I was asked to write this story even though I'm in college now and I was 14 back then. I never considered this interesting before, but I'm writing this cuz my friend asked me to. It was near a place called San Bernardino, in California. The neighborhood was pretty much white and middle-class. My school was a private catholic school (even though we weren't religious) and I was starting the 9th grade. There was a growing number of Spanish speaking kids at my school, class of '99.
The problem began at my house. My Dad was having lots of problems and you couldn't predict his mood. For matters of discipline, I'd often gotten the belt in past years, and spanked by both mom and dad. Things had been going just fine for a few months, and I figured I was pretty much done with whoopings, groundings, and the like.
My dad had yelled at me several times this week, for real little things, like being late to dinner, not mowing the lawn, not cleaning his car (something I hated to do, since the rest of us hardly ever used his car), or talking back just a little even when I knew I was right. In short, he was acting like a bitch, and never more than that day.
That day, I was having a pretty good day. It was after school on a Friday, and my friends were visiting. My friends Serge and Gabe were my age, and Gabe's brother Josh was older by two years, we were lucky cuz he already had his driving license. We were planning on driving in Joshua's car to Gabe's family cabin in the mountains, all four of us. Nothing was going to stop us from having a good weekend, free from school, chores, and family arguments.
My friend Serge was the type of kid that got along with everybody. His father sometimes worked in Europe, and he even spoke Spanish. He got along great with all the Mexican kids even though he said their talk was usually tougher and cruder than people he knew in Spain.
Serge had what I'd call a baby face, always smiling, with short hair, but also short bangs, a small earring, which he took off when he was at his home. I liked his eyebrows, which he always moved so expressively when talking or laughing. For this, I think, chicks always liked him. He wore a baseball cap, torn jeans, a big loose t-shirt which often had something crude or vulgar written on it. He worked out, well, all of us worked out, sometimes together in my garage, or Serge's garage. And when Serge wasn't wearing a shirt, man, he was like an anatomy lesson, chest and lats, I wondered why I'd be glancing at his armpits to check out the muscles, and maybe cuz he had more armpit hair than I did.
My friend Gabe always seem to wear colored, red or bluish T-shirts, black jeans and usually some kind of jeans jacket. He considered himself to be pretty tough. That's how I remember him, he also had good build, a quick mouth and a quick temper. He often wore a pager on his belt, I never understood why, cuz he never got called.
He combed his hair upwards, but was it was cut closer along the sides. Serge and Gabe played school sports, which I didn't, but I had a lot of talent in boxing, and helped on saturday's with the boxing ring at the community center.
Gabe's brother Josh was 16, lighter hair, also combed upward but not long. Like all of us, he wore sneakers and jeans. He was more of a joker, always laughing at us, dissing us, playing tricks, a little immature and sometimes irritating. But he had an old Mustang car from the 60's and he drove fast. ------------------------------
We were in my bedroom, listening to old rock, rap and hiphop, which my dad particularly hated. We were playing cards and nintendo, singing along, rapping along, talking and in a good mood. There was a knock on my door, and I shouted "come in!" It was my dad, looking in one of his pissed off moods. He yelled for no reason to turn down the music, to stop talking loud, and he said our bicycles were in the driveway blocking his car.
I didn't expect him home that early, and we weren't done with our poker game, and so I told him we'd move the bikes in a few minutes. Of course, he pulled once of his commander acts and said, "I said move them, right NOW!" I was a little pissed now myself, because he had ruined my mood on a good day. I repeated "just wait a couple of minutes and I'll move the _d_a_m_n_ bikes". He said "what did you say?" and of course, looking back now on my bad judgment, I said "we turned down the god_d_a_m_n_ music so you can hear, I said just chill out a couple of minutes and I'll move the _f_u_c_k_in' bikes."
I hadn't really meant to say a cuss word like that, but his attitude was really getting to me, and I was trying to try to act as tough as my friends were. I probably should have thought it out more. I threw down the cards, pissed off, and went outside and moved the bikes.
Then, I came back in and closed the door of my bedroom. Soon he was there again, opening my door and saying something about keeping the music low, and never blocking his car again, and now I was again pissed off, I said something like "What exactly is your problem, you're getting to be like a bitch." Then, for a few seconds, he stared at looking looking angry, and then he said "oh yeh, we're gonna see about that" and walked out. My friends looked like things were out of hand, well me too, I guess. I told them that I said he was 'like a bitch, I didn't actually CALL him a bitch." I couldn't believe what happened next. -----------------------------------------
There he was again, at my bedroom door, this time with a fold-up chair in hand, and I saw he was also carrying a paddle we used for playing Jokari. It was oval shaped, not too long but fairly heavy, with a strong leather grip. I was stunned, at first I thought this was a joke, I didn't believe he was serious. One of my friends whispered something like 'oops.' and smiled for a second. Then, I noticed that my friends were looking downwards at the floor, as if trying not to show any reaction.
Suddenly my heart was racing. He wasn't planning on using that paddle on me. . .I got a sudden rush of adrenaline and was thinking of running, but he had put the chair at the door, blocking my exit. I stood there silently, thinking, considering the options. I felt for a second I would fight him, but the next moment he grabbed me by the shirt, which was a shirt I'd bought with my own money. I felt such hate right then and said, 'get away from me, get that thing out of here," but somehow he turned me around, I guess I wasn't that heavy yet, and he hit me solidly on the ass with his paddle. I felt a sting but it wasn't any major problem. The problem was that these guys, my friends, were there, none of us knew what to do, but all of us probably felt some degree of fear and humiliation. Most of all of course, I did.
Then my dad said, "I don't care what your excuse is, you've been acting like a tough guy and breaking all the rules for weeks, now we're gonna have a chance to see how tough you are. I'm putting you over my knee for a good ass-spanking right now, let's see what you're gonna do about it. You have to pull down your trousers and bend over, and I mean right NOW!" I felt like I was on automatic pilot, I was terrified but I said "it's not gonna happen like that."
Somehow he turned me around, a second time, and laid the paddle on my ass with more force this time, and this one definitely caused pain. I looked at Serge, who I remember him lifting his eyebrows as if saying 'do it bro, get it over' and at the same time my dad said "if you don't cooperate and bend over now, in your undershorts, your friends are going home, your bike is grounded and you are grounded." I felt a headache and it felt like tears of anger in my eyes.
There was a lot of silence, unbelievably, the CD was playing Beastie Boyz singing about "fight for your right, to party" and I was thinking 'yeh right, fight how?" I looked at my friends, who were all looking down again at the floor, as if ignoring the situation. Suddenly, as I was standing there frozen, I felt my dad yanking down my jeans, which had no belt and tended to sag anyway. My heart was racing, the music was playing Beastie Boys, my friends were looking down like plastic dolls, and suddenly I felt a little relief my father said in your shorts, instead of totally bare ass.
(Since we never took showers at school, I could not take the humilation of a bare ass spanking, and I know I would have had to get violent and maybe do things would have become a catastrophe instead of a nightmare. I had mooned Serge before, and it always made him laugh, and Josh had mooned all of us, but I didn't like to be forced to undress in front of other guys. We would be men soon, it seemed, and you just can't get humilated like that in front of other guys who. Plus, I felt weaker than the others cuz I wasn't on a team, but I could box them and so I felt like I was pretty tough.
Next thing I knew, somehow he got me across his knee, and I kept struggling to get some control, but he got me positioned with my chest and arms on one side of his lap, and my legs barely touching the floor. This felt really unnatural, I had Hanes briefs on, I wasn't really sure how clean they were, but that stopped mattering in a couple of seconds. He put the paddle on me with force. Not only did each swat hurt, but it made a loud cracking noise that could probably be heard outside the house. I felt like an infant with no control, but my teenage friends were watching me get reduced to a naughty boy over my dad's knee.
That jokari paddle stung most in my lower ass, but soon the pain seem to fill up my whole body and head. I didn't know how many swats he would give me, and I tried hard to ignore the pain, but after about four, it was almost impossible. For a while I shut my eyes. The swats were coming hard and fast, I'd got over ten and it kept on going. I quickly glanced at my friends, they were watching intently. Josh looked like he thought it was funny, but Gabe and Josh looked at each other with serious faces. Fifteen times I was spanked and then my dad shouted, "I shoutd probably be doing this a lot more often."
I was not crying, but I was holding back noises as I breathed hard, I knew I was really close to screaming and crying. But he gave me a few more swats, slower, and harder. I am sure I made some kinds of crying noises but was trying to hold my breath to prevent myself from crying like a baby. Finally he said 'OK get up," and I looked at Serge, who put his fingers across his eyebrow, looking like he was relieved. As my dad left the room with his chair and paddle, Gabe and Josh smiled at each other, and then Serge started smiling too. The same song was still playing about "fight for your right."
It was too much for me, I ran outside, and when the other guys caught up, I was crying hard, in the front yard, out of pain, out of embarassment and out of hate that my dad would do that to me. They seemed sympathetic, and quickly changed the subject to 'do you still wanna go to the cabin?' I needed to get away, and I left the house, calling mom before we drove away.
At the cabin, my friends were on good behavior with me, mostly. Sometimes they pulled the chair for me, and Gabe brought a pillow for me to sit on, I laughed but didn't use it. After sunset, we were in the cabin and there was a downstairs shower with warm water on the service porch, it had a piece of old burlap for privacy but it was so worn, we just tore it off. We took turns taking a shower, and the other 3 talked as one took a shower.
Of course, when it was my turn, they all kept wanted to comment on my very red butt, and by then I didn't feel so embarassed, in fact it felt good to laugh about it, even though it still hurt like hell. They let me sleep on the bigger bed, but in the morning I had my sheets off, and they pantsed my briefs and laughed at my still red butt. -------------------
Monday was school, and the word of what happened didn't go too far, but a couple of guys at school called me 'spanking kid' and another kid said 'hey, how's your rear, red-ass?' but my nickname for that week was 'hey, strictdad'. Then a couple of boys asked if they could play nintendo at my house and leave their bikes on the driveway. By then, I could handle it. But I felt like getting back at Serge, the guy I think who first talked about it to others.
So next Saturday afternoon, Serge and I went to the school gym, the room with the weights. We worked out a little, then hung around outside the room and played cards. There were some Latinos inside, and Serge knew them. I had seen two Jokari paddles in the equipment room shelves, and suddenly they reminded me of spanking. I thought I could keep winning poker against Serge, and I wanted to get 'even' with him, so I bet him four swats if he lost. I was sure he would lose. He got up to get some water, and I made the mistake of swatting him anyway, before we finished our games. This caught the attention of his friends who could see it thru the window. He didn't get upset, in fact he smiled, and said, 'hey, I haven't even lost yet!' Soon, the other guys came outside to watch us play. That made me nervous, because Serge knew these guys and I didn't. In fact, I had said to the one my age, Ricky, that immigrants were pretty ruining our neighborhood.
Well, these guys were Ricky, Joe (or Jose), Salvador and some gang-type named 'Shy Boy'. Ricky was in ninth grade too. He wore worker's pants with big empty tool pockets, combed neatly on top with sides real short and two ear rings. He had no shirt on, he was shorter than me but his chest was muscular and he had a real tight 6-pack stomach.
ShyBoy was probably 15, he wore a grey loose T-shirt over his thin body, with a cross on a neck chain. His t-shirt was cut off at the shoulders, and his shoulder and arm muscles were really toned up. He had two leather wrist bands, and had a tough-look. He had sweat on the front of his t-shirt from his bench pressing and sit ups.
Finally, there was Salvador, 16, tall and brown, very muscular and thin. He played both soccer and varsity football. I remember once, before he spoke any English, I was kind of making fun of him, and he lifted me, in a playful way, huggin me and lifting me totally off the ground. He had a cross and necklace too. He was good looking, with dark sweatpants, sneakers and a starched and bleached white t-shirt. I noticed his shirt smelled a little like fresh bleach.
So Ricky is hanging out with his friends, watching our card game, and he said 'Isn't this your friend Strict-dad?' Serge said 'yeh, his dad really beat his ass last week, with a paddle just like that one', pointing to the Jokari. Ricky picked it up and handed the other to Salvador. They both started swinging at the air with the paddle like they're practicing giving swats. Shy Boy said 'ooh, I bet that _s_h_i_t_ hurt your ass.'
They all laughed, including Serge. Ricky started dissing me, saying 'What do you bet homeboy was crying his eyes out when he got spanked." They laughed again. Finally, Salvador said "he's a white boy from a good family. They never get whipped hard. They play like they do, but I'll bet homeboy was screaming before he even got hit." Then Ricky asked Serge, 'how many times did his dad hit him?" and Serge said 'maybe 15 or 20, we weren't really counting.' Ricky asked "Was Strict-Dad, I mean Steven, was he running around the room?" Serge said, "hell no, he was bending over his dad's knee." Shyboy said "oh here's my butt, spank me. . .' and they all laughed. This was making me nervous, and I stopped playing well. In fact I lost, but I didn't want Serge to get his four swats while these guys were around.
So Salvador said, "OK, I know what. If Strict Dad is the boxer he says he is, let's have him arm wrestle Ricky and if he wins, no penalty. And if loses, then we all get to give him four. He looks strong enough to take them."
And Ricky looked small. He had muscle, but I was used to boxing and thought it would be easy. No such luck, Ricky seemed to know tricks about arm wrestling that I didn't. I asked for a rematch, but I lost all three times.
Now I felt really in trouble again. These were boys after all, not a strong man like my father. So then, Salvador said "looks go inside boys, we don't want to make a public scene of this penalty for Steve." We walked inside, and I was kind of pushed in first. Once inside, I got that feeling of excitement and dread, mixed together, by now, this seemed interesting and horrible, I didn't know what I was feeling about it.
So to keep my reputation, I started to put my arms up in a loose boxing stance, and said something like 'come on, come get me'. It happened faster than I expected. ShyBoy was behind me, and kicked my knees out of position, and Salvador together got me in a headlock from behind, and Ricky and Serge grabbed my legs and pulled me off the ground.
My next was against Salvador's sweaty chest, still smelling like bleach. I could feel his necklace on the top of my head, it hurt. Salvador put his foot on a weight bench and told the others to lay me across his thick thigh, which was horizontal.
He grabbed one of my wrists, but I wasn't going to resist much. Then Ricky and Shyboy approached me, both banging the jokari paddles against their hands, making a sharp cracking noise. They had big smiles on their faces.
They gave Ricky the first chance. I was in sweats over Calvin briefs. Shyboy looked at Serge and they both moved towards me and pantsed me, so I was only in white briefs. Some tough guy, lying across Salvador's leg, with two guys smiling at me with thick wooden paddles and me lying there, in nothing but cold briefs in front of all of them. Ricky took his four swats, all of them right at the bottom of my ass.
I could tell right away I wasn't going to sit for another couple of days. That pain was intense. I said "aaagh" each time he hit, and was breathing fast. He handed the paddle to Shyboy. He says 'well let's see how much this boy can take.' And he landed them slower, but harder, than Ricky. I had that feeling again, between feeling numb and ready to cry, I didn't know whether it was pain or just a desire to cry.
By the fourth swat, I did whimper out a cry, and ShyBoy said, "this guy doesn't last too long, he's weak." I felt again like an infant, and these guys somehow had become my teen daddies. It didn't feel very good thinking that.
Then Ricky and Shyboy stood across from each other, and both of them put their legs resting on a bench, forming a huge double-leg to bend over. Both of them put their arms across my back to stabilize me, and one put his hand on my neck for some reason. I felt strangely comfortable, with their body heat below and beside me, and their arms felt Ok on my back and neck. But things didn't stay comfortable.
It was Serge's idea to pants my underwear, and Salvador said 'why not?' and the others agreed 'yeh, bare his ass, he needs some swats on bare skin.' So whoever did it, next thing I felt was cold air moving across my butt cheeks, I thought I was numb but apparently not Serge was next. He backed up and gave me my first swat on bare butt. WHAM! I moved forward on their knees, and I could feel my privates moving across their legs as if they were rolling pins. It was more intense than I expected. I yelled out 'Stop, Serge!" but before I got the words out, another intense swat, in the middle of my ass. By then, my muslces felt weak and someone said my ass cheeks were wobbling like jello. That comment was really humiliating. I tightened up the best I could, but I felt so weak. SMASH! came the third of Serge's paddlings. Then again, SMASH! I started to cry. My best friend had made me cry. He handed the paddle to Salvador, the biggest guy. He's the guy who had lifted me off the ground when I joked about him. He knew about my remarks about immigrants, and I had never taken back what I said.
"OK, Stevie. . .my turn now. Lo zurremos en las pinches nalgas! he said, let's spank him on his little ass cheeks. They all repeated the last words with stressed humiliation, 'his nalgas'. "Hey, how come white boyz have red nalgas?" someone said, which caused more joking and laughter. OK Stevie, get ready, said Salvador.
Actually, I couldn't get ready because I was totally weak. His paddle made my whole body ache, and I jumped forward from the force. I instantly started crying loud. "Oh, he seems to be enjoying his spanking," said Salvador. Swat number two was almost on my thighs, a new area of pain. I was thinking, I hope I can walk after this. More crying. Swat number three was harder than the others, and instantly I couldn't stop crying loud, and then the fourth came unprepared, and it wasn't as hard, right across my lower ass again. I was in their arms, crying helplessly.
They then put me down, and Salvador pulled up my white shorts, but before he pulled them all the way up, he touched my ass with his hand, and said 'you skin is sensitve, brother. I thought you were a fighter, you have to get tougher." I thought he was crazy, but I just wanted to go lie down somewhere. Then they all pulled up my sweats, and for an unknown reasons, they all took turns hugging me around the neck like we were war buddies or something. It felt good and I never really understood all those feelings.
Once in a while I run into these guys around the mall, all except Serge, who is still my friend, even though he got ahead of me in college. That's about all I can think of to say about that week of spankings. Thinking about all that, in a simpler time, makes me feel both good and bad, I am not sure why.
THE END