Billy's dad left long ago, and his mother, my sister, simply cannot control the naughty nine year old. He has his way, and quite frankly, is a pest. It is easy to see why he is the way he is, that is, without a fatherly hand to guide his actions and choices.
Today I was looking after him. His mother had simply had it, and begged me to take him. I agreed, and decided that if something was not done to correct him, Billy would become an out-of-control teen, end up in jail, or worse.
Billy entered my home, and ran right into my lamp. I saw it happen. He really did not mean to cause it to fall. However, instead of righting it and apologizing, he yelled a profanity and kept going. I told him to come back and fix it. He came back and acted like I was really putting him out, with his snotty huffing and puffing.
That was it. He needed it. I took him by the arm and led him into the bathroom. I told him to strip naked, and stood his little naked boy body in the shower. I washed him off. "This is to cool you down, hothead!", I told him. Then I shut off the water and picked up the bathbrush. A heavy wooden brush, about 18 inches long and a quarter inch of solid wood thick. The head of the brush was rectangular in shape with a carved star pattern.
And Billy just stood there, naked boy body dripping wet, watching fearfully as I held the brush over my right shoulder.
"Turn around, boy!" I yelled at him. He did not move fast enough so I helped him. I told him to put his hands on his head, and then I placed my left hand on his locked fingers. I slightly leaned him forward, took the brush back and swung it toward his waiting rear end. The smack echoed in the tub, and instantly, he screamed. The brush left a purple bruise on his right cheek, and I could see the star pattern on his skin. I swung again, and hit the same spot. He screamed again, and he slid forward. Now, the bruise was much darker, and I could see very small breaks in the skin.
This time I went for the left side, swinging the brush good, and listening to the joyous sound of a bad boy learning his lesson. Once again, the brush left it's mark, and now Billy was begging for me to stop. I saw a trickle of water from his back cross his purple bottom, and I hit the water drop as hard as I could with the brush. The little water drop sprayed off his cheek, and his scream again filled my ears.
I stepped back. There he was, well punished. I had him step out, bruised bottom, hands on head, and marched him to my living room, where he stood in the corner across from a picture window, where if a passerby looked in, they would see that Billy was thinking about the good lesson he had just learned.
After an hour, I ended his punishment with a kiss to his face and a big hug. I had decided to be a positive force in his life. I told him to pick up the lamp. He obeyed. I took out a notebook and wrote the date, how many lashes, and had Billy sign it. "This is your first entry, but It won't be your last." I told him. He looked up at me with genuine respect. His well-bruised bottom was swollen and dark. The star pattern was clearly visible. I made him sit nude on a wooden chair and gave him dinner. He ate, and was put to bed. I think his story will have a happy ending.