Mr. Glenning was the junior high gym teacher, and he was a bastard: big, dumb and cruel. He was the one teacher no one liked. When he announced that he'd be absent for three weeks running, my friends David, Adam and Mike and I were delighted. We were geeky fourteen-year-olds who hated gym, especially since at this time of the year we were concentrating on wrestling, for Mr. Glenning was a former Olympic wrestler and head of the wrestling team.
So, for each of the two weekly gym classes for the next three weeks, the four of us "forgot our shorts." We weren't allowed to keep our gym things in the lockers between gym classes, so we had to bring them in each time. This made for the time-hallowed practice of "forgetting one's shorts" when one didn't want to participate.
But Mr. Glenning, as I said, was a bastard. As he called the roll the first day he was back, he noticed what had been happening. He called out our names and said, "I see you four boys haven't been participating ever since I've been away. Y'all sprain your ankles or something? What happened?"
We looked at each other nervously, trying to keep our faces expressionless. Unfortunately all four of us then said in unison, "Forgot my shorts." The rest of the class tittered.
Mr. Glenning barked out a humorless laugh. "Forgot your shorts? Six times in a row?"
He waited for a reply but we weren't giving one. What could we say?
"I call that refusing to participate. You know what that's equivalent to?"
What did he mean? I didn't like the sound of this.
"That's equivalent to cutting class. You could look it up in the school regulations. As far as I'm concerned you cut gym six times in a row. That could get you kicked out of school. But I won't go that far. You can believe you're going to get the next best punishment, though."
My heart sank and my stomach hurt. _s_h_i_t_! That could only mean....
"I want the four of you to report to my office after class for a paddling."
And then he went on calling the roll. Gym class went by in a haze. I couldn't believe we were going to get paddled. Paddling was relatively rare at our school, but it did happen, and it was known to be no picnic. Mr. Glenning was not going to go lightly, since he already didn't like us one bit. The other kids were giving us mocking or sympathetic looks.
Another problem that worried me more than the paddling itself was that I had a secret, one I considered extremely dirty and perverse: I was fascinated by spanking, always had been, and found it powerfully erotic. At 14, I had been regularly masturbating for a couple of years, and my fantasies usually involved some variation of myself or another boy being spanked, whipped or paddled. Naturally this was not something I could talk to anyone about, nor would I have wanted to, so shameful did it seem to be.
As soon as Mr. Glenning had said he was going to paddle us, I felt my dick begin to stiffen with a little jolt. It was like an electric buzz in my crotch. For the rest of the class I desperately attempted not to feel aroused, and whenever I began to get hard I willed myself to stop it, with mixed results. I was terrified that when the time came, I would have a visible erection.
Gym class ended and with a feeling of impending doom I went with the rest of the class to the locker room. Mr. Glenning brought up the rear and said, "Dave, Tom, Mike, Adam, don't get dressed yet. I want you in my office now. But first – forget your shorts, OK? Just leave them in your lockers and come on in my office."
The other kids hooted at Mr. Glenning's joke, and at our humiliation.
I opened up my locker and, feeling almost ill, stepped out of my shorts, leaving my sneakers and socks on. The others did the same. I shoved them in my locker and locked it up again. I could feel myself becoming semi-erect in my underpants and wanted to get away from public view as quickly as possible. We went to Mr. Glenning's office and through his open door.
"Close the door behind you," he ordered, and we did so gratefully.
He looked at us with a sort of smug contempt. This was in the 1960's, and boxer shorts had yet to become popular. We were all in white cotton Y-fronts, T-shirts, socks and sneakers.
He began to lecture us, and I was only barely aware of what he was saying. My attention was all on the wooden paddle on the desk in front of him. It had a long handle and was made of stout, thick wood.
He was going to paddle our asses. It was like one of my fantasies come true, and although I was terrified, my Y-fronts were bulging noticeably. I didn't have a complete hard-on, but I could tell it could quite possibly reach that point. The whole situation was unthinkable. My heart was pounding.
He picked Adam to go first. Mr. Glenning came out from behind his desk, gripping the paddle firmly in his right hand. He told Adam to bend over the side of his desk, and he stood to Adam's left, behind him. Adam was tall and thin. His underpants stretched tight against his slim buttocks.
Mr. Glenning swung his arm back and brought the paddle around swiftly and solidly against Adam's ass with a loud whack. Adam gasped, said "Ow!" in a convincing way, and then bit his lip, clearly trying to keep from crying.
Mr. Glenning waited a second, then paddled him a second time. This time he responded with a choked sob, and tears dripped onto the desk.
My attention was totally focussed. By the third blow, the red glow of Adam's bottom was beginning to be visible around the edges of his underpants, and my _c_o_c_k_ was quite stiff. The fabric of my underwear constrained it, so it poked forward, angling down somewhat. My _c_o_c_k_ is relatively long, which only made my state more obvious.
I glanced down at it, highly embarassed, and shot a look over at Mike. I caught him looking at my tented underwear, and as he looked up and met my eyes I blushed.
Adam got six blows of the paddle, and so, obviously, would the rest of us – one for each missed class. To my horror, I was next. Adam took his place against the wall, gingerly rubbing his bottom and trying to stop crying, as I went and bent over the desk.
My _c_o_c_k_ was pressed against the desk. As Mr. Glenning delivered six mighty blows to my own bottom at a leisurely pace, my erection became rock-hard. The anticipation, the fear, the pain, the pressure against the desk, and the humiliation of being exposed in this way, all of this was an extraordinary _c_o_c_k_tail of arousal and embarassment. I found that I too was crying, from the simple physical pain, but the tempest of emotion I was caught up in involved more than that sensation alone.
When my turn was over I went and stood next to Adam. He gave me a strange look, clearly upset. I had a full-scale hard-on, straining obviously against my Y-fronts. As I calmed down from my own paddling it began to subside, but what had happened had happened: the paddling had turned me on, and the teacher and my three best friends had seen me get an erection from it. I couldn't imagine life going on past this afternoon.
Mike went forward to take his punishment, and I glanced over at David. I did a double-take. Could it be that David had a hard-on too? Yes! I was amazed. His penis was standing up straight against his abdomen. Because it was very small it wasn't as obvious as mine had been, but it was unmistakable.
When David stepped away from the desk after his own paddling was over, I saw that his hard-on had only been made harder by the experience, as had mine.
Mr. Glenning lectured us again, saying nothing about the effects his punishment had had on David or me, then let us go with a note excusing our tardiness for our next class. The locker room was empty by now. We got dressed hastily and in silence. As we left, David and I caught each other's eye.
Over the next few weeks we said nothing about what had happened except to curse Mr. Glenning heartily, and ruefully admit we would never forget our shorts again. I was enormously relieved that the others obviously decided that my embarassing erection during the episode was not to be mentioned. Adam seemed to want to hang around with us less than previously. I never knew if it was because he was embarassed to have been paddled in front of us, or because the fact that David and I had gotten a hard-on while watching him get paddled made him uncomfortable. In any case, he gradually left our little circle.
David and I became special friends, however. One day he and I were at his house, just the two of us, and he began to talk about spanking. He and his sister had been spanked as children, he told me, until around age 10. He described his spankings to me: his mother would put him over her lap and spank his bare bottom with a hairbrush. If his father became angry enough, which happened more rarely, he'd do much the same, but with his leather belt. When they were younger, he and his sister would play at spanking, with each one being spanker and spankee in turn.
We wound up alone again after school sometime soon after that. We somehow managed to combine a reminiscence of our paddling at the hands of Mr. Glenning with uncharacteristically childish horseplay and David ended up over my lap. I play-spanked him. Then he play-spanked me. Then I play-spanked him again, harder. This time I said, in Mr. Glenning's voice, "Forget your shorts, OK?" and he took his pants off. He had a hard-on, as did I, and when I had spanked him again, we agreed without having to say anything that there was no more need for pretense; we took our pants and underwear off and masturbated together, grinning and giggling from time to time. The sense of relief and freedom was exhilarating.
That was the beginning of it. We never got paddled again at school, nor by our parents, but we administered plenty of very hot extracurricular punishment to one another. And that is why, of all our teachers at school, it's Mr. Glenning who had the most lasting and positive influence.