My name’s Butch McGraw. I’m twenty-eight years old. I’m a cop. I’m a big guy, and I’m in excellent shape. I played sports when I was in high school, and I’ve been working out at the gym three times a week since I got out.
I’m supposed to go to the gym with my buddy Jim this afternoon. He’s coming by to pick me up in a few minutes; but I definitely don’t want to go. I’m trying to think of an excuse. The problem is that my ass is the color of a beet. My old man just whipped me.
No, I’m not bull_s_h_i_t_ting.
There’s a long story.
I earn a half-way decent salary, but I like to spend money big-time, and I’ve done more than my share of gambling. My dad bailed me out a few times. The last time I got into trouble, he didn’t. My car was repossessed, I was evicted from my apartment. A guy I work with took me in, but after a few weeks he said his apartment wasn’t big enough for two.
The only thing I could do was go to Dad and beg him to take me in. He set the conditions. My pay is automatically deposited to his account. He takes out money for expenses, pays my bills, and gives me what’s left over. I’m not allowed to drink, I’m not allowed to gamble, and I can’t stay out past midnight without permission. And here’s the clincher. He said, "If you give me any trouble, you’ll be out of here within twenty-four hours."
I was in no position to negotiate. All I could say was "Yes, sir."
When I was in grade school, my father used to spank me if I got out of line; but that all ended when I was eleven. My parents got a divorce, and I went to live with my mother. My brother Chuck, who’s seven years older than I am, got his butt warmed regularly all through high school. He stayed out of trouble, got good grades, went to college, and now he’s a lawyer. I screwed around in school, got into fights, and came close to getting arrested more than once. Dad blamed Mom and her new husband for not making me toe the line. Maybe he had a point.
Some of the guys were over last night, and we were playing poker--for stakes, of course. Dad came home and saw what was going on. I was worried for a minute, but he just said "hello" and went to bed.
This afternoon when I got home I found by bed stripped and my bags packed.
"You made an agreement," he said, "and, as usual, you didn’t live up to it."
"Where am I supposed to go?" I pleaded.
"You should have thought about that when you decided to gamble last night."
He’s a good guy, but somtimes he can be a real ball-buster.
"Please give me another chance," I said.
"If you want to stay here, you’re going to have to do exactly what I tell you, whether you like it or not."
"Yes, Dad," I said. "I will. I promise."
"O. K. Take your pants down and lie face down on the bed."
"What?" I said.
"You heard me. Unbuckle your belt, unbutton your pants, unzip your fly, let your pants drop, pull down your jockey shorts, and lie down on the bed. Grab the headboard with both hands, and keep them there."
"What for?" I said.
"So I can give you what you should have gotten ten or twelve years ago--a good old-fashioned bare-ass whipping."
"Isn’t this going a little far, Dad?" I said.
"Five minutes ago you promised that you’d do whatever I told you to do, and already you’re going back on your word."
I knew that if I didn’t get my pants down and get down on that bed in a hurry, he’d kick me out. So I did what he told me.
He left me lying there with my ass exposed and went into another room, where he ransacked several drawers. I was scared. You’d think I would’ve been pissed, but I was just hoping I’d get through it without making too much fuss. He brought back an alligator-hide razor strop. "I bought this at a flea market over twenty years ago. It worked well enough on Chuck’s behind. Let’s see what it can do for yours."
He raised the strap and brought it down hard. I knew it was going to hurt, but I had no idea how much it would hurt. I yelled, "_s_h_i_t_," and drew my right hand toward my butt.
"I was planning to give you twenty. Now you’re going to get twenty-two. Keep your hands on the headboard," he ordered.
"Yes, sir," I said.
Somehow I took the next two without making a sound. Let me tell you, they hurt. When the strap came down the fourth time, I let out another yell. I remembered seeing Chuck get the strap. I figured that if he could take it without too much fuss when he was fourteen, I ought to be able to take it now. I grit my teeth and took the next three without making a sound.
The eighth one landed on the left cheek, and it hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. I couldn’t hold back any more. "AHHHHHH" I yelled at the top of my lungs.
Dad paid no attention. He kept them coming, striking one cheek and then the other. You know how a bee sting feels? Picture a swarm of bees landing on your bare butt, and you’ll have some idea how that strap felt. I couldn’t help myself. I started to cry.
Tears were flowing from my eyes, and I was sobbing like a child. Dad just kept them coming. "I told you I was going to give you twenty-two. I keep me word, even if you don’t." And he did.
"You can expect to get it every time you break one of my rules or disobey one of my orders."
"Yes, sir," I answered.
"O. K. Get up" he said. And as I was getting up he said, "And by the way, Butch, I love you."
While I was getting it, the pain was incredible; but fifteen minutes later my ass doesn’t hurt at all. It tingles, sort of. Actually, it feels good. It feels really good when I rub my hand over it. I can feel a little tingle up front.
Maybe I’ll tell Jim the truth instead of making up an excuse for not going to the gym. He may even want to have a look.