My father looked at me incredulously. His eyes widened. I realized I had given the wrong answer.
The question had been, "I suppose you think youre too old for a spanking?"
At age 12, I certainly did. Dad was strict. He had spanked me before, all right. But it had been at least two years. I was starting to get a little bigger, as puberty appeared on the horizon. I knew I was treading a dangerous path, but I just couldnt put up with his high-handed authority without testing it. I would be sullen, I would talk back. Id try to show him he couldnt boss me around like he used to when I was a little kid. Unfortunately.... he could.
Dad slowly stood up. I had no choice but to look up at him.
"Funny," he said. "It seems like Im still bigger than you. Arent I?"
I just looked up at him. I swallowed hard.
"ARENT I?" He hadnt raised his voice but the effect was the same.
"Yes," I said.
"And I guess Im still your father, right?"
"Yes."
"And I guess youre still living in my house? Where I pay for your food and your clothes and every other _d_a_m_n_ed thing. Right?"
"Yes."
He walked across the living room to the couch and sat down. "Come here," he said.
I went over to him.
"Huh," he said. "Look at that. You still do what I tell you to do. Dont you?"
"Yes."
"Not always, you dont. And I dont like that. Especially when you tell me youre too old for a spanking, like its you who makes the decisions."
I glared at him.
"You scare me," he said. Then he reached out and grabbed me with his big, meaty hands. The next thing I knew I was over his lap.
"Doesnt this look like a spanking?" he asked. "Youre over my knee. That looks just like a spanking to me."
Then he spanked me, once, hard. It was a warm summers day and I was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts and nothing else.
I made a noise that must have been something like "Ouch!"
"I guess that didnt happen," he said. "Youre too old for that." Then he spanked me once more.
"What was that?" he said. He spanked me twice more. It hurt. I bit my lip to keep from crying.
"I asked you, what was that? And whats this?" He spanked me several more times and I began to cry a little.
I heard the door open and close. Turning my head, I saw that my two brothers had come in. Pete was 14 and Joey was 10. They were looking at me over my fathers lap, unsure whether to be worried about their own situation or if it was OK to be merely curious and enjoy the spectacle.
"Toms too old for a spanking," my father said to them. "Thats what he told me." Then he spanked me a few more times.
"Joey, what does this look like to you?"
"A spanking!" my little brother replied promptly.
"Peter, would you agree?"
Pete laughed, the son of a bitch. "Oh, yeah, thats definitely a spanking."
"So, Tom," said my father. "What do you think now? Are you too old for a spanking or are you in fact getting a spanking right now? Id like an answer."
I was lying across his lap with my toes and fingers touching the ground. I hated him and I hated my brothers. My ass was stinging like mad from the swats it had taken but I wasnt going to give him any satisfaction. I made myself stop crying and I didnt say a word.
Suddenly Dad grabbed my shorts and yanked them down. Next were my underpants. He pulled them all the way down past my knees.
"Hows this, then?" he growled. "Maybe this will convince you youre not too old for a spanking." And with that he began a real spanking, because my refusal to give in had made him angry. After several loud, hard smacks on my bare ass I was sobbing loudly. He stopped and asked me again.
"What am I doing? What is this youre getting? Huh?" He waited a few seconds and then launched another series of vigorous spanks. My ass was ablaze and I was squirming, clenching and unclenching my buttocks as his hand smacked into them again and again. The next time he stopped and asked, I wanted to answer but I couldnt stop sobbing in time, and the spanking resumed, this time going on for longer until he paused again.
"What do you call this? What do you call it? What am I doing?" he asked hoarsely.
"A SPANKING!" I shrieked. "YOURE SPANKING ME!"
"Aaaaaaaah!" he said in relief. "You figured it out! So are you too old for a spanking?"
"No!"
"Tell me."
"Im not too old for a spanking!"
"Who decides if you get a spanking? Do you decide?"
"No!"
"Who decides?"
"You decide! You decide if I get a spanking!"
"_d_a_m_n_ right." And then he spanked me some more, and then some more, many times, until I was a blubbering, hysterical wreck. Finally he stopped and I was standing up, crying, my ass bright red and throbbing, my shorts and underwear on the ground. I pushed past my brothers and ran up to my room. Angry as I was, I had learned one thing and learned it well: I was not too old for a spanking.