Spank Bingo 10: Trevor Walton

As the kids finished the tests, they came up and dropped them on the corner of my desk. Some of them went back to their desk to do other homework. Some picked up one of the puzzles I’d sat on the opposite corner. Some went to get one of the books I kept to the side. A few waited to see if I was going to grade their paper. As each came up to the desk, I nodded to them, graded the test, then entered it into my grade book. All except one.

"Trevor," I said quietly, as the relatively tall, gangly, blond boy came to the desk. "Go wait for me in the hall. I’ll be out to talk to you as soon as the last test is finished."

"Yes, sir," he said miserably, with no doubt as to what this was about.

Trevor was my class clown. It wasn’t an official position, but all he was lacking was the motley. I have to admit, he was good at it. He had a good sense of humor and a great sense of timing. What he didn’t have was a sense of when he was pushing his teacher too far.

"Please, Mr. Wells. I didn’t mean to do it"

"It was an accident?"

He nodded his head, looking at me gratefully.

"And it was an accident all those other times you did it?"

What he’d done was slamming his books on the floor when I’d told the students to clear their desks. I think it had started as his idea of a joke (or maybe a protest), but it had never been that funny and had grown old quickly.

Trevor was practically squirming as we talked, and I felt like offering to let him go to the restroom. He kept bending and straightening his knees. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He’d look at me for a second, then look away; but when I asked him that question, he looked right at me.

"I know I done it before, Mr. Wells; but I swear I didn’t mean to this time. It just kinda happened before I could stop it."

"So you’re saying you’ve done it so often before that you did it again without thinking about it?"

The poor kid looked miserable. Obviously the way I’d rephrased that didn’t sound nearly as innocent as he’d meant it to, but he finally nodded.

Trevor really was a delight for me. He could be funny, he was nice to look at, and he was a pretty good student (when he could settle down). He’d also given me plenty of chances to keep my paddles polished. I have no idea how many talks we’d had, but I’d already paddled him four or maybe even five times, which brought up another point I should mention to him.

"When I paddled you in January, I sent a note home with you; didn’t I?"

He nodded, looking even more nervous now.

"And didn’t you tell me your dad spanked you for it?"

"Yes, sir, and it hurt really bad ‘cause I was still sore from you paddling me; but it’ll be worse this time. Please, Mr. Wells, I really…."

"I know what you said, Trevor. You don’t have to keep repeating it." I was trying to sound patient, but don’t think I succeeded real well because he was starting to look panicky.

"What’ll this be, Trev… the second time I’ve paddled you this semester?"

He moaned.

"I mean, have I paddled you once or twice this semester?"

"Twice."

"So if I do it again, I’ll have to send another note home, and that means your dad will spank you again?"

"No, sir," he said, shaking his head. "Dad said if I bring another note home about acting up in class, he’s gonna wear me out." He admitted the last in the same way a person would talk about going to the dentist for a root canal - miserable and fearful, but knowing there was no way to avoid it.

"There’s a difference between a spanking and wearing you out?"

I liked looking at Trevor. He was a little tall for his age, but not huge—maybe 5’3" or so and, but he was pretty lean, so maybe about one hundred pounds. I know his birthday was very early in the school year, so he must have been about twelve and a half by now. I think school had started right after Trevor had had a growth spurt, and he’d been pretty skinny at the start of the year. He’d only managed an inch or so since then (judging by the length of his pants), but he’d been slowly filling out, so the back of his jeans, which had sagged, was now nicely rounded.

Trevor was a bit goofy looking. He had big teeth and a high forehead, which overshadowed the pleasant smile over a rounded chin, the lean, straight nose, and beautiful green eyes. His real trouble was that he wore his hair parted in the middle but falling forward, so it accented his forehead instead of covering it.

Trevor dressed pretty nicely, but not fancy. Unlike a lot of the boys back then, I never saw Trevor in Bugle Boys or any kind of slacks. He was a Levis boy. He normally wore Levis, sneakers, and a t-shirt, though I had seen him in polo shirts or even a button down a couple of times. The nicest thing, for me at least, is that every time I’d paddled him, I’d flipped the back of his shirt up to reveal the waistband of a pair of genuine, Y-front, Jockey shorts.

For a while, I’d imagined how Trev would look in only those, but then I’d had my fantasy fulfilled. Trevor had been in one of the gym classes I’d covered a time or two. I very clearly remember watching him come in from gym and strip off his suit. Then, instead of slipping out of his briefs, he’d strode over to the bathroom area and stepped up to the urinal. I’d casually walked around a bit and caught a glimpse of him standing there, giving me the whole line of his body, and he looked good—lean and firm and just like I liked them. After flushing, he walked back to his locker, stepped out of his briefs, and walked over to the shower.

It’s no wonder the boy wasn’t shy. I’ve already said he was a bit bigger than average, but he was already hung. He didn’t have any hair, but a lot of the boys in the class had barely even started growing real balls. Trev had a good pair and must have been hanging, well, probably only three inches, but that was about twice as much as the other boys in class.

He was a real cutie all right, and if not my dream boy, he still had a lot going for him. The fact that I currently had the power to paddle him and even get him sent home for a spanking was like whipped cream for a sundae, and the deep shade of red he turned when I asked about that difference was the cherry on top.

"When my dad spanks me, he pulls down my pants and shorts, and I gotta lie down on his legs, so he can spank me. When…."

"With what?"

"His hand." He looked to see if I was going to interrupt again, then went on.

"When I’m in really bad trouble, Dad wears me out. He still bares my butt, but instead of lying over his legs, I gotta lie down on just his…" he paused for a second and tapped his left leg, "his left leg. Then he puts his other leg over both of mine. I gotta put my hands behind my back so he can hold them, then he spanks me with the hairbrush."

"Ouch. Does he ‘wear you out’ often?"

"No, sir. I just got it twice before. Once when I got caught stealing a candy bar, and once for hurting my little brother."

The poor kid was still blazing red as he admitted this, and his eyes were getting watery.

"You understand that I’m tired of this behavior, Trevor? I do think you’re funny, but we’ve talked before about you interrupting the class; haven’t we?"

He tried to answer but couldn’t find his voice, so just nodded.

"And you understand that if I paddle you, I have to send a note home to your dad, because you’ve been in so much trouble this year?"

He nodded again, and I noticed a tear slide from beneath the lens of his gold- framed glasses.

"And your dad said that you’re gonna get worn out if you bring another letter home?"

Another nod.

"Then you really need to think about what you’re doing; don’t you?"

"Yes, sir; but I swear I didn’t mean to. Please.…"

"The problem is that you’ve done this thing so many times before, Trevor. Not just slamming your books—and don’t forget I’ve paddled you for that before—but all kinds of stuff. It makes it hard to listen when you do it again. Can you understand that?"

He nodded, and I think he was about to start crying.

"What you haven’t done before, though, is lie to me. I’m going to take your word that you didn’t mean to do it this time, Trevor; but you need to be real careful from now on. Okay?"

"Yes, SIR! Thank you, Mr. Wells. I’m so sorry. I promise…."

I’m not sure what else he said, but he was very enthusiastic in his thanks. I let it go on for a minute before escorting him back to class.



Oh well, for a dad, hairbrush definitely counted as ‘other implement’. I might not have paddled the boy, but at least I got a new square filled on my bingo card.



If I remember correctly, that happened about a week before Spring Break. It seems like that was a hard week for Trevor, but he managed to make it through without any more trouble. When he came back from Spring Break, he seemed much more settled. If I remember correctly, they’d had a family camping trip, and he must have burned off a lot of energy. It was only at the end of April as we were about to start the last six weeks that he started to have a real problem again.

I never had the belief that Trevor was ADHD. He wasn’t constantly antsy. His problem seemed to be that his batteries would start charging and it became harder and harder for him to sit still and be quiet. The longer the charge built, the quicker it would come back. He and I talked again, but I couldn’t recommend anything that really seemed to help him keep calm and controlled.

Finally, one day when we were reviewing for another test and I’d already had to call him down several times, he pushed too far again. I looked up at him, and suddenly the whole room was hushed. I could understand his problem. It was spring and the weather was beautiful. The problem was that, while it was beautiful during the week, the previous two weekends had been rainy and miserable. No one, including the teacher, really wanted to be stuck in a classroom. Unfortunately for Trevor, he’d used up all my understanding.

"See me after class, Trevor."

The entire class was silent, and there was a pall hanging over us the rest of the period.

As soon as the bell rang, Trevor came up to me. There was no question he was a nervous wreck.

"I’m really sorry that your dad feels he needs to punish you again at home when you get in trouble in school. You’ve done a pretty good job of behaving since we had that talk last month, but you just don’t know when to stop sometimes. Do you understand why I’m upset with you?"

He nodded.

"You said your dad’ll wear you out if you bring a note home; right?"

He nodded again, looking very upset and a little sick, but wasn’t trying to plead this time.

"And you know that because of the number of times I’ve paddled you, I do have to send a note home if I do it again?"

He nodded.

"And you deserve to be punished for how you were acting in class today; don’t you think?"

"I was just joking around, Mr. Wells. I didn’t mean to make you mad."

"You didn’t make me mad, Trev; but you were disrupting class, and you kept it up after I told you to quit; didn’t you?"

Another nod.

"I was spanked with a hairbrush once or twice when I was a kid. Hurts like blazes; doesn’t it?"

His nod was more enthusiastic this time.

"Still, there’s no excuse for your actions, Trevor. Paddling you hasn’t made much of an impression on you, but I don’t know what else to try. Here."

As I said the last word, I pushed a piece of paper across the desk to him.

"What’s this?" he asked.

"That’s a note to your dad telling him that I’m having trouble with you in class again. If what you told me is true, then I don’t think I need to paddle you on top of what he’s going to do. I do think I’ll call him tonight, just to see what he has to say."

I’m not sure if Trevor looked relieved or sick. I’m not sure if he knew for sure. Instead of pursuing it, I filled out a tardy slip for him, then sent him to his next class.



The next morning, Trevor stopped by my room before school started.

"Morning, Trev. How’d it go?"

"Pretty rough. I’m still kinda sore. Did you ever call my dad?"

"No, I didn’t want to make things worse for you."

He looked a little upset. I’d never intended to call but added that to keep him from trying to forge a signature. I took the note from him as he handed it to me and had little doubt it was his dad’s handwriting at the bottom of the note.

"Trevor, I will really try to let you know when you’re getting out of line, but you have to stop yourself then. If you just keep going, I have to put a stop to it. Okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, because if there’s a next time, we’ll see how much you enjoy your dad wearing you out after I have a go at you with the number four paddle."

His eyes went wide and his face went pale at that threat.



There never was a next time.









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