenty seconds until Jordan spoke up.
"Um....We were having a sleepover and we just got bored."
"Well, why don't you get in the car and let me give you a ride back." While offered in a friendly tone, this could not be mistaken for a suggestion.
Mark was suddenly feeling pretty brave. "Why don't you go catch some bad guys and leave us alone?" I couldn't help but smile, but not one of us dared laugh. Mark looked around for support and found none. The officer got out of his car and opened the back door.
"Get in," he ordered. After getting Mark's address from Jordan, he drove us to the house and rang the doorbell. Mr. Kelbar answered the door in his bathrobe and he was shocked to see us. Even after the officer had explained the situation—including Mark's disrespect—Mark's dad wasn't quite sure what to make of it.
"Boys, get to bed this instant. I don't want to hear another word out of anyone; not even a whisper. We'll discuss this in the morning." And discuss it we did. Mr. Kelbar was calm and rational about it, but he lectured us for a good half hour and warned us, in no uncertain terms, that we were to be on our best behavior for the rest of the summer. Though I am pretty sure all of our parents received phone calls about the incident, none of us got in any real trouble. Except for Mark, that is. Monday morning at camp, when I remarked how easily we got off, Mark told me that he didn't escape punishment.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"My dad spanked me for it."
"Spanked you??" I knew that Mark still received spankings from his parents occasionally—we all knew that—but I wanted details, so I feigned ignorance.
"Yeah. He was pissed that I talked back to that cop. It wasn't that bad, though."
"Did he make you take your pants off?"
"Yup."
"Oh, man. How man did you get?"
"I don't really want to talk about it."
In a conversation about this same topic that I had with Mark about six months prior, Mark asked if I had ever been spanked. I answered that I hadn't, and since then, it seemed that he always felt strange about discussing the particulars of his over-the-lap sessions with me. My negative answer to Mark's inquiry wasn't entirely true, though, and I probably would have told him about my one "real" spanking if I had known the ramifications of my denial. While I received the occasional well-placed smack on the bottom as a young boy, my father never found the need to give me a proper spanking. The one exception occurred in fourth grade when I called my homeroom teacher a "bitch"—a word that I didn't understand the real meaning of at the time. Dad came up to my room as soon as he had gotten off work; apparently, Mom had called him with the details. He explained how upset he was with me.
"Zachary, I want you to know that that behavior is unacceptable. You're going to write a letter to your teacher tonight apologizing for what you did.
"Okay."
"And, because I want to make sure that you remember this lesson, I'm going to give you a spanking on your bottom." My heart skipped a beat. I wasn't too sure what to expect, but I couldn't believe those words had come from his mouth. "Come over here, son." He patted his lap. I stayed seated on my bed. "Let's go, Zachary." I got up slowly and walked over to his side. Dad placed a hand in the center of my back and took my arm with his other hand. He guided me over his lap so that my chest was pressed against his right thigh and my bottom was raised. I was too shocked to move.
"I hope this will teach you to watch your language in the future, Zachary." Dad took my PJ bottoms by the waistband and slid them down to mid-thigh, and he rested his hand for a moment on my white underpants. SMACK. I drew in a quick breath of air. SLAP. SLAP. SMACK. SPLAT. WHAP. I began to clench my cheeks together. They were really starting to sting. SLAP. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. I was on the verge of tears—more from the unexpectedness of my predicament than the pain. "I expect better behavior from you," Dad said calmly. SPLAT. WHAP. WHAP. WHAP. "I want you to get into bed and think about what you've learned today. Tomorrow morning, you will write Mrs. Paloma an apology." He stood me up and pulled up my PJs, and, without saying another word, left my room. I turned the lights off right away and got into bed, rubbing my bottom gently as I fell asleep.
This was the first and last spanking I would receive from my father, and I never told the guys about it. As I was about to find out, however, it wouldn't be my last experience on the receiving end of an angry adult's hand.
Two weekends after our night walk, we found ourselves, once again, in Mark's basement looking for something to do. It was Saturday, late afternoon, and Mark interrupted our conversation to take care of a chore he had to do.
"I've got to go next door to water the plants." Mark's neighbors were on a two-week-long vacation and had charged Mark with picking up their newspapers and watering their plants. "Hey," an idea seemed to be forming in his head. "Why don't you guys come with me?"
"Okay."
"Okay."
"Okay." Mark grabbed the key, and we left through the front door. The house was nice. We sat at the kitchen table while Mark watered the plants. When he was done, we decided to explore the house. We looked through closets and drawers, laughed as we tried on jackets, and moved books around on the bookshelves. Innocent enough, but we were thoroughly amused by our mischief. We forgot, however, that all of our actions were clearly visible to Mark's father, who was watching us through the windows from his bedroom. When we had had enough fun and made our way back to Mark's house, Mr. Kelbar was waiting in the kitchen. The look on his face was enough to tell us that we were in deep this time.
"I want the four of you boys in my office right now. I don't think I need to warn you that I better not hear a peep out of anyone." My heart began to race at 150 beat a minute. I couldn't have smiled if I wanted to. I think the other guys felt the same way, too. As we made the trek upstairs to Mr. Kelbar's study, I looked to Jordan for support but found none; he was as nervous as I was. In the study, we sat side by side on the couch. No one dared say a word, but we exchanged many glances. Mark clearly knew what was going to happen and was visibly embarrassed; his looks seemed to be an apology. Jordan was pissed at himself for getting into this mess; he liked to act as if he were older than us and getting into this sort of trouble didn't help his image. Danny didn't know what to expect, and just sat quietly.
After what seemed like an eternity, but couldn't have been longer than fifteen minutes, the door opened, and Mr. Kelbar walked in and stood in front of us. He wasn't an exceptionally large man, but he loomed over us at that moment. "Boys," he began. "I am incredibly disappointed with all four of you. You know better than that. I'm not going to give you a long lecture; I think you are all old enough to know why your actions were inappropriate and why you are being punished. But I am going to give each of you a spanking—"
"DAD!" Mark stood up.
"Mark, have a seat. This is not up for discussion. I am going to leave the room. I want you boys to strip down to your underpants. I will be back in five minutes, and I had better see four piles of clothing when I get back. And there will be no talking." As soon as Mr. Kelbar closed the door to the study, we began taking our clothing off, none of us wanting to further upset him. Mark's face was bright red, and Jordan whispered something to him in an attempt to let him know that we wouldn't hold him responsible for this. We each folded our clothing as best we could for thirteen-year-olds, set the piles on the floor next to the sofa, and sat down. There we were: Mark, Jordan, and I in white briefs, Danny in navy blue boxer shorts.
Mark's dad came in and pulled the chair from his desk into the center of the room. "Each of you is going to receive a very sound spanking on your bare tushy. I understand that your parents may not spank you, but you are in my house, and you have all behaved horrendously this afternoon. When my children behave badly, they get their tushies spanked, and that is how I will deal with the four of you today. Mark, come here." Mark walked over to his father and stood by his side. His dad didn't say a word but glanced down at Mark's underwear. Frustrated, Mark slid the briefs off, revealing a very round, very white bottom that contrasted greatly with his early summer tan. Without guidance, he quickly positioned himself over his father's lap. Mr. Kelbar rested his left hand on the small on Mark's back and his right on Mark's bottom, which was pointing directly at us so that we had an unobstructed view of what was about to happen. And then without warning: SMACK SPANK SMACK SPANK SPANK SLAP SLAP SMACK SPANK SPANK SMACK SLAP SLAP WHACK WHACK WHAP. The spanks rained down on Mark's bottom quickly and methodically, and very soon after they began, Mark began breathing rapidly and tears came to his eyes. SPANK SMACK SMACK SMACK SPANK WHAP SLAP SLAP SPANK. Mr. Kelbar raised his hand high over Mark's full cheeks and brought it down hard. We were mesmerized, fixated on our friend's reddening bottom, and realizing that soon we would be in that same position. SPANK SPANK SMACK SLAP WHACK SPANK SPANK WHAP WHAP SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK. Mark's dad's hand alternated between the cheeks, sometimes falling on the left, sometimes on the right, and sometimes right across the crack. SMACK SLAP WHACK WHACK SPANK SPANK SMACK SLAP. Mark began to wiggle around on his father's lap. He was crying not and making no attempt to hide it.
"Daa-a-aa-aa-ad. Pl-l-leeee-eeease. I-I-I-I—Da-aaa-aa-aad." SMACK SPANK SPANK SMACK SMACK SLAP SLAP WHACK SPANK. And just as it started, the spanking stopped. Mark waited over his father's lap until Mr. Kelbar patted his bottom gently and said, "You can get up and stand next to the couch." Mark didn't even look at his underpants laying lifeless on the carpet, and he didn't seem too bothered by his nudity; he had other things on his mind.
"Jordan, you're next." Jordan got up without being asked twice. Facing away from us, he dropped his underpants to his ankles and stepped out of them. As I stared as Jordan's ample butt, which I had always seen girls smiling as they watched him playing lacrosse in mesh shorts, I was amazed by his willingness to comply and wondered how I would behave in just a few minutes. Jordan bent over to pick up his underpants, stood, and, as he turned to toss the briefs toward the sofa, I caught a glimpse of his large, soft _c_o_c_k_ and the light brown hair at its base.
"Okay, young man," Mr. Kelbar continued. "I want you to bend over my lap with your tushy up in the air." Jordan complied. "Scoot forward so that your tushy is right over my lap." Jordan wiggled forward getting his bottom in good position. "Jordan, I am going to give you a proper spanking. Keep your hands in front of you and stay still until I tell you can get up. Understand?"
"Yes." Mr. Kelbar rubbed Jordan's bottom in a circular motion as if gauging how hard he would need to spank. SMACK SLAP SPANK SPANK SMACK SLAP SLAP SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK SMACK SPANK SPANK SMACK SLAP. Jordan was grunting lightly with each slap. SMACK SMACK WHACK WHACK SLAP WHAP WHAP SMACK SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK. His bottom was growing bright red, first in the center, then throughout both cheeks. SPANK SPANK SMACK SMACK SLAP SMACK SLAP SMACK SPANK SPANK SMACK SLAP SMACK. I could hear Jordan breathing heavily, but he wasn't crying out loud. SPANK SMACK SMACK SPANK.
"Okay, son. You are through. Get up and stand next to Mark." Jordan didn't move. Mr. Kelbar began to rub his bottom slowly. "It's okay, Jordan." Slowly, Jordan rose and walked over to where Mark stood beside the sofa. His face was bright red and tears streamed down his face. He attempted as smile as our eyes met.
Mr. Kelbar looked directly at me. "Zach, let's go. You're next." My heart skipped a beat and I breathed in deeply. I stood up; I was shaking. I walked over to Mark's dad, and, without being told, dropped my underpants and stepped out of them. I was hoping to earn his favor by cooperating as best I could. The room suddenly felt a lot cooler. I knew that nothing stood between me and the spanking I was about to receive. With no words, Mr. Kelbar took me by the hand and guided me over his lap. I made sure I was balanced and let me arms fall in front of me. I felt a cool hand wrap around my flank, causing me to jerk slightly, and another rest on my bottom. His right hand pulled slightly against my cheeks opening the crack a bit and. Are you ready, Zack?"
"Yes, sir," I managed. I felt the hand come off of my bottom, and a few seconds later: SMACK. The first smack fell on the right cheek and was more startling than anything else. SMACK SPANK (left) SMACK (right) SLAP SLAP (left) SMACK SLAP (right) SMACK SLAP SMACK (both) SLAP (right) SMACK (left) SMACK SPANK SPANK. (both) SPANK SPANK SMACK (right) SLAP SMACK (left) SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK (both) WHACK (right) WHAP (left) SMACK (right) SPANK SPANK (left) SMACK WHAP (right). My bottom was really hurting, stinging more with each spank. I was gasping for breath and could no longer fight the tears. I began to cry aloud. The remaining slaps fell across the crack, on both cheeks. SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK.
Mr. Kelbar's hand stopped spanking and began to rub my bottom in circles until my sobs slowed down. "You took that well, Zach. Go stand next to Jordan, now." I stood up slowly, too focused on the pain in my bottom to worry about being ashamed of my nudity. I walked over to Jordan and stood next to him.
"Danny, you're up." Danny didn't move. "Let's go, son. I'm not going to wait."
"It wasn't my idea—"
"Danny, we're not going to argue about this. Get over here right now."
"But—" Mr. Kelbar stood, walked over to Danny who stood up when Mr. Kelbar did, took him by the arm, and led him to the chair. Danny was struggling slightly. Mr. Kelbar held Danny over his lap and peeled his underpants down to his knees, revealing his very small bottom. The spanking began without any further discussion. SMACK SPANK SPANK SMACK SPANK....
I wasn't paying too much attention to what was going on in the center of the room, though, because while Mr. Kelbar was focused intently on Danny's bottom, Jordan was focused on mine. He began to rub my bottom slowly, which felt good. Jordan really looked out for me and worried about me. He was like an older brother and it relieved me to know that he was there.
Danny's spanking finished as all of ours had, and he was sent to stand beside me. Mr. Kelbar left the room with instructions to get dressed. We did, in silence.
This was an occasion that we didn't talk too much about for the next couple of years, but it inspired some interesting discussion in late high school and beyond.