Raymond: Temperature Rising

After Mom married Ralph, we finally got a house. It was the second house on our block of five, and they all had kids, which was even better. The families to either side of us were not just both Chicano, but cousins. While I was never close friends with the kids on the corner, I got to know the family on the other side of us pretty well.

They had four kids, two of each. The oldest was a girl, and she was several years older than me. I don't remember much about her at all. The next two were the boys, Freddy and Raymond, who were one and four years younger than me. The youngest girl was about six years younger than me.

When we first moved there, it was the summer before I started fourth grade. I didn't become really close to Freddy and Raymond because there were two kids my age that lived just down the street, and several other kids about the around our age. On the other hand, they were my next-door neighbors, so we spent a fair amount of time playing. Freddy and I had one of those tempestuous relationships in which you could never tell if you were friends or enemies; but with boredom as a prod, we often ended up playing together and could get along for long periods at times.

With Raymond, things were a bit different, though. While Freddy and I mostly played when we happened to see each other during a boring period, Raymond would seek me out. While playing with a kid who was three-and-a-half years younger than me wasn't my favorite thing, there were lots of times when it was raining too hard to go further than next door or when my friends were all out of town at the same time (Christmas and Thanksgiving were the big ones). In those cases, Raymond and I would often spread out on my bedroom floor to play Sorry or Aggravation, or some kid's game I had left over from when I was his age.

Like ours, their house was a four bedroom, but theirs was a little more crowded. Because of the age difference, the two girls had their own rooms, while Freddy and Raymond had to share. They really didn't seem to mind too much, though.

Unfortunately, all the houses in that neighborhood were built with one thing in common—the garages were all on the right side as you faced the house. That meant that my room didn't look into another boy's room. I knew that Freddy and Raymond got spanked. Even if you didn't just assume that every boy back then and there got spanked, Raymond had even shown me the paddle their dad used (their mom used a hairbrush on Freddy, which made me cringe, thinking of Jeff and Brian, until Freddy explained she just used the back).



By November of 1976, I'd known Freddy and Raymond for over two years, but had never seen or heard them spanked. I'd seen Raymond in his briefs one time when I went over there late for some reason and he was just getting out of the bath, but I'd never seen Freddy that way. Of course, at that time I was still in the very early stages of adolescence and hadn't gotten into the habits of playing strip poker with every boy I could talk into it or trying to weasel spanking details from them.

It was during one of the last pee wee football games of the season that Freddy broke his leg. It was a pretty bad break, and he had to spend some time at the hospital in traction. Because the two daughters both went to different schools from us boys (big sis was in high school, and since Woods didn't have a kindergarten, little sis had to go to Street), Raymond didn't have anyone to take him, but I was happy to do it when asked.

I remember that morning was clear and crisp, but not really cold. It was the kind of weather I love, the kind that wasn't too horrible to play in, but that made you appreciate going inside for a cup of hot chocolate.

I liked to leave for school a little early in the mornings, both so that I could enjoy the walk, stopping along the way to look at something or say hello to a friend, and so that I could get there early enough to catch up with everyone before class. Raymond fell into the pattern with me easily enough.

Raymond actually seemed to enjoy the walks with me, even when it was a little cool. I suppose a lot of it was that I didn't treat him like a brother. Raymond was the same age as my half-sister, but he seemed to be okay as far as I could tell. On the other hand, his brother seemed to treat him with ill-concealed impatience or outright hostility as often as tolerance or even fondness. Of course, I wasn't the one having to share a room with him, and the room the two of them had together wasn't any bigger than the one I had to myself.

Normally, when I went over and rang, Raymond was awaiting me. That morning, his younger sister opened the door.

"Hi, Jackie," she smiled at me. She always smiled at me, but this time, her smile seemed a little predatory. "Raymond's in his bedroom." She paused and looked over her shoulder, before leaning forward to whisper, "I think he's in trouble."

She stepped back to let me in, right as a car pulled into the driveway. Seeing it, she stepped back and called over her shoulder, "Mama! My ride's here." Even as she was calling out, she grabbed her Snow White lunch pail and went running out the door.

Stepping aside, I shut the door, laid my reading book and Marvel Super Heroes lunch box on the coffee table, and went back to see if Raymond was going to be coming.

The Martinez's house was laid out a bit differently from ours, but not a lot. The biggest difference was that all three of the kids’ bedrooms were laid out along a short hallway, just off the living room, putting them at the side of the house, not the front, like ours. Raymond and Freddy shared the first room. Since his door was open, I went on in.

Hey, Raym..." My voice caught in my throat for a second. He started to look up, then winced and fell back on his face. That was okay with me. He was a beautiful sight right then, and I didn't want him to ruin it.

Which isn't to say that Raymond wasn't always good looking; he certainly was a cute kid. He was pure Chicano; a little heavy set without being even the slightest bit chubby. Of course he had shiny black hair and dark brown eyes, but his skin was a good, rich, walnut-y shade of brown as well—dark, but not too dark. His cheeks were a little too round for my tastes, but there was certainly nothing wrong with his features, though his lips gave him a slightly pouty look whenever he wasn't in a good mood.

No, he was always good looking; it's just that, lying on his belly with his shirt rucked up his back, pants and briefs yanked down to his knees, and a little piece of glass sticking out of his rear end, he looked especially wonderful.

"You can't hold a thermometer in your mouth yet?" I inquired with no tact whatsoever.

He'd buried his face in his pillow when he realized it was me, but looked up to answer. "Yes, but I wanted to stay home today. Mom was taking my temperature, and she caught me holding it up to a light bulb to make it hotter. Now she's doing it this way, so I can't cheat."

"And you'd better hope you have a real one, meester!"

Turning, I saw Mrs. Martinez had entered the room behind me.

"Hello, Jackie," she said. Unlike her kids, while she had a great vocabulary, she still had a heavy accent, and my name always came out sounding almost French-- Zhaky. That's okay. She was still a lot better than her husband, whose English was barely understandable at the best of times.

"I hope you are not in a hurry this morning," she added.

I just shook my head, glancing at the clock to make sure we had plenty of time. Mrs. Martinez was formidable, and I didn't want to be the one to tell her no. Are you familiar with 'peasant women'—women who are big and heavy, but not actually fat; women who'd look perfectly at home behind a plow? Now I'll admit that I was only eleven-years-old at the time—big for eleven, but not huge; but to me, Mrs. M. looked as if she'd be at home in front of a plow. I knew she drove the kindergarten kids every other day, but this morning, she was still in a house coat and slippers, which did nothing to make her look any softer.

Stepping past me, barely even waiting for my agreement, she stepped over where Raymond could see her. I didn't notice it until she reached for it, but there was a thin, wooden stick jutting out of the pocket of her robe. It turned out to be a wooden spoon. Since I didn't think she was planning to cook stew in there, I had an unpleasant idea what it was meant for. The thing was certainly vicious looking enough: it was nearly as long as a ruler, and while one side was slightly depressed, the back looked nearly flat. To top it all off, every school kid knew how much worse holes made a paddle, and this thing had three slots down the business end. I wonder if slots are better or worse than holes. Since I wasn't the one in trouble, maybe this wouldn't be so unpleasant after all. At least, not for me.

"You'd better hope you have a temperature for real, mi’jo," she said, waving the spoon in Raymond's direction. Latinos have a hard time going white from fear, but he was managing a good job of it with that spoon under his nose. "If you don't have one, I'll start one for you." Even with him lying down like that, I could see him gulp.

Sitting the spoon on the dresser that stood between his bed and Freddy's, she sat down next to him, gave his upper leg a pat that seemed almost affectionate, especially in the circumstances, then spread his cheeks, and removed the thermometer. He gasped as it slid out of his little, pink hole, but she ignored him and held it up to the overhead light as Raymond twisted around to see. Leaning forward, she put the thermometer across it's holder, then stood, reaching for Raymond at the same time.

"I have bad news for you, nino, you don't have a temperature. Yet!"

Even as she said it, she grabbed him by the upper arm and yanked him from the bed. He came straight up, trying to grab his pants and briefs and jerk his arm away from her at the same time, and didn't manage either one. She somehow spun him around, sat back down, changed her grip on him, then gave his arm another jerk and ended with him laying back down, just over her lap this time. She grabbed the spoon with her left hand, transferred it to her right, lifted it like a conductor with his baton, then looked back at me, who was standing there, wide-eyed and impressed with her control and management.

"Jackie, if you'll wait in the living room, Raymond will be ready to go in a couple of minutes. You still have time to wait?"

I glanced at the clock, agreed that I did, and didn't even think of telling her that I'd much rather wait there. She seemed like the type of mother who'd be happy to give a smart-mouthed little gringo his own taste of that spoon. Soaking in as much detail as I could of the cute, bare bottomed boy who was jackknifed over his mommy's lap, I backed out of the door. Mrs. M. took it for granted that I was obeying her, and that spoon cracked down before I turned away.

WAIT! Mrs. M. had turned away from the door. Raymond was facing away from the door. Very carefully, I stepped across the hall, then inched to where I had a great view of the proceedings. I couldn't see Raymond's upper body past the voluminous sleeve of his mom's house coat, but I could see his little bottom gyrating around as it quickly reddened, and watch his legs as the kicked and jerked and pumped like he was trying to learn a new way to run.

Raymond was only eight and barely that. He'd yelped with the first crack of the spoon and didn't seem to even be trying to take it bravely. Not that I blamed him. That spoon was falling hard and fast—so fast it sounded nearly like a very long string of odd firecrackers, with an almost constant crack! crack! crack! It didn't take many cracks for yelps to be sobs, then cries, then one long, piercing shriek of an owie.

I have to admit I was so entranced by the show that I didn't ever realize my own reaction, until I felt a pain in my pants and had to adjust before I got a broken boner. Suddenly, just as quickly as it had began, it stopped. It hadn't even been the couple of minutes she'd said it would be. My own mother was slightly taller than Mrs. M, but appeared almost dainty beside her. Suddenly I wondered if my own hours-long sessions over my mother's lap with her damned flyswatter were actually like this, and then it occurred to me to wonder if that's how I looked during them. I quickly put the thought from my mind as Mrs. Martinez dropped the spoon and helped the bawling boy to his feet, and just as quickly stepped on down the hall.

It wasn't thirty seconds later, with me standing in front of the TV, watching Slam Bang Theater introduce another Merry Melodie, that Raymond was escorted into the living room by his mom. He was trying to get his pants up and wipe his face as his mom pushed him along.

I think his jeans and jockeys had already been tangled from being pulled down for the thermometer and all his kicking and leg-waving hadn't helped at all. I just stood there, watching while he tried to untangle the mess, while his mom went into the kitchen. He finally got the briefs loose and stood to pull them up. That's the first time I realized what my body was doing. Here's this little boy with a tiny dinky and a sack so small and tight you couldn't even tell there were two balls in it. With something to compare it to, I suddenly felt proud of more than my height.

Raymond was still bawling, but it was easy to see the wince as he pulled his briefs over his bottom. It was just as easy to see his reluctance to pull his jeans into place. I don't know if he'd been embarrassed to be bare in front of me or if he'd just not realized how much the thin cotton would sting when it rubbed his sore cheeks, but he now stood there with only jeans below his knees, still looking incredibly cute, even though I felt sorry for him.

"Jacky doesn't want to wait on you, Raymond. Get dressed!"

The poor kid jumped, but carefully pulled his jeans up, moaning as he fastened the tight denim over his swollen little bottom.

Mrs. M. marched up behind him and handed him his jacket. She waited while he shrugged into it, then gave him a damp paper towel and handed him his Super Friends lunch box (hey, there was a reason we got along). To me, she handed a dry paper towel, saying he'd need it in a minute. With him still crying, she pushed us both towards the door. I grabbed my stuff and, with him still crying hard, but not as loud as he'd been, we left.



As soon as we were away from the door, I switched my book and lunch box to the same hand and draped the other around Raymond. He jerked away and gave me an angry look, like I'd snitched on him or something, so I just walked along quietly. After all, I can understand not being in the best mood after a spanking like that, especially not when somebody got to hear it and especially, especially not when you were still crying. After a minute, though, Raymond stepped back and bumped up against me, so I put my hand back up and he leaned against me as we walked the few blocks to the entrance to the trails.

Even with Texas weather, the trees were mostly leafless by that time of year, but they were still thick enough that you couldn't see more than glimpses of houses. Where we changed trails to head for school, we were at the part that was furthest from any of the houses. I pointed Raymond over to the old lean-to that was half falling over, telling him, "I gotta pee."

Walking over, I put my stuff down and let it out against the wall. The weather was cool enough to see steam coming off the stream. Raymond quickly joined me, and we tried to merge streams for a moment. His crying had stopped a couple of blocks before, but that brought a quick laugh to him.

Cautiously I asked, "Does it still hurt?"

"Yes!" he informed me, his tone making it clear I may as well have asked if water was still wet.

"Did you rub it? That always helps?"

He just shook his head.

"You want me to rub it for you?"

His eyes went wide, but he slowly nodded. I smiled and he smiled back at me. I fastened my fly, stepped around him, then knelt down in the sparse grass and pulled his jeans, then his briefs down enough to see his bottom. It was certainly a sight. Not bruised, but still very red in several different shades. I started to rub and guessed that the different shades of red largely came from the slots on that spoon. There were even a few places where I could feel small welts in groups of three.

After a moment of lightly rubbing his bottom as I examined it closely, I took his hips and turned him so he was facing me. Then I reached around with both hands and began to rub a bit more vigorously. He gasped and stiffened for a minute, then sighed, before almost starting to purr. He placed one arm around my shoulder and laid his chin on the other, resting against me as I continued to enjoy the feel of his hot, leathery, but still soft cheeks.

I'm not sure how long we stayed like that, but after a while, he shivered as a breeze kicked up. Feeling him shake against me broke the spell, and I glanced at my watch.

"You want another spanking today?"

"No way!" he assured me. I'd expected that to be his answer.

"Then we'd better take off before we're late."

He obviously didn't want to move, but still let me push him away. He started to bend over, but I stopped him and fastened his clothes for him. He smiled, then laughed at that.

As soon as his pants were fastened, we grabbed our stuff and took off. We were walking a bit faster, but far from running, so I was a bit surprised that, though he was obviously shooting me an occasional glance, he didn't say anything. Then, only a block before the school, he finally shared what had been on his mind.

"Do you still get spanked, Jackie?"

"Yeah, sometimes. Why?"

"Tell me next time you get one, and I'll rub your bottom."

I didn't laugh, but couldn't help smiling. "You got a deal, buddy."





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