A Problem with P.E.(eking)

It was fairly early in my second year of teaching. I remember it was definitely fall, but not more than cool weather yet, so maybe October. I’d had enough time to get to know my students, but didn’t know most of them well yet.

Let’s be honest here and admit that school paddling is just not as fun or interesting as a good spanking for most of us. I’m not going to deny that there are those who prefer that type of thing for one reason or another. One friend of mine likes the ritual, the slow, drawn out nature, and the fact that he can let go with it. To me, however, it just doesn’t measure up to a real spanking. Which isn’t to say that they aren’t enjoyable in their own way.

And some are more enjoyable than others.



I allowed myself a small smile when Mr. Matheson stuck his head in the door of the locker room, looked around for a second, then waved to me. Mr. Matheson was an older gentleman (especially since I was only 22 at the time), with thinning, medium brown hair that was starting to gray, and a full, but well-trimmed beard. He was in his late forties as I recall and had been teaching every since getting out of the Army. He was a stickler for the rules and was rather old-fashioned about enforcing them. He was a history teacher and the only male out of the group. The history classes were about halfway between the gym and the band hall, but Mr. Matheson always came to me when he needed a witness. I’d never actually heard him use the words ‘socialist’ or ‘pinko’ in regards to Mr. Barber, but our band director was a rather outspoken liberal, and was known around school for rarely (never?) using corporal punishment himself. On the other hand, Mr. Matheson had been heard to mention, in glowing terms, my ability to get ‘the little devils’ to toe the line.

At his wave, I looked around to make sure everyone was behaving. It was the end of the period, and the boys were all stripping down for the showers. It was a sight of which I never tired, but I’d be able to watch other days, and Mr. Matheson usually brought special entertainment into my days when he showed up like this. He didn’t let me down this time either.

As soon as he knew I’d seen him, Mr. Matheson had backed out of the locker room door. He was awaiting me right around the door, standing next to a boy I happened to know was an eighth grader. He had light brown hair, but dark brown eyes. He was a little tall for his age, but hardly huge, maybe 5’4" or 5"; but he was also lean, though not skinny. I’d be shocked if he hit 120 without rocks in his pockets. His hair was a little short for his long neck, and messy, as if he needed to start carrying a comb, but the bangs were long and provided a good frame for his heart-shaped face.

"Hello, Robby," I greeted him.

Mr. Matheson looked surprised, so I quickly explained that he’d been a customer of mine when I was in college, working at a convenience store. Mr. Matheson nodded, then added, "Well, he should have bought some common sense while he was there. For some reason, he apparently thought I wouldn’t notice him taking a thirty-minute restroom break. Can I borrow the board, and do you mind witnessing?"

Did I mind witnessing? Considering how cute Robby was, and what a little pain he’d sometimes been at the store, I would have paid for the privilege.

"No, I think we can work something out."

Following standard procedure, I stepped back into the locker room and raised my voice. "Would everyone please turn and face the showers. Stop what you’re doing and face towards that wall."

I waited a second while everyone complied. One boy, just coming out of the showers looked at me for a second, then pointed towards the basket of freshly laundered towels. I nodded, and he darted forward to grab one, before turning and facing back into the shower entrance. It would have been fun to keep him there, naked and the focus of every eye in the gym, but I couldn’t think of a good reason to justify it. Besides, he was a pretty nice kid from what I remember.

Mr. Matheson had waited just inside the door, and when I nodded, he pulled Robby in after him. The two of them crossed over to the coach’s office. For some reason, of which I was never quite sure, there’s a short bench in front of the coach’s office. I guess it could have been for students waiting to talk to a coach, or maybe for coaches to sit and wait while the class suited out. Every reason I came up with, there seemed like a better alternative, and I finally decided that some sadistic S.O.B. had put it there for the sole reason of paddling boys. I loved it.

Mr. Matheson had Robby face the bench, while he fetched the board. I took a position where I was looking almost directly at Robbie. It would be much more interesting to see his face, than the seat of his jeans, but my main reason was to watch my class. While Mr. Matheson took a minute to get Robby positioned, I glanced around.

It was a pleasant sight. Besides little Jason toweling himself dry in the shower entry, most of the boys were still getting ready. A few of them had run into the showers when I told them to face the wall, but a few more were standing there in nothing but briefs and maybe a t-shirt. I won’t quite say ‘acres and acres’, but it was a lot of cotton covered, boy bottoms, and most of them were pretty darned nice.

When I saw Mr. Matheson start to line the paddle up with his target, I looked back. It’s quite possible I enjoyed watching Mr. Matheson paddle as much as I enjoyed doing it myself. Maybe more, because the man was a real professional. Robby was in perfect position. His legs were straight, he was bent at the waist, and he had his hands firmly gripping the forward edge of the bench. I couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or not, but he wasn’t looking behind him; rather, he seemed to be watching the wallet and papers he’d removed from his back pocket that were now lying on the bench.

Mr. Matheson gave a couple of soft pats, then the paddle came back part way, and moved forward again like a pendulum, not quite making contact this time. A bit further, before swinging back in, then nearly shoulder height and BAM! The swat echoed through the large locker room. Robby’s knuckles went white and his head came up, as his back arched down. He grunted just a bit, but I doubt if any of the boys had heard it. After a second, he took a deep breath, then forced himself back into position.

I’ve already said I don’t really like this position nearly as well as a ‘real’ spanking. There is, however, one thing it has going for it major league: the boy has to be a willing participant. Oh, he might not want to be there, but I wonder how many of them realize that they could just walk away. This isn’t a case of them being held down, like in a spanking. This is a case of them keeping themselves in place. School paddlings occur through a boy’s self-discipline, because he’s submitting himself to authority. I sometimes wonder if that, more than the pain, corrects the kid’s behavior.

Whatever the reason, Robby did return to the proper position. As soon as he did, Mr. Matheson began winding up for the next swat, and I glanced around for a minute. So I wouldn’t alert anyone who might be doing something they shouldn’t have been doing, I started by looking over my shoulder, and looked right at James Yount looking over his.

James’s eyes went wide, but I just signaled for him to turn around. Looking nervous, he did. I took a quick glance at the rest of the class, but if anyone else had been watching, they’d seen me catch James, and were looking away before I noticed them.

The second swat landed, with just as much force. Robby reacted much the same, though the grunt was louder; but this time when I saw his face, it was clenched and he was breathing heavily. I’m pretty sure he was really trying not to humiliate himself in front of the gym class, but this paddling might have been testing his limits.

I glanced quickly around the locker room again, but this time, no one seemed interested in the show. I turned back just in time to catch the last of Mr. Matheson’s wind up, then a third time, the board popped against the boy. This time Robby came up straight, grabbing his butt and rubbing hard through his jeans. He’d not even grunted this time, but his jaw was clenched so hard, it must have been nearly as sore as his rear. His eyes were damp, and maybe a little red, but he wasn’t crying. I gave him a nod of respect. I’d seen football players reduced to a bit of sobbing from a workout with Mr. M., and Robby had taken it really well.



After Mr. Matheson had escorted Robby back to class, I told my guys they could carry on. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, a whole group came bustling from the showers and headed towards the towels. One little fellow was so far in front, I half wondered if he’d taken in the show. No way to prove it if he had, and I certainly couldn’t blame him for it. Almost as soon as those boys were out of the shower, a small group was passing them on the way in. A larger group was right behind them, having had to pause to doff their briefs. I was watching them as I walked, but they weren’t my center of interest.

James Yount was pressed up against the lockers like he was looking for something in the very back of his. James was wearing only a red t-shirt that was a bit small on him, and a snug pair of briefs that hugged a very nice bottom.

James was a pretty good-looking kid, but not in a way that attracted the girls. He was big for his age, though that was only 5’1" when he’d started school a few weeks before. When I’d weighed everyone in during the first week, James had been 109 pounds, which was a little heavy for his height, but he was big boned and the weight was spread evenly, so it just gave him a pleasant, slightly soft look. He was big enough that I’d checked to see if he’d been held back. He hadn’t, but he had a 2 September birthday, which meant he was probably the oldest kid in his grade who hadn’t flunked. His body wasn’t the only big thing. The boy was still hairless, but he was definitely well into puberty, and I’d guess he was hanging a fairly thick four inches or so, based on seeing him going to the showers.

James had long, medium to dark brown hair. I think he must have spent a lot of time outside during the summer because it seemed to be slowly darkening as the school year progressed. He wore it in bangs, casually pushed to the sides, that usually fell down almost to his eyes. It was somewhat short on the sides, just feathering over the top of each ear, but brushed the collar of his t-shirt in back. I guess it was a proto-mullet, but it did look good on him, especially with his face, which was round, though not enough to say he had chipmunk cheeks. His chin was rather non-descript, just a round spot at the bottom of his face, but his full, almost pouty lips drew attention away from it. His nose was thin and straight and almost too small for his face.

To me, he was nice looking, and I thought he’d be a really handsome adult. There was something about the way he talked or moved or held himself that just screamed dork, though; and I knew he was picked on a bit, though it didn’t seem to bother him. Mostly, he was quiet and seemed self-contained. That’s how he was in math, and with the school year having started not long ago, I’d not really had a chance to get to know him, but he was definitely in my ‘okay kid’ column for now.

Which didn’t keep us from having a problem.

"James?"

He glanced at me just long enough for me to see he was blushing, before turning back to his locker.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled nervously.

"Turn around and look at me, James."

He went a darker red, but did as he was told, revealing a massive tent pole in his jockeys that made me revise my guess upwards an inch or so.

It only took me a second to realize why he’d been searching his locker so diligently. I didn’t intend to let him get away with disobeying, but I saw no need to humiliate him either; especially not over a reaction with which I could empathize so deeply (and was the reason I wore long Polo shirts for coaching, rather than tees).

"Put your gym shorts back on, please. I think I left my clipboard on the bleachers outside. Could you go look for it? I’ll write you a tardy pass if you need one."

The boy sagged in relief. "Yes, sir," he assured me, even as he was yanking his shorts back on and heading towards the outside door.



A few minutes went by while James hunted for my clipboard. In the meantime, the last few boys wandered into the shower, while most of the class was dressing and heading out to the gym to wait for the bell. I casually walked over to the door, glancing out to make sure that Ms. Gorham (who had reportedly been scheduled to compete in the 1980 Olympics on the Men’s Weight Lifting team) was there to watch the kids. As soon as that was confirmed, I turned back to the locker room.

"C’mon guys. No tardy passes. Get moving."

It seemed like the same two or three boys were always last out. I was never sure if they were shy and wanted to delay things or if they were related to sloths. Either way, I’d chivvied them into their clothes and out to the gym, and the last couple of boys were leaving, talking about some TV show they’d watched the night before by the time James came back.

"I couldn’t find it, Mr. Wells."

"Sorry, James. I’d put it down in the office and forgot."

He shrugged his shoulders and started towards his locker, but went stiff when I continued.

"Not so fast. I think we have something else to discuss, don’t we?"

His shrug was eloquent, letting me know he would be more than happy to spare me the effort, but he still came over to me.

"Did you know the boy getting paddled?"

James shook his head.

"Did you see much of it?"

The same response.

"Just the first swat?"

He went to shake again, but then must have realized there wasn’t much purpose in denying it, so nodded. I glanced down at his gym shorts, and he started to blush again. Either he’d not lost it all the way, or he found even oblique references to the paddle exciting. Either way, I looked back into his eyes, but he couldn’t meet mine and glanced away.

"Can you guess why he got paddled, Yount?"

His head shook, then he added, "No, sir."

"He got paddled because he couldn’t follow directions. Which way were you supposed to be looking?"

He pointed behind him, towards the showers.

"Is that the way you were looking"

"No, sir," he choked out through a throat nearly blocked by nerves and tears.

"So you weren’t following directions either. What do you think is going to happen to you?"

"You’re going to paddle me?" he squeaked, barely able to force it out.

"You’ve obviously seen the position," I said, pointing towards the bench.

Without having to be told anything more, James stepped up to the bench and started to bend over. I took a second to correct his stance, so his legs were a bit closer to the bench and further from each other.

James’s gym shorts weren’t too tight, but with him bent over like that, they snugged across his rear, and I could easily make out the leg bands of his briefs. I reached inside the coach’s office, picked up the paddle (a much lighter one than Mr. Matheson had used on Robby), and lined up behind James.

I’d already decided the boy was only getting two swats, and I wasn’t planning to swing for a homer, either. I could well understand his desire to look and felt a little bad for paddling him for something that I’d been tempted to do at his age. Still, I had my reasons, and I planned to explain them to him, once we’d got his terror out of the way.

The first swat cracked down across the middle of his rear. I’d chosen a lighter paddle so I could give him a full swing, which should sting like crazy, without having to worry about bruises. I think I’d made a good choice, because the crack of the paddle didn’t get a chance to echo, since it was drowned out by his yelp. James started to come up, but I put my hand in the small of his back and gave a light push.

"Stay down, James, and keep your hands on the bench."

He forced himself back into position, though, through my hand I could tell he was either breathing heavily or maybe lightly sobbing. As soon as he was back down, I lined up for the second stroke. This one was going to be the capper. The paddle wasn’t very wide, maybe three inches, but I was aiming the middle of it towards the so blatant leg bands, meaning this swat would be burning his sit spots.

It must have been effective because he nearly howled this time and was obviously sobbing. I laid the paddle down next to him, so he’d know we were through.

"Okay, Yount, you can stand up."

He very carefully came to his feet and started to reach for his bottom. I’m not sure if he thought it would hurt worse if he touched it, or if he was afraid his hands would catch fire. Either way, it took him a long moment before he finally grabbed his cheeks and started to gingerly rub them.

"Look at me."

The boy slowly turned, but was more interested in my sneakers than anything else.

"Up here, Yount."

He reluctantly lifted his tear stained face. He wasn’t quite crying, but the tears were still flowing and he was definitely sniffling and sniveling.

"Haven’t you ever been paddled in school before?"

He shook his head.

"At home?"

"Dad spanks me sometimes, but just with his hand."

I nodded. Though I’d used a light paddle, getting it on gym shorts was not how you wanted to get your first hard punishment.

"James," his eyes went wide at my use of his first name, "I want you to understand something. I didn’t paddle you because you were watching the other boy get it. I didn’t paddle you for any reaction you had to that paddling." His face was already flushed, but he went an even deeper shade of red when I referred to his hard-on. "I paddled you for not following directions. Something you have to understand, and it becomes more important as you get older, is that a lot of times you can do what you want and get away with it; but if you keep breaking the rules, keep not following directions, sooner or later you’ll get caught, and then things are out of your control."

"Do you understand that?" I continued. "If someone speeds, they might get away with it ninety-nine times in a row, but they have no right to complain if they get ticketed the next time. That’s the bet they’re making. For whatever reason, you wanted to see that kid get paddled. You might have another fifty chances to watch someone get paddled in here this year, but you have to decide if you want to bet on not getting caught. If you don’t want to accept the penalty, don’t risk it. Okay?"

He’d been listening closely to me and had mostly settled down. Using the tail of his t-shirt, he’d wiped at his face, getting most of the mess. As I finished, he nodded.

"I understand, Mr. Wells. Thanks."

"For what?"

"For explaining it. Most the time a guy gets in trouble, people just yell about it. They don’t really tell you why they’re mad."

I nodded. I hate to admit that, but he’s probably right. "Well, you’re welcome, then. Now," I continued, glancing at my watch, "you have about four minutes ‘til the bell rings. Go get showered, and I’ll write you a tardy pass."

James turned towards his locker, not walking stiffly, but a bit more carefully than normal. As soon as he reached it, he ditched his t-shirt, then started to drop his shorts. He stopped suddenly and stood back up. Apparently he was still a bit tender for quick, deep bending. I watched him kick off his gym shoes, then take a deep breath, before carefully lifting each foot to remove his socks, and kneeling down to remove gym shorts and briefs in a bundle. As he separated them, I helped myself to a long look.

Like I said before, James had a pleasantly padded look—not quite chubby, but full. I’m sure I’d noticed him before, but now he was alone and I was watching closely. His bottom was full, with plenty of backwards arch and a bit to the sides with only slight dimples. It would have been pleasant on any occasion, but now it was perfect, with two very distinct, dark red lines across it. The two lines were each the exact width of the paddle, only losing the clear, deep red to either hip. They were separated by about an inch of white space between, which just made the scene hotter to me for some reason, than if his rear had been solid red.

Not wanting to be caught staring, I’d already stepped into my office and watched as I grabbed a note pad. I had a pen in my hand, but anyone else in the room wouldn’t have thought for a second that I was writing. After putting his dirty stuff into his gym bag, James looked around behind him for a second then headed towards the showers. I’m not sure if he was thinking about Robby getting paddled again, or if he’d found something else stimulating, but he was definitely sporting wood on his way to the showers. From my angle, the hard boy flesh preceding him, and the red boy flesh behind him had me wishing I had time for a cold shower before my next class… or something.

James did take a long time in the shower, and I stuck my head far enough in to tell him that the bell had rung. The idea of the next class coming in must have made him nervous, because it didn’t take long after that for him to be out and drying himself. I was changing out the towel hampers and so had a perfect view of the boy coming out of the showers. His front had relaxed, but the shower hadn’t flushed his cheeks enough to hide the paddle marks.

Hurrying over to his locker, James managed to get his briefs on before the first kids came in, but a bit of that red line was still visible below them. He took a bit of ribbing, but it only took six words to stop that in it’s tracks. "Do you want to be next?" I asked the room in general, and every boy there was suddenly stripping down in quiet.

James was dressed before the tardy bell rang and came to me. I took the note from my shirt pocket and handed it to him. He started to leave, but I put a hand on his shoulder, and he turned back to me.

"Next time, try to be a little more discreet, okay?"



Mr. Matheson was the only teacher who regularly brought students to the gym for paddling. I guess he was just old-fashioned. The other male teachers near the gym didn’t mind getting one of our female co-workers to bear witness. When my students were the ones in trouble, I would normally wait until the very end of class to hand out any licks. Between those two factors, poor James didn’t have much of a chance to practice my advice. It turns out, he had taken it to heart, though.

It was sometime early in the spring semester, when Mr. Matheson brought another student to me. He wasn’t someone I knew and wasn’t particularly good looking, except in the generic way that most adolescent boys are for me. Still, I was hardly going to turn Mr. M away.

As soon as I had my boys facing towards the shower, Mr. Matheson brought his student in. The boy was dressed very nicely for some reason, and I felt a bit sorry for him. His Hagar dress slacks were probably as thin, maybe thinner, than the gym shorts my boys wore. While Mr. Matheson selected a paddle, I had the boy empty his back pockets and untuck.

Mr. Matheson returned and took charge, quickly getting the boy into position, then flipping his shirttail up, revealing a lean back and just a hint of the waistband of his Fruit of the Looms.

The paddle pulled back and cracked down, once, twice, three times. I’d been right; even with jeans, those would have been scorchers. The boy hadn’t been able to take them quietly, but he didn’t embarrass himself, either. His face was pretty wet, so I handed him a clean towel, and he wiped his tears before letting Mr. Matheson escort him out.

As soon as they were gone, I told everyone to get moving again. Mr. M had come a bit later in the period and most of the boys were already dressed. My eyes went back to James, who was naked, and holding his towel in front of him as he stood, right up against his locker, drying around his face. There were a few boys around him, but one of them slipped out of his jockeys and rushed for the shower, while the other two grabbed their gym bags and left.

With him standing alone like that, I was able to walk over, admiring his rear, even though it was pristine white right then. In the few months since I’d decorated his bottom, he’d grown a bit and was a little skinnier, but his rear was still pleasant and full.

"James," I said, letting it linger. He jumped a bit and looked up at me.

"Hi, Coach," he replied. Then looked around. As soon as he was sure no one was near, he added in a quiet voice, "I didn’t turn around this time."

"I know you didn’t. Step aside, please."

"What?"

"Step aside," I repeated, a bit more firmly.

"Coach," James said in a worried voice. When I just glared at him, he sighed, then stepped aside.

Since we’d gone through it before, I’d made sure to check him this time, waiting until the second swat had landed to look behind me. He’d been staring right into his locker, but something had caught my eye. Looking into his locker, I lifted his t-shirt and saw just what I’d expected: a small mirror, designed mostly for women’s purses. I carried one myself for when I had contact problems. I lifted it, then sat it down and covered it back up.

"Good idea. I only noticed it because it caught the light."

I looked at him and realized he was still naked, though dry now. His towel looked like a magic trick, since it was levitating in the center.

"Get dressed."

"You’re not going to paddle me?"

"Nope. You were following instructions. The letter of them, anyway. Just because I don’t, doesn’t mean someone else won’t, and don’t forget to be careful of the other kids, or you might get a bad rep."

James just stood there with his jaw hanging open until I finally handed him his briefs. He jumped, then quickly started to dress.



James was really a pretty good kid, and he didn’t give me an excuse, much less a real reason, to paddle him again that year. The next year I didn’t have him in any classes. I’d still see him in the hall occasionally, and that was enough to make me wonder if his woody had just been for thoughts of Robby’s paddling, or had been for his own. If they had been for his own, wouldn’t he have gotten in trouble again? I was never sure, but it was nice to think about.

Even though I didn’t have him in class that next year, I did finally see him again when he wasn’t walking between classes. It was fairly early one rainy fall morning. I’d carried my stuff up to my room and was walking to the A/V room to get a projector for the day, when I heard some voices. The voices weren’t teachers and kids weren’t supposed to be upstairs before 8am unless they were going to see a teacher. That was enough for me to investigate. When I came around the corner, I saw someone at the next corner, looking around it. I saw enough of him to recognize him and called out, "Yount!"

Both boys jumped and turned. James was pale faced to find me walking towards him. Looking up, the other, smaller boy suddenly looked just as worried.

The smaller boy was leaner than James, and had a firmer jaw, but there really was only one conclusion.

"Is this your little brother?"

James nodded, then added, "Yes, sir. He’s Jason."

"Do you boys have a reason for being up here?"

You could tell they were searching desperately for a good one, but James saw me getting impatient and finally answered, "No."

"Well, since my room’s not far from here, we can go there to handle this. Unless you’d prefer the office."

They both rushed to assure me that my room was a perfectly acceptable alternative.

Once there, I leaned up against my desk and stared.

"You know you’re not supposed to be up here before eight?"

They nodded.

"And you just came up here to play around?’

Another set of nods.

"James, can you tell your brother what happens to boys I catch not following instructions?"

"They get paddled," he responded, very quietly, and with a small catch in his voice.

I led the two of them over to my cabinet and unlocked it. Opening the door, I revealed the five paddles. And turned in time to see James’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Jason suddenly looked a little green and his eyes were wide, and maybe a little damp.

"Turn around for a second, Jason."

He did, and I reached for the number two paddle. He wasn’t especially small or skinny, and I thought it would do just fine. The number one paddle was actually only for kids that were very small. Numbers two, three, and four were for sixth, seventh, and eighth graders. The last paddle was the scariest looking and reserved only for the biggest (or worst) offenders.

With James, it wasn’t hard to decide on the number three. I handed it to them, then led them both back to my desk.

"James, help your brother get into position, please."

I doubt his little brother noticed, but, even as Jason started to empty his back pockets, at James instruction, I realized James had a rock hard stiffy. I watched as James helped the younger boy get his feet just right. Then James put his hand about where Jason’s belt buckle would be and gently pushed the boy forward. They had to adjust a bit, but James came pretty close to perfect on the first try.

I stepped up and lined the paddle. Slowly and with obvious reluctance, James started to turn away, but I stopped him. His eyes went wide. I leaned towards him. "Can you keep it secret?"

He opened his mouth but nothing came out, and he finally just nodded.

Jason yelped as the first swat blazed across his rear and nearly howled as the second one landed. As soon as I’d landed the second swat, I glanced up at James, who was still holding the paddle and obviously excited, and gestured for him to turn around. Jason wasn’t quite sobbing, but was breathing hard as I told him he could stand. As soon as he was on his feet (and rubbing hard), I had him and James trade places.

Before giving the first swat, I leaned down and whispered to the boy that I wasn’t going to take it easy on him, but for him to try to grit it out since his little brother was right there. He’d put himself in the perfect position he’d missed with his little brother. He did yelp with the second swat, but took the first quietly. He was breathing a bit heavy, but his eyes were mostly dry when he stood.

With a reminder of where they were and weren’t allowed to be outside of normal hours, I sent the two of them out. I put the paddles back and was about to make another try for my projector, when my door opened again.

"I left my comb," James said, sticking his head inside.

I gestured towards my desk.

"I did it on purpose ‘cause I wanted to talk to you without him here. How come you let me watch?"

I had to think for a minute to come up with an honest answer that wouldn’t give away anything I didn’t want it to.

"I guess because, when I was your age, I would have wanted to."

"Did you ever get to?" he asked.

"No. The only time I got paddled in middle school, it was just a coach and one other boy. He had us where he could watch us while he did it, so I never had the chance. Anyway, he’s your brother. Haven’t you ever seen him spanked?"

"No. Dad doesn’t spank us a lot, and when he does, it’s always in our rooms, even if we get in trouble together. Besides, Dad doesn‘t makes us lay down on his legs. He doesn’t do it like this."

"Is this better?"

James blushed, but nodded.

I wanted to pump for details, both on how his dad spanked and why he thought this was better, but really did have to get ready for class, so hoped for a time to do it later. James grabbed his comb and walked beside me as I left my room.

"Hey, coach?"

"Yeah, James?" I replied as he turned to go downstairs.

"Thanks again. You’re pretty cool… for a teacher."

"Yeah? Watch it guy, or I’ll find a reason to heat you up again."

He was smiling as he turned away, but never did give me another chance to do it.





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