Part Three
We were dead meat. Eddie's father had caught us all up in his attic, red-handed as they say. Of course nobody's hands were red, but three people's bottoms were. And those three boys--Josh, Eddie, and Simon--all had on nothing but their soccer jerseys, kneesox, and tennis shoes, so there was no way that Mr. Patterson would not notice that the three, including his son Eddie, had all had their bottoms whipped red with a belt.
He just about lost it when he saw Eddie tied up on the stool.
"Eddie!" he called, and Bobby and I backed away as he ran to his son, "Why are you tied up like this? Are you hurt? Are you OK? What did they do to you? Where are your clothes?"
He asked too many questions and too fast for Eddie to answer them all.
Eddie is one cool guy and a great friend. Most kids would have turned to mush at a time like this, but to Eddie's credit he held up just fine. though you know it wasn't easy for him.
"Daddy, I'm OK," Eddie answered in a tone loud enough and calm enough for his father to believe him. He understood that most of all his father was worried that Eddie had been hurt, you know, injured. Mr. P. was not a mean man and could probably stay cool as long as he knew that his son was OK, then that everybody else was too.
"Really, Daddy, I'm OK," Eddie repeated. "I'm just tied up like this 'cause we were playing a game. Please don't be mad at us."
I was amazed how fast Eddie's father untied him. The first thing he did then was take Eddie in his arms and hug him, one arm around his waist, one hand on Eddie's bottom. Feeling the heat radiating out of the kid's whipped butt-cheeks, his father asked Eddie again: "Son, who did this to you?"
"Please, Daddy," Eddie answered, "it doesn't matter."
"What do you mean, it doesn't matter? Some kids tie you up and whip your bottom red in your own home, and you tell me it doesn't matter?"
"Daddy, it was part of a game. We thought up penalties, and the ones who lost had to pay those penalties. I lost, so I had to be a sport about it. So you can be mad at all of us or none of us, but please don't be mad at the others for what happened to me in the game."
"OK, son," he finally said with a nod. "I appreciate your telling me that, and I'm sure your friends do too. Get your clothes on. We'll talk about it later. Josh and Simon--are you two OK?"
"I'm OK," Simon spoke up. "Just have them untie me and let me get dressed again, and I'll be fine."
I ran over to him and untied the knots holding his wrists and ankles to the vent pipes.
Josh wasn't so fine, though. He was moaning and crying again: "Take it out! Take the catheter out! It hurts!"
Since Bobby and I had been standing in front of Josh when Mr. P. had come into the attic, the man only now recognized what was going on with Josh. (I also found out later--from Simon--that in the sheer panic of the moment when we heard Mr. P.'s voice as he caught us, Eddie, Simon, and even Josh managed to poop out their dilators. Even the small noise that they made falling outwas covered in the general panic and confusion of the moment. We were VERY lucky on this count. If Eddie's father had caught on to THAT part of the game, I don't know what he might have done to us, and I don't want to find out, either.
Anyhow, when Mr. P. saw Josh with the catheter still in him, he just about lost his cool again.
"Oh, Jesus!" he exclaimed. "I don't know where you boy's got hold of such equipment, or why you'd want to use it on one another, but this is serious; this is DANGEROUS. We're going to have to take this boy to the doctor."
"No!" Josh moaned.
"Yes," Mr. P. replied calmly. "I'm afraid we have to. As the assistant coach to the soccer team, I have the emergency medical consent forms, and where we saw your parents shopping this afternoon, I know they won't be home for awhile. Now, Josh, I bet you'll be OK, but I don't want to take any chances on hurting you or complicating any injury you may already have, so we're going to take you down to the pediatric clinic and let Dr. Crudfinger take out the catheter and check you over to make sure that you're all right. This is what we HAVE to do, understand?"
"Yessir," Josh answered.
"Good. Now, Josh, I want to untie you, but I can't take the risk of your hurting yourself by yanking out the catheter. So if we're going to untie you, first you have to promise that you won't touch the catheter and won't even touch your penis before the doctor has examined you."
"Yessir, I promise."
"OK, then we'll untie you," Mr. P. said, and he untied Josh right away. Then, before Josh could stand up, Eddie's father picked him up, with his left arm under Josh's arms and his right arm unfer Josh's knees. Knowing that he would need someone to open the attic door, I went down ahead of everyone else. Mr. P. came down the steps with Josh in his arms. As they came out of the attic, Josh suddenly asked:
"Mr. P., ah, what about my clothes?"
"What about them?"
"I mean, my pants and underwear... I don't have any on."
"That's right. While that catheter's in you, we'd better keep you that way, too."
"Oh."
Suddenly I realized something too. We were going outside. And while Simon and Eddie had gotten dressed in the attic, I hadn't had a chance to put my pants on again. So I in all the rest of my clothes was down here; my pants were still up in the attic!
"Excuse me, Mr. P." I said. "I have to go up and get my pants."
"No, Billy, we don't have time. It's 3:45. The clinic closes at four today. Pants or no pants, we have to get in the car NOW!"
Something about the way he said 'NOW' convinced me to do what he said. Uther than those times when it was just us guys on our camping trips, I couldn't remember a time I had ever gone outside in my underpants, especially with shirt, socks and shoes on. I felt really stupid and embarrassed at the thought that a lot of people would see me this way, but there was nothing I could do about it. Following Mr. P. carrying Josh in his arms, I walked out the front door and down the walk to the big buick and opened the front door on the passenger side so that Mr. P. could set Josh in there on the seat. He did. I got in the rear door and sat on the back seat next to Bobby. Eddie, who had taken a minute to shut and lock the front door, now got in on the other side, so I was in the middle.
As serious as the situation was, both Bobby and Eddie felt and patted my bare thighs several times during the ride to the clinic. When I looked daggers at them, each would just smirk as though to say, "You look so cute sitting there bare-legged. How does it feel to be out in public without your pants, running around in your tight, white underpants!" They didn't say the words, of course. With Mr. P. in the mood that he was in, we all knew better than to say a word. But I knew what they were thinking.
It wasn't any better at the clinic (Yes, we did get in before they closed the doors). It seemed that right away all the kids there noticed me in underpants and Josh bare-bottomed. A lot of them even pointed at us and asked their parents questions until the adults told their children to remember their manners, be quiet and stop pointing yada, yada yada... I think the worst moment for me was when I was walking back to the waiting room from the water fountain. A pretty blond nurse patted me on the bottom, on the seat of my underpants that is, and told me what a cute soccer outfit I was wearing, and that with a uniform like that, she hoped my team won the national championship! I know she meant to be cute and funny, even friendly, still it was SO embarrassing!
It was a lot worse for poor Josh, though. Even though old Dr. Crudfinger took the catheter out right away with no problems, he made Josh suffer through a number of what the doc called "precautionary measures."
For one thing he had the nurse take Josh's temperature, and I don't mean in his mouth. No matter how Josh complained or protested, the nurse just insisted on following doctor's orders, until Josh, knowing it would do no good to fight it, finally just lay on his stomach and let the nurse stick the thermometer into his butt-hole.
"I'm eleven years old!" he whined as he lay there with the nurse's hand cupped around his smooth, round little bubble-butt. "I'm too old to have my temperature taken in myu bottom like a baby!"
"Yes, sweetie. I understand," the nurse answered. "It'll all be over in just a minute."
It was. But even though Josh's temperature was normal, Dr. Crudfinger still did not want to run the risk of Josh's getting a urinary tract infection as a result of Bobby's ungentle ministrations with the catheter. Consequently he ordered a penicillin shot for Josh, who cried and complained bitterly as the nurse swabbed his bottom with alcohol and then stuck the long needle into the side of his right bottomcheek. She put a bandaid over the injection when she had taken out the needle. So besides having to walk out of the clinic bare-bottomed, Josh had to walk out to the car with a bandaid on his butt, which looked doubly stupid and made him feel twice as embarrassed, since everyone then would also know thatr he had had a shot THERE.
When we got through at the clinic, Eddie;s father drove us home. All our parents were very grateful to him for handlinmg the situation and letting them know about it. They agreed that they would all get in touch later this weekend and form a plan together to deal with the situation to everyone's satisfaction, or something like that, blah-blah-blah... You know how parents talk.
Anyway, all our folks agreed thay had to come up with some strong medicine to convince us never to play "Shame Straws" again. The upshot of it was two things:
First, that night each of us got his bare bottom spanked fire-engine red. Oh, yeah, my pants stayed over at Eddie's and in the meantime I wasn't allowed to put on any others. So till 8 o'clock that night I had to go around in my shirt, socks, shoes and jockey underpants. Boy, did I feel stupid sitting at the dining room table eating dinner with no pants on. At 8 o'clock it got a lot worse: I had to take off my underpants and go over my Dad's knee for not just a spanking, but a blistering--that's THREE hard spankings with an hour of bare-bottom corner time in between. By the time it was over I'm sure I promised my parents the sun, the moon, and the stars if they would only take my buns out of the fire. As they told me later, Eddie and Simon got the same treatment at home; like me, they got hand-spanked--not that that didn't hurt... believe me, it hurt plenty. Bobby got his blistering with the belt, since that's what he had used on Josh, Simon and Eddie. Only Josh was spared this phase of the punishment-- because of all the additional ordeals he had been through this afternoon.
Now it's Monday morning and the second part of our punishment has gone into effect. I could hardly believe our parents could do this to us, but they have. They really, really, really don't want us ever to play "Shame Straws" again, so I guess they figure that, since the game's all about punishment and humiliation, if they give us the most painful and humiliating punishment we can stand, then we'll get fed up with it and won't want to do anything like that among ourselves again. I wasn't sure what they were gonna do, but this morning I sure found out.
Mom does the laundry at night and early each morning she lays out on top of my dresser the clothes I'm to wear that day. This morning I found on top of my dresser an orange sweatshirt, white kneesox and a jockstrap. Putting on these things and my tennis shoes, I went downstairs and found Mom in the kitchen.
"Mom," I complained, "don't you have some pants and underwear for me to wear to school today?"
"No, dear, I don't. That's exactly what you are going to wear to school today."
"But, Mom, I can't go to school in a jockstrap!"
"Fine, then take it off and go to school all bare below the waist."
"No, please! If it means going in the jockstrap or without it, of course I'll wear the jockstrap. But why do I have to do this?"
"Maybe this will help you understand what you did to Simon, Eddie and Josh. And maybe this will give you enough shame that you won't want to play "Shame Straws" anymore.
"I told you, even promised you already that I won't anymore."
"That's good, dear, but we're just going to make sure."
So here I am, running to the bus stop where Josh, Eddie, Simon and Bobby are already standing, waiting for the yellow and black bus to roll up to the curb for us. And, well, if misery loves company, at least I'm not alone today: Simon, Eddie and Josh are all dressed the way I was at the clinic Saturday. That is, though they're completely dressed in all other ways, the only pants they're wearing are clean, tight white jockey briefs. Bobby's not even wearing those: he's wearing a jockstrap, like me. The parents wanted to make him go nude below the waist, the way Josh had to go around on Saturday, but the principal sais he wouldn't let Bobby into the school without something covering his wiener and balls. So he gets to wear a jockstrap.
Standing on the sidewalk with his hands on his hips and his bare butt stuck out, Bobby keeps telling Josh how sorry he is for what he did Saturday, begging him to forgive him, saying he'll never do it again... Josh just stands there with his arms crossed on his chest, looking away, quietly but sadly and seriously telling Bobby to go away and leave him alone, that he really doesn't want to talk to him or be his friend anymore. Hearing this, Eddie and Simon look at each other and don't know what to say. They really are at a loss for words. Just as I would, I guess they'd feel a lot sorrier for Bobby if he hadn't gotten us into so much trouble with his weird ideas like using the catheter.
And all of us know we 're going to HATE this day. I am especially. Josh, Simon and Eddie are gonna get teased plenty about going to school in their underpants, but it's gonna be open season on my bottom and Bobby's. All the kids around us are going to use every possible opportunity to pinch or pat or smack our bare bottomcheeks or, worse still, poke them with any object they can find that's sharp enough to hurt but blunt enough not to break the skin. Oh, I can promise you--it's going to be a really fun day!
Well, here's the bus. I have to be off to school. 'Bye.
Oh, yeah, one more thing--please don't laugh and point at me if you see me walking around with my hind end showing. Remember: I didn't want to go around like this--the grown-ups MADE me!
THE END