A Debatable Pleasure

I don’t remember exactly when it was, maybe early October. Back in those days, we didn’t start school until the day after Labor Day, and I know it was several weeks after that.

We’d had a huge group of debaters that year—Brett, Lou, Daniel, two Marks, and I were the main ones, but there’d been five other kids as well. I’d been surprised to see them all show up, two weeks before school started, for the introductory debate program. There’d also been a girl who was starting her sophomore year, but she’d not debated the year before, so she was with us also. She ended up as my partner, which was something of a compliment, since she had more training than the kids in my year.

The only problem with that was, the reason Pam White hadn’t done any debate her freshman year was that she just wasn’t that interested or motivated. That caused a few problems for me (I was both of those things in spades), and I ended up having a different partner for every tournament I went to that year. Still, Pam was my official partner for most of the first semester, so she and I did do some work together when I could talk her into it.



One day after school, I went over to her house. She and I spread out in the kitchen, sorting and organizing our material, trying to get everything in order. I’m not even sure why we were doing it. Was there a tournament coming up, or was I just trying to become more familiar with the stuff? Either way, we’d only been there a few minutes when someone else came into the house. She called a greeting to her little brother as he came into the kitchen for a snack, and it turned out that he and I knew each other.

Which isn’t to say that we were actually friends. I didn’t really remember James well from the year before. He’d been in the photography club, and I’d worked with him on the school newspaper. He’d been a nice enough guy, but I think he’d played football, and we’d just not had much in common.

He was certainly good looking, though. In my freshman year, I wasn’t quite full-grown yet, but already taller than my mom, so call it about 5’8" or 9". Despite being about a year younger than me, James was about the same height. He was slender but solid, like one would expect from a middle school athlete. It was a look I didn’t really care for, since I preferred smaller boys and had a taste for guys with a little geek to them. Still, he had a face that was worth a few daydreams.

James’ face was as lean as his body, and he had strong cheekbones. The most popular hairstyle for boys back then was a version of the Farrah Fawcett-look; longish, parted in the middle, and feathered back on the sides. Like most of us, his hair hung down over his ears and brushed his collar in back. The fact that he was blond with green eyes didn’t hurt a bit. His nose was straight and only a little too wide, and his lips were full, without looking inflated. He even had a small dimple in his chin. Actually, he and his sister looked somewhat alike. Unfortunately for her, it was a look that worked a lot better on a boy.

I guess James already knew that his sister and I were partners since he greeted me calmly. He had some friends in ninth grade, and I had several who were in eight grade, so we made small talk for a minute about those we knew in common while he made a snack; then he wandered off, and Pam and I went back to work.

It was about ten minutes later when the phone rang. A phone hung not far from the table, so Pam stretched over to answer it while I went on with what I was doing; but it was hard not to hear what she was saying.

"Hi, Daddy," she said happily after a second.

"He’s home," she said a moment later, sounding a little confused or worried.

"Yes, sir," she said again, taking the phone away from her ear and covering the mouthpiece, before calling out, "James!"

A few seconds later we heard an answering call, and she told him to come get the phone. She put it back to her ear, and I saw from the corner of my eye, when the boy came into the living room. They must have had an extension in there because she listened a moment longer, then hung up.

It didn’t really make much of a difference whether he took the phone in the living room or there in the kitchen, since I could hear just about everything he said.

"Yes, sir. Yes, sir. No, sir. But Dad… Dad, please. But Pam has company; her deb… No, sir. Yes, sir. But Dad…." The side of the conversation I could hear had slowly become quieter and then had started to grow a bit whiny, and it was easy to tell that someone was in trouble. I glanced up at Pam, and she wasn’t even making an attempt to look as if she weren’t listening. Finally James’ voice picked up again. "Dad wants to talk to you again."

Pam picked up the phone and talked to her father a minute. James must have hung up because he came into the kitchen with us and watched his sister with blatant worry. She was mostly "yes sir"-ing and agreeing with one mention of my name, and it wasn’t long before she hung up.

James was watching her as she turned towards him, his eyes wide and maybe just a hint damp. Before addressing him, Pam took a deep breath.

"Dad said that you have to be ready and in the corner in five minutes, James."

The boy’s shoulders slumped, and he whined, "Pam, please…."

"No. I don’t know what happened, and I don’t care. Dad’s really mad, and I’m not going to get in trouble. He told me to make sure you obeyed, so go on now."

I have to admit she sounded regretful, and I felt sorry for both of them, even though I was eager to find out what was happening.

The Whites’ house was built on the same floor plan as my mom’s from what I’d seen. You walked into a short hall, with a room to your right and a hall to your left. If you went straight ahead, you came into the living room, with the back door straight ahead of you, another room (the master bedroom at my mom’s house) to the far left of the living room, and the kitchen to your right. If you’d turned down the left hall as you came in, you came to Daniele’s and my rooms, as well as a bathroom and storage closet. From where I was sitting at the kitchen table, I was able to see James head that direction.

A couple of minutes later, James scurried in, shirtless, and carrying the dishes he’d taken into his room a bit earlier, then scurried right back out. As far as I could tell, Pam wasn’t really watching the clock, but James seemed to want to make sure it didn’t matter.

I still wasn’t really sure what was happening. I’d never thought about Pam and James being related, and, she being a girl, I’d not asked about punishment in her house—it just hadn’t interested me.

Pam’s understanding of debate really wasn’t that great, but she had heard more than I had, so she was able to make some points for me that I’d not yet thought of. We were discussing different ways of organizing a speech when James came back in. He wasn’t trying to hide or cover himself, but he was obviously embarrassed, though it barely showed through his worry—the poor kid was seriously hangdog. He was also incredibly good looking since he was stripped down to nothing but white athletic socks, a white t-shirt that barely reached his hips, and briefs. He obviously wasn’t happy about the situation, but, equally obviously, the front of the briefs was well packed. They were somewhere between tight and baggy, but fit well enough to tell that he was hanging to the right.

"I’m going to the corner now, Pam," he announced, very carefully not looking at me.

She glanced at her watch, then said, "Okay," without ever looking up at him.

James turned away and marched off, not towards his bedroom, but into the living room, towards where I think their TV had been. While his t-shirt had been slightly too long for me to see the waistband of his briefs, seeing the back not only revealed that he had a fine butt, but also that he was wearing an off-brand of briefs because Fruit of the Loom and Jockey didn’t come with a double-seat. My real interest lay just below his briefs though. I was suddenly willing to bet that his father had somehow found out about trouble at school. It was more than a hunch though, since the dark red line that cut straight across both legs, which was nearly two inches wide where his briefs angled up over his hips, suggested he’d already had one unpleasant encounter in the day.



Pam and I had arrived at her house about 4pm since we’d had to wait for a ride and load our debate stuff. By the time the phone had rung, we’d taken everything out of our cases and had it spread across the table. We’d thought we’d have until 6pm, which was about the time her mom normally served dinner. Considering how hard it had been for us to get together, I don’t think it occurred to either of us to cut things short because of her brother’s troubles. She must have been too used to it, and I was not in a situation where I wanted to stand up right then.

Time went by, and I eventually became distracted enough by our work that I was able to ask for the bathroom without worrying about embarrassing myself when I left the table. From where Pam was sitting, she wasn’t really able to see into the living room, so I was able to pause for a good look, both coming and going, and the same problem was starting to arise by the time I got back to the table. Still, it was well worth the look.

I was only fourteen and would like to have said that thirteen was too old for spankings—they were for little kids. Of course, it hadn’t been that long since I’d had (what was to prove not) my last one. I was honestly into a stage where I was much more interested in sex, but this scenario—a good looking boy standing in the corner in nothing but his underwear, which clearly showed his recent paddling—was making me think twice about my priorities.

I managed to scoot back under the table and get distracted with work again until James distracted me. "Pam," he yelled from the living room.

"What?" she roared, making me jump.

"I gotta use the bathroom."

"Well, hurry up."

I glanced up to see him scurry by and kept half an eye towards the doorway until he walked back.

Pam and I were doing a little scurrying ourselves, trying to get all the work finished. We weren’t just looking at stuff and discussing techniques, but we were trying to file and cross-reference material so we could find what we needed when we needed it. I think we did okay with it, though I know I was at least half-distracted the entire time.



Pam and I both jumped when the front door opened again, and the legal pad upon which we’d been making notes nearly left the table. It was only a false alarm, though, since a female voice broke out, even before I could see Mrs. White enter the living room.

"James," she said, exasperation as clear as glass, "what have you done now?"

A lady walked straight past the kitchen doorway and over to where her son stood in the corner. Right then I felt sorry for the kid. I knew a lot of boys who weren’t bothered by it, but I was extremely embarrassed at the idea of being seen in my underwear by a female. Poor James had been seen by his mom and sister. . More than that, can you think of anything worse than spending… I checked my watch to see it was 5:15, and Pam and I were actually a little ahead of schedule, but the kid had been in the corner for nearly an hour by that time.

Mom and son held a quiet conversation, then she stuck her head into the kitchen, shaking it, clearly not knowing what to do with him.

"Hello, Jack," she greeted me politely, putting her worries aside. "Hi, Honey. Are you two going to have everything done on time?"

"Yes, ma’am," Pam assured her. "We can start picking up in a few minutes."

"Darn," Mrs. White startled me by replying. "I was hoping I could use you as an excuse to get fried chicken tonight. Still," she said, looking over her shoulder, "I suppose this isn’t going to be a good evening to irritate your…."

She broke off as the front door opened again. I managed not to jump, but Pam and her mom both looked very unhappy. It was only a second later when Mr. White walked into the kitchen, ignoring his son, but pausing to kiss his wife before greeting his daughter and me. There was a bit of small talk, then Mrs. White looked up at her husband (and she had to look up—it was easy to see from where James’ height had come), and asked, "Jim, are you sure…?"

Since she was looking over her shoulder into the living room, there was no question about what she might have been asking.

Just as simply, Mr. White answered, "Oh yes. That boy is going to learn if it kills one of us."

Mrs. White sighed, before responding, "Well, I guess I’d better go get cleaned up before I start dinner. Excuse me," she added to Pam and me.

Mr. White watched her leave, then nodded to us before he left too, but his destination was a little closer.

Mr. White was one of those men with a booming voice, and I’m not sure if he could have spoken quietly if he’d tried. On the other hand, I have the feeling he wasn’t trying.

While it was a fairly standard butt-chewing (there’s no way it could be called a lecture), it did become clear that James and two other boys had been caught smoking in the boys’ room, and all three of them had been paddled. While I’m not sure why, the vice principal had decided to alert Mr. White to the situation. (I had the feeling that the two men were friends).

James’ voice was too quiet to make out, but you could tell when Dad didn’t like an answer because he went from speaking to barking for a minute. The lecture seemed to drag on for an eternity but finally came to the end that I’d been hoping for and James must have been dreading.

"Get over the couch."

There was a quiet complaint in the boy‘s tenor, then a repeat that was threatening enough to nearly make me get over the couch.. Then another long silence that had my mind scurrying like a rat through a maze, searching for possibilities. At last, the sound of a belt smacking across bare skin answered the questions.

I think I heard a grunt echoing the first stroke, but I know I heard one with the second. Again and a fourth time the belt landed, and the grunting became yelps, which changed to full-out yells as the count went on. Five and six, and the only sound besides leather and boy suddenly erupted as his father calmly informed him to move his hands if he didn’t want them spanked as well. There was a brief pause, then another stroke, which brought an especially loud shriek. With eight, the yells were growing wet, until there was no question that he was crying, and he was crying loud and hard by the time I counted ten.

I realized my mouth was hanging open when I noticed how dry my lips were. I forced it shut but couldn’t force my attention back to my papers as that leather metronome continued to strike its count, having only broken rhythm that once. James was howling with each stroke and bawling between them. The poor guy was obviously in agony. Knowing how badly the belt hurt, I felt as bad for him as I felt hot over the entire scene.

Suddenly I realized there’d been a long pause with no more strokes, but also with no warnings to move his hands. Fourteen strokes total—fourteen stripes of fire painted across what must have already been a tender bottom if he’d already been paddled at school. I looked back at Pam, who was staring at the wall as if she could see through it, and obviously not torn as I’d been over her little brother’s treatment—she just felt sorry for him.

I forced myself back to the paperwork before she could look back at me but was still listening to his cries gently fade away and half enjoying them. When the broken crying had finally almost faded away, when I began hoping his dad would send him to the corner long enough for me to catch a peek on the way out, his dad did speak again, but not to say what I’d hoped for.

"Get up now, boy." . A pause. "Where’d you get the cigarettes?"

"I just had one, Dad. They weren’t mine."

"Whose were they, then?"

Something mumbled that I couldn’t understand.

"And what do you think he’ll say if we call his parents and ask?"

Something else I couldn’t understand, but more because of a resurgence of tears than quiet volume.

"James William, I bought a new carton of cigarettes on the way home yesterday. I took a pack out last night—this one here. That means there should be nine packs in it since you aren’t the one that had the cigarettes. You know where I keep my cartons. Go get it."

"Dad, please.…"

"Now!"

"Dad…."

There was a shriek as leather struck skin, and a second later James landed in the kitchen. The briefs were no longer in evidence. As he stepped up to a small hutch that stood to the side of the table, I had a great view of his privates. His hair was thick, but still clustered only above his privates, not yet spreading to his balls. I was a little disappointed to see that his skin had darkened to shades of brown and red, but not surprised, since he was about the same size as I was. It was nice to see that his pubic hair was only a slightly darker shade of blond than what was on his head. I have to say that, even though I was waiting for him to turn his back, his front was pretty nice. His balls were a nice size but didn’t dangle too much, hanging fairly close to his crotch. His shaft wasn’t especially long, but not short either, considering he was completely soft. I’d guess maybe four inches, which was long enough for the head to hang past the bottom of his sack.

He bent a bit, very carefully, to open a drawer in the hutch, and pulled a carton of Winston’s from it, then turned, giving me a view of an impressively smacked backside. His cheeks weren’t wide, but he had a nice backwards swell, and the dimples as he walked were very cute. That cute butt was glowing a wonderful shade of red.

Both cheeks were solid red, but there were three things I could tell. First, their Dad’s belt was about an inch-and-a-half wide. That was pretty obvious because of the one stripe on his upper thighs, below the line I’d seen earlier from the paddle (where he didn’t move his hands in time?). The second thing was that Mr. White didn’t fold the belt over when he whipped, since there were several little half-moon marks on the hips, which had to have been made by the tip of the belt. There was a lot of overlap, but several of them were clear enough to tell. The final thing was that he was either ambidextrous, or had given some backhanded strokes, because those little half-moon marks were on both cheeks.

Holding the Winston’s, James gingerly stood back up, exposing the only white I’d seen on his butt, hiding between his cheeks, and turned to carry the carton back to his dad. By the way he moved, by the tears running down his face, I already knew what the answer was. I watched him turn the corner back into the living room and could picture him silently holding the carton out to his father. A minute later, his father’s voice let me picture him holding the carton back to James for his inspection.

"How many packs in there?"

"Eight," James answered miserably.

"How many are there supposed to be?"

"Nine."

"Who took the cigarettes to school?"

I couldn’t hear the answer but didn’t need to.

"Then you got another one coming, don’t you? You want it now or you wanna pay the interest and get the rest at bedtime?"

"Dad, please. I can’t take no more," James protested, his tenor voice breaking and climbing for the ceiling in a way that would have made me laugh in another situation.

"Then we’ll do the rest tonight. Turn around."

James didn’t answer, but movement caught my eye and I glanced up to see him backing towards the hall. Not fast enough though, as his father grabbed his left arm and spun him around. The belt was doubled up now and cracked down across James’ aching, burning butt, drawing a scream from him. He jumped and threw his free hand behind him, but not fast enough to keep another stroke from smacking across his upper legs.

James nearly fell as his father released his arm but managed to keep his feet and shifted to a dance, trying to rub the burn away. He was hurting too much to be shy, and his dick was bouncing all around giving a wonderful view, and making me ache to comfort him. I think he even started to get a little hard from all the bouncing.

After a minute of the display, his father’s voice broke in. "Get to your room, boy."

James danced another few seconds but must have known not to push things right then and turned, but turned back as his dad spoke again.

"James," Mr. White said, more gently this time. When his son was looking back at him, I saw the boy catch some white cotton that had been tossed to him. "Go lay down for a while. When dinner’s ready, I’ll bring you some, and we’ll have a talk."

James was still crying, but he nodded and turned, finally being allowed to retreat to his room.



Once we could concentrate again, Pam and I managed to finish our work and get everything packed away before dinner was ready. I left everything at the White residence; Mrs. White was going to give Pam a ride the next morning, so she was taking everything.

As I left, Pam apologized to me, and I just nodded, not wanting to admit that I should be thanking them for the show. I turned to start my way home, and began walking across the lawn, only to be stopped by someone calling my name. I recognized the voice, so I didn’t have to look hard to see James at the window that would have been mine at my mom’s house.

"Hey, Jack," he said, trying to be loud enough to get my attention, without being loud enough to draw anyone else’s.

I walked over to the window and looked in. He was obviously and understandably embarrassed and wouldn’t look at me after making sure I was coming, so I was able to get a good view, even through the screen. The light in his room was off, but it was starting to get dark outside as well, which helped.

He was still wearing only the t-shirt, and it looked like he’d been trying to find some way to relieve the pain, or at least to distract himself. Once again, I wanted to offer him some help. Hard, he was about as long as I was, but thinner and very kissable.

"Hey, we’re okay, aren’t we?" he asked, finally looking up at me.

I jumped a little and tried to focus on his face as I answered, "Us? Yeah, I ain’t got nuthin’ against you."

"Would you do something for me. Please?"

I nodded.

"Please don’t tell anybody about this. Please?"

"Sure," I agreed easily, knowing that there was no one whom I could tell who wouldn’t want to know why I was drooling while talking about it.

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart," I assured him. He looked at me for a minute, but then nodded, either reassured by what he saw or simply realizing that either I would or I wouldn’t.

"Thanks," he finally said, though he didn’t have much to be thankful for, knowing he still had another session with the belt coming that night.

We were both quiet for a minute, then he nodded, and started to lean back and close the window.

"Hey, James?" I said, drawing his attention.

"Yeah?"

"If it makes you feel any better, at least about me not telling, I got a couple a whippings last summer, so I know how you feel."

This time when he said ‘thanks’ he smiled and sounded a little more like he meant it. Then he did shut the window.

I felt a little guilty on the way home, thinking I was the one who should have been thanking him, then started trying to distract myself so I could walk without that delicious agony, much less having to worry about staining my pants before I got home.





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