The Walk
Staring Charlie and the Whole Family
7 April was a beautiful day in 2004— perfect spring weather. I remember the date so exactly because it was Mikell’s birthday. I’d called to make sure his present had arrived on time, and he’d surprised me by announcing he was coming home for the weekend.
The smell of simmering spaghetti sauce was wafting around the house, carried by the fresh breeze allowed in through open windows, but I couldn’t really smell it. I’d had to leave the kitchen to Tommy, so I could deal with one of his little brothers.
I didn’t know it at the time, but it was less than two weeks before the twins would move back in with us. Corey and Barry were both living with their mom at that time. Huck lived with his mom, too, but was mostly at my house until she got home from work. That evening, Aaron — my little brother who lived with us — was at the library working on his senior thesis, so it was me and Huck, Tommy, Bobby, Cal, and Charlie — my problem child, who was trying to live up to his reputation.
Charlie is not a great looking boy, but he’s far from ugly. He’s just an average Joe— dark brown hair and eyes, no feature that really jumps out at you. He tans a lot better than I do, but, by the end of winter, he’s pretty pale again. He’s pleasant to look at but nothing really unusual.
Back then, Charlie wore his hair a little long in a modified bowl cut. I made him keep his bangs trimmed up so they weren’t constantly falling into his eyes, but it was longer on the side— covering half his ears when he didn’t have it pushed back, and hanging nearly to the bottom of his collar in back. It was an unusual look, but it worked for him. It was after school and a warm afternoon, so he’d changed into his preferred blue jean shorts and a huge, baggy t-shirt. He was barefoot but still had on the metal ball necklace and matching earring he wore back then.
Charlie is normally full of energy and enthusiasm but now was just nervous as he held his shirt up, watching me undo the fly on his jeans. They were so baggy that, as soon as I had the fly opened, they fell to his ankles. Charlie already knew they’d come off quick so had developed the habit of kicking them off as soon as they hit the ground.
Charlie wasn’t a real early bloomer, but, looking back, I think he was entering stage 3 of puberty right about then. He’d been pretty skinny when he moved in with me but had been putting on a bit of weight, probably getting ready for a growth spurt. It’s hard to tell when you see someone on a very regular basis, but I’m sure his penis and balls had grown a bit, just in the last three months (and believe me, I was pulling Charlie’s underwear down on a very regular basis at that time). His legs were still smooth, but I thought I’d noticed a few wisps of hair under his arms just a few days before.
Charlie kept his shirt up as I grabbed his hated briefs, but winced as I started to slide them down, and it wasn’t from modesty.
"Please, Jack! I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Please don’t spank me."
I looked up from the boy’s package, as cute as it was, with that thin little patch of hair that was just starting to curl.
"Charles Fletcher, if you don’t want to get spanked, you have to learn that rules aren’t suggestions. If you don’t want a spanking, just follow them."
"I’m really sorry. I was going to do my chores and homework…."
"That doesn’t matter, Charlie. What matters is that you come home from school, you can get a snack and change clothes, but then you do your homework. When your homework’s done, you can take a break before you do your chores, but not an hour. And not before your homework’s done. You know that. We went over that last week. And that’s why you were playing with Cal’s game instead of your own— because I took yours for not following the rules last week. Now, can you give me one reason you don’t deserve a spanking? And not just that you don’t want one."
Charlie stays in good shape with all his skating, and most of the extra, pre-growth spurt weight had spread out. He was standing there with his shirt held up, exposing a rather firm belly that had just a hint of extra fat, and his briefs were down enough to expose him, but still covering part of his bottom in the back. He looked helpless and pitiful, and I wanted to just cuddle him and let him off with a warning; but he and I both knew that warnings didn’t do any good with him.
I waited for a few moments before finally prompting him. "Charlie?"
"No, sir," he admitted in a piteous sigh.
I nodded, then reached back up and finished sliding his briefs down and he kicked them off to land next to his shorts. He watch while I moved to his spanking place, then I nodded at him.
We’d learned almost as soon as Charlie moved in that I can’t spank him in a normal, over the knee position. It’s not that he means to fight me as much as he just loses control. The fact that he was about 5’ tall made things a little harder, but we figured something out. Instead of the spanking chair, I sat on the arm of the couch, with my left leg along it and my right on the floor.
While I took my place there, the half-naked boy, still holding his shirt up, walked across the room to my desk, opened the paddle drawer, and removed Red. It didn’t take him long— for some reason, his paddle was right at the top. I saw his shoulders move up and down in a sigh as he took the paddle, then turned to bring it back to me. It was almost funny, because he was watching the paddle closely, like he thought it might sting him even before it was in my hands. When he reached my side, I held my hand out towards him, and he reluctantly placed the paddle in it. I patted against my thigh a couple of times, then nodded and put it behind me.
Did you know that I created Red for Charlie? With most of the older boys, I’d switched to the brush, or even the bath brush, when I needed something bigger than a ping pong or novelty paddle. With Bobby, I’d never needed anything bigger. But with Charlie, I needed something heavy enough to get his attention, but light enough that it could be used long enough to break him down. That was when I’d taken my novelty paddle to the workshop and used it as a blank to draw up a new paddle that was slightly heavier, but no bigger. It had plenty of sting but was light enough not to bruise easily.
Taking that as the signal it was, Charlie bent across my left leg and put his face down into the seat of the couch. I had to take his hips and give him a little lift to get him into place, so his hips centered on my leg. That made it possible for him to barely touch the floor with his toes, but not enough to get a good push. Because my shorts had ridden up a bit as I sat, I could feel his little hairs rub against my leg hair. However, that position left his pride and joy dangling free where he wouldn’t hurt himself while he was squirming around. As soon as he was in place, he put his hands behind his back and I gripped his wrists with my left hand, then I wrapped my right leg around his to lock him into place.
Like I said, Charlie’s grown a bit since he moved in with me, and his bottom had filled out along with everything else. It hadn’t been bad the first time I spanked him, but now it was nearly perfect, longer than it was round, but with only slight dimples. The upper and lower curve into his lower back and legs were fairly distinct. He’d started to get an occasional pimple on his face, but his bottom was still smooth and without blemish. It was just pretty to watch in its pale perfection.
Since Charlie couldn’t control himself very well during the spanking, I made him show me some control before the spanking. That way, we both knew he was developing some self-discipline. He fetched the paddle; he put himself into position over my lap; he put his hands behind his back and, he was required to keep relaxed and not tense— at least until the spanking started. He needed a reminder on the last part.
Even as he felt me twist back to pick up the paddle, his legs crossed and his little rear clenched as hard as it could. I put the paddle down on his back and began to softly pat his bottom. "Charlie," I reminded him, "you know the rules." Slowly, reluctantly, you could tell that he made his brain override his nerves, and his legs spread apart. I began to rub his bottom as he slowly untensed his cheeks, but I didn’t stop once he had them pretty much as relaxed as I thought them likely to get.
"How do I feel about you, Charlie?"
"You love me," he replied quickly, and with no irony or sarcasm.
"Then why am I about to paddle your bottom?"
"Because I need to learn to behave and follow the rules."
"Do you deserve a spanking right now?"
"Yes, sir," Charlie answered, his voice catching now in a quiet sob. He hated this part almost as much as the spanking— having to confess his crimes and feelings as he was held helplessly over me knees— but he also understood why we did it and no longer argued or resisted me. "Because I was grounded from my games and played them anyway, and ‘cause I didn’t do my homework and chores as soon as I got home from school."
He tensed again as he felt me lift the paddle, but not as hard, and it only took him a second to relax again. He knew what was coming and didn’t want to control himself, but he really was making big strides. As soon as he was relaxed enough, I lined up my first swat and smacked it down on the uppermost part of his bottom, centered right on the crack.
Actually, my tween boys have a lot to thank Charlie for, if they only knew it. Not only did he inspire Red, the paddle that hangs in three out of four downstairs bedrooms, but he also gave me so much practice that I perfected and stylized my now traditional pattern. Bobby is less than six months older than Charlie, but I’d spanked Charlie more in the three months he’d been living with us than I had Bobby in the last year— or longer. I’ve always felt that longer spankings are better than harder spankings, and I’ve never just concentrated on one part of the bottom, but I spent enough time spanking Charlie and did it often enough, that I really worked out some rules that seemed to make things more effective without making the spanking more damaging— just more painful.
The first swats traced right down the center of his rear end, from top to bottom, then moved back to the top to get the whole of each cheek. Then back to the center, before placing a couple of pops on those little dimples. By this point, Charlie really was trying to be brave and take his spankings ‘like a good boy’, like he’d seen Bobby take it once. Charlie always squirmed a bit with the first swats, like he’d forgotten how painful it really was, but then he settled down and even tried to stay relaxed. As the paddle made its third trip down his crack, he was really tense, but remained mostly still. It wasn’t until I started placing the first set of swats on his upper thighs that he really began to struggle.
The boy was trying to jerk his hands free from me, desperate to cover his reddening cheeks. I could feel his legs jerking and kicking, but all he could do was drum them against the side of the couch; he didn’t have the strength to force his legs free from mine, and didn’t have enough range to work them free. He was held firmly enough, jackknifed over my leg, that he really couldn’t even work himself off my lap. It was a harsh position for a boy to be in, but we both knew he still needed my assistance so he could accept his correction.
The boy wasn’t crying, not yet; but as I moved back to begin another covering on his bottom, he let me know I was getting through to him. "Oh, I’m sorry, Jack. Please stop. I’m sorry. I’ll be good. OH! That’s enough." It was a quiet, consistent, moan that didn’t really mean anything. He knew I wasn’t going to stop before I thought he had enough, and he didn’t expect me to. He just couldn’t lie there quietly while his rear was punished, so, instead of crying, he pleaded.
Four swats down the center, then five back and forth for each cheek, before placing four more on the crack, followed by three on each side, before making one last trip down the middle. The first sob came halfway down his left check, but it wasn’t the last. He continued to beg as I continued to spank; but as the paddle reddened each dimple, the sobs became louder, and it grew harder and harder to understand him. Finally, as I started to give his legs some more attention, he began to really cry.
Poor Charlie tried so hard not to cry, but he always reached a point where it was like he just gave up. Almost as soon as he started to really cry, his struggles started to ease for a minute. I knew the boy well enough to know this wasn’t a surrender, though; he was merely marshalling his forces. I also knew we weren’t quite ready to end things yet. I could read his body language enough, even in this position— maybe especially in this position— to know that he was mad about losing his video game privileges and didn’t want to admit that it had all been his fault.
For the third time, I moved to the top of his seat and started letting the swats flow down his bottom. This time I skipped the crack and started on the left cheek, alternating back and forth, the swats moving down. As the swats continued, he started to kick and writhe again, but it was more serious now. Before it was almost half-hearted, but now he was really trying to escape. It didn’t matter though, since I had size, strength, and leverage on my side. He was helpless.
The paddle kept tracking downward, but when it reached the sit spots, I didn’t treat them like the rest of the bottom; I didn’t give one lick and move on; the paddle moved from spot to spot, left and right, back and forth, again and again, until the sixth swat on his left spot put the boy over the edge. He was totally collapsed now, all resistance gone, just lying there, crying his heart out.
The rapid fire finish I often used with other boys wasn’t good for Charlie for some reason. He responded best when the entire spanking was slow and rhythmic, so I switched and placed a few more burners right across the ‘smile’ where his cheeks met, then finished with a few more on his sit spots and upper legs.
I turned to put the paddle down behind me, then moved my leg and released his wrists. His hands sagged a bit but stayed where they were. His feet weren’t on the floor anymore, and they began to kick just a bit. I rubbed his bottom for him for a minute, then reached under him to help him to his feet.
For all the energy Charlie normally had, his fire dance was always done in slow motion. He stood up and gingerly grabbed his bottom in both hands, shifting his weight from foot to foot, arching his spine back, then bending forward, trying to find any position that didn’t hurt quite so much.
I watched him bob around for about a half-minute, then I stood. He stopped moving around but continued to rub until I took his arms. "Corner time, kiddo."
He wasn’t crying so hard, but tears were still running down his face. He nodded though, and slowly removed his hands from his bottom and turned in my hands. I knew that Charlie wasn’t ready to be cuddled yet, so I draped an arm around his shoulder, and walked him over to his corner, where we stood. Charlie hated corner time, but I felt it was important for him to do it. Just like I made him do most of the preparation for his spanking, I made him submit to this, so he knew he deserved it. It wasn’t long, though— probably not half of what Bobby would have to do. Five minutes later, after his sobs had died away to nothing, I patted his shoulder and stepped back.
As soon as Charlie was out of the corner, he was in my arms. More than any other boy that I knew, Charlie needed a lot of attention and affection after a spanking. I hugged him for a bit and he started to cry again, a little more softly this time. With most of my boys, I would have gently rubbed his bottom for him, but Charlie didn’t like that, so I slid my hands under his shirt to rub his back. (I was afraid he thought it was sexual for me to rub his bottom. It was over a year later that I learned the way I rubbed tickled him.)
After he’d calmed down again, I took him to my bathroom. He cleaned up and relieved himself, then went back to my office to dress. I relieved Tommy in the kitchen and finished the spaghetti. Charlie never left my side, except when he peed. We didn’t talk about the spanking again. He was still too scared to ask if I was going to extend his video game restriction. Instead, he talked to me about school, about the book he was reading, about inviting a friend over for the next wrestling pay-per-view, and anything else that popped into his mind.
The days were starting to get longer and daylights savings time had just started, so we were able to take a family walk after dinner. Back then, Prince and Lady weren’t even a year old, and we tried to take them out almost every night. Aaron had made it home for dinner, so all seven of us went out. Nothing long, just around a few blocks, until it started getting dark. It wasn’t really even nippy— just comfortably warm for us all in shirt sleeves.
Life would have been great if it had just been Charlie and me. Things would have even been okay if Charlie had been the youngest. There was no question that Charlie was jealous of the younger kids, though. It was nothing really blatant, but Charlie kept picking at Cal and Huck both, and I had to call him down for it a couple of times. Finally I lost patience with him and stopped us.
"Charles Fletcher, am I going to have to spank you again tonight?"
"No, sir," he replied quietly, looking distraught— though I wasn’t sure if it was because I announced his previous spanking or because I was upset with him.
He did settle down a bit, but I’d not meant to hurt his feelings. I stepped closer and leaned a bit, so we bumped shoulders. He looked up and gave me a small smile, then looked away again. Sigh. Pre-teen egos are so hard to deal with sometimes. At one moment they seem stronger than steel, and you can’t make an impression when you’re trying. Then, not a minute later, they’re as fragile as glass windows in the movies.
Proving that he’d matured hugely, Aaron stepped over and let Charlie have Lady’s leash. Charlie smiled up at him, then started to run a bit, playing around with the dog, who loved having someone on the other end of her leash who was as energetic as she was.
I thought Charlie had taken my— I can’t call it a hint, as blatant as it was— threat to heart; but I still kept a close eye on him. I watched every time he came close to Huck or Caleb, and I saw them coming close to him also.
When we got back to the house, we walked around to the back gate, and put the dogs in their run. While the boys were checking their food and water and putting the leashes away, I announced that I wanted a family meeting in the living room.
Everyone left their shoes in the sun room and followed me in. Rather than sitting in my regular chair or leaning against one side of the couch, I sat on the foot stool, which brought the tension up a notch, because everyone now knew there was going to be a public spanking.
"I’m sorry if I embarrassed you while we were out, Charles Fletcher; but you know that the way you were treating the boys wasn’t acceptable. I know," I said, raising my voice a bit to override his protests, "that boys play around. I know it’s normal for boys to tease each other and roughhouse, but you go overboard, and you do it too much. If you can’t tell when you’re going over the line between playing and picking, then you’d better just stop doing it at all. Do you understand me?"
He nodded, and I was quiet, so he finally said, "Yes, sir."
"Good," I continued, "because the next time I catch you picking on someone, I’m going to switch you."
I can only guess at what he was thinking, but it wasn’t too hard, since he suddenly looked like a chameleon walking across a Mexican flag. First his face went red, and I’m sure it was from the embarrassment at being threatened in front of the other boys. Then it went white, as he realized the iron clad nature of this threat. Finally, he went an interesting shade of green, and I’ve no doubt he was remembering his last, last, and only, encounter with the switch.
I watched Charlie closely for a moment, because he was still pretty volatile, though he was ten times better than he’d been three months ago. Then I switched my gaze to Huck and Cal, who were trying to hide their smiles at the other boy’s discomfort and what I’m sure they thought was his impending doom.
"You two don’t need to be smiling. Don’t think I didn’t see how you acted out on the walk."
Now let me mention that 8 and 10-year old boys just can’t pull off a look of wide-eyed innocence. Even when they are innocent, they look guilty. When you’ve caught them red-handed, they look like a third-time felon. Still, the two of them did try.
"Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. The minute I told Charlie that he was going to get a spanking if he kept picking on you two, the two of you took that as open season to start picking on him. You were just trying to see if you could provoke him into doing something, and I don’t doubt you were hoping to see him get spanked."
I waited a minute to let them simmer, then added, "Well, you two don’t have to worry." I waited for just a second, so they could start relaxing before I added, "You WANTED to watch someone getting spanked, so I’m going to let you." Suddenly my voice dropped, becoming much sterner. "Get your shirts up and get over here," I told them, as I pointed to the spot right in front of me.
Of course, we had to wait a minute, while each of them protested their innocence, swearing they’d not been trying to get Charlie spanked, promising to improve their behavior, and begging for mercy. I had to work not to laugh at them. It never ceases to amaze me how a boy can swear he didn’t do something and promise not to do it again in the same breath, and wonder why you don’t believe him. I might have smiled just a bit, but they were both to distraught to notice.
As soon as I had the smile under control, I felt it was time to move on. "Now!" I said, raising my voice just a bit and pointing again. They both knew me well enough to realize that further delays would only make things worse. I still had to encourage them to get their shirts up enough, though.
The weather wasn’t consistently warm enough yet for Huck to have brought play clothes from his mom’s yet, so he was still wearing jeans. I normally start undressing in the same order that I spank, but Cal was just wearing some basic gym/basketball type shorts (maybe Adidas, but probably Nike, since the boy is apparently practicing to be sponsored by them one day). I grabbed the shorts by their elastic waistband, checked to make sure I had his briefs as well, and yanked the whole shooting match down to his ankles in one quick jerk. He was looking up, probably pretending that his brothers weren’t standing around watching, when he felt me pat his leg, and he stepped out of them. As soon as he was bare, I gave him the command he’d been dreading.
"Go fetch the Little Deer."
Caleb let his shirt drop as he turned away from me, but it wasn’t long enough to offer even his modesty much protection. He walked away, not happy, but seemingly resigned to his fate and wanting to get it finished. As soon as I was done with him, I turned to Huck and began unfastening his jeans.
Huck and Cal are cousins, but they’re not related by blood. Huck’s dad is my half-brother by our dad, while Caleb is (by birth) the son of my half-sister by our mom. Both of them are tall for their age, but Cal is blond, with blue eyes, and he’s lean and lanky. Huck has blue eyes that are just a little darker than Cal’s, but where Cal is lean, Huck is sturdy. That doesn’t mean he’s fat, because he‘s pretty lean; it just means that he’s big-boned and wide, like most of the boys in our family. While both of them are fair skinned, Huck has enough freckles for a family of three, while Cal is pretty clear skinned. It occurred to me that the new pattern I’d worked out on Charlie didn’t work so well on Caleb, and that I’d been spanking Cal with the little deer for a long time now. I think I decided right then that Cal needed a new, bigger, slightly heavier paddle. That led to the creation of Heat (same joke, new paddle) and is probably what led to the system of ‘promotions’ that I use now. I guess Cal can share the blame with Charlie.
Even while I was thinking that through, Huck’s jeans had hit his ankles, and the other boys had been watching with a combination of excitement at seeing someone else get it, and fear of when their next time might come. Plus, my boys do love each other, and I’m sure they felt some pity for the youngsters. I slid Huck’s briefs down to join his jeans, then pulled him over my lap.
Cal wasn’t back yet, so I started with a vigorous hand spanking that seemed to grab his attention from the first. If I’ve ever told you that Huck is stoic about getting spanked, I was lying. I had to keep a firm grip on his waist, and he was still all over my lap.
There’s a secret to spanking Huck (and it works with Barry, too): you can’t pay too much attention to the color of his bottom because he gets red quickly. The trick isn’t to watch for it to get red, but to wait until red starts changing to crimson, because that’s when you’re reaching the edge of too much. That was especially important with Huck because, at 8, he’d start crying at almost the first smack. I’m not sure that Huck or Barry even realize that, but they do hate that I can judge what they can really take so finally.
Since I was using my hand, I spanked Huck in a different pattern. I concentrated on his bottom, but didn’t ignore his legs. Where I didn’t pay much attention was those tender, little sit spots. When Huck was having a good, loud cry, and his bottom was just starting to show that dark shade I’d been watching for, I looked up to find Cal and paused, just long enough for him to hand me the paddle.
Huck had been settling down, but when he felt the wood rub across his bottom, he managed to find a lot more enthusiasm for the struggle. Not that it did him much good. I laid one quick covering on his bottom and legs, then went to work making sure he’d be thinking about this on his ride home. Even though he was big for his age, Huck was still only 8, and it only took a few, not especially hard swats on the fold of his legs to put him over the edge.
I sat the bawling boy up and hugged him to me for a moment, before planting a kiss on his cheek and letting him up. Even as he did his fire dance, Caleb, tears already running down his cheeks, stepped to my side.
I guided Cal down, across my lap, took a firm grip around his waist, and wasted no time getting started. With him, I used the same pattern as I had on Charlie, though his bottom needed less smacks to cover it. Cal wasn’t as loud as Huck was, and he tried to ‘take it like a big boy’, but he was crying before I was finished covering his bottom the first time.
As I moved down onto his legs, Cal gave up trying to control himself. He didn’t try to escape, but his little feet were kicking up and down and I could hear and feel his hands beating against the side of the foot stool. His crying went up a notch as I went back to his bottom, and he went over the edge before I got back to his legs. He was crying hard and could no longer do anything but lie there and accept the punishment. He did find strength to tense up a bit as he felt the paddle line up on those tender, sit spots, and to yelp with each of the eight, hard smacks that cracked down on one or the other— searing this session into his memory... for a little while at least.
Huck was still crying when I sat Cal up in my lap; so, after giving Cal a minute, I spread my arms for Huck to join us.
Cal spent longer in my lap than Huck had the first time, so Cal didn’t do a real fire dance for us. Still, he did enjoy a vigorous rub when I let them up, apparently reminding Huck that he was still sore, since he began to rub his own, still fiery bottom. Seeing the two of them, side-by-side like that, is always funny. They’re almost exactly two years apart (Huck’s birthday is 2/24 and Cal’s is 3/13), but Cal wasn’t showing even the first signs of puberty then, and Huck was better hung than the older boy. Not that Cal was worried about that right then.
The older boys started to drift away now that the show was over, most of them giving the red caboose team a pat on the shoulder or a comforting word, but that’s when Cal really impressed me. Charlie turned to leave without saying anything. When Cal saw that, he left off on his rubbing and crossed to the other boy. I didn’t hear exactly what was said, but it was obviously an apology; Charlie nodded and held out his hand, which Cal ignored, wrapping the older boy in a hug instead. Charlie blushed, but returned the hug. When Huck saw that, he added his apologies to Cal’s, and it seemed to mark some kind of turning point. Charlie wasn’t with us much longer that time, but I didn’t have to switch him again.