Sean Bailey was a dashing young lad of fifteen years. Oozing Irish from the appearance of face, he was turning into quite a young man by the account of all who knew him. He stood tall for his age, which aided his basketball playing, and was the star of the baseball team. Fit and trim, with long, athletic legs, he was the envy of boys and girls alike, although for different reasons, of ourse.
He and one of the girls whose company he frequented had just finished enjoying a lazy July afternoon over an ice cream cone. They had run into a friend of his, who had spent the better part of an hour displaying his yo-yo prowess. So engrossed was he in what he thought was going to be a perfect day that he completely lost all sense of time. By the time he and his friends parted, the hour appointed for his return by his mother was five minutes away. He could not wait for the bus that had brought him there, and so he began the twenty minute jog home. He thought that if anything was going in his favor it was his decision to go with a pair of soccer shorts and sneakers instead of the baggy cargoes and sandals he had considered originally. Still, he dreaded having to walk in the front door and face the wrath of his parents - often in the past several weeks they had railed against what they described as "habitual tardiness," and promised severe punitive measures the next time he was so much as a minute late. Young Sean, who everybody liked, knew full well what that meant.
Soon enough, he arrived home. He stopped in front of the door and checked his watch: twenty-three minutes late. His jog had taken him longer the he expected. He took off his ever-present baseball cap, ran a set of nervous fingers through his hair, and replaced it smartly. Fingering the three parallel stripes of white that ran down the seam of his shorts in silent dread of what he presumed was coming on the other side of the door, he took a deep breath and entered.
As soon as the latch clicked and the front door closed, along with his fate, his mother called out. "That you, Sean?"
"Yes, Mom." He answered quickly, an incredible sense of trepidation. "I'll be right in." He knelt, bare knees on the cold tile of the entry way, and took off his shoes, as was required in the household. He recalled the punishment the time he neglected to remove a set of muddy soccer cleats and left a very clear trail across the home's then-freshly installed white carpeting. His mother had first presented a plastic bag for the offending footwear, and then simply pointed to his room. That was all that happened, usually, when his mother held him over for his father to deal with. He stood and nervously ran his hand up and down his backside briefly, his trembling fingers tracing the curves and then the line where his briefs ended and his thighs began. Somebody else would be paying a great deal of attention to that spot before the night was over, and not nearly so gently. He let out another deep sigh and headed for the kitchen.
"Hi Mom."
"Hello, Sean. What time were you told to be home, young man?" The interrogation by his mother began in earnest."
"Six, Mom."
"What time is it now?"
"Six twenty-five."
"So you're telling me your late, Sean?"
"Yes, Mom."
"I think you know what you need to do next, young man." She pointed, and young Sean's fate was sealed.
"Yes, mom. When's dad coming home?"
"He should be here any minute. You can go and wait in your room."
A dejected young man made his way through the hall and into his bedroom, trepidation filling his young stomach. He plopped down across his bed, not bothering to move, waiting for the arrival of his father.