Spank Bingo 11: Stephen Erickson

Stephen Erickson was a real cutie, though not quite my type. He wanted to play football when he hit seventh grade, and he had a decent build for it. He was broad and just a little chubby, but just enough to give him a little roundness.

Stephen had a nice face, with full cheeks. He wore his thick, straight, dark brown hair over his ears, and parted in the middle. His face was pretty average, but he had a great smile. Judging by the straight nose and firm chin, he’d be pretty handsome when he grew up just a bit more.

Normally Stephen was pretty confident and self-assured—not a class clown, but he wasn’t shy about talking and did have a good sense of humor. Of course, it’s hard for twelve-year-old boys to be too confident when they’ve been kept after class, and they know what has to be on the agenda.

"It’s not that I mind that you cussed, Stephen. Even though it’s against school rules, I know it slips out sometimes, and ‘hell’ certainly isn’t the worst word this school’s heard. The problem is that you cussed at somebody."

"I’m really sorry, Mr. Wells," he said in a manner that managed to be apologetic, without being pleading, "but she drives me crazy."

"I know she does, and that’s why I sent her to the office, but that doesn’t excuse what you said; does it?"

It suddenly became important for Stephen to memorize the toes of his sneakers. The kid was obviously trying to marshal his thoughts, hoping for a shot at a reprieve. It was hard to blame him for being upset. The ‘she’ in question, was Amber Graham. When class first started, she’d been sitting behind him. That didn’t last long. It seemed pretty obvious that Amber had a crush on the boy and equally obvious that Stephen had no interest in her at all. I’d seen it going on and have to say that he’d tried to be polite to her, but she’d never noticed when he started losing patience. I finally pulled him aside and offered to move him, which he gratefully accepted.

Amber tried to follow, but I’d picked the seat I’d moved him to well. He was happy because he was next to two guys to whom he could talk when things were quiet, and there wasn’t room for her to change her seat and get back next to him. So instead, she started coming over to talk to him, which made the situation even more blatant. I’d had to get on her several times for being out of her seat, and finally gave Mrs. Rowe a chance to return all the ‘favors’ I’d done for her over the years and allowed her to brush up her paddling skills.

Amber had thought that was horribly cruel of me, and I was definitely no longer one of her favorite teachers, but it did buy Stephen and me some peace—at least for a while.

Today’s problem had come about because of a new trick she’d discovered. Since Stephen was sitting in a corner desk, she’d get up to throw away some trash, sharpen a pencil, or ask me a question, then ‘accidentally’ brush by him on her way back to her desk. He’d complained to me after a couple of times, so I’d started watching and caught her at it. I saw enough to take her out in the hall and talk to her about inappropriate touching. I thought she’d listened to me, and she had either stopped for a while or grown much more subtle. Whichever the case, I’d answered a question for her and watched as she brushed her hand across the back of his neck.

I was about to send Amber to the office because I was sick of her bothering Stephen. Before I could say anything, Stephen stuck his foot in his mouth, about knee deep, by saying, "Would you leave me the hell alone!"

Amber went to the office, and Stephen spent the last few minutes of class in the hall. I really hadn’t meant to do that, but I had to fill out a referral form for her and still had my class to tend. I finally had everything under control, but school was ending in less than two minutes, so I let Stephen go back to his seat with a warning that we’d be talking when school was out.

Which brought us to now.

"No, sir, I guess it doesn’t," Stephen finally replied.

"All right, then. Empty out your back pockets and go get a paddle while I ask Mrs. Rowe to step in here."

He sighed, looked defeated, but started emptying his pockets before I’d even stepped away from the desk.



It only took a couple of minutes before I returned.

"Mrs. Rowe will be here in just a minute, Stephen. She was helping another student with something."

I was suddenly surprised by the paddle he was holding. At his size, I should have had him get the number three paddle, but I’d been vague so he could get the number two. This was a situation where I felt the rules required me to give swats more than I really wanted to. Not that I would mind paddling Stephen at another time, but I’d had enough trouble with my little sister harassing me that it was hard for me to punish Stephen for his reaction. Instead, he’d fetched the number five.

"I think that paddle’s a little big, Stephen."

"Oh," he said, sounding a bit surprised. "It’s about the same as the one my mom uses."

"Ow. Your mom must paddle pretty good."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I don’t guess you could wait ‘til Monday to paddle me, could you?"

I just stared at him a moment.

"Y’know, Stephen, most kids would rather get it over with. Why in the world would you want me to wait until Monday?"

"I’m spending the weekend at my dad’s house."

"And you’re afraid that a paddling would ruin the entire weekend? I’d think…."

"No, sir," he interrupted me. "If I get paddled at school, I get spanked at home, too; and Dad whips a lot harder than Mom does."

"So your mom doesn’t do a very good job?"

"No, she does a real good job—just not as hard as Dad does."

He looked at me for a minute, seeming to weigh me, then went on. "Both of ‘em make me bare my butt. It’s pretty embarrassing with Mom, but…. You know she teaches school?"

I nodded. I certainly did know. At our fall open house, I’d been very shocked to learn that Ms. Erickson used to be Roxanne Simmons, who’d been my seventh grade science teacher at Paulette, where she still taught. Miss Simmons was one of the few female teachers who wielded her own paddle, and she managed to do it pretty impressively from the reports I’d heard.

"Mom paddles me like she does her students, except I gotta drop my pants and shorts before I bend over. At least she doesn’t see anything that way, but it hurts bad."

"Your dad’s a professor at the college, isn’t he?"

"Yeah, but he doesn’t paddle. He makes me take off all my clothes and lay down on the bed, then he whips me with my belt. Mom only gives me about six swats if I’m really in trouble. She won’t even give me that for this. Dad always gives me at least ten or twelve, so it’s a lot worse."

"You know, Stephen, I’m not going to send a note home. Your parents probably won’t know about it."

"I guess, but if I don’t tell them and they find out, it’ll just be worse. Besides, Mrs. Rowe and Mom are friends."

"Oh," I replied astutely.

It was obvious to tell he was trying to play on my sympathy, not just because of the tone of voice he was using, but because of the way he was watching me from under his eyelashes. It was working, but only a bit (and if I’d had a chance to watch, it wouldn’t have worked at all).

We both jumped as someone tapped at my door before pulling it open, and Mrs. Rowe stuck her head in, then stepped in.

"All set?" she asked, in a voice that said this was an every day occurrence (which it was, practically).

I nodded at her, and Stephen sighed, then turned to lean against the desk. This was obviously a position he’d been in a lot. It wasn’t exactly as I preferred it, but it was still a great position and I had no complaints. Instead, I flipped the back of his shirt up, exposing the waistband of his Fruit of the Looms, then patted Stephen on the shoulders.

"Thanks for coming over, Mrs. Rowe, but Stephen and I’ve been talking. This was a one-time event, and I think it’s not something he needs to be paddled for after all. Sorry for bothering you."

"No problem," she said, sounding more her normal self. "Glad you two were able to work it out." Then she stepped out of the door.

Stephen slowly stood upright, his face looking a bit shocked and just a little nervous, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I settled on the edge of my desk and reached down to drum my fingers against it. I was thinking hard about how I wanted to handle this. Stephen stood before me, obviously nervous, but not wanting to draw my attention. Finally I looked up at him.

"The kind of language you used was inappropriate. I cannot allow you to be cussing at other students, not in the classroom and not right in front of me. If I hear another curse out of you the rest of the year, I’ll do something about it, no matter what your parents might do; understand?"

"Yes, sir!" he agreed joyfully.

"Good. And I want you to know that I do understand why you cussed. I can understand being mad at her. What you have to understand is that this is a case of ’two wrongs don’t make a right’. There are ways to handle things and ways not to. Do you think your mom would be very happy to find out you’d been cussing at a girl?"

"No, sir."

"Mine wouldn’t have been either. Your dad might understand it, but it’s better not to risk it, don’t you think?"

He nodded.

"Okay, then get out of here."

As he turned towards his desk, where he’d left his books, he got about two steps, then I stepped forward and put a good pop on his slightly chubby rear with my open hand. It made a loud pop in the empty room and he jumped and yelped, probably more from surprise than anything else. He turned and glared at me for a moment, and then smiled. He carefully stepped away, watching me this time until he had desks between us, then got his stuff and headed towards the door. He was almost there when he turned back. "Thanks, Mr. Wells."

"You’re welcome, Stephen. Have a good weekend."



At least this wasn’t a hard one to decide. Believe it or not, mom/bare/paddle hadn’t made the bingo card, so I only had one way to go. I didn’t even mind too much that I’d decided not to spank the kid. Especially not since I fell asleep thinking about him getting in trouble for something else while he was at Dad’s house.











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