Several months went by since I last faced off with dads stick. I was almost eighteen, but I was not looking forward to tangling with that piece of wood again. I had become taller and developed a pretty defined cut body. I wanted no part of ever again having my body embarrassed by a butt cheek that stung to such a degree that I involuntarily kicked and produced tears and screeching sounds.
Avoiding confrontations at that age was not one of my strong points. Such was the reason for having to face another round of sting, tears and screeching sounds almost before I had a chance to realize what I did. I got into a tiff with my mom, allowed my mouth to get out of control and threw a book. If that was not enough, the book was her recipe book with a lot of little pieces of paper stuffed in between the pages. You might have guessed it, they all came flying out. To compound all that, I let a few four letter words fly as I over handed the book onto the floor.
As I went through these evening theatrics, my dad unknowns to me grabbed the stick out of my drawer upstairs and arrived in the kitchen as I was madly pacing out of the kitchen into the living room. I was just realizing that someone was behind me when dad grabbed my arm in the same way as he had done several months before, whirled me around and threw me face first over an arm of the couch. It took me a few seconds to begin to fight as hard as I could to get away. By then it was too late. I was firmly pinned with my arm twisted tightly behind my back, my feet just barely touched the floor and my face pushed into the seat cushion.
Frustration and fear was manifesting itself within me to the fullest when a wave of some relief arrived as I contemplated the clothing I had on. My Hanes boxer briefs might offer a bit of protection to my tail and possibly even the back of my legs. A new pair of dark blue 550 Levis fitting neatly but not tight was also an improvement over the last time my butt tangled with the stick. I was wearing a long sleeve baseball shirt, but I quickly surmised that it surely was not tucked in far enough to offer much protective help to my awaiting tail.
As I lay in a vulnerable bent position with my Levis and boxers now snug to my butt, I knew that my relief was going to be short lived and unwarranted. What an embarrassing position I had got myself into again not to mention the demeaning show of crying and screaming I probably was about to display.
My mind rambling was cut short when Dad applied more pressure to my arm as he stood by my left shoulder. That was quickly followed by a rapid movement by dad, a loud CRACK and a rapidly increasing sting running up the center of my left butt cheek. I grit my teeth and closed my eyes to try to contain the noise and tears I expected my body to try to produce. The first shot landed on my Levis left back pocket long ways with the stick's penetrating sting extending from the middle of the pocket(red tag height) to about an inch below the pocket. That last inch below the pocket really began to burn a lot.
Shot two really got my attention when it landed on the tender area between the center seam of my jeans and the edge of the left pocket. Before the third landed, I was squealing between my teeth. When the third did land on the same spot as the second a flood of tears began and a sound of OOOOOHHHHH came from my half opened mouth. Dad was using a full swing of the stick which was definitely proving to be very effective. The fourth and fifth shots bit through the same area of my jeans and boxers with a resulting fire and pain that was staggering. The end of the stick landed at the point where the butt cheek meets the back of the legs and sometimes a little lower. The results were an excruciating fire. The horrendous sting continued upward four or five inches along the inside of my left cheek.
After five shots I was balling and kicking and expecting the sixth. After several seconds, I was still waiting. I began to become hopeful that the spanking although severe was short and over. My reprieve was short lived when the stick began working diligently with paced repetition on the same area of my right butt cheek. That cheek surely had as many nerves in it as the left.
No doubt dad had learned quickly from the first few swings of the stick that landing the stick between the back pocket and butt seam of my Levi's reaped plenty of reaction from me. I learned the hard way how that area of a guy's tail is very tender. Combined with the lack of a jean pocket in that area it made for a very receptive site for the biting sting of Dads flying oak stick. The cotton denim jean fabric and the thin cotton knit of my boxers probably reduced some of the burning sting generated by such a penetrating stick. It would be difficult to tell that though by my burning and painful butt cheeks, well worked vocal chords and wet teary face.
Dad released me and walked from the room. My kicking and other movements brought me from the couches arm to the floor. Before my crying fully subsided, I got myself up and walked my sorry smarting butt and sniffling face to my bedroom. Once in the bedroom I closed the door and began rubbing my tail's hot areas. As I did so I viewed into the mirror. I looked pretty tough in my baseball shirt which emphasized my well developed shoulders and biceps. My 550 jeans did well in showing off my athletic waist, butt and legs. What I also saw was my tear stained face. I was just like an oyster; a tough looking shell on the outside and a tender body on the inside. What a sorry sight.
My last tangle with the stick several months before, while wearing my thin dress pants, was definitely memorable. This round, the stick was surprisingly far more effectual even with the heavier clothing. It didn't take long to figure that the area of a butt cheek next to the butt crack is more sensitive than the center of a butt cheek and my dad had done an effective job in proving that fact
I unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned, unzipped, pushed down and stepped out of my jeans. Turning my tail toward the mirror, I could see redness through my snug fitting white boxer briefs around my butt crack. Pushing my briefs down showed me just how red the skin around the crack of my tail was.
I pulled up my briefs, turned out the room light and lay face down on my bed, this time on my own accord. My tail was still plenty warm and still humming a mild smarting sting. With a boner developing and all that heat it is not hard to visualize how I went to sleep that night.