One of those normal late Spring Saturday morning. I was am doing a short term project in a small town in the heartland of America. The downtown streets were blocked off in this small historic town and the place was filled with ancient antique cars with equally ancient antique drivers chewing the morning fat with the sparse crowd that had already gathered to look at the cars and take pictures of them too. Fair enough. There were vendors hawking hot dogs even at 10 a. m.(!) and the always present "Indian" fry bread was out in force too. Some young kids and their parents were flying kites in the park (some kind of context it appears) and a troop of clowns were entertaining as well over there; but it was the older crowd doing the inspections of the older cars that was the center of attention.
One beautifully shining bright red truck was attracting a lot of attention and caught my eye as well. It shined as if it had just been driven off the showroom floor but it had a real wood, very highly polished open flat bed "floor" that almost glimmered in the full sunlight. It was a 1928 Graham Brother's (at least that's what the sign in the front window said but don't hold me to that one!). Standing beside it was its owner who looked like he just walked out of a 1930's prospector's mining camp. The owner was attracting almost as much attention as the perfect conditioned mint antique truck. And that old guy was more than happy to talk about his truck and what he called "back in those days"! Consequently he was carrying forth admirably to a group of five men standing around there and listening.
Among that group of five was an older, long gray haired man wearing a black backwards baseball cap and sporting bright red suspenders struggling to hold up his workman's jeans around his very good sized beer barreled stomach that was hidden under a white T-shirt with a slogan proclaiming in large red letters: "Whatever Happened to the Good Old Fashioned Ways?" He seemed a character too and was engaged in a lively conversation with the old guy who owned it. He was even smoking a pipe!
Beside him stood a thin, smaller younger man, nice blond hair, extremely good looking, very well proportioned, but wearing a pure white T-shirt and very floppy cover alls. The younger man stood quietly beside the much larger, older man whom he seemed to be with. The young man stood very still listening intently but he never contributed to the more animated conversations taking place all around him. He looked to be in his late teens or early twenties, about 6 feet tall, and looked every bit to be that kind of "boy next door" that any girl would be happy to take home to mother. Beautiful smile! The only movement the young man made was pulling out a huge blue handkerchief from his back right pocked and wiping the sweat from his brow, but that movement alone gave evidence to a solid bicep on a boy who looked thinly but nicely developed. His coveralls were so oversized and baggy that it was impossible to make any statements about what he might look like without them, but what was visible – his face and arms – looked promising. His eyes were stark blue with his hair a bit long for current fashions. His face was sleek with a square and chiseled chin. In short, the guy was attractive and then some and sported a smile that made him as _s_e_x_y as hell.
But it was just a Saturday morning car rally show and soon we all went our own separate ways, even though the image of that huge older man with the gorgeous younger blond young man beside him stuck in my mind. Probably just a guy out checking out the cars with his father or possibly his grandfather? But what were those "Good Old Fashioned Ways" the huge older man's T-shirt were proclaiming? A hand or a paddle across that young man's bare bottom would certainly be an appealing and good start and a cause worth championing! Beautiful boy! He looked liked he could benefit from it for sure! There was just something very appealing about him, obedient to the older man yet alive.
But we all dissipated throughout the crowd including Chris and I who were also just checking out the cars and already knew about "Good Old Fashioned Ways." And, I might add, Values. Chris had felt them himself late last night, nice and long and hard across my own knees, and remained nicely rosy under his own shorts, if the truth were to be told, though no one would ever have guessed. Still, what was the story, if any, with this older very large man and the young, attractive man who had been standing so quietly and perfectly beside him?
I'd never know, I was sure.
I asked Chris if he had ever seen them before? He hadn't. Such is life. The two of us went about our own day and I forgot about them.
The next day, Sunday morning, I was doing my own exercise thing, jogging up the hill, giving it my best, when I stopped for a bit of a rest, used a small towel to wipe away the sweat and took advantage of the rest time to drink from my water bottle. I was near the top of the hill where other places had not been built yet, but I was in front of an unusual looking unkempt house with junk everywhere. That yard was a mess, the grass was uncut, but it was "L" shaped and in the pit of the "L" someone was huddled down on their haunches, their head in their arms folded around their knees, and their hair was covering their face already hidden between their knees.
"What you think you're doing out here? I got five other kids to worry about 'cept you!" All of a sudden a screen door slammed and a large man came out screaming. It was the old man from yesterday morning.
The huddled figure didn't move, "but I gott'a have one, pleeeeese." <->"Like Hell, you do, now get your ass back inside. I won't have you sitting out here like this."
The older man noticed me on the corner not far away.
"Now!"
"OK, OK, I'll be right in but I just need some time," came the voice from that figure huddled on the front walk there.
But the larger man wasn't waiting. He went after him and grabbed him, pulled him up violently, and slapped his face sharply. "Like hell you need some time, you good for nothing big baby,"
The boy small, staring at him, his hand to his face hiding his eyes and cheeks where he had been slapped, "No, please No."
"The only time you need is some time across my knees, that's all," the man was loud now. "Now you get your ass inside. I know how to handle you."
"NO!" he screamed.
The older man who still had his hand gripping the boy's arm, all of a sudden jerked the boy's sweats all the way down and pulled the boy under his arm wedging him tightly under his arm and against his side. While the boy yelled, the man yanked down his boxers and began to wallop away at his nice bare ass and spanking him until the boy started crying.
"Now, I said get inside before I finish it right here."
The boy looked at me, the older man did too; then the boy ran stumbling inside with his clothes at his feet restricting his speed, and the older man went after him as he pulled off his leather belt. The two disappeared inside the house, letting the screen door slam shut but he didn't bother to shut the wooden door.
Moments later what sure sounded like that belt could be heard caressing the boy's ass. The initial wails of the boy would have awakened the dead. That man was obviously exercising those "Good Old Fashioned Ways" his T-shirt had proclaimed the morning before. That man and that boy were the ones from yesterday's car rally who were viewing that old truck. At the moment, though, that young man was getting his ass strapped. His cries were obvious and attested to the fact that he was getting it good!
They obviously lived in that fairly large but unmaintained and badly needing paint house rather isolated at the top of the hill on the outskirts of town.
While I didn't linger and instead completed my jog to the very top of the hill, when I came back down a few minutes later, it was clear the young man was still in the middle of getting it and could clearly be heard crying out his pledges and promises to little avail. Just a man disciplining his boy in the time honored fashion using "Good Old Fashioned Ways."
Several evenings later, I saw that boy alone in a supermarket. He looked shocked to see me and quickly turned very red with embarrassment. He turned and walked away as fast as he could.
That weekend I almost ran into him with my shopping cart at the same place. This time I said, "Hi" and he replied back. I told him we were staying down the hill from their place so hello neighbor. He just laughed but his warm smile and beautiful white teeth gave off an aura of an exceptionally nice guy. Coincidentally, he was wearing those same oversized coveralls. He was grocery shopping; Chris and I were shopping also mid evening. Chris was headed for the small snack-like shop, that passed for a "coffee shop," with a few horrid blue plastic tables and chairs on which a few people were sitting and talking.
"Come join us for a coke, neighbor?" Chris chimed in with his typical charm and the boy looked, smiled, and replied "Why not?"
They struck up a conversation while I managed to get the Cokes out of machines the likes of which I'd never seen before. By the time I got back to the conversation, they were talking about all kinds of things.
"Sorry about what you saw that morning," the boy looked at me and said. "He's not always like that."
I smiled and said nothing. I'd let it pass. Why not forget about it?
But Chris was eternally curious and blurted out, "What happened?"
Well, the boy told him and at the end of the boy's story commented, "I really got my ass strapped that morning, man!" Chris and the boy started laughing and I cracked a smile too.
"Hell," Chris looked at me and said, "I mean, Ooops, but, heck, don't worry about it. I get my ass spanked too and more often than I'd like it."
Both of them burst out laughing uproariously and doing the high five bit while even I smiled too. Their conversation took off as if I wasn't even their, although both occasionally looked at me, Chris sometimes even a bit nervously.
What had been behind the incident that one morning I was jogging was the boy's need for money for a particular type of prom photo and tux for his up and coming high school graduation. The old man, his grandfather it turned out, didn't believe in such things that he felt were unnecessary and thus the boy wouldn't be going. Leave it to Chris! He went down to the high school and paid it for him and from that time on the boy was around a lot in the evenings and weekends too. They had become friends. The boy had told that older man he had earned the money doing yard work with Chris at our place and they had, in fact, done some together, but the boy didn't talk further about his family, at least not around me. Never mind, he did seem to enjoy being around our place and knowing another guy even older than he was who still got spanked too. The two of them had some things in common.
One night he showed up about 9:30 in the evening, his eyes red and his face streaked. His Granddad had just paddled him for mouthing off. He was upset and hurting a lot. Grandpa, apparently, wielded a pretty mean swing with that paddle!
He wanted to talk about it yet he didn't want to talk about it – both at the same time, but finally he opened up and told Chris and me he was afraid he was bruised enough to be bleeding. That was the moment I stepped in and took him aside to take off his oversized coveralls and look at him myself.
When those coveralls came down, he was wearing no underwear at all which surprised me. His body was, as I had suspected that first Saturday morning, thin but well proportioned and very well defined. His buns were especially tight and attractive with his tapered waist, strong back and equally strong thighs. The paddle had heavily bruised those tight white buns and broken some skin as well. The marks from his Grandpa's paddle were clearly visible. The boy flinched when my fingers touched them ever so gently. I put some medical ointment on him but he flinched constantly during it and clearly wasn't used to anyone touching his bare bottom. His face and the back of his neck were flaming red with embarrassment. Never mind, I did it anyway.
Chris assured him he'd had worse and he'd be fine with the ointment in the morning. I just smiled to myself as clearly I knew Chris himself had never been paddled and bruised like that but I let it pass. The boy needed assurance.
The boy stayed for the rest of the evening, but he wouldn't hear of sleeping overnight. He was positive that if he did something like that and didn't come back home overnight his Grandpa would spank him for sure and he clearly didn't want to face that again so soon!
But he has continued to come back often and was there one evening after Chris had just been spanked. The boy's discussed that to the hilt when I left them alone and went down to pick up some groceries. When I returned they were still talking and laughing and doing something on the computer.
This young man is living proof that high school boys do still get spanked, strapped, and paddled from Grandpas in this day and age and that at least one Grandpa knows how to apply a paddle to at least one boy's bare fanny quite well! Although I never have met or talked to this Grandpa with the T-shirt proclaiming, "Whatever Happened to the Good Old Fashioned Ways?" that Grandpa does know them and doesn't hesitate to apply them to his grandson. In fact Grandpa spanks or paddles this very nice boy quite often. I'd call it long and nice and hard. And the old man doesn't believe in new ways or trends at all either. Still the young man accepts it. Actually he has no choice but to accept it as he has no where else to go.
He comes down quite a lot though and has found something he shares with young Chris. Anyway, nothing wrong with a good spanking!
As I write this up, the boy is just about to go to his Senior Prom with a cute date and does have the money we've slipped him to do it up right. Chris and he will stay in touch, I'm sure. Chris is talking to him about community college and aiming for a future. The boy's beautiful, extremely attractive with that natural boyish charm, but he does also still get paddled like boys his age should be when they need direction as ultimately they always do.
Truth is always stranger than fiction.