One of the worst aspects of junior high school for most boys is gym class. And the worst part of gym class is the locker room. All hope of privacy vanishes in the boys' locker room. In my case, gym class seemed to exist purely to humiliate adolescent boys. One day each year -- grades 7 through 9 -- boys were herded by class into the gym where they were told to remove all their clothing and line up in their birthdays suits for the annual physical exam. One by one, we were poked, prodded, weighed, and measured by the doctor, the nurse and the gym teacher. Although I went through the process in all 3 grades -- at ages 12,13, and 14 -- the worst year was my second. I was just recovering from a bout with the flu and, although I felt okay, I was pale. Noticing this, the nurse decided my temperature should be checked. I was pulled out of line and told to bend over the gymnastics horse. Then, in front of roughly two dozen of my peers, I felt the nurse's hand spreading my cheeks, followed by the sensation of s cold thermometer slowly entering my rectum. For what seemed an eternity, I lay naked across the gym horse, with one of the nurse's hands pressed against the small of my back holding me down, and the other resting on my bare buttocks, holding the rectal thermometer in place. Finally removing the thermometer and finding it normal, she playfully slapped my bottom and told me to get back in line. Needless to say, I took enormous ribbing from the other boys. After the exam we were sent back into the locker room to shower prior to entering the pool for our swim tests. While in the showers, two of my friends picked up the razzing again about having my temperature taken "the baby way." Angrily, I swore at them -- just as Mr. Whitmore, the gym teacher walked by. "Brian," he bellowed, "dry yourself off NOW and report to my office within one minute!" Now Mr. Whitmore was in his 40's, but in excellent shape -- about 6 feet two inches tall and a muscular 210 pounds. I hurriedly dried off and sheepishly entered his office, clad only in the towel. I was nervous because I had often witnessed Mr. Whitmore's hand whacking mischeivous boys across the seat of their gym shorts. "Brian, you know I won't tolerate a boy with a foul mouth," he said,removing the towel from around my waist and drawing me across his lap, "so I'm going to give you a spanking to help you remember that. I don't usually spank bare bottom, but I'm not about to spank through a thick towel so you will just have to receive your spanking the old-fashioned way, with nothing between my hand and your bottom." With that, he raised his open hand and brought it down swifly across my still damp butt. As he methodically continued the spanking with his right hand, his left was wrapped tightly around my waist, holding me in place as I predictably began kicking my legs and squirming while the temperature and hue of my backside rapidly altered under the sting of his calloused him striking me over every inch of my heretofore snow-white posterior. "Please, sir," I pleaded in the cracking tenor of a 13-year-old, "I'm sorry ... it hurts, it hurts!" "A sore bottom is a small price to pay for a foul moth, young man," he replied,"and one day you'll thank me for disciplining you when you were naughty." "Whack -- ow!" "Whack - ow!" I finally lost the last vestige of my adolescent bravado and tears flowed from my eyes as my bare behind blazed under the relentless spanking. To make matters worse, despite my discomfort I was aware that in my futile atempts to squirm free my penis was rubbing against Mr. Whitmore's trousers, producing an erection. I knew he had to be aware of it, since his left hand brushed against it several times as he re-positioned me and held me in place across his knees. Finally, the spanking stopped and he lifted me sobbing off his lap. He then lectured for several minutes while I held both hands over mybutt, vainly trying to sooth the burning his hand had inflicted "Now," he concluded," go take your test swim." I then endured the final indignity of having to walk poolside in front o 20 boys with a freshly-spanked red behind for all to admire. The only silver lining was the wonderful cooling sensation of the water on my chastened backside.