[Note: If you like this story, you'll want to check out the sequel appearing soon by the author "Thom," who also has several other great stories to his name. A "part-three" sequel by me will follow it eventually. -JK]
The rivalry between Bowman and Pitzer goes back to an incident long gone down in glory in the history of college pranks. It was a doozie. It happened back in the forties, when class spirit was high and hazing was especially fierce. The Pitzer football team, having bussed down from the far north of the state, was being hosted at a Friendship Banquet by their opponents from Bowman on the night before the Big Game. The banquet was a success, with lots of good fellowship between the teams, so didn't Pitzer's team captain Milt Jacobs get a big surprise when he was grabbed and rousted out of bed at two thirty a. m. by three big Bowman Bulldogs linemen!
The hapless young man was quickly gagged; and if you had looked out at the right time, you could have seen the silhouettes of the three dark figures, their big arms clutched around a struggling burlap sack as they hauled it down the steps to the basement of Branson Hall.
Branson was the football players' dorm. Quite a little reception committee awaited Mr. Jacobs there. Twelve grinning athletes were there as they pulled off the sack, and one was waiting with the paddle!
"Uh oh," thought Jacobs, "I'm in trouble."
Yep, it was the football Welcoming Party. In the center of the lantern-lit room stood a small straight backed chair, nailed on top of a frame of planks.
"Well, well, who have we here," said Clem Ivorsen, the captain of Bowman's team. "Looks like we got big bad Milt Jacobs in the Bulldog Den!"
Before he knew it, Milt was grabbed from behind and forcibly escorted to the chair, while a curly blond haired player brought some kind of heavy jar. The burly players took a few steps towards him."Oh _s_h_i_t_," said Milt, blinking, as he looked around the room. There was no getting past these guys.
"To give our guests a special honor," said Clem indicating the apparatus, "we use the Welcome Wagon. It's for freshmen boys during Hell Week, but tonight we got it out for you!"
The guys all laughed. "Yeah," one said, "just for you!"
"See," Clem explained, "It pays to be respectful of upper classmen in our dorm, because when a freshman gets _c_o_c_k_y, he loses his pants!"
His teammates nodded with dopey grins. They closed the circle around him now, taking a few steps closer.
"Then gets his Heinie paddled," Ivorsen continued, "and we give him a ride around Founders Quad in his birthday suit!"
Milt's heart sank to the pit of his stomach. The big line-backers put their arms around eachother's shoulders and laughed, leering at their captive.
"Oh don't worry, It's highly effective," reassured Ivorsen, assuaging a misgiving Jacobs in no way felt. "Why, we get a big strong guy in tears after just a quarter of the trip. You see, he has to take his ride in front of the whole school."
"Come on guys, don't do this," Milt said, putting his hands to the crotch of his pajamas. "You don't have any right--"
"We can't manage the daylight part this time," the Bowman captain continued. "But we'll make up for that," he said, raising the paddle.
"Whoooooo!" the players all hooted. "Whooooooo, Swat!"
"What?? Hey, wait a minute--!"
"Ok gents!"
"Now hold on--!"
Milt felt strong, eager hands about him; his arms were pinned behind, while those of his hosts gripped his pajama bottoms and yanked them down, grasping soon for his shorts.
"Whoo hoo hoo hoo!" they laughed. "Hold on to him, fellows!"
"Pants down for the Birthday Boy!"
Down went Milt's underpants, as the player with the jar spread the seat thick with layer of axle grease. Now the the Bulldogs had him nude, stocky and muscular, with his dark tuft of woolly undergrowth, his tool and low nuts a-dangle.
"Time for the Seat of Honor!"
They made the captive squat, and he put his bare butt in the goo as the athletes bound him. They lashed his hands to the backrest behind him and his ankles to the legs, good and tight. When they had him on the Chair naked, they brought the dunce cap, and prepared to take him on the Ride. Ivorsen turned to Howie Woodson, the big lineman, and handed him the paddle.
Howie stepped up to the guest of honor and showed him the shining wooden disciplinary instrument. "This is for your spanking," he told him. The paddle was big and long, darkened with age and use. Two columns of holes were drilled down its length, and several coats of heavy varnish had been applied. The stout, rounded handle was wrapped with tape; and one side had a muscular cartoon bulldog getting a swat. "Bowman Athletics Board of Education," it said.
But Jacobs didn't have much time to contemplate future events, because a guy with an aerisol can was forcing his knees apart. Clasping his thick arm firmly around the prisoner's shoulders, the boy reached down and shot Milt's crotch full of thick, white cream. Squiiiiirt! Milt felt a wave of hot red embarrassment shoot up his head to the tips of his ears. Then they put the dunce cap on him!
"Ok guys, let's go!" they said.
The Bulldogs whooped as they grabbed the handles, hoisting the victim high. The storm doors flew open, and the athletes cheered; out went Jacobs, nude as the day he was born! Lucky for him it was a warm night! Some of the guys were starting to chant:
"Off to the women's dorms we go, The ladies tonight shall have a show!"
Out came drums, trash can lids, cymbals, horns, as the guys started making a helluva noise. They bashed and blasted--not one able to play a note--as they carried poor Milt on the Chair--naked, greased and creamed, and underneath a big sign that said "Welcome, Dumb_s_h_i_t_!" The football team laughed heartily, pleased with themselves; this was the kind of hazing tradition they enjoyed. Down they went along the row of houses bordering the quad, when Ivorsen grabbed the megaphone.
"Ladies and Gents!" he bellowed, "A bad boy is in trouble! Time learn his lesson!"
Lights began to go on and windows were raised, as astonished faces looked out to see what the commotion was about.
"Pitzer's quarterback's on the Welcome Wagon!" yelled Clem. "He thought he could whup the Bulldogs, but oops! Looks like he lost his pants!!"
More and more rousted sleepers emerged from the buildings in their robes and pajamas, beginning to laugh. Beet-red Jacobs was nearly in tears, in front of the gathering throng wearing nothing but a dunce cap. To his alarm, he found his wide penis rising stiff and thick, like a red-hot mast out of the sea of foam that melted and slid down around his testicles.
"See the big man in his birthday suit!" Ivorsen taunted. "We got him now! "He's in trouble, and he's gonna be punished!"
Crowds of young men poured out of one residence hall, eyes wide. "Hey guys, look at this," they laughed. "They got Pitzer's quarterback!" Upper classmen, jocks, and fraternity brothers were crowding from all sides to get a look at the football team's prisoner, roaring with laughter. "Someone's in for a lickin'!" a big farmboy called. Ivorsen was getting the pack whooped up for the spectacle, and he was on a roll.
"He's so big and tough," he taunted, "let's see if he can take a SWAT!"
This got the guys riled up, and all the jocks were now very interested.
"We got the Board of Education!" he crowed; "and we're gonna paddle his bottom! He's gonna be mighty sorry! He's gonna get a spanking in front of the school!"
This brought guffaws and shouts of approval, and the crowd was soon a roaring mob.
By the time they had nearly rounded the university quadrangle, the noisy procession halted and ascended the steps of a mansion-style residence hall, where a sizeable group of twittering coeds were already waiting. The big boys lowered the Hazing Chair and set it down on a broad landing between two flights of steps leading up to the dorm. A bright red square had been painted there with the words "Penalty Box!" Lanterns placed about the landing lit the punishment stage.
"Allright Jacobs, on your feet!" said Howie Woodson.
They untied and yanked him up, then made him stand on the red feet painted in the penalty box. This made Milt spread his legs somewhat apart.
"Here's Coach Burdock's paddle," said Clem. Coach isn't here tonight, so Hank McCloud here will do the honors."
A big man stepped up and took off his shirt for the task. His mighty shoulders and thick arms promised a rough ride for Milt!
"Ok Jacobs, say you're a pantywaist and we'll let you go. But if you're man, why, you better bend over and grab your ankles!"
Jacobs couldn't back down now, he bent and took his ankles; McCloud got the paddle. He planted his feet wide, then pulled back for a good swing.
BAM!!
Tears sprang to Milt's eyes as the business end of the paddle met his butt; he gritted his teeth and the crowd roared with laughter. "That's right, McCloud," a young man yelled, "Put the Wood where it'll do some Good!"
"One!" the Bulldogs yelled with glee.
WHHAAACKK!!
"Two!" they called. "Introduce him to the Butt Paddle!"
Husky Hank revved up, putting his upper body into it, for a hard, stinging lick.
SWWAAAATT!!
"Yeeoowww!!" yelled Jacobs, jumping up and grabbing his ass. His huge audience cheered, and he sadly bent and resumed his position. This was tough.
BAAMMM!!
BAAMMM!!
BAAMMM!!
"That was the hardest paddling I ever took," Milt would say in later years. "Harder than the principal in grade school, harder than Dad or Coach, even harder than my boot camp drill instructor, and he loved to burn a recruit's bare butt! They wanted to make an example of me in front of the school, and make me cry. Well, I finally did, about the ninth or tenth lick, and I got fifteen. Ivorsen wanted to make it twenty!"
"Batter up!" Clem Ivorsen yelled.
Swat followed hearty swat, and the powerful athlete was vigorously spanked to tears. Again and again McCloud swung the paddle, as Jacobs furiously gripped his ankles, bawling, in front of the astonished crowd.
After the fifteenth lick Hank McCloud lowered the weapon. "I think he's had enough," he said.
"Come on, Hank," began Ivorsen impatiently, "He's a big boy, he can take his--"
Just then a pair of headlights lit up the scene. A car rounded the corner of a side street onto the quad, and everybody scattered, thinking it was the cops. The Bulldogs took off fast, Ivorsen in the lead; and McCloud tossed the paddle in a gunny sack. Jacobs had sunk to his knees, panting. Hank put his hand on Milt's shoulder. "I'll give you this, you're a tough dude Jacobs." Then he was gone.
Pretty soon Milt felt himself being lifted by his teammates and helped into the backseat of the car. Someone had tipped them off about the hazing. Needless to say, the Panthers lost the game later that day. For some reason the captain wouldn't show his face, and their team spirit was crushed. It was several years before anyone ever found out why.
There's a postscript to this story. A couple of weeks later Milt Jacobs was called to the front desk of his dorm at Pitzer. He had a phone call.
"Hello, is this Milt Jacobs?"
"Yeah, speaking."
"Hey, uh... this is Hank McCloud."
"Hank who?"
"McCloud. I'm the guy that, well... I'm the one who was using the, um... down at Bowman--"
Silence.
"You know, we kidnapped you sort of, and--"
"Yeah, I remember. You wanna rub it in some more?" Milt said.
"No, no, I...well, it wasn't exactly fair and all, kidnapping you like that, " said Hank, "and--look, I feel kind of bad about it. I know I hit pretty hard."
"You guys got me good all right," said Milt. "_s_h_i_t_, I'm still sore!"
"Yeah, I bet. Well... I just wanna say you were a bigger man than us that night, Jacobs. And--"
"Yeah? What?" said Milt.
"And if you want, well-- maybe I could make it up to you."
"Make it up? How?" This was about the last thing Jacobs expected from a Bowman Bulldog.
"Look, I swiped the paddle this afternoon," McCloud said quickly. "I got it hid in my duffle bag now, and the Coach won't be back till Monday." There was an awkward pause. "I could be up there by tomorrow morning, and you could--well, I could... you know, pay up for my part in the whole thing."
"You're kidding, right? This has gotta be a joke."
"Nope. You say the word, I'll do it. I figure if I ever had it coming, it's now. No kidding, I feel bad about it!" Hank swallowed a couple of times. "Just find some place private, ok?"
"Well, that's a handsome offer, McCloud," Milt laughed. "But the man I'd really like to paddle is that prick Ivorsen!"
"Yeah, he can be a little _s_h_i_t_," Hank agreed.
"Well," said Milt, "don't forget the Panthers-Bulldogs game we're hosting here in two months. I shouldn't tell, but we've got a dunking booth we're gonna set up for you guys, and we're gonna be calling it 'the Bulldog Bath.' It's gonna be embarrassing. We're gonna suggest that because of the prank played on us at Bowman, each Bulldog has to get on the dunk seat if they lose!"
"A dunking booth!" said McCloud. "Is it gonna be water in that tank?"
"You wish!" said Milt. "And if you get dunked, there's a penalty, which is why Coach Gunderson is gonna be waiting with the paddle: five good swats!"
"Well," laughed Hank, "that'll give us something to think about on the bus ride home!"
"Gunderson had been in touch with your Coach Burdock, and he's gonna make you guys do it," Jacobs warned. They're calling at a 'Sportsmanship Lesson.' It'll be right after the game."
"Whew," said McCloud, "fair enough I guess. "But what about Ivorsen?"
"Well I'm gonna propose as an amends for the hazing I got that if the Bulldogs lose, they have to pick one player to get paddled in a little stockade we're building. It all goes with the "Colonial Days" theme of Homecoming Week this year. You know, stocks and the ducking stool. Maybe you can help make sure that Ivorsen gets the honor!"
"I can handle that," said Hank, "The guy's got an ego the size of this state. I won't have any trouble getting him to volunteer--I'll just tell him he wouldn't have had the balls to take the punishment you did at Bowman. You better start practicing your swing!"
A college rivalry born, and so was a lifelong friendship between Milt Jacobs and Hank McCloud.