Author's note: In long-delayed response to some reader requests, here is another story about the misadventures of fourteen-year-old Brad, first introduced to this forum in "Brad's Jeans," which was posted in September 1998. This time, Bradley is in trouble because he has listened to the siren song of a lovely bottom-pincher. The story is in two parts, with a short epilogue. Part 1, "Truth," provides lead-up and background. The actual "spanking" is in Part 2, "Consequences." In the epilogue, Brad discusses his punishment with his best friend, Matt. As always, this is a work of fiction and fantasy. It has no overt _s_e_x_ual content. It does present the bare-bottom corporal punishment of a 14-year-old boy by his step-father. It is intended for the entertainment of the reader and not as guidance on child-rearing.
"TRUTH"
As he did nearly every morning, Brad's best friend Matt arrived at Brad's house ready to walk to school with him.
"I'm in deep _s_h_i_t_, Matt!" Brad exclaimed as soon as he had opened the door for his friend.
"Huh? What'd you do?" Matt asked, startled at Brad's vehement assertion that he was swimming in excrement.
"I helped Patty cheat!" Brad answered, stepping out onto the front porch. "I gave her a copy of the test Dad wrote for her class! It was supposed to be just for her, but she went and gave it to a whole bunch of other guys! And Dad's onto them! He's already gone into school to meet with the principal to talk about what to do! I'm history! He's gonna find out what I did! I just know it! And when he does, he's gonna murder me!" Brad's confession gushed out like water pouring from a broken dam. "He's gonna murder me! Dead!" Brad's eyes were moist with tears. He looked away from his friend.
"Sh*t, and double-sh*t, Brad! You're F-in' right he's gonna murder you!" Matt responded, obviously astonished at Brad's revelation.
Brad burst into tears. He sat on the porch and put his head down. He was ashamed to be crying this way in front of Matt, but he couldn't help it. The anxiety had been building up since the previous night when his stepfather—"Maximum Maxwell"—had announced his suspicions about the test. Matt sat next to Brad and tentatively put his hand on Brad's shoulder. Brad didn't draw away or try to remove it, so Matt kept his hand there. "Hey, Bud," Matt said, speaking softly, "maybe it won't be so bad. I mean, what's the worst he can do?"
"Kill me and bury me in the compost pile," Brad answered. Making a joke was Brad's only way to deal with his fear. He wasn't so much afraid of being punished. He was certain he would get a spanking he'd never forget. That was a most unpleasant fact to face, but he could deal with it. What he really dreaded was his stepfather's anger and disappointment. Brad knew he would feel deeply betrayed. He would be furious that Brad had gone into his computer, opened his personal work folder, printed the test, and given it to Patty. Brad feared that his step-Dad would never trust him again. He feared that the relationship they had both been building would be shattered beyond repair. After all, Brad had reflected, Wayne owes me nothing. I'm just his wife's kid. He doesn't have to like me or care about me. I'm not his flesh-and-blood.
"He'll probably still give you a funeral. Just a cheap one, though," Matt answered, patting Brad's back.
Brad sat up, sucking back his tears and wiping his cheeks with his hands. "What am I gonna do?" he asked.
"I don't know. Are you sure he'll find out?" Matt asked.
"Of course he'll find out! He said last night that it was half the class! Twelve kids! Once he starts talking to them, one of them's bound to rat me out! I betcha they all do it! If they're gonna be in sh*t, they sure as hell are gonna want me with them! Imagine! You get caught cheating, and then you tell the teacher it was HIS kid that gave you the answers! That'll sure take the heat off them!" Brad stood and started down the steps.
"Well, if he's gonna find out anyway, maybe you'd better just tell him what you did!" Matt suggested.
"You mean go right up to him and say, Hey, Dad, I'm a thieving, sneaky, creep kid?"
"Well, you could maybe leave out the word 'creep'!"
"F*ck!" Brad shouted the word, stopping and stamping his feet. "How could I have done something so f*cking stupid? And all for that god_d_a_m_n_ ass-grabbing Patty!"
"She used you, Bud!" Matt observed.
"She sure did," Brad answered. His brow wrinkled with hard thinking. "Okay," Brad said, suddenly very calm, "I'm gonna tell Dad. Then he's gonna kill me. Will you help carry my coffin?"
"Sure, Bud," Matt said, giving Brad a firm, affectionate slap on the back.
The two friends finished the journey to school in silence. Matt knew Brad needed to go into himself to find the courage to go and confess his crime. When they arrived at the school, they saw Patty waiting at the side entrance they normally used to enter the school. She rushed up to them.
"Brad! Did you tell?" she demanded.
"Huh?" Brad was shocked out of his meditation by her sharp question.
"Kyle just told me that Joe told him that Dennis heard Mrs. Parker tell Mrs. Shapiro that your Dad came in to see Mr. Wilson about kids cheating! You told him, didn't you?" Patty was livid.
Brad responded to her anger with his own. It had been warming up during the walk to school. Now it came to full boil. "No, Patty! I didn't tell! It's YOUR god_d_a_m_n_, F-ing fault he's onto you! You gave that test to half the F-ing class! Didn't you think he'd notice if like half the class suddenly got As? Especially when it's all the dumb ones like you!"
"Are you calling me dumb?"
"Actually, Patricia, dumb's too nice a word for what you are!" Brad snapped.
"You little snot!" she replied.
"You used me, Patricia! You went around pinchin' my ass and calling me 'Sweet Cheeks' and making like you thought I was some sort of hot little number just so I'd help you cheat! I don't know why I didn't see it!" Brad raged.
Patty stepped back. Matt and Brad both could see the realization cross her face. Brad had figured out what she'd been doing! The mask had been ripped off. Patty quickly tried to regain control of the situation. "It's not like that at all!" she said, lying through her teeth. "I really like you! I was desperate! If I don't keep my grades up I'll have to quit cheer leading! I told Paul I had the test and he asked for a copy, and then it just kind of got out of control!" Patty started to sob softly.
Matt and Brad knew brilliant acting when they saw it. They both stepped back and applauded. "Bravo!" Brad shouted. "This deserves an Oscar! But really, Patricia, you can save it for your parents!"
Patty's sorrowful expression quickly gave way to a look of murderous rage! "Listen to me, you little prick! If you tell your father, I'll get Paul to pound you into the dirt! Do you hear me?"
Brad smiled. "Paul? Beat me up? Paul's a football player! Do you have any idea at all what MY DAD would do to Paul if he laid a finger on me?" Brad heard himself say the words "my Dad," and he knew what they meant to him. Suddenly, he realized just how much confidence he had in his stepfather, and some of his apprehension about confessing his crime disappeared. "Patricia Moore, you are without a doubt the biggest waste of a couple of tits I have ever known!"
Brad stormed past Patty and into the school. Matt followed behind Brad, looking at Patty and smirking, bursting with pride at his friend's mastery of the fine art of "dissing."
"You won't be smirking when Paul gets done with you!" Patty threatened.
"Bite me, Patty!" Matt replied as he stepped inside the school. "Way to go, Brad!" he called after his friend, who was nearly running down the hall.
Brad stopped. "I have to go tell him right now! Now!" he said, panting energetically. Brad abandoned Matt, raced down the hall, and bounded up the stairs to the second floor where the Mathematics Department office was located. Brad found the office door open. His stepfather was leaning back against his desk, holding a cup of coffee and talking to Mrs. Shapiro, Brad's math teacher. "Um, Mr. Maxwell, Sir," Brad said, addressing his step-Dad as he always did during school hours, "I, uh, need to talk to you. It's important, Sir. Real important, Sir. Um, I need to see you alone, Sir." Brad knew that four 'Sirs' would provide an ample indication to his step-Dad of the gravity of the situation.
Brad's step-Dad raised one eyebrow. He set down his coffee cup, stepped into the hall with Brad, put his hand on his stepson's shoulder and guided him down the hall to his classroom. Wayne closed the door and walked over to his desk with Brad. "Okay, Son, what is it?" he asked. Wayne was fairly certain Brad was going to tell him something about the test. Brad had been behaving oddly ever since he'd expressed his suspicions about cheating in his class during dinner the previous night. He'd even asked Brad if he knew anything about it, meaning only that he wondered if Brad had heard rumors in the halls. Brad's defensive response—"Why do you think I know something about it?"—had been almost an admission of guilt. After dinner, when they'd been doing the dishes, Brad had been uncharacteristically quiet. When Wayne had asked him if something was bothering him, he'd answered with nothing but, "No, Sir." But Wayne had seen through the denial. Still, he had decided not to press the matter. Perhaps, he'd reflected, he's heard something but doesn't want to betray a friend.
"Dad," Brad said, knowing how much that word meant to him, "I have to tell you something. And when I do, you are probably going to not want me for your son anymore."
"Is this about the test, Son?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You didn't have something to do with those kids cheating, did you?"
"Yes, Sir."
Brad's stepfather sighed heavily. He rattled the keys in his pocket. He looked down at his feet. Then he looked up at Brad. "All right, Son, what did you do?"
"Sir, I, I, I....." Brad closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure. "I gave Patricia Moore a copy of the test. She gave it to all the other ones who cheated. I'm sorry!" Tears welled up in Brad's eyes, spilled out, trickled down his rosy cheeks, and dripped off his chin.
Wayne Maxwell sighed again. Brad waited for the lightning to strike. He half-expected his stepfather to tear his pants down and start spanking him right there in the classroom. But Brad's step-Dad didn't start shouting. When he spoke, his tone was moderate. "Bradley, I am extremely disappointed with you. I am hurt and angry that you would do something like this. You went into my computer, didn't you?"
"Yes, Sir," Brad sobbed.
"I trusted you, Brad. I didn't think I needed to put a password on my work files. I never thought you'd do something like this. What got into you, boy?"
"It was Patty! She was so nice to me, and I liked it, and when she asked me to give her the test, so she wouldn't fail and could stay in cheer-leading, I just did it!"
Brad's step-Dad sighed. "You let your hormones do your thinking for you! That's how a lot of young men get into trouble!"
"Dad, I blew it big time, I know! Gosh, I don't want you not to trust me! I, I, I hope you'll forgive me.... once you're done punishing me!"
"Yes, Brad, I'll forgive you. You're my son. You started off saying you were afraid I wouldn't want you to be my son. You don't have to worry about that. I'm stuck with you, and you're stuck with me, kid! And I'm glad we're stuck with each other, Son! But you CAN count on the tanning of your young life after school today, not to mention whatever academic penalty Mr. Wilson decides to give you! Now, we are going down to the office and you are going to tell the principal what you did! Is that clear, young man?"
"Yes, Sir." Brad was relieved. He was terrified about having to face the principal, and about the beating he was going to get at home, but he couldn't help but feel happy at his step-Dad's affirmation of their relationship.
Brad headed down to the office with his step-Dad. They passed his homeroom, where Matt was standing in the hall with two of their mutual friends. Brad glanced quickly at them as he went by. Brad and Mr. Maxwell reached the office. They found Paul Kowalski sitting on the bench outside the door to the principals office. He stood when Mr. Maxwell and Brad entered.
"Coach Maxwell, Sir, I, I, I need to tell you that I just told Mr. Wilson I cheated on the last test," Paul said, keeping his back straight and his head up. "The Honor Code says students are supposed to report cheating, so I reported myself. I'm sorry, Sir. It was dumb thing to do. Cheating, I mean."
"You just saved yourself from being booted off the football team, you know that, don't you?" Mr. Maxwell asked.
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." Paul looked at Brad. His look was sympathetic. It was obvious he felt nearly as bad about betraying Brad's stepfather as Brad did. Brad knew he didn't have to fear Paul beating him up.
Mr. Wilson, the principal, stepped out of the office. "Paul, I just finished speaking to your father. He's on his way here, and he told me to let you know he's bringing his paddle. He feels you'd benefit from its immediate application. I've agreed to indulge him." The principal then quickly turned his attentions to Brad's stepfather. "Mr. Maxwell! You've saved me the trouble of calling you down! I assume you'll wish to stay for the performance!"
"I wouldn't miss it!" Mr. Maxwell said. "However, we have some other business to attend to. Bradley!"
"Here? Right now?" Brad whimpered. The secretaries were all listening, along with Stanley Mitchell, the Student Council VP, who was getting ready to read the morning announcements.
"Here! Right now!" Brad's stepfather answered sternly.
"Yes, Sir." Brad told the principal what he'd done, keeping his head down and his eyes fixed on Mr. Wilsons badly scuffed brown loafers the whole time. He was relieved to be able to get through the whole confession without crying.
"His punishment is up to you, Mr. Wilson," Mr. Maxwell said.
Mr. Wilson said he expected he could dispense with the customary lecture, since that had already been well-administered. Then he announced Brads punishment: two weeks of after-school detention, plus a 500-word essay on the evils of cheating. "And you should be very glad our school-board decided to do away with the paddle!" the principal snapped. "Although I rather expect you'd prefer a few paddle licks to what you father will dish out at home!"
Brad was mortified to know that the secretaries and snooty Stanley Mitchell were hearing the principal as much as announce that he was going to get spanked at home. The principal told Brad he could head to his homeroom.
"I'll see you when you get home from school, Bradley," Brad's step-Dad said.
"Yes, Sir." Brad stepped out of the office. Just as he turned to head for his homeroom, he saw Paul's big, burley father walking briskly down the hall, clutching a thick maple-wood paddle. As he passed him, Brad could hear him muttering, "When I get my hands on that kid, I'm going to burn his ass!" Brad felt strangely satisfied, knowing his wasn't going to be the only sore backside.
"CONSEQUENCES"
Brad sat in detention, trying to focus on his homework, but unable to keep from thinking about what awaited him at home. He was sure his stepfather had not been exaggerating when he'd spoken of "the tanning of your young life."
Brad had company in the detention room. Along with Paul, every last one of the cheaters had confessed. They were all there, except for Patty. She'd been suspended for a full week because she had been the instigator of the whole fiasco. She'd also been kicked off the cheer leading squad, the girls' athletic committee, and the Homecoming committee.
Finally, the hour-and-a-half ended and Brad prepared to head home. When he stepped into the hall, Paul came up to him. "I guess you heard what happened to me?" he asked.
"Yes," Brad answered.
"I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry Patty and me got you in trouble" Paul said. "I knew what she was doing, and I guess I should've stopped her. She kind of had me by the balls, though, you know?"
"Yeah, I guess she kind of had her other hand on mine!" Brad answered. Then he felt himself blush.
"I think your Dad's a cool guy and I really wish I hadn't let him down like I did. I guess you're in for it at home too, right?"
"I sure am. At least he's not going to use a paddle on me. That must have hurt!"
"Believe me, it did. But the worst part was having to drop my jeans in front of Mr. Wilson and your Dad," Paul said, being utterly honest with Brad and confirming the rumor Brad had heard. "I sure won't ever do anything like this again!"
"Neither will I!" Brad answered.
"First my Dad paddled me," Paul continued. It was obvious he wanted to tell Brad what had happened. "He gave me ten sizzlers! Then my Dad told Mr. Wilson he should give me some licks! At first the principal said he didn't think it would be right, but Dad talked him into it! And he gave me four hard swats! Then, my Dad gave the paddle to your Dad. He didn't need any coaxing at all! He told me he wished he could still swing a paddle in the locker room. Then he let me have it! He gave me six licks! And I thought my Dad knew how to swing a paddle! Sh*t! Twenty licks all together! Man! I'm gonna be hurtin' for a week! You gonna get paddled at home?"
"I, I hope not," Brad answered, feeling his stomach knot up. "He's never done that. He, um, just uses his hand." Brad felt a bit embarrassed sharing details of how his stepfather disciplined him, but he felt he owed Paul something in response to his account.
"Well, with big hands like your Dad's got, and those shoulders, that's still gotta hurt!" Paul responded.
"It does."
Brad left Paul and headed home, thinking about his Dad's skill with a paddle, and his not unimpressive talents at inflicting pain with nothing but the palm of his hand. By the time he reached the cozy little bungalow, Brad was a nervous wreck. He entered the house by the side door and stepped into the kitchen. His mother was there.
"Hi, Mom," he said, keeping his head down. "I guess Dad told you what happened."
"Yes, Bradley, he did."
"Where is he?"
"In his study."
"I guess I'll go see him now."
"I think you'd better do that."
Brad made his way down the hall to the little room his stepfather used as a study. Brad knocked at the open door. His step-Dad motioned for him to enter. Brad stepped in. He saw it at once. The old belt. The one his step-Dad wore with his work clothes around the house. He'd already doubled and buckled it and set it on his desk. There was no question what it was for.
"Close the door, Son," Brad's step-Dad commanded.
Brad pulled the door closed behind him. He was shaking. His stomach was churning violently. He felt faint. He couldn't take his eyes off of the belt.
Brad's stepfather noticed him looking at the belt. He picked it up and held it out. "Yes, Son, I'm going to use this on your backside. Ive talked it over with your Mom already, and she's agreed to me using it. You're too old to be going across my knee anymore. You're almost fifteen years old, and it's time I started treating you according to your age. When I was your age, my Dad used a belt on me."
For the first time in a very long time, Brad found himself WANTING to be treated like a little boy! As humiliating as it was, Brad knew a spanking across his step-Dad's lap with his hand was preferable to getting it with the belt. Still, he resisted the impulse to begin begging and whining. He could see that his step-Dad was determined to use the belt. Besides, Brad thought, Matt gets it with a belt! If he can take it, so can I! And Paul got it with the paddle! And there was something else. Dad was going to punish Brad the same way he himself had been punished by Grandpa Maxwell. What did it mean? Was it another way for Brad and his stepfather to strengthen their bond. Was this a small inheritance he was receiving? Admission to a family tradition? He thought about his first visit out to Grandpa Maxwell's farm, and the way the old man had welcomed him, saying, "It's nice t'have you in the family."
Brad's step-Dad stood before him, gripping the doubled belt. "Bradley, I want you to take off your shirt so it doesn't get in the way. Then, you need to bare your behind and bend over and hold onto the arms of my reading chair."
Brad stepped up to the chair. He pulled off his sweatshirt and the long, over-sized T-shirt he was wearing under it. He put them over the back of the chair. Then, with trembling fingers, he unfastened the button on his jeans, drew down the zipper, and lowered his jeans and boxer shorts to his knees. He bent over, resting one hand on each of the arms of the big, red-leather upholstered chair. He was shaking uncontrollably, and felt tears rising up from a well deep in the pit of his stomach.
"Now, boy, this is going to hurt. It is supposed to hurt! I am going to make sure you'll think at least twice before you ever pull a similar stunt!" Brad's step-Dad said. "You're to stay in place until I am finished. If you move too much, I'll lay it on harder. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sir." Brad gritted his teeth and braced himself for the whipping to begin, trying not to tense up too much in anticipation, certain that this would only make it worse.
Brad's stepfather stepped back, lined up the swing, and brought the belt in against Brad's small, round, bare backside. SNAP! Brad grimaced and shook, but kept himself from crying out. SNAP! Again, the belt burned across Brad's naked posterior. CRACK! The belt made its third visit to Brad's bottom, leaving another hot signature. SNAP! The fourth lick sizzled across the sensitive 'sit spot' at the lower curve of his bottom.
"Ow!" Brad was unable to suppress the anguished yelp. His left arm gave out and he jumped sideways in reaction to the pain.
"Back into position, Bradley!" Brad's step-Dad commanded.
"Yes, Sir. I will! But it hurts!" Brad sobbed, knowing he'd stated the obvious. He pulled himself back into position, brace himself, and waited for the next lick. He told himself he had to endure this punishment. He'd brought it upon himself. He deserved it. He hoped it would somehow make things right again between him and Dad.
CRACK! For good measure, Dad lashed the same sensitive spot. Brad let out a hard gasp, scrunching up his face, gripping the chair arms so forcefully that he thought he might put his fingers right through the leather.
Brad's step-Dad moved around to Brad's right side so that he could focus some licks on his son's left buttock.
SNAP! CRACK! SNAP!
"Oww! Ohhh! Ahhhhh....owwwwwww!" Brad could not hold back the anguished sobs any longer.
SNAP! Dad hit the 'sit spot' again.
"Owww! Please, Dad! I'm sorry I stole the test from you! I won't ever, ever do anything like that again! Please don't hit me anymore!" Brad sobbed and begged, desperate for his step-Dad to stop.
"I'm sorry, Son, but I don't think you've had enough yet. Hold your position and take what you've got coming!" Brad's step-Dad commanded.
Brad braced himself. Somehow, his step-Dad's command had conveyed the message that he knew Brad could take what he planned on dishing out. It was going to hurt like the blazes! But Brad could endure it. Brad had to endure it. Brad reminded himself of what he already knew. It was his own fault he was in this situation. He deserved to be punished. Somehow, he had to find the strength to endure it. He had to find the strength Dad believed he had.
CRACK! Brad let out a loud sob but stayed in place.
Wayne Maxwell shifted position again. In the brief pause, Brad managed to note that Dad had laid on two sets of five licks. Math teacher! _d_a_m_n_! Brad thought to himself with a dismay that contained a dash of amusement. He's multiplying by five on my poor ass!
Brad's stepfather started on the next set of five licks. CRACK! These licks added yet another burning layer of pain.
SNAP! The sensation was like an intense version of what Brad felt when he sat in a hot bath, almost moist, as if a layer of skin had been taken off, leaving behind raw flesh.
SNAP! Brad was aware of every blood vessel in his behind. He could feel the blood pulsing through them, racing to the hotly stimulated area. Brad had started keeping count. Oddly, it gave him a feeling of control, a feeling of keeping his head, staying steady. CRACK! CRACK!
Fifteen! Brad noted. Oh, please, let him decide that three-times-five is enough! He doesn't need to even it up! Brad knew his prayer had gone unanswered when his step-Dad moved again to his right side. Brad braced himself, not certain at all that he could take anymore.
CRACK! SNAP! CRACK! SNAP! SNAP! Wayne Maxwell laid the licks on hard and fast, working down from the upper curve of his stepsons buttocks to his upper thighs. Brad shuddered, gasped, sobbed, and yelped through this severe onslaught.
"That will be enough, I think," Brads stepfather announced, tossing the belt down onto the desk. "You may stand up now, Son."
Brad stood up, trembling and sobbing, with tears running down his cheeks. They had already dripped off his chin, leaving small, wet spatters on the red leather. Brad fought to suck them back and desperately wiped his cheeks with his hands. His step-Dad handed him some tissues. Brad dried his face and blew his nose. He was still naked, except for the jeans and boxers around his knees. He didn't especially care about this fact. Brad's step-Dad stepped up behind him, gently squeezed his shoulder, and then carefully pulled Brad's boxers and jeans up over his burning backside. Then he put his arm around Brad and held him. He didn't say anything. He just embraced Brad and patted his chest with his open hand.
"Can I go to my room, now?" Brad asked.
"Sure. Go ahead."
"I'm not feeling hungry. Can I skip dinner?"
"Okay."
Brad slid from his step-Dad's embrace and went to his room. He stretched out on his stomach on the bed and began the task of processing what he'd been through. He'd done wrong. His crime had been stupid. It had threatened his relationship with his step-Dad. His stepfather had promised he'd forgive him. He'd promised to punish him. Brad had received the punishment. His step-Dad had embraced him. Did that mean he was forgiven? Could things now go back to normal? Or would his misdeed always hang over him and his step-Dad like a dark cloud, always threatening to pour cold rain on what they had? How would he know he'd really been forgiven? How long would it take? He didn't know if he'd be able to look his step-Dad in the eye. He had even felt unworthy of the hug. It had frightened him. And he was still confused by the way his step-Dad could be severe and stern one moment and gentle and tender the next.
After a while, Brad got up, went across the hall to the bathroom and checked on "the damage" in the mirror. His behind was bright crimson and he could make out some two-inch-wide stripes on both hips, where the doubled end of the belt had wrapped around. It looked terrible and felt as bad! Still, Brad reflected, I guess I deserved it. He returned to his room, sat uncomfortably at his desk and started work on the required essay. Brad was a talented essayist. He always got As on reports for school. After writing an opening paragraph describing in some detail what he'd done, Brad launched into an analysis of the reasons why cheating was bad. He set forth all the usual reasons. Then he wrote, "The worst thing about cheating, is that when people you care about find out about it, they stop trusting you. I feel real bad that I took the test from my Dad, and I don't know if he will ever trust me again. I hope he will."
When Brad finished the essay, he stood up, straightened his back, took a deep breath, and went to show his step-Dad. Wayne was in his study, getting his lessons ready for the next day. He took the essay and read it slowly and carefully, pausing to mark two spelling errors and a grammar mistake. Then he stood and handed it to Brad. "Come over here to my computer, Brad," he said.
Brad stepped over to the computer stand with his stepfather.
"You see my work folder? Open it," Brad's step-Dad said.
Brad looked at his step-Dad, unable to understand what he was doing.
"Open it!" he commanded.
Brad clicked on the folder, the very folder he had opened when he had stolen the test for Patty.
"Open the one marked Brad. doc, Son."
Brad clicked on the file. A page opened. Brad looked at the words: "I, Wayne 'Maximum' Maxwell, solemnly affirm that I trust my Son, Bradley, never again to go into my work files, and never again to cheat or help anyone else cheat. I will not place a password on this folder." Brad smiled. His step-Dad put his hand on his shoulder.
"Is your appetite back now, Brad?" Brad's step-Dad asked.
"Yes, Sir."
"Would you like to go out for a burger, then?" Brad's stepfather asked. Then, speaking quietly, he said, "The truth is, your Mom made quiche tonight, and I'm still pretty hungry!"
"Sure, Dad, as long as I can pay."
"Of course! That's what I had in mind!" Wayne said, squeezing Brad's shoulder again.
EPILOGUE—Brad Tells Matt
The next morning, having received no word on when Brad's funeral was being held, Matt arrived at his friend's house.
"You're still alive!" Matt exclaimed with a smile and spread arms, only half-mocking in his delight at seeing Brad standing in front of him.
"Yeah, I survived," Brad responded with a smile, gently knocking knuckles with Matt.
"Guess your Old Man must'a really given it to you?" Matt asked.
"Sure did," Brad responded. "Used his belt."
"His belt?
"Yeah."
"On the bare?"
"Yeah."
"Ew!" Matt grimaced in sympathy. "I know what that feels like!"
Brad nodded. "Now I do too!" He smiled a little.
"Welcome to the club!" Matt said. "Guys whose Dads whip their asses with belts! Only the very best may belong!"
"You're a goof, Matt!" Brad laughed.
"Take one to know one!" Matt responded, giving Brad an affectionate slap on the back.