"But Mom, why do I have to listen to Kenny? Why couldn't Aunt Missy come over instead?" At seven years old, Jesse wanted anything other than to be babysat by his seventeen year old brother for the entire evening. Unfortunately, his mother didn't seem to listen. Being only 34 years old, she considered herself still a young woman, and just because the father of Jesse and Kenny didn't appreciate her, certainly didn't mean nobody else would. Lighting a cigarette, she gave her youngest son a stern look.
"I already told you, Jesse; it'd be silly to have Missy come all the way over here when Kenny is more than capable of watching over you. And I expect you to mind him, ya understand? He has my permission to use the paddle if he feels he has to. And if he has to do that, you'd be very lucky if you don't get the paddle again when I get home."
"I know, Mom....I'll be good."
A short while after their mother had gone, Kenny strolled into the living room of the small trailer in his boxers with a Marlboro dangling out of his mouth. He flopped down on the couch and asked Jesse what he was doing.
"Nothin'. You're not suppose to be smokin', ya know.....Mom got real mad last time you did. You were grounded for a whole month."
Kenny flashed his brother a warning look and Jesse immediately felt as though his backside were in danger of getting the paddle. Fortunately, the phone interupted the unspoken communication. Putting out his cigarette, Kenny answered, "Hello?"
Seizing the opportunity to escape the spanking Jesse had just feared he'd receive, he quickly scurried into the bedroom he and Kenny shared. He looked around for something to do, but found nothing. Finally, his eyes came to Kenny's half of the room. There they were, lying on his older brother's bed: a pack of cigarettes. For as long as Jesse could remember, someone in his family had been a smoker. His mother, and now, in the last couple of years, Kenny had started. Longing to see what the big deal was, Jesse reached out and pulled one of the cigarettes out of the Marlboro pack. Sticking it in his mouth, he looked around for something to light it with. When he finally found a match and lit the cigarette, he started hacking and coughing and he thought he was going to die. At this point, he'd entirely forgotten the fact that he'd been afraid of being pulled over Kenny's lap for a spanking just five minutes ago.
From the other room, Jesse heard Kenny say goodbye to whoever was on the phone and he quickly realized he'd better get rid of that cigarette---fast! As he heard Kenny's footsteps and voice booming "Jesse! What's going on in there?", he realized it was too late. By the time Kenny got to the bedroom, Jesse had managed to throw the cigarette out the window, but his seven year old arms were not enough to wave the smoke away. Kenny stood there in his boxers, his chest muscles subtly moving everytime he spoke, and glared at his brother. "So, you've been smokin', heh?"
Jesse knew he had been caught. He knew he'd have to go through the horrible routine of having his brother paddle his bottom and suddenly he felt awful. Quietly, Jesse said: "Yes." And then, a glimmer of hope came to him, and he realized that he *might* be able to talk his brother out of spanking him. He had to try. "I'm sorry Kenny....I just wanted to see what it was like...I didn't even smoke the whole thing.....Please don't spanke me, Kenny......*please!*" It was no use. Kenny held up a firm hand and said, "Don't try and get out of it now. You knew what would happen. Now, I want you to sit on your bed and wait while I get the paddle."
This was the part that Jesse hated the most. The waiting. He could picture Kenny walking to the kitchen, opening the spoon drawer and getting out the paddle that Mom had kept for this very purpose. Being an old ping-pong paddle, spanking wasn't what it was designed to do, but it sure got the point across to Jesse's seven year old bottom, and he knew it did the trick well when Kenny was younger, too. As Jesse waited, he wondered how much this one would hurt. He hoped Kenny didn't make him take his sweats off....that'd really be painful! Tears came to Jesse's eyes and he rubbed his bottom just thinking about it.
After what seemed like an eternity, Kenny returned. He was still shirtless, but he'd thrown a pair of tight-fitting jeans over the boxers. In his left hand dangled another Marlboro; in his right hand, the paddle. He sat down on his own bed and patted his knee and said, "C'mon...the more you mess around, the harder they'll be."
Still stalling, Jesse stammered, "H-How many swats am I gonna get??"
"As many as I decide," Kenny responded tertly. As Jesse slowly approached his brother, Kenny put the cigarette in the ash tray next to his bed and waited for Jesse to flop over his lap.
Before he did, though, Kenny quicky reminded: "Let's get them sweats off.....you can't feel anything through them." When Jesse finally pulled the elastic pants over his butt and down to his ankles and "assumed position", Kenny began to quickly apply the worn, wooden paddle to his brother's small bottom. After only a couple of swats, Jesse was crying and begging Kenny to stop. Once, when the pain got too much to bear, and the boy's Fruit of the Looms seemed to offer no protection whatsoever, Jesse instinctively moved his hands to cover his butt.
Kenny barked, "Let's move them hands, or I'm gonnna have to give you a smack on the mouth." Reluctanly, Jesse obeyed. Then, after a couple of more well-placed swats, Kenny placed his brother on his feet, instructed him to go wash his face and blow his nose, and reached over and finished the last few puffs of his Marlboro. When Jesse returned, Kenny made him go to bed and told him that if he made any noise for the rest of the night, he'd be in and paddle his bottom once more.
Jesse cried and patted his sore bottom and silently made a promise to himself not to make any noise no matter what!!