This story is true--and the reason that I choose to call myself "Fourteen" is that it was during the time between my fourteenth and fifteenth birthday--I was constantly in some kind of trouble--either at home or school which caused me to have to present my bottom for a paddling or a whipping. My main enemy was my mouth--my parents and teachers could not stand a kid talking back to them, as well as my laziness which prevented me from doing what I was supposed to do and the fact that I would not hesitate to tell a lie to try to get out of my trouble (and of course, It took a long time for me to realize that telling lies gets one into more trouble much more often that getting one out of trouble.) I was quite experienced in bending over before fourteen, and I gained some more experience at fifteen, but this story tells of the most brutal of many well deserved punishments that I suffered at fourteen.
I couldn't get to sleep that hot May night, lying on top of my sheets, thinking about what had happened that evening. Six months past my fourteenth birthday and my consciounce was running rampant--reminding me of the proper way that I should have responded to the accusations that my father and mother had angrily made. The sweat ran down my face as I squirmed on my bed--sweat as much from the shame of lies that I had told to avoid having to face the music for my offence. Finally, with a tear running down my cheek, I realized at 2am what I had to do, and then I was finally able to fall into a light sleep.
I awoke at 7am when the alarm rang, and slowly, I put on my school clothes, and gathered my books together for one of my final days as an eighth grader. I didn't feel much like the six foot tall teenager that I was as I slowly, with heavy breathing walked into the kitchen where my parents were having breakfast. My bottom clenched tight as I took a deep breath and said, simply--ready to start crying, "I did it." I knew that with those three words, I had sealed at least part of my fate. I had admitted that I had been telling lies, and the penalty for a fourteen year old liar in my family was a mandatory five lashes with a belt across the bare bottom.
As my parents looked sternly at me standing before them, I knew though that what faced me was, had to be much more sever. The "it" was having shot the neighbors' window with my BB gun five times, putting five little nicks in the glass.
My father put his coffee down, and struggling to maintain a relatively calm composure, he laid out for me what would have to be my schedule for the day, and then, shocked and scared I went out to wait for my carpool, bottom twitching nervously as I thought about his plan. I spent that day at school in a trance, and when my mind would get away from the horrors that awaited me, the memory would immediately come back. My best friend noticed that I was not my usual gregarious self and he asked me why. I blurted out to him what I had done--and as I told him of my sentence, his eyes just kept getting wider.
Finally, I got home from school and went outdoors as I had been instructed to do, and examined the peach tree. As I had been specifically ordered to, I cut five switches, each about three feet in lenghth and strong--one switch for each BB shot that cut a hole through my neighbors' screen. Oh, those switches looked nasty--obviously capable of welting, bruising and perhaps even tearing the hide of one fourteen year old boy. I then took them up onto the patio where a washtub of water had been placed--and as oprdered, I put the business end of the switches into the water, which would help the flexible wood become even more capable of doing what had to be done.
After that, I went straight to my room where I was under orders to remain, trying to concentrate on my homework--realizing that when it was over that night, I would not be able to sit comfortably on my wooden desk chair--so I worked first on the assignments that required me to sit. My twelve year old brother came in a few minutes before 5 and told me how worried he was for me...that Mom and Dad had been really mad that morning after I had left for school. He said that they just kept getting madder and madder...my heart began to flutter and my mouth became dry as I felt and apprehension caused erection coming on in my cut off jeans.
Finally my father pulled into the driveway, and I almost felt a sense of relief--thinking that the worst part was the waiting. As soon as the door shut, I heard the call. "Jonathan, March your butt down here NOW!" I gulped, yeah, Dad was still real, real mad at me. I got out of the chair, again feeling the need to start crying, but holding the tears as I went downstairs.
"Come with me, young man! We're going over next door where you can aplogize for your stupid behavior."
"Yes Sir," I mumbled, rubbing my still untouched bottom.