It was in the spring of my senior year in high school. Things couldn't have been better. I was going to graduate with honors in a little over a month and had been accepted to the college to which I wanted to go. Life was good.
It was a Wednesday afternoon in my 6th period Social Studies class where some small bumps in life became boulders awfully fast. From time to time I had allowed my friend Matt, my baseball co-captain to "lift" test answers from my test papers. His seat was in back of me. He was not as good as I in Social Studies and he had helped me on an English paper once. That is how the cheating started at the beginning of the marking period. During the last few weeks Matt had gotten to depend upon the help. The last few weeks he had an uncanny way of strolling into class, ill prepared for the test, read "some" of my answers and got nearly the same grade as I. I studied, he had a bad case of Social Studies senioritis and we got nearly the same grade; something was wrong with that scenario and it began to eat at me.
Earlier at lunch we both got in a huff over something stupid we both said to each other. It was just stupid teenager senior stuff. Later in Social studies during a period long test, I "got back" at him by not allowing him to see the answers on my paper. Boy, did that frost him and I enjoyed every minute of him huffing and puffing behind me.
At the end of the period I got up ahead of Matt and left the room. While heading for my next class which was PE, I made a stop at the boy's room. Walking across the tile floor, I put my books on a sink and continued the walk to a urinal. I was just getting ready to zip down the fly of my relaxed fit jeans when Matt entered through the door with a boisterous, "What are you trying to prove you G-D-F-A hole!" Words led to more words and soon swings of fists and an un-couth wrestling match by baseball players followed. Within seconds our PE teacher who was also our baseball coach heard the commotion from the hall and barged into the bathroom. He attempted to break us apart while we continued to jaw and try to take a swing at one another.
Our coach didn't waste any time walking us down a short hall while Matt and I pleaded that he not report our squabble to the front office. Instead of continuing toward the office, however, he made a turn into his office area, waved us in and closed the door. We began jawing at each other again but almost immediately coach let us know that he had had enough.
A trip to the office or a paddling, which do you guys want?" That statement from coach came out of the blue and shocked Matt and I into such quiet that one could have heard a pin drop. We knew our coach was not the type to take any crap. We paused, looked at one another and knew from each other's starring eyes that the buck just stopped in our laps. We were between a rock and a hard place; better understood in this case as the office or paddle. With a lot of hesitation, we each allowed the word "paddle" to pass through our lips.
On hearing our answer, coach went on to explain that since we wanted to fight so badly, he was going to allow each of US to paddle each other's rear. ALLOW! Neither of us had any desires to paddle the other. Punch him yes, paddle, no. Besides, beating the crap out of one another didn't seem as important now as it had a short time before. We began to complain hysterically. After a quick few words from coach, we knew we had no choice but to continue to agree to what was planned for us. Not a pretty thought and it was becoming more ugly every second that passed.
Coach told us to go to the locker room and change into PE gear and participate in our class that was just beginning. No questions were asked and we did as we were told. We had no desire to dig our hole of trouble any deeper. Throughout the gym class my mind kept wandering back to how bad the paddling could possibly be. Our gym gear consisted of a pair of cotton shorts, no pockets mind you and a jock strap. The thought of being paddled while wearing such attire made my stomach do flips. The thought of Matt doing the paddling caused me to sweat. Just seeing Matt's mannerisms during class told me that his mind was working overtime on similar concerns.
As the class ended, the two of us were told to go to the locker room, shower, and dress and be back in the coaches' office in 7 minutes. Matt and I knew we had better obey to the letter and headed back to the locker room for a quick shower. On the way we made a quick pact that we would try to go easy on one another, although we knew all too well that our baseball coach would not allow us to swing a paddle like wimps.
In no time, we hit the showers. I couldn't help take a glimpse at Matt's nicely carved sports enhanced ass cheeks as he faced the shower spigot. I knew those tight elongated globes belonging to 6' 2" Matt would soon be bright red, as red as I feared mine also would be. We were quickly out of the shower and moved to our individual assigned lockers, which were on the opposite side of the room from one another. I quickly pulled on my plaid, full cut seat boxers as well as my printed tee shirt. As I bent over to pick up my jeans out of the bottom of the locker, I could not help feel how I had outgrown my old and small size boxers as they pulled snuggly around my well-endowed teenaged bottom. I pulled on my jeans, pulled on my socks, put on my shoes and headed for the coaches' office. Matt and I reached the coaches office at just about the same time.
As we entered the office I noticed two thin, identical looking paddles lying on the desk in front of us. They looked thinner and more narrow than what I would have expected of a paddle and not too long either. Slight relief began coming over me, but it wasn't to last. Coach picked up the paddles and walked us over to the weight training room. The room had numerous pieces of weight training equipment and gymnastic equipment was stored there as well. We were shown over to a vaulting horse positioned in the corner of the room by some mirror walls. The horse was at a 45-degree angle to the 90 corner of the room. It looked as if it had been lowered to accommodate grade school or small junior high kids.
No time was wasted in explaining to us how to position ourselves. We were positioned so that one of us stood on each side of the horse. Now facing each other with our left arm facing left arm, we were bent over the horse at about a 60-degree angle and shown how to grab each other with our left arms around each other's back. When facing slightly left of front, our faces were facing the top of each other's backside. With our right hands we were going to be holding a paddle and swinging away at each other's cheeks. What a cheery position I thought as I could feel a batch of warm blood rush to my head. We were both right handed and about the same height and weight, so things so far seemed pretty fair, definitely not fun, but not as disastrous as things could be.
Coach heard the phone ring and went to answer it. While we waited for our next instructions while in our awkward position I could not help but gaze at Matt's smooth and rounded rear as reflected from the perfect angle of the mirror wall. He was wearing a relaxed fitting pair of off white Cargo pocket slacks. They were made of this thin polyester and nylon material that is sometimes the fabric of lightweight rain jackets. What helped accentuate his buns was that the slacks had no back pockets. There were side cargo pockets on his upper legs as well as patch front cargo's that were filled with Matt's daily life treasures. Their weight and bulk plus the angle of his body helped to pull the pants fabric snugly around his bottom and the back of his upper legs. This all resulted in nice detailing of his posterior area.
I noted that the fabric forming around his rounded cheeks was so smooth that it was apparent that he may not be wearing any boxers or any other underwear for that matter, although that didn't make any sense. Boxers or boxer briefs usually have a full cut fabric panel with duel and somewhat vertical seams in the back that usually show under snug thin fabric. The leg openings of briefs if he were wearing them would have shown as well. I was also thinking of how vulnerable his bottom looked with such a sparse covering. The thin paddle I was about to use on him should generate one heck of a sting, underwear or no underwear.
The fact that Matt was wearing slacks that would give him little protection was not lost on Matt either. As soon as the coach returned, Matt wasted no time in expressing rigorously that I was wearing heavier pants than he was. The heavier weight of my relaxed fit, cotton corduroy patch pocket jeans had already pleasantly crossed my mind.
All to soon, our ingenious coach had his answer to the concern. Just drop our pants and take the paddling on our underwear. That should make things fair and even, he expressed. We had no underwear on in the shower, so seeing each other wearing only underwear now should not be a problem. Being paddled with just underwear on in my eyes, was a problem, a burning one at that. We both protested. Me more than Matt because of the heavier slacks I was about to lose. I had to admit to myself that it was a fair way to deal with Matt's concern. It certainly was not in my favor though.
Coach again reminded us that it was we who started this fight. Now we were the ones who were also going to end it with no PERMANENT physical injuries as might have happened in a fistfight. He also half smiled and came out with the statement, "You will remember this day."
"Thanks coach, for the heads up", I thought wryly.
My head was now in a spin. I couldn't believe I was about to be paddled and now I was about to be wearing only thin and snug fitting cotton-sheeting boxers during the experience. I quietly hoped that I was right that Matt was not wearing underwear. I quickly reneged on that thought when it came to me that I might have to match him if he weren't. I didn't want to have to drop my boxers too.
After another prompting from coach, we proceeded to unbuckle our belts, undo our front waist buttons, zip down our fly's and hesitantly slipped our pants down past the area of concern, namely our posterior. Pushing our slacks to the floor we stepped out of them and placed them on the end of the horse as instructed. Wow, Matt was wearing boxers after all.
As we leaned forward again over the horse, I could feel my ass cheeks snug into the small sized full cut seat of my thin cotton boxers. The leg openings tightened as they rose up around my muscular baseball player legs. I also could not help noticing the boxers Matt was wearing. They were fancy boxers and the sight of them gave me a stir.
Matt's fancy underwear was a pair of flimsy, solid royal blue, polyester stretch boxers that looked like silk. They clung lightly and smoothly to all his features. His boxers had a center butt seam. That explained why I had not seen any boxer seams showing through the seat of his thin pants when prone over the vaulting horse. The center butt seam of his boxers formed deeply into the center of Matt's shapely ass helping to mold a vivid detail of his long prominent ass cheeks.
I could not help but think....maybe hope that his fancy boxers would offer even less protection than my scant cotton pair. I looked up at the mirror wall in front of me again. This time I could see my own bent over boxer covered ass cheeks with clarity. The mirror behind me was getting a good picture of my ass and reflecting it up to the mirror in front of me. I admitted to myself that I presented quite an inviting target for Matt to aim at.
I surely hoped that we would each have control enough not to swing the paddle too hard into each other's cheeks. It was obvious that neither of us was wearing adequate protection to withstand much of a swing from any paddle no matter how small.
The paddles were handed to us. They were commercially made paddles that said on them "In case of frustration use liberally." Not Funny! Not funny at all! Yes, they were thin and relatively small and narrow. They were heavier than I expected for their size, however. A closer look at their color and grain also told me they were made of hard maple. That wasn't good news at all and caused the pit of my stomach to do another flip and gave me a surprising stir in my shorts. The real down side was that they were about to be applied to very lightly protected asses by two guys who were both known to swing mean baseball bats.
Coach explained that the two of us were to take short, light practice swings at each others' tail in unison and were to count the swings out loud up to fifty. After we reached the count of fifty, we were on our own to vigorously paddle the other guy's butt. Coach then went on to say that as soon as one of us broke into tears, coach would count off three more shots to the crier and then he'd yell stop. If either of us continued swinging, the other would be allowed 3 free shots for every extra shot given after the call of STOP. We were reminded to hold our position over the horse or we would also get extras. The final rule was that no shots were to land anywhere but our ass cheeks. The backs of our upper legs were out of bounds. Thanks goodness for small favors I thought as I let out a sigh.
Listening to those rules had tied my stomach up in knots. I could feel through Matt's body action that he was also in a tizzy. The last few sentences of rules caused his breathing to change and his T-shirt to suddenly get damp. Neither of us planned on these rules. How does one go easy on the other when the object is to get the other one to cry first? I knew neither of us wanted to cry in front of the other or the coach for that matter. Now at least one of us had to cry. What a bitch! The coach had us by the short hairs, yet any alternative to the position we were in would most likely result in even worse scenarios.
Just when we expected to be given the go ahead to begin our count, the coach had one more happy suggestion. "Spread your feet apart so you can hold your bodies more stable."
Stable my ass! Coach just wanted us to spread our cheeks so that the paddling would hurt more. We didn't move right away so the coach voiced, "spread them".
That got us to move. As I separated my feet farther apart I could feel my boxers snug up to a greater degree around my crotch and crack. They also pulled tighter around the leg openings. I probably would not do much worse being bare, I thought to myself. I surely didn't want to dwell on that thought any more though. The leg spread also allowed Matt's shiny boxers to give his ass more definition.
We were given the go-ahead to begin counting. With some hesitation we began.
Slap, "one". Slap, "two". Slap, "three". The paddles were lightly bouncing off each of our ass cheeks. The first three light slaps delivered by Matt connected with the center of my left cheek. No real sting or pain was felt, just a very mild tingle. Slap, "four". Slap, "five". Slap, "six". The shots so far were just a tease. Slap, "seven"....slap, "twenty", we were going to reach fifty far to fast for my sanity. Slap,"twenty-five", Slap "twenty-six"....slap, "thirty-five". I began to feel my armpits getting soggy and sweat beads forming on my forehead.
How hard was I going to have to swing the paddle into Matt so I could survive without crying? I was beginning to aim at different parts of Matt's rump for my practice swings. He too was moving his practice shots around. Some felt as if they landed on very sensitive areas. For my own well being, I knew I could not let on to Matt when he reached such an area. Slap, "forty". Slap "forty-one"....slap, "forty-five". I could feel my heart begin to pound. My left arm that wrapped around matt's back and chest could feel Matt's pulse quicken as well.
Slap,"forty-eight", Slap, "forty-nine"....I decided I was going to really have to lay into Matt after number 50. Slap, "fifty".
WACK! I landed a hard one to the center of Matt's left cheek while at the same time he landed a solid shot across both my cheeks.
WACK! Just as I landed another hard one to the same spot on Matt, Fire from the contact of Matt's first shot began to ignite across my bottom. At the same time he landed a well placed shot just a little lower on both butt cheeks. By the time I got to swing my third shot on Matt's left cheek, I began to feel my face getting very red, his third shot landed even lower still equally across both cheeks.
I couldn't believe it. I was about to cry. It was hard to focus because of tears welling up in my eyes as I readied to apply the fourth shot to Matt's left bun. This time I aimed lower and toward the inside center of his left cheek. It landed sort of long ways up and down along the deep center seam of his clinging boxers. The inside right part of his left cheek, near the more sensitive anal area. Just as my shot landed, his fourth swing came in under the tender overhang of both my butt cheeks just above where they meet my thighs
The effects of the fourth shots caused loud groans and howls to come out of both of our mouths with crying sobs following. Our fourth shots had proven to be more than very effective. They were far more than either one of us could handle and opened the tear floodgates in both of us. Our pride got the best of us. This caused us to grab each other's back more tightly and follow up with three more of our best to our opponents tender most ass parts. Coach then yelled STOP.
My last three made contact with Matt's inside, lower left ass cheek. He swung his last three into the cupped area at the bottom of both my cheeks. A few times each of our feet came off of the ground and kicked. So much for each of our prides as we were crying out in wracking sobs. Our prides had been severely tested and the idea that one of us could dominate the other was soundly squashed.
As we still lay across the horse with our left arms still around each other back, my butt was ablaze with such fire that I didn't even have the ambition or desire to paddle Matt anymore. Thank goodness the horse was still under us, as my energy to stand had and still was being spent fighting the fire in my ass. That relatively thin but solid paddle proved itself to be a splendid implement for roasting a teenagers nearly bare buns.
Our coach had us stand, look into the tearing eyes of the other, shake hands and thank each other for the lesson about fighting. Right then, I wanted to say something I knew I would be sorry for. Neither my brain nor my ass had the energy or guts to say it. We were warned never to repeat our mistake and were dismissed.
Matt and I pulled up our pants, zipped, buttoned and belted them and walked gingerly into the bathroom next to the weight training room. Once in the room we walked over and looked into the mirrors over the sinks. After a quick glimpse of my face, I glanced over for a look at Matt's in his mirror only to meet up with his glance toward mine. We each broke into a half smirk of the face and a soft shake of the head followed by a long drawn out G o d Daaaaaamn. We both realized then that we both understood that we had jointly done ourselves in by our own hands(that's a Freudian slip) and we might as well call ourselves friends again.
We splashed our faces with water hoping to remove the tear marks from around our eyes. Grabbing several paper towels we used one to blow our nose on and the others to towel our selves dry. After a trip to the urinal, Matt wondered out loud what our asses must look like. We both starred each other in the eye and confirmed we might as well check out the damage then and there.
With our rears facing the sink mirrors, we dropped our pants and pushed down our clinging boxers. What a sight! I had reddened just about every part of Matt's left cheek with a extra dark area evident along the crack side of that cheek. A view of my posterior showed how thoroughly Matt had paddled both my cheeks straight on. The lower parts of my cheeks were not as dark a red as Matt's one cheek, but he had covered more area on mine. Our cheeks were still on fire though fading. We proceeded to pull up our boxers and pants and left for the walk home together.
During the walk home we mused and conversed over many subjects of the day. Some of the conversation included:
How thin and somewhat wimpy those paddles looked, but how wimpy two hardheaded teenagers looked after their use.
How hot Matt was when walking into the boys room after the test.
What the paddling might have been like if we were allowed to keep our pants on. We both agreed that I might have been much better off with my heavier and relaxed fit pants. Matt's thin threads would have just contrived a bigger challenge without offering much protection.
How this wouldn't have all happened if I had let Matt cheat from my test.
How this wouldn't have all happened if Matt had studied for the test and not tried to cheat.
How our asses would have been much better off if we were not top baseball players.
How we might have been a little better off if we had been wearing heavier boxer briefs or baggy flannel boxers
I even picked on Matt for wearing his thin, neat looking, pocketless rear pants. If he had been wearing heavier pants, he wouldn't have complained about my heavier ones and we might have both been able to keep our heavier pants on. I was quick to tell him that I did not blame him for the pants he was wearing and that they really did look pretty sharp on him.
I asked him where he learned to swing up so effectively into the lower part of my cheeks like that. He answered that his dad had allowed him the experience of finding out how well such shots worked several years ago.
Matt asked me where I learned to land that piece of wood so effectively up and down the inside part of his left ass cheek. I just smiled and told him it was through first hand experience on the receiving end.
By the time we reached our block, we sounded as if we were the best of friends and had been friends all along. I guess that was not too far from the truth. We agreed that it was just too bad for both of us that we had to learn that in such a hard way.
After I got home and in my room, I dropped my jeans and boxers again to see my butt in the mirror. A lot of the red color was gone. Just the bottoms of my cheeks were still red and warm to the touch. The sting was gone and there was really no soreness. That paddle had worked just as the coach planned. That piece of wood caused one hell of a fire and a little heat damage. Without any bruising it had helped to make two teenagers pals again.
I lay face down on my bed and felt the lower part of one of my ass cheeks with my hand as I felt a stir in the front. I thought about several alternative paths that I might have taken or been subjected to instead of the way it happened. We could have been brought to the principals office, had our parents called and had a chat with the in house police officer. Thank goodness that didn't happen.
The coach could have given his heavier half-inch thick paddle to Matt to swing. I believe coach had only one of those, but that half-inch oak job swung by Matt could have been pretty _d_a_m_n_ effective even on the heavier pants I was wearing. It might have stung and hurt so badly that it would have prevented me from landing a good shot on Matt's thinly covered butt.
Another thought that crossed my mind was that the coach could have delivered the shots....with the half-inch paddle. That was a thought I wanted out of my mind in a hurry.
There is one more piece of information that might be interesting. It is regarding what I wore to school the next day. I was out to a clothing store later in the evening and got a pair of slacks just like Matt's except they are tan in color. I wore them to school the next day with a pair of flannel boxers AND a pair of cotton briefs underneath. I told Matt that I had put the two pair of underwear on for a fuller looking butt under the shapely slacks. Do you think he believed me, or did he think it was like closing the barn door after the horse was stolen? An interesting thought. Those good looking and feeling pants kept me thinking...and doing a few other things though.