Part II
Chapter V
After what seemed forever to Andrew but could not have been more than 45 minutes, he heard his mother's car pull up into the driveway. When Libby carried the groceries into the kitchen, she saw her auburn-haired nine-year-old son dutifully standing with his face against the corner and his white briefs neatly rolled down in the rear leaving all his bare spanked bottom bare, just the way she had left him. He was even standing tall, drawing himself up to his full height of four feet.
"All right, dear, you may come out of the corner now," she told Andrew in her usual kind motherly voice.
"Thanks, Mom!" Andrew said with a smile, then added, "Uh, may I pull 'em up now?"
"No, honey. Your bottom's still pink. So leave your underpants down in back for the time being. You know the air helps the skin heal faster. The pinkness should be gone in an hour or two, and you have one or two marks from the hairbrush, that will probably go away by tomorrow, but we're not concerned about those... Now, I've got the groceries all put away, so let's get started on your schoolwork."
Even though at first it was hard to sit his sore little bottom down on the wooden kitchen chair and keep from squirming during the lessons, little Andrew applied himself with all his might. By 5 o'clock he had made up a whole week's math assignments. Libby was delighted. Her son might be careless sometimes, but he really was a bright little boy.
"All right," she declared, "let's take a break. I need to fix dinner. We can do the language assignments this evening."
"Thanks, Mom!" said Andrew. After standing up he ventured to ask again, "Uh, Mom, may I pull 'em up now?"
"Well, let's see... Your bottom doesn't LOOK hot anymore." Then after feeling the smooth oval hemispheres with her palm, she affirmed: "Nope, bottom's not hot anymore, so go ahead. Pull 'em up."
By the time she said "ahead," he had already done so. Before leaving the room, he said,
"Mom, I'm gonna go get dressed."
"Since we're going to have dinner before long, I think that's a good idea. Also, why don't you get the shower you obviously didn't get this morning!"
"Yes, Mom."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Andrew, wake up! We gotta get ready for Sunday school."
It was Jeremy, gently shaking him awake. Good. At least Jeremy didn't seem to be angry or bossy today. Last night had gone well. Mom had cooked a great dinner, and she'd brought home from the store a Boston cream pie. Jeremy had had three pieces! Then he had gone to the den and watched movied on the UHF channels while Andrew completed his assignments in reading and writing with his mother there to check his work. He had gone to bed feeling proud of himself and relieved. Monday he could hand in all his work and get good grades, and best of all, he could still have fun this afternoon. At Sunday school he would say a prayer of thanks that the week had turned out well after all, even if he had gotten a spanking. He actually didn't feel bad about the spanking. He didn't like to be spanked, but he knew his mom only did it because she loved him. He had done wrong; he had been punished: nobody was mad at him, the slate was clean, today was a brand-new day, amd that was that.
After brushing his teeth and using the bathroom for the other usual morning activities, Andrew sloughed his pajamas and started getting dressed. He slipped on clean, white briefs and tee shirt, dark socks, his white Sunday collared shirt and clip-on tie. Taking down his suit from the closet, he found the jacket on the hanger, but not the trousers.
Walking into the hallway he called, "Jeremy!"
"What?" his brother replied from the kitchen.
"Where are my Sunday pants? I can't find 'em."
"I've got 'em in here. Mom told me to iron 'em."
"Oh."
Andrew then returned to his room and put on his jacket and leather shoes. Then he walked to the kitchen. Entering, he said:
"Thanks, Jeremy. Are my pants ready now?"
"Well, they might be and they might not be."
"What do you mean?"
"I might have burned them. Just think of it. You wouldn't have any pants for Sunday. Then you'd have to go to church and Sunday school dressed just like that--with everything on but pants: everyone would say you were going around in your Sunday undies!"
"That's not funny!" Andrew said, growing very annoyed and more than slightly fearful of the possibility.
"I think it is."
"Well, I don't. Now can I have my pants?"
"Sure. Here they are. all ironed like new. I was just kidding. I didn't burn 'em."
"OK, thanks," Andrew said, taking his Sunday long pants and putting them on. "I wish you wouldn't kid about things like this."
"Yeah, but you know it really would be funny to see some kid come to Sunday School without pants, that is, all dressed up but in underpants."
"Maybe some really little kid, but not me!"
"Oh, right! Come on, we'd better leave or we'll be late."
* * * * * * *
Sunday afternoon Adam and Casey came over to the Carters' again. The boys wanted to perfect their super-hero costumes for Halloween. Adam brought over the green Speedos for Andrew. At a spot on the seam on the left side they were slightly frayed, but they fit Andrew perfectly, were neither loose nor uncomfortably tight. The red and green shirt--along with the green Speedos, green socks, green kitchen gloves, yellow bath towel and a yellow canvas strap that they found for him to use as a "utility belt"--gave Andrew all the essentials of a Robin costume. Jeremy had a set of acrylic paints from which Casey deftly applied black and yellow to make the circle with the letter "R" on the left side of the chest. Jeremy and Andrew both had black masks left over from previous Halloweens. They were all set. As soon as the paint had dried on Andrew's shirt, the boys put on their costumes.
In three cases the results were stunning. Casey looked like a ten-year-old Aquaman, and Adam and Andrew looked respectively like Aqualad and Robin in all their bare-legged glory. The fact that Robin's "cape" fell only to his waist was no concern, nor was having to wear white tennis shoes over the green socks.
Less convincing was Jeremy's costume. His poncho had gotten lost and had not turned up anywhere. Although Jeremy had found a large bath towel approximately the right color, it made a serviceable cape, but not a cowl. When all was said and done, Jeremy looked like, not Batman, but a fat boy in a black mask, purple bath towel, and Batmanski pajamas. If he would have at least put on Speedos over the pants, like Casey, he would have improved the effect exponentially. However, Jeremy would have none of this suggestion. As it was, when he needed a new bathing suit his mother had to take him to the MEN'S department of any store they went to. Seeing the clerk's ill-concealed stare of distaste at his corpulent body was embarrassing enough when he tried on shorts or a full-cut swimsuit; trying on Speedos before such an audience would have been unbearable. No, he was stuck with his poor excuse of a Batman costume.
The thought that he was fat and ugly and Andrew was lovely and graceful nearly drove him mad with jealousy. He had wanted to embarrass Andrew, REALLY embarass Andrew by getting him out in public in a Robin costume, and now that they had actually gotten one together--especially since Adam had brought him those green Speedos--the little guy wasn't embarrassed at all. He LOVED it, would have worn it anywhere... Well, that would have to change! He would have to do something about this, yes he would...
Meanwhile, as though guardian angels or glimmerings of telepathy were at work, Andrew was having some ideas too. When, satisfied with their costumes, or, in Jeremy's case, at a loss to improve upon them, the other boys had all changed back into regular clothes and gone to the corner convenience store for popsicles, Andrew, still in his his Robin costume, walked to the house two doors down the street and rang the doorbell. To his delight and relief, Big Butch Baker was home.
Most people in the neighborhood steered clear of Big Butch Baker. A huge, massively muscular man, as a construction worker he had suffered a head injury in a fall several years ago. He had survived and received a handsome settlement. He no longer worked but people were not quite sure whether that was by choice or necessity. His speech now was slower than normal and too carefully articulated. Many thought he was "not right in the head" and consequently avoided him. But Mom had always said, "Mr. Baker may speak a little slower than other people, but he has a good heart. Be polite to him and treat him like any other adult friend of ours."
But Big Butch wasn't like any other adult Andrew had known: by and large he was a lot better. He never got bored when Andrew talked with him, never said that he had other things, or "important" things to do, was always delighted to see him and was interested in just about anything Andrew had to tell him. Only a few years ago, at Andrew's request he would get down on all fours and let Andrew ride him like a horse all around the yard until Andrew was satiated with this activity. Big Butch's energy and patience seemed inexhaustible. Perhaps it was for the fact that he was in some way permanently like a child himsef, that children loved him so.
"Aw, gee!" Big Butch's smile lit up in a huge grin when he saw Andrew. "I am really lucky today. I am not even in trouble, and I get a visit from Robin the Boy Wonder."
Andrew grinned back. "It's me, Andrew. Can I come in?"
"Sure you can. I am always glad to see my friend Andrew."
"Thanks, Big Butch. I'm glad to see you too."
Big butch lived simply. There was only one chair in his living room. He sat down in it. Andrew sat on his knee, perfectly at ease and without having to be invited. Big Butch patted his leg then rubbed Andrew's back in simple affection.
"You look really nice in your Robin costume," Big Butch said.
"Thanks, Big Butch. Uh, can I talk with you about something?"
"Oh, sure. You're my buddy. You can talk with me about anything."
"Well, Big Butch, I'm kind of worried."
"'Bout what?"
"About Jeremy."
"Your brother. What 's up?"
"Well, he's been having these strange moods lately. He's been hurting me, bullying me that is, and threatening me..."
Butch's face grew cloudy and he said quietly but in great agitation, "Oh, that is bad, very bad! Have you told your mother? She is a very nice lady. What does your mother do about this?"
"Well, she doesn't know, 'cause Jeremy acts nice to me around her, does my laundry and things like that. But when she's away and left him in charge, he acts real bossy, punches me around, and threatens to really hurt me if I ever tell Mom. So I don't know what to do."
"Yes, you do. You just told Butch, and Butch will help you. Anything for my little buddy Andrew."
"What are you gonna do?"
"What do you want me to do?"
"I'm not sure."
"Are you afraid that he is going to hurt you?"
"Not that he would hurt ME. More likely he would do something to embarrass me or spoil something that I really like."
"What do you think that would be?" Butch asked.
Andrew thought for a minute. Then the answer dawned on him: "I think he'd try to ruin my costume, or make it look stupid--even stupider than his. He wants to look like Batman, but right now he just looks like Fatman!"
Andrew broke out laughing at that thought, and Butch laughed with him.
Then he hugged Andrew gently and said:, "OK, little buddy, here is what we will do: I can't do anything in your home unless your mom asks me to. But I will be here on Halloween. Butch is always home on Halloween with lots and lots of candy for all the kids who come by.."
"That's right, Big Butch. Yours is the best house on the block on Halloween. You give out the most and the best treats of all."
"Sure I do. So here's what: You be sure to come by with your brother. If he has messed with you or your costume, and I know it, then I'll be careful not to hurt him, but I will fix him so he will be sorry, and he won't bother you for a long, long time.."
Andrew smiled at this. He hoped Jeremy would not try anything mean or sneaky that would put Big Butch's word to the test. But if Jeremy did, Andrew knew his brother would soon be very sorry. He knew Big Butch would not let him down. Big Butch was his buddy.
Chapter VI
Halloween was approaching, but slowly, as time does for children. The remaining days seemed an eternity.
Big Butch's reassurances made Andrew feel very good. Now he felt he had certain protection if Jeremy tried to bully him again. Unfortunately little Andrew had a formidable enemy that he had not considered in the equation: himself.
On Monday Andrew's teachers were very pleased that he turned all his missing assignments. Then, of course, as teachers will do, they gave him more. This wouldn't have been so bad except for his problem in math: it seemed he just couldn't get the hang of multiplication, especially the nines table.
When his mother awakened him to get ready for school on Tuesday morning, Andrew suddenly remembered that he had neither done the assignment nor mentioned it to his mother. Recalling the spanking he had received on Saturday, the nine-year-old boy rubbed his bottom nervously and anxiously: Had he gotten himself in trouble again already? Wail a minute--there was way out!
"Oh, Mommy!" he moaned in the most piteous voice he could muster, "I feel awful! I have a terrible headache and a stomach ache, maybe fever too."
"Hmm," said Libby after coming into the boys' room and sitting on Andrew's bed. "You don't look sick but you don't sound well at all. Well, let's take your temperature."
Those words evoked a pleasant tingling in Andrew. It had only been last year-- and then at the doctor's insistence--that Libby had started taking Andrew's temperature orally. The loss of her husband and her older son's independence and precocity had left her in no hurry to hasten her younger son's maturing. Eight years are time enough to leave some very firm associations, like the word "temperature" or "thermometer" and the associated feeling of having one's bottom bared and a small, lubricated object inserted, not unpleasantly, in one's rectum. But nominally Andrew was pleased to be treated like a "big boy" now.
His mother brought in the sterilized oral thermometer, shook it down, and placed it in Andrew's mouth, under his tongue. Then she had to leave the room to finish several details before she could leave for work.
She had left his bedside lamp on. Good! Over in his own twin bed, Jeremy was still asleep. Even better. (Jeremy was so lucky! He was in middle school, and the teachers there were having a staff development day, so the kids didn't have to go today.) Soundlessly Andrew eased the thermometer out of his mouth and held it against the light bulb.
Jeremy opened one eye, then the other. "What do you think you're doing?" he said.
"You know," Andrew whispered. "I learned this trick from you. Please be quiet."
"Why?"
"I can't go to school today. I have to stay home. Please let Mom think I'm sick."
"I don't want you home today. I want to go to the bike shop and the park and the comics store, which I can't do if I have to stay home and look after you."
"Please! I'll do anything you say. I'll be your slave. Just don't tell Mom."
"You'll be my slave the whole day? You swear?"
"I swear!" Andrew declared, then put the warmed thermometer into his mouth as he heard his mother's still distant but approaching footsteps. Almost immediately Andrew wondered what he had set himself up for.
"Well," said Libby, "you do have 99.9, that is almost 100 degrees. That's not much fever, but I guess it would be better for you to stay home today."
When she called to Jeremy, he did an expert job, both of waking up, as though he had really been asleep, and of grousing about his day ruined by having to stay home and look after his little brother. Libby fell for it completely.
As soon as Libby had driven off to work, Jeremy got up and headed for the bathroom.
"OK, Andrew," he informed his brother,"now we have to see how sick you really are: Roll over on your stomach."
"Huh?" Andrew asked, bewildered.
"I said, roll over. I'm gonna take your temperature so we can find out how sick you are."
Looking at Jeremy, Andrew saw that he was carrying some tissues, a jar of petroleum jelly and the old thermometer--the rectal thermometer.
"Jeremy! I'm not sick at all! You know I was faking. You're not gonna take my temperature in my butt!"
"Oh, yes I am, and you're gonna let me--'cause you're my slave, remember?"
Somewhat to the surprise of them both, Andrew rolled over on his stomach and let Jeremy pull down his pajama pants. As Jeremy was shaking down the thermometer, Andrew asked again, "Jeremy, why are you doing this?"
Again Jeremy answered, "As I said, so we can find out how sick you are."
Suddenly with a giggle Andrew said, "No, Jeremy, I think we're finding out how sick YOU are!" Then he howled, "OWWW!" when Jeremy smacked his bare bottom full force with his open palm.
"Watch your mouth, slave!" Jeremy admonished Andrew. Then, after Andrew was still again, Jeremy held his little brother's bottomcheeks apart and deftly inserted the greased thermometer without causing any discomfort. Still Andrew gasped slightly.
"What?" Jeremy asked. "That didn't hurt, did it?"
"No," Andrew answered truthfully. "It just feels kind of strange, kind of crowded, like when I have to go poo-poo but not real bad.. Jeremy, why are you pulling my PJ pants lower?"
"Because I'm taking 'em off you," Jeremy answered, and he did. He even put Andrew's pajama pants away in the dresser drawer where they were kept when neither being worn nor ready for washing.
"Now I don't have any pants on."
"That's right."
"I'm bare-bottomed."
"That's right."
"I'm bare everywhere below the waist."
"Right again"
"But why?"
"'Cause that's how you ought to be right now."
"Because I'm having my temperature taken in my behind?"
"Yep."
"But you could have just left 'em pulled down in the rear?"
"Oh, you never know. You might have tried to pull 'em up when I wasn't looking. That might break the thermometer and hurt you real bad. We wouldn't want that to happen."
"You ought to know I wouldn't do that. Come on, why do I have to have my pants off?"
"'Cause I want it that way."
"Why?"
"You'll find out."
"Isn't it time to take the thermometer out?"
"No, we'll leave it in a few more minutes."
"Oh."
Jeremy pretended to be busy putting yesterday's clothes away and getting out fresh ones to wear today. Where Jeremy was, Andrew could not see him without looking over his shoulder, and right now the younger boy was leaning on both elbows and staring straight ahead at the headboard of his bed, or, rather, looking at nothing in particular, but intensely occupied with another activity. Yes, as Jeremy looked at Andrew's upturned bottom the action was unmistakable: the slight but regular, rubbing of his underside against the bedsheets, the rhythmic clenching and relaxing of his thighs and buttocks. The red-tipped thermometer, protruding about an inch, was waving like a miniature baton as Andrew quietly masturbated his way to dry but blissful prepubescent orgasm...
Just before Andrew reached the peak of arousal, Jeremy withdrew the thermometer-- not preventing but slightly diminishing the effect of the final dry penile spasm. Of course, the term "dry" is relevant only to the absence of semen: Andrew, at once feeling the strong urge to pee, warned his brother, " 'Scuse me, Jeremy. I got to get to the bathroom real bad." Fortunately he did get there in time.
As he heard Andrew's firm stream striking the surface of the water in the toilet, Jeremy wiped off and examined the thermometer. 99.6 degrees. Was his brother really sick after all? Then Jeremy remembered that the rectal temperature is often a degree higher than the oral. Andrew's was perfectly normal. Now hearing the toilet flush followed by the padding of bare boyfeet from tile to wooden floor, Jeremy, seated on the bed, looked squarely at him as Andrew approached and asked:
"OK, you've taken my temperature. Can I get dressed now?"
"Nope."
"Why not."
"Because."
"Because what?"
"Because I say so."
"That's not an answer. You said I'd find out."
"OK, then, look out the window there."
Andrew padded over to the window and leaned on the sill to look out. As he did so, his pajamas shirt was raised slightly, leaving his outthrust bottom fully exposed. Quickly and soundlessly seizing the heavy wooden ruler from the top of his desk, Jeremy brought it down full force with a resounding WHAP! across Andrew's tender little behind.
"OWWW!-OW!-OW!-OW!-OWIE!" Andrew bawled in agony, rubbing and clutching his bottom with both hands, dancing and jumping so that his little _d_i_c_k_ and balls bounced up and down in time with his legs. Tears streamed down his face as he gave way to unrestrained crying. When he was finally able to speak again, he said forlornly and reproachfully:
"Jeremy, that hurt! That really HURT!"
There was an angry pink line across the middle of both Andrew's bottomcheeks.
With the same eerie calmness he had shown two days ago, Jeremy responded:
"That's right. And that's why you're going to stay bare-bottomed today while you're my slave--because every time you don't do as I say, it's gonna hurt just as bad."
"What do you want me to do?"
"I'll think of things as we go along. First of all, since I can't go to the comics store, I'm, gonna get back in bed and read my favorite comics right there. Meanwhile, you're going to go to the kitchen, fix me breakfast and serve it to me right here in bed."
"But you know I can't cook bacon or eggs any good. You want toast with butter and jelly?"
"No, stupid, 'cause it would be cold by the time you buttered it and brought it to me. Just fix me a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows and a big bowl of Raisin Bran with milk and a sliced banana on it. Got that?"
"Yes,"
"Say, 'Yes, Sir,' to me."
Reluctantly Andrew answered, "Yes, Sir."
"That's better. Now get to work on my breakfast. You can eat later."
"But, Jeremy, I'm VERY hungry!"
"Tough _s_h_i_t_!"
* * * * *
It was an easy matter for Andrew to heat the cup of water in the microwave, then stir in a packet of instant cocoa and sprinkle lots of little marshmallows on top. Pouring a bowl of Raisin Bran and adding the milk was also something that he could do almost automatically. However, when he had peeled a banana and was just about to start slicing it, he suddenly became inspired. Looking down at the large peeled banana and seeing at the same time his own, much smaller "banana," gave Andrew an idea. If Jeremy had been in the room, he would have wondered why Andrew's blue eyes suddenly shone with a twinkle and his face lit up with a gleeful grin. In another moment he would have known. But Jeremy was several rooms away, complacently reading comics in bed.
"Well, well," Andrew thought, "being bare-bottomed can be kind of neat after all: if I had any pants on, I might get caught taking 'em down when I did this!"
By "this" Andrew meant two things: First, holding Jeremy's bowl in one hand, with the other he carefully guided his _d_i_c_k_ into the "lake" of milk between the rim and the cereal. Since he had just peed a few minutes ago, he was not able to squeeze out more than a small squirt urine, but that would have to do. Then, before slicing the banana, he carefully rubbed every inch of it through his butt-crack. No, you couldn't SEE any telltale brown streaks on the banana, but as he sliced it over the cereal he was sure that his nose detected, even if just ever so slightly, certain sweet and not-so-sweet aromas divergent from the sweet and not-so-sweet natural aromas of the banana itself.
Affecting a meek and dejected look on his face, the little red-haired nine-yearold, barefoot and wearing only a pajama top, brought his brother a tray with his favorite cereal and a cup of sweet, hot cocoa.
"You may go, slave, until I call you again," he said haughtily. Andrew went to the kitchen and fixed some toast and orange juice for himself.
Jeremy began his breakfast with relish and finished it not without satisfaction. At certain instants, though he wondered whether the milk was still completely fresh or might have begun to sour a little.. And the banana seemed to have a kind of funny taste to it too.. Oh, well, bananas often did... But PETROLEUM JELLY? Nah, couldn't be... Had to be his imagination.
(End of Part II. Story to be continued.)