Mikell or Random Conversations on a Car Trip

I met Steve and Cory through their mothers, at a time when I was still trying to look straight—maybe even hoping I could be straight. (Hey, homosexuality wasn’t widely accepted or very comfortable back then—not in a small, conservative Texas town, and especially not for someone who worked with kids). Tommy was my nephew, so it was natural he’d come to me when his mom proved unsuitable. And, of course, Barry was my actual son.

In the fall of 1997, Steve was fifteen and had been living with me for over four years. Tommy had just moved in that spring. Cory and Barry both lived with their mom, but I had visitation every other weekend and Wednesday nights with Barry. So the household was just the three of us guys, but I think we were doing pretty well. That’s the environment in which I was living when Mikell came into my life in a different way from any boy I’d met before.

Not that I hadn’t known Mikell before that. Mikell’s best friend’s dad, John, was a Magic player and collector, and had taught his (step-) son, Donald, and Mikell both. They’d all been regular players for a while. I can remember them coming in as early as the winter ‘96 to play, which would have made the two boys twelve.

A little trouble happened that summer, which resulted in Mikell and Donald not being allowed into the store without direct supervision. John was a huge collector of Magic, but not a great player. We only charged five dollars for most tournaments, but you only had something to show for it if you placed at the top. That was great for those who were really competitive, but those who weren’t often grew tired and quit playing after a while. When John grew tired of constantly losing, it cut Mikell and Donald off from playing as well.

It was really too bad. Despite the problem that I’d had with them, and despite a smart mouth (or maybe because of it—even when Mikell was rude, he was usually funny), I liked both of the boys. I really felt Donald was a bad influence on Mikell, but the two were best friends, and I’m sure you know how hard it is to break up best friends. It has to happen naturally.

Or, it has to happen by court order. I didn’t know it at the time, but in July of ‘97, Mikell, Donald, and another friend of theirs were arrested at the local mall for shoplifting. The three boys had to spend three days in a juvenile holding facility until they could be brought before a judge, and were given probation and community service (and a thorough spanking I’m sure, once they got home). Part of the probation was that they weren’t allowed to associate with each other. Because Mikell’s family had moved from the area, it was almost impossible for him to see Donald without an adult’s aid and permission.

That’s when Mikell began coming back into the store. He showed up one morning in August when his home grounding was over, I gather. As soon as he walked in by himself, I pulled him aside so we could have a talk. He admitted what had happened and why he wasn’t allowed to see Donald anymore. He also told me that he was really bored and lonely and had no friends where he was living now. After a little discussion and a lot of thought on my part, I agreed to let him come back into the store without supervision. For his own part, he agreed that I was allowed to search him whenever and however I wanted—including a strip search if I felt it was necessary, and he understood that if he gave me any trouble, there were no second chances—we were going straight to the police. He said it didn’t matter because there wasn’t going to be any problems.

He was true to his word. I didn’t have any problems with him at the store. Something else did develop, though. He began to call me at home. I had my home phone posted, so if there were any questions about upcoming Magic tournaments, people could ask, rather than waiting for the last moment and asking at the store. (I’ll spare you the details, but there are a number of variations on Magic that can be played, and I tried to vary what our tournament was, to keep interest high).

At first, Mikell just called to ask questions about the tournaments. Then, I guess once he was sure I didn’t mind his calling, he began to ask questions about deck building, game rules, and cards in general. It wasn’t long after that he began calling to ask me questions about school, my advice on different things, and even just to talk about things that were bothering him. Some of the conversations I was having with Mikell were very much like ones I had with Steve, and I was enjoying them.

As I came to know Mikell better, as we developed a relationship, he started to reveal a few things. A lot of this came out like an onion—in layers that weren’t always easy to get to. Some of it I only learned much later. For instance, he and his little brother Bobby were living with his aunt and her husband. That wouldn’t have been so bad, except his aunt worked second shift, so she was gone before the bus dropped them off from school, and his uncle didn’t get home until after 6pm. That wasn’t even the end of it. The uncle raised horses, and as soon as he’d eaten dinner, he went out to the barn to work with them or their equipment. In other words, Mikell, who was fourteen at this time, and Bobby, who was barely six, were left on their own from the time they got out of school until they went to bed, most of the week. Since they lived out in the country, neither of them really had any friends around. I guess it’s understandable that Mikell was bored and wanted to talk to someone who knew him, liked him, and shared his interests. Those details came out in dribs and drabs, casually revealed in conversations. Other details were more like pulling teeth—such as the fact he didn’t like his little brother, of whom he was extremely jealous, such as his father not showing up for visitation in over six months, and such as his mother being in the state hospital, trying to dry out from drug and alcohol abuse.

Whatever his reasons, and despite the trouble we’d had before, I liked Mikell. He was a beautiful boy, on the edge of maturity and on his way to being extremely handsome. Mikell had dark brown hair that usually looked black, thanks to his preference for hair gel. His hazel eyes were dark as well, and you could only see the green in them in sunlight or very bright and direct indoor light. He had strong, but pleasant features. His face was lean, and his large nose and ears and full, nearly pouty lips almost over-powered it, but the heavy eyebrows and strong, but dimpled chin seemed to balance it out. When he was trying to look mature or serious, he could pull it off and look much older than he was, but he also had an urchin’s grin that was rare, but worth waiting to see.

Mikell had been held back in seventh grade, so was large, but not especially so. When he started really hanging around with me, he was just a little smaller than me, about 5’10", but only 130 or so pounds—a lean, firm frame. He was a delight to look at, a delight to be around, and, while he could be a real pain occasionally, and as stubborn as a rock (or me), he could also be warm and charming.

Our friendship grew, and he started showing up for the tournaments as soon as we opened on Sunday and stayed until we closed. He even went out to eat with Steve and me a few times when I didn’t have to worry about the younger kids. However, things didn’t progress beyond the store and the phone calls for several months.



It was January of 1998, and Steve and I were planning to go to a pre-release tournament for Stronghold, the new Magic cards. Some other adults were also planning to go, but there was only one other guy about Steve’s age that might be going, so he’d wanted to ask Ryan. I’ve always loved Ryan and was happy to have him go with us.

It was a Sunday morning, the store was slow, and I never scheduled myself to work, so I’d be free to handle the tournaments. Mikell, as normal, had showed up early, so I was helping him try out a new deck while Steve watched. Ryan came up to us, told Steve hello, and told me that his parents said he could go. Mikell looked up at that.

"Go where?" he inquired, as Steve and Ryan moved off to play a couple of warm up games.

I sighed. I wished he hadn’t heard, but I wasn’t going to lie to him. "Steve asked Ryan to go to the Stonghold pre-release tournament in a few weeks."

"Man, I’d love to go to that," he hinted without the least bit of subtlety or embarrassment.

"Well, I’ve known Ryan’s family for years, and he spends the night with Steve pretty often," I commented, hoping he’d take the hint.

I don’t know that I ever noticed Ryan and Mikell talking, but Mikell seemed to get along okay with Steve, except for a trace of jealousy at times, which I had to take as a compliment, even while it bothered me. Unfortunately, Mikell seemed to be as good at spotting the subtle as he was at using it.

"You’ve met my aunt before," he said from nowhere. It took me a second to realize that he thought meeting his aunt was the same as having known Ryan’s family for years.

"It’s not just meeting her, Mikell," I tried to explain to him, after the second’s pause to figure out what the heck he was talking about. "It’s that Ryan is a fairly regular guest at our house. It’s not that I don’t know you, but I do know him and his family well. I feel like I know what to do if something happens, or if he gets sick, or even if he just can’t behave himself."

"You could just treat me like you do Steve if I get sick. I’m not allergic to nuthin’. And if I act up, you can just whup my butt."

Okay, if a handsome fourteen year old whom you really liked made an offer like that, would you keep arguing?

"Why don’t we ask your aunt and see what she has to say? But we’re planning to leave Friday night and not be back until Sunday."

That wasn’t a problem for him and he was walking on air all day. It wasn’t a problem for me either. After all, the woman didn’t know me from Adam, so there was no way she was going to let a boy that young go off with me for an entire weekend. Right?

Wrong! I don’t know whether she trusted me because I was a local business man, whether she was just generally trusting, or if she figured Mikell was big enough that, if he was being ‘molested’ it was what he wanted, but she thought it was a great idea. (Having come to know her, I think she knew how lonely Mikell was back then and just wanted him to have a good time).



Over the next few weeks, our evening talks continued about the same. I actually felt better knowing that Mikell would be spending that weekend with us; it allowed me not to feel so guilty when I had to rush him off the phone. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy talking to him, but I had my own kids who needed and wanted my attention (and sometimes needed it, but very definitely did not want it). While he was very excited about the upcoming trip, and it seemed that he spent a bit more time talking to Ryan and Steve than he had before, everything went along as it had been.



The weekend of the tournament was working out well for us. It happened to fall on one of Caleb's visitation weekends with my mom, so Tommy was happy to stay with her so he could visit with his little brother (and I'm sure the chance to be spoiled rotten by Granny had nothing to do with it). Ryan was on the school soccer team and had a game that evening, so a little after six o'clock, Steve and I drove out of town to Mikell's aunt's home and picked him up. Then we drove back into town to Braum's, which was on the far side from where Mikell lived, but was on the road towards Ryan's house (and why couldn't Steve have more friends who lived in town?).

We were just going in to order when Ryan's mom pulled up, and he exploded out of the car. I noticed his hair was still damp from the school showers as he said hello to all of us, and was happy to see that he was as excited as the other boys were (not that I wasn't pretty revved up myself). A few minutes later, after greetings, cautions, and good-byes had been shared around, Mrs. Hunter and Derek drove off, and I led the four boys inside for dinner.

We spent a quiet evening. To get to Austin on time, we were going to have to get up and be on the road early, and I didn't want the boys getting themselves wired up and staying up later than normal. We put on some quiet music, played a little Magic, and by 10:30, I was very carefully not tucking the boys into bed. Since Ryan had been a semi-regular guest for years by this time, I put him in the guest room by himself so Mikell could have the other twin in Steve's room.

I'd calculated the driving time beforehand so I wouldn't have to argue with anybody about when we were getting up. About 5:20, I climbed out of bed, pulled on a t-shirt, and went to roust Ryan. This was happening a little over a week before Ryan turned fifteen, and the boy had switched to boxers at some point a bit over a year before. Still, even though he still spent the night with us fairly often, even though he no longer wore briefs, it was nice to watch him climb out of bed. Even though Ryan's face hadn't really changed, still looking very boyish, innocent, and cute, he was as tall as me, but with a lean, athletic build: I'll bet he didn't weigh more than about 130, and it looked very good.

I wake fairly easily, so it was fun watching Ryan spend a minute trying to get his bearings. He sat on the side of the bed for a minute, giving me a good look at his trim, lightly-haired legs, before he finally stood and tottered towards the bathroom. I had to call him back to get a pair of clean boxers from his overnight bag. He had a self-deprecating smile on his face as he grabbed a clean pair and dropped the already worn ones.

As soon as I heard the shower come on, I went to my room and cleaned myself up. Once I was showered, I started on waking Mikell and Steve. Steve was never much of a problem in the mornings, but I discovered that getting Mikell started was a challenge. Steve had already grabbed a clean pair of briefs and headed for my bathroom by the time I had Mikell sitting up.

I'd already known that Mikell wore boxers, though I'd been freshly disappointed the night before when I was getting them in bed. Like Ryan, however, he was still nice to look at. He wasn't as tall as Ryan or Steve, but was close, and solid, probably weighing about the same as Ryan. Of course, Mikell was a football player, not a soccer player. Though Mikell's chest and belly were still smooth, his legs were nearly as thickly furred as mine, and they were matched by the thick tufts beneath his arms.

One thing I noticed about Mikell that morning was he had a certain degree of shyness. I followed him to the bathroom 'to make sure he kept going'. The door was open, and Ryan was slipping in a pair of contacts. Mikell stepped in, turned on the shower, then stood there. Ryan was still damp from the shower, and his boxers clung to his svelte flanks as he bent over to get the second lens in. Mikell looked like he was still barely functional, so I felt free to enjoy the view. As Ryan stood and grabbed his contact stuff, I noticed that Mikell seemed to be antsy about something.

"Hurry up," I told him, "we're on a schedule."

"I would if y'all'd get out of here," he replied.

Ryan stood up, glanced at the other boy, then shrugged as he stepped past me. I pulled the door shut and turned around. Ryan was giving the door an amused look when I turned around. Even though he'd never picked up Steve's habit of sleeping naked, he'd been around us enough to be fairly comfortable with casual nudity. I guess Mikell's attitude amused him. It amused me more, probably because I could hear the heavy stream start to hit the bowl the moment the door had shut.

By 6am, we were sitting in a McDonald's drive-through for breakfast. As soon as I'd shared the chow out amongst everyone, we hit the road and headed out of town.

For Austin, we had to travel through town (which is, admittedly, not a long drive), so everyone was settled by the time we hit the city limits, and I decided to attempt a conversational gambit.

"I don't know if you guys will be able to see it, but we're coming up on a place that played an important part of my life."

Looking in the rearview mirror, I saw Steve glance around, then smile knowingly.

"What's that?" Ryan asked.

"Right over," I paused for a second as we traveled a bit further, "there, is a place I got taken once when I was a bit younger than you guys; twelve, I think."

They all three looked across the road to where I was pointing. Ryan and Mikell looked a bit confused, since there was nothing there.

"Why was that important?" Mikell inquired after swallowing a bite of Egg McMuffin.

"Well, it turns out that I was caught shoplifting. They called my step-dad, and he came to pick me up. I figured we were going to go home, but he came out here instead. I doubt you guys really noticed it, but there's an old dirt road there. We pulled up on that and he had me get out. Then we walked around a bit. He pulled out his pocketknife, told me to get my clothes off, then he picked a switch. That was probably the worst whipping I ever got."

Even in the dim light provided by the street lights, I'd been able to tell Mikell had gone red at the mention of shoplifting, but his eyes went wide when I mentioned the switch.

"I've never been switched," he admitted freely. "A guy I know says it's really bad."

"It is!" Steve assured him, not realizing what he was giving away until it was already said.

Ryan and Mikell demanded all the details. Steve hemmed and hawed for a moment, then took a big bite of his sausage biscuit and chased it with some soda. After killing enough time to come up with an unembarrassing explanation, Steve started to tell about the Martinez kids, the half-Hispanic, half-Irish boys who'd shared the other side of the duplex where I'd briefly lived. Their widowed mom swore by the switch as a way to straighten out errant boys, and Stevie had been friends with them, as well as getting to watch them pick a switch or two.

While I don't mind omitting details, Steve wasn't really taking this conversation the way I wanted it to go. To put it back, I said, in a mildly threatening voice, "Steven James! You're the one who brought it up, so tell the truth."

With the put upon sigh that only a teenager can achieve, Steve told them about the time he'd been caught shoplifting. We were living at the condo at the time, so he didn't have to strip to pick the switch, but he was seen by a number of his friends, which was still very embarrassing—and if he'd been offered the choice between picking it naked and not being seen, I think he would have gone with naked.

Of course, even his telling the story was more than a year before I started giving more ritualized switchings. It was just the two of us living there at the time, so it had even been private. I think those two things influenced his telling Ryan and Mikell that waiting for me to get to the store, being lectured and promised a very sore bottom in front of the store manager before having to apologize to him, then the silent ride home, were almost worse than the actual switching. (It's a good thing he added that 'almost', so I didn't have to pull over and spank him for telling a fib.)

As Steve was telling the story, I adjusted my rearview mirror so I could see him and Mikell both just by leaning a bit to the side. Traffic was non-existent, and I was able to watch all three boys as the story progressed.

After Steve finished by admitting to having slept on his stomach that night, Mikell leaned and up asked Ryan, "What about you?"

"What about me?" Ryan replied. "Oh, you mean the switch? Nope. My dad almost always uses his hand. Jack's the only one who ever spanked me with anything else."

"Jack's spanked you?!"

Ryan regretted his slip of the tongue almost as quickly as Steve had, but he was a good sport about it. Steve added details about the first spanking the two of them had shared, but kept going, which led to Ryan having to backtrack and tell about the first times I'd spanked him and his little brother.

"Even though my dad really only uses his hand, he spanks hard. Dad mostly quits spanking us when we hit our teens. I haven't had one since I was twelve, but Tim got in trouble at school just last year and Dad got him with the belt. But even with his hand, he can really get you. Derek got in trouble back, maybe in October. I didn't know about it, and I walked into our room and he was lying on his bed with nothing on but his t-shirt. His butt and legs were really red, but that spot right here," I glanced up to see he was indicating his sit spots, "where it hurts really bad, had hand-shaped bruises on both sides." He paused for a second, then continued, sounding a bit puzzled. "I never did find out what he got spanked for, though."

"Boy, if you wanna talk about marks," Mikell suddenly interjected, much to my pleasure, "I can tell you about the worst spanking I ever got."

Glancing over at him, Mikell appeared totally unembarrassed, which I couldn't understand at first. As soon as he opened his mouth, I understood why, since he wasn't telling the story I'd expected.

"I was only five-years-old, maybe just turned six, 'cause I know I was still in kindergarten. Some friend of my dad's was over and they were in the garage doing something. I was out front, and this guy had a really nice car, so I went over to look at it. I guess Dad saw me, 'cause he came out yelling at me to get off the car and not to mess around with it. Well, I was kinda mad, and I was really bored. I think this guy had a kid I usually played with, but he didn't come over that day. Anyway, since Dad told me not to mess with the car, and there was nothing to do, I just climbed up on the hood and sat there, looking around, and maybe playing like I was driving it."

"Well, things are okay for a few minutes, but then Dad comes outta the garage, wiping his hands on a rag and yelling at me. I could tell he was really mad, and I just knew I was gonna get whuped, so I jumped up and started to run for Mom. I'll bet I didn't get three steps before he grabbed me off the ground and headed inside."

"He was carrying me tucked under his left arm, feet forward, so it felt really weird. I was hoping he was just gonna take me inside and let me go. The whole way, he was gripin' at me and kinda yellin', tellin me I was gonna learn to mind him and stuff like that, and swattin' my butt every once in a while."

"I was already cryin', but when we got in the house, he kept goin' towards my room. Then I got really scared 'cause I knew I was gonna get it. I guess I was wearin' those shorts like kids do that don't have a fly—they're just elastic, you know? So he grabs the back of my shorts and my boxers in the same hand and just yanks 'em all the way off."

"You wore boxers when you were five-years-old?" I interrupted in disgust.

"Yeah," Mikell responded. "I've worn boxers since I got outta diapers."

"Anyway," he continued, "as soon as my butt was bare, he opened my closet door. I was really cryin' hard then 'cause I knew he was gettin' a belt. Then he tossed me over the side of my bed, put his hand on my back, and started whupin' me."

"I guess it wasn't really long." He paused and looked into the back seat. "You saw my little brother yesterday?"

Steve admitted he had.

"Well, he's six, so I musta been around that size. Anyway, I guess Dad didn't really hit me that many times, but it sure seemed like it back then. You know, Bobby's got a pretty small butt, so it'd only take four or five smacks with even a little kid’s belt to cover it all. I guess I probably got maybe nine or ten. That was bad, but it wouldn't be the worst, 'cept for one thing—the belt he used was one my grandpa had just got for me. It was brand new; I don't think I'd worn it even once. It was one of those western belts with my name on the back, and it was so new it didn't even bend. I guess Dad was used to whupin' me with a regular belt and did it the same with this one, 'cause my butt was one solid blister. I couldn't even walk. It was so bad I had to stay home from school the next day. Man, I was sore for DAYS after that. I sure did mind him, though."

There was some commiseration after that. You could tell that, even though Mikell was acting like it was no big deal, it still bothered him some, and I can't say I blamed him. Even if the belt made it worse, what he was describing was still way harsh for a five or six year old. It made me glad his father wasn't coming around anymore.

Things quieted down for a minute as guys wet their throats. I glanced in the rearview mirror. I think Ryan and Steve were considering themselves lucky at how easily they'd gotten off in life. Steve started to say something, then stopped, so I decided to see if I couldn't keep the ball rolling.

"That sounds pretty bad, Mikell, but I thought the worst spanking you ever got was summer before last."

Now we were well outside of town and there weren't enough lights to be sure he was blushing, but Mikell certainly started to fidget as if he were embarrassed. Suddenly the other boys were interested again.

"Wait, you mean Dad's spanked you, too?" Stevie crowed with delight, and Ryan wasn't far behind him.

"NO!" Mikell protested. He might have sat silently, but saw me glance towards him. Then he visibly sighed before continuing, "But he watched it. Like he said, it was summer before last…."

As Mikell told the story to the other two boys, I listened to his voice and was interested in his view and the details he would leave out, but I was caught in my own remembrance of the event.

I think it had been late June of '96, just over eighteen months before this trip. Mikell had come to one of the tournaments with Donald, but without Donald's step-dad, John. I liked both kids (and they were both cute as lab puppies), so I was happy to have them there, even without John (maybe even happier, since John loved to complain about everything).

I don't remember anything special about that day, not at first. I think it was before the last round of the tournament started that I went to the bathroom and found that the trash was full of card wrappers. A quick glance showed that they were all Alliances (the current expansion for Magic: the Gathering, which had a number of really good cards) and was probably an entire box. It was unusual for them to be in the bathroom, since several trashcans were scattered around the game room and the store.

I went to the counter to talk to Nickie, the daughter of a friend, whom I'd hired as a favor. She assured me she hadn't sold a box of them, and we even reviewed the register to be sure. However, there was a box missing from the top row where our box stock was displayed. I had to have a stepstool to reach it, and the only people Nickie could remember over there recently were a couple of kids about her height. Of course, if the kids were quick and agile enough, I could see how it would be done. We went to the game room, and she identified Mikell and Donald as the boys she'd seen over there.

Walking up to the boys, I explained the situation to them and asked to search their bags. As soon as I mentioned the wrappers, there was no question that it had been them: their confessions might as well have been written on their faces from the looks they had. The two of them looked at each other, then Mikell leaned over and undid his bag, showing me the box of loose cards.

It was time to start the final round of the tournament, so I left the two of them sitting in an agony of expectation as I got everyone seated and began the round. Then I brought their tournament cards over and tore them up in front of the boys, before leading them back to my office.

I know what you're thinking and asking yourself why I didn't spank them. I wanted to, but Donald, while always nice and polite with me, had a bit of a reputation as a troublemaker. I let both of them know that they deserved a good spanking and gave them an idea what I'd do if they were my kids. If it hadn't been two of them, if they'd been a little younger, or even if I'd known them a little better, I would have tried for it. As it was, they didn't take the bait, and I didn't feel safe pushing matters any further. I called John.

To say he was displeased would be a mild understatement. Apparently, John had stayed home that day to catch up his honey-do list and had just finished with it. He'd been looking forward to enjoying the rest of the day. He was also pretty unhappy that the boys had stolen from 'a friend of his' (like it's better if they steal from strangers?). I listened to him for a few minutes before he said he'd be up there as soon as he could, but warned me I'd caught him as he was about to get in the shower.

I had the tournament to worry about, so I took Donald and Mikell back to the game room. It was obvious that they were in some type of trouble, and the boys who knew me best were watching to see how comfortably the two of them were sitting. (As Mikell mentioned having to wait for John in his own narration, Ryan suddenly interjected, "Yeah, I remember that day. I thought Jack had already spanked you.")

When John appeared, the tournament was dying down, but most of the players were already there. I led the three of them to my office, where John, in a surprisingly loud voice for his small frame and normally quiet demeanor, demanded every detail from them, including several along the lines of 'What the hell were you thinking?' I didn't get all of it, because I had to leave after making sure the story was told correctly, to finish the tourney.

I listened closely to see what Mikell had to say about the time I was gone, but he skimmed over the entire thing with 'John chewed our asses'. John must have done a good job of chewing, though, because both boys were nearly trembling and had damp eyes when I got back.

John had certainly been decisive about things though. I guess he'd thought everything out before he got there. When I came back, the two boys told me what was going to happen.

It was fun watching the two of them there. Mikell was only about two months past his thirteenth birthday, and Donald was still a week or so away from his, but both boys were the same height, about 5'3", maybe just a little tall for their age, but not nearly as big as some I'd seen. They were both lean and firm, though Mikell was probably in a bit better shape, but I'd say they both weighed just above one hundred pounds. Though he wasn't as handsome as Mikell, Donald was still a good-looking kid, with a lighter complexion, the same color hair, and blue eyes. The two of them didn't look like brothers, but could have passed as cousins.

Between the two of them, skipping back and forth, one picking up when the other faltered, they apologized to me and admitted there was no excuse for what they'd done. The cards, of course, were mine and Mikell pointed to where he'd laid them on my desk. However, since I wouldn't be able to sell them unwrapped, they were each going to pay for half the cost of the box. Finally, they said they'd understand if I didn't let them into the store anymore, but they practically begged me to let them.

I knew I was going to give them one more chance, but I wanted them to think there was some doubt about it. I might not be able to spank them, but I could at least watch them squirm. However, John stepped in before I could tell them my decision.

"That's not all, Jack. If you're not sure about letting them back in the store, you should come home with us. As soon as we get there, I'm going to drive this into their brains by the most direct route for boys."

Donald had obviously heard that before because a small moan escaped him. Looking at them, he was staring at the floor, but Mikell had looked at the other boy and was now squirming, obviously guessing what it meant.

I agreed and the four of us left as soon as I could make sure Nickie had everything under control.

As soon as we got to their house, John led us into the living room. Donald's little brother, who I think had just turned eleven, was lying on the floor watching TV, and he looked up, wide-eyed, when we came in.

"Your brother's in trouble again, Ronnie," John informed him, matter-of-factly. "Would you go get the Ashbuster, please?"

John invited me to sit on the couch, then stood at the end of it, facing the boys, who were standing on the far side of a coffee table from me.

It only took a glance to see how nervous Donald and Mikell both were, but Mikell seemed much worse. While we waited for Ronnie to return, John began to berate the boys again. I can't quit call it a lecture, but I can't call it out of line, either. After all, teenage boys shoplifting isn't what you can call an accident, or even a bad decision. They know it's wrong, and I have no objection to a little verbal abuse to drive that home.

In contrast to Mikell’s and Donald's nerves, Ronnie seemed gleeful as he carried the paddle into the living room. The 'Ashbuster' was a very plain paddle. When I got a better look at it, I realized it was plain on both sides, just a very light brown color that suggested it really was made from ash wood. It was about eighteen inches long, including the handle, and maybe four inches wide. It was probably a quarter inch thick and looked like it would sting like crazy, while still leaving a lasting burn. I can't say that the boys were trembling when it was carried in, but they were both looking at it like they wanted to run.

Ronnie handed John the paddle, then took a seat on the far end of the couch from where I was sitting, looking like he had front row seats to some exciting new show. John brought the lecture to a close, patting that paddle against his left hand, and making the boys wince with each pat. Finally, after what was really only a few minutes, but probably seemed like hours to Mikell and Donald, he concluded by giving instructions.

"Mikell, that shirt’s too long. Get it off."

Mikell was dressed like he almost always was, in khaki slacks and an over-sized polo shirt. Donald, on the other hand, was just wearing jean shorts and a t-shirt. Mikell, obviously knowing what was coming, already had watery eyes as he pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it on the coffee table. Mikell was really set up nicely. He might not have been really tall, and his upper body was hairless, except for a few wisps under his arms, but his belly was flat, with a hint of ripples, and you could already see where his pecs were starting to develop.

John waited for the shirt to hit the table before giving the next instructions, which the boys had obviously been dreading. "Drop 'em."

Mikell's hands, slowly and screaming with reluctance, moved to his belt and began to unfasten it. Donald, on the other hand, just seemed to want to get it over with. His t-shirt barely covered his belt loops anyway, but he pulled it up just a little, undid his jeans, and shoved them and his boxers to his knees. As soon as he let them go, they fell down his hairless legs to puddle around his ankles. Standing up, I think he was trying to glare his defiance at John, but not having much luck.

I guess Donald was about typical for an early teen boy. He had a somewhat thick bush of curly hair that was confined to the upper base of his penis. His sac hung loose and baggy, but was still only a very pale pink. He was showing no excitement at all, but I'd guess he was maybe three-and-a-half inches, even flaccid, though the shaft and head were only beginning to darken away from boyhood.

After a minute, Donald glanced at Mikell, obviously wishing he'd hurry so they could get it over with. Mikell's slacks were baggier than Donald's shorts had been, and they hit his knees as soon as he'd unzipped them, revealing a pair of green and blue-striped boxers. He grabbed the waist of the boxers, but then looked pleadingly at John. John stared at him for a moment, before finally saying 'Now, Mikell.'

Mikell shoved the boxers down past his knees, where the whole mess fell to his ankles, leaving him practically nude.

Mikell was obviously shy and tried to cover himself, but then glanced at Donald, who was standing there, nearly as bare, with hands folded across his chest. Mikell didn't have quite as much hair as Donald, and what he did have wasn't long enough to be curly yet. While Donald's tackle was starting to darken towards manhood, Mikell's was still all pink and white, though his balls hung down about as low and loose as Donald’s. Other than that though—Mikell was just as soft as Donald, but even soft, Mikell was as long and thick as I was hard. The kid must be huge.

I didn't have to worry about staring, though, since John announced it was time for the main event, with a sharp, "Down."

Donald bent over, legs straight and back, as if for a school paddling, and put his elbows on the coffee table. Mikell stood there for a minute, then started to lean forward.

"You've seen me paddle somebody before, Mikell," John said, which, for some reason, caused Ronnie to blush, "get your legs straight and your elbows on the table."

I couldn't see Donald's face, but his body language screamed that he wanted this over with. I think Mikell, on the other hand, was too scared to go any faster.

Finally, John had both boys where he wanted them. He pulled that paddle back and POW! It exploded on Donald's butt. Donald's head came up. His eyes were wide and a muffled yelp escaped his clenched teeth.

Mikell got the next one, but he didn't manage any restraint. He didn't yelp, he wailed, and was sobbing as John turned back to his son.

A second swat brought Donald's head up again. Tears were flowing down his face, and he didn't manage to stifle his cry this time.

Mikell wailed again when the paddle caught him. His head came up, showing that his eyes were closed but tears were flowing heavily. As soon as he caught his breath, he was crying hard and loud.

When the third swat brought Donald's head up, his eyes were clenched, but an immediate fourth swat snapped them open, bringing a wail as loud as Mikell's had been, though lower pitched, and he started to really cry.

Another swat for Mikell made him screech and brought him to his feet.

"Get back down there, boy. I'm not through with you."

Mikell didn't try to answer, but just shook his head.

After waiting a second, John gave him one last chance. "If you don't get back down there, now, I'll ask Jack to hold you down, and if we have to do that, I'll start it over."

Mikell broke from crying to really bawling, but he got back into position. As soon as John was satisfied, he turned back to Donald, who was still crying. I don't know if either boy realized Donald had received that extra swat, but the next one brought another wail, and had Donald crying nearly as hard and loud as Mikell was.

From where I was sitting, I could not only see their faces, but could see past their chests to watch their dicks swing with each swat. I could see their legs trembling as they tried to stay in position. I was beginning to worry about how dry my pants would be before this was through. Glancing to my left, I saw that Ronnie seemed nearly as entranced as I was, though I couldn't detect a rise in his soft cotton shorts.

Mikell got the next swat, but he was crying too hard to shriek or wail. His voice raised a bit when the paddle landed, but all he could do was continue to cry, and he began to cough in between the hard, wracking sobs.

Donald got the next swat, and it was enough to break him. He shrieked, and you could hear the loss of control as the pain took control and he began to bawl as loud and hard as his friend was.

John switched the paddle to his left hand, then bent down and it looked like he ran his right hand across his step-son’s cheeks. He nodded, then stepped aside and did the same for Mikell.

Nodding again, John switched the paddle back to his right hand and pulled it back. Another swat landed, and Mikell just collapsed. His knees sagged and his weight fell onto his elbows. He was crying so hard you could see his back raising up and down as he panted for the breath to continue crying.

Stepping back to Donald, the paddle came back up and crashed on the boy’s already aching butt. His head came up and he howled his agony, sagging down and to the side, though not as out of control as Mikell.

"I think that's enough. Get up."

The two boys reluctantly pushed themselves to their feet, trying to see nothing but the floor, shifting their weight from foot to foot, and alternating between wanting to rub the burn away and being afraid to touch their backsides at all.

"I think you two owe Jack an apology now, so he can know you mean it, then we'll decide if y'all are allowed back into the store."

Neither of them could talk enough to apologize, so we skipped that. That's when John and I agreed that they'd be allowed back into the store, but not by themselves again. That was actually harder on Donald than Mikell, since Donald lived close enough to come in and use the arcade sometimes. For some reason, neither boy seemed willing to argue the point, though.

Both boys were too lost in their flaming rears to be modest, and I had a good chance to check them out as John and I decided that. It only took a minute or two, though, and they were still crying, so John sent them to the corner, until they were willing and able to apologize.

It looked like they'd kicked their clothes off, so, as the two of them turned towards the wall where John had pointed, I had a great view of their flaming rears as they carefully walked away. Donald, naked from the waist down, was darker than crimson and the lowest part of his cheeks was white enough you knew that paddle had scraped the skin raw. I had no doubt he'd be feeling this one for a day or two. Mikell was nearly as bad, but his darker skin tone made the deep red coloring look more like sunburned olive. Either way, the way they moved told you they were in agony.

After about five minutes, Donald left the corner and came to apologize to me. It took a couple of tries because he was still sobbing and trying to catch his breath, but he managed it. As soon as he did, he was allowed to pick up his clothes, then go to the bathroom, then his bedroom.

After about fifteen minutes, Mikell was still standing in the corner. He'd quit crying several minutes ago. Looking back, I realize how embarrassed and humiliated he was, and that he didn't know how to deal with it. Back then, I didn't know that, and I guess John didn't either, since he finally said, "You need to come apologize. If you're not sure you owe an apology, maybe I need to have Ronnie go get the paddle again."

Humiliated he might have been, but a little more embarrassment was apparently a much better choice than ever seeing that paddle again. It was funny to watch as he tried to cover that impressive boyhood while he stammered out an apology. Once he managed it, he was allowed to take his clothes to the bathroom, so he could clean up and dress before John took him home. The realization that he was going to have to sit for the drive home nearly had him back in tears as he picked up his clothes.



I'd been able to remember the whole story a little more quickly than Mikell had told his abbreviated version, but I was so stiff I was aching. When the conversation died away, I thought about turning it back to more recent spankings, and wondered how Mikell and Ryan would react to learning that Steve, who was over fourteen months older than they were, had been spanked in the last couple of months. In the end, my aching stiffness and fear of blue balls led me to enjoy the quiet, and only join in when the conversation turned back to Magic.



None of us won anything at that tournament, but we all had a great time. In the hotel that night, after we were all ready for bed, we had a big wrestling match that ended with the three boys ganging up to pin me to the bed, but not before I’d got in a few smacks on each of them. Those smacks reminded me of the morning’s conversations, and I had to retire to the bathroom for a bit, before I felt safe to climb into bed.





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