Tim Malone

It was a dismal, winter’s day—late January or early February, if I remember correctly. It must have been a Tuesday, because I was in the kitchen and it was full of two of my favorite things: the smell of fresh-cooked goodies and boys. And it really was full and overflowing. Often when we did something like this, the boys would have wandered outside onto the patio. Today, even though it was only about 4:15, it was a heavy twilight, and the north wind had it chilly enough that no one wanted to go out.

Now, if I’ve not mentioned this before, may I say that my kitchen is a cheery place to be. I used mostly light wood for the cabinets and Yellow River granite for the counter tops. The walls are done in a combination of a very pale wood paneling and yellow-and-white striped wallpaper. It’s not what I would ever have thought of choosing for one of my rooms, but it’s airy and friendly.

Besides a couple of desserts for later that week, I’d made cookies for the boys’ lunches and brownies for today, and we’d invited a few friends to share them with us. Gordy and Dex had come over, along with the Marchant boys and the Malone boys. That meant, along with me and PJ, there were 25 of us snarfing down brownies (and I don’t make just regular brownies—there were brownies, chocolate chip brownies, 3 chip brownies, M&M brownies, walnut brownies, and caramel brownies - mostly I cut them up into bite-sized samples and let the boys go to town). Still, some of the kids were in the sunroom and some in the dining room, just so we all had room to breath. Most of them were piled up around the breakfast nook or on stools at the bar, and young master Tim was holding court.

You’ve met a lot of the Malone boys, but let me tell you a little more about Tim. First of all, before anything else I say gives you the wrong idea, Tim is a great kid, he’s friendly, and I like him. He’s very athletic and in good shape, but he’s not especially big for his age. He was about eleven and three-quarters at this time, but only stood about 4’8" and maybe seventy pounds, really not much bigger than Riley. He made up for it by being incredibly active in sports and being good at it. Not only is his belly as firm and defined as Tyler’s, but Tim has nice calves and is showing some good development in his pecs. His big problem is that he still has a need to be the center of attention, and Kim had mentioned that it’s landed him in trouble more than once, at home and school (including a recent acquaintance with the ‘Rod of Discipline’ in the principal’s office, which might be why Steven has taken to treating Tim as a little brother).

As a parent, it’s a lot easier to be tolerant of a ‘class clown’ than it was when I was teaching. Even if Tim hadn’t been putting on his act, I wouldn’t have minded looking at him. Except Riley (who’s an adopted cousin and takes more after his father than his mom, who’s Kim’s sister), all the Malone boys (and even the girls) share a fair resemblance to each other. Tim was certainly no exception, but he also had his own characteristics. While his hair was about the same light brown/dark blond shade as his brothers, he liked to wear it short, which might not have been a great choice, since the boy already has a slight widow’s peak, which, when his mom can’t get him to let it grow out a bit, gives him a vaguely Eddie Munster-ish air (you youngsters go Google it). He and Scooter share the same big ears, but Tim’s don’t stick out quite as much, and are balanced by a big nose that keeps the ears from overpowering his face. His eyes are honey-brown, but the long, dark brown lashes over them lend him an incredibly appealing look, and also give him a very effective ‘pleading puppy’ stare, that had worked on me more than once before. His lips were thin, but he smiled easily; it should have made him look mean or cruel, but it worked on his face. He didn’t have much in the way of cheeks, but did have a strong, cleft chin. I would say he’s cute, but I think almost every boy is cute. I will say that I think, especially once he finds a hairstyle appropriate for his face, he’s going to grow to be a very good looking young man.

No, Timothy Malone was a good looking, if somewhat unusual kid, and he was amusing. My problem with him was that he didn’t know when to tone it down, and seemed to think that ‘appropriate’ was what Congressmen did in budget meetings. When Tim told a slightly off-color joke, I thought it was time to end things. It was a cute joke, and I probably would have laughed, if he’d not told it in front of a bunch of six and seven year olds.

"Tim, I think that’s enough now. Time to tone it down."

Instead of answering, Tim just huffed and rolled his eyes at me, which I pretended to ignore, but then he turned to the boy next to him and said, "I wonder who put the stick up his ass?"

The room went quiet. I don’t think Tim had meant to say it as loudly as he had, because he was suddenly looking around and his normally pale face was glowing a deep red from forehead to neck and from ear to ear. He looked around and saw that every person in the room was staring at him. Some looked pretty angry, others looked aghast, as though they feared being hit by the same bolt that was obviously about to strike him down. Slowly Tim turned to look at me.

I took the coward’s way and refused to meet his eyes. I did not want to look at a pre-teen boy the way I was sure I’d be looking right then. Instead I picked up my milk, finishing the glass, then turned and rinsed it out. Only after I’d placed it on the drainboard did I turn back to the room.

"I think that’s enough brownies guys. We’ll all get in trouble if I let you ruin your appetites. Charlie, Bobby, PJ—would you guys mind straightening up in here for me? The rest of you go on and play." There was a moment’s confusion and some muttered complaints (not to mention more than a few hands grabbing one last brownie bit), but they started to move towards the doors, before I continued. "Not you, Tim. Let’s you and I go have a talk in my office."

Some of the antagonism that had been directed Tim’s way suddenly shifted to sympathy. I doubt there was one boy in that room who didn’t have a good idea what would be occurring in that office. Still, looking at the faces and listening to the comments as the boys filed past, I think there was no disagreement that it was well-earned. The main question seemed to be which paddle would be used and whether I’d be using bar soap or liquid.

When most of the other boys had left, I stepped over to Tim, who looked as if his brownies were thinking about a return engagement. After a moment, he turned to me, chin down against his chest, so he was looking up at me through his long eyelashes. He blinked once, then again, and said, "I’m really sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to say that so loud."

I reached around and patted him on the back. "I’m sure you are sorry, Tim; but not nearly as sorry as you’re going to be in a little bit." I paused long enough for him to realize he wasn’t going to puppy dog his way out of this one, then went on. "You know we’ve talked about your mouth before, Tim. And we’re going to talk again, but I think you know we’re going to do more than talk this time. I really think you’d rather do this in my office, though, wouldn’t you?" He grimaced, but nodded, so I dropped my arm around his shoulder and gave him a slight push.

It’s not far from the kitchen to my office, but it gave me a chance to think. I was pretty upset with the boy, but what he’d done wouldn’t really be a spanking offense under normal circumstances. This was definitely not normal circumstances, but I felt that had to be made clear to the boy. Instead of my desk and the spanking chair, I aimed Tim towards the couch, where we sat, both turned in a bit, so we could easily look at each other. Tim’s eyes were already watery and a bit damp, and I was torn by the urge to explain things to him, and the knowledge that drawing it out would only make things harder on him. On the other hand, making things a little harder wasn’t a totally bad thing for me just then.

"Do you know what’s about to happen, Tim?"

"You’re gonna spank me?"

I don’t know why he asked, since it seemed pretty obvious, but maybe he was hoping I’d correct him. I didn’t bother to let him down easy. "That’s right, but do you know why?"

"Cause I said a bad word?"

"That’s part of it, Buddy, but hardly all of it. Would you ever say something like that about your mom or dad?"

He didn’t have to think about it before he shook his head.

"Then why would you stand in my house, in front of my kids, and say something like that about me?"

He looked at me, his gaze pleading for me to end the inquisition and finally shrugged his shoulders as a tear gathered at the edge of his eye.

"Tim, I’m not asking this stuff to be mean. I doubt you want to be spanked even less than I want to spank you." A whole lot less, to tell the truth, but we didn’t need to bring that up. "I’m asking you this because you need to understand why you were doing it and make sure you don’t do it anymore." I paused for a second to allow him to take that in, then plunged on. "This isn’t the first time we’ve had a little discussion about how you talk to me, is it?"

He shook his head again, then added, almost as an afterthought, "No, sir."

"You already admitted that you wouldn’t tell either of your parents that they had a ‘stick up their…’ rear, and I doubt you’d say it anywhere they might even hear it; but I’ve spoken with both your parents, and I’ve seen how you act when they’re around. Tim, you’re usually very polite and very respectful when they’re around. Is it just because they’ll spank you if you’re not?"

He shook his head. "Do you not respect me, Tim?"

He shook his head again, but the agonized look on his face suggested that he hated that I’d even think that.

"Tim, there’s no way for me to know why you do something. And to be honest, I’ll bet you don’t even know why you do some stuff. That’s true for adults, but it’s especially true for kids. Something just seems like a good idea at the time, so you do it. Right?"

He nodded, and it seemed clear that he was shocked by my understanding.

"The problem is, that doesn’t make them right. One of the things a boy has to learn to do while he’s growing up is to THINK before he does stuff, so he can decide whether it really is a good idea or not. And that’s one of the big reasons that parents spank kids; because kids need to learn there are consequences when they do something that really isn’t a good idea. Understand me so far?"

He nodded, slowly, like he was really thinking about it.

"Now, we had three problems today. Your little comment about me was the last one. Do we both agree that you shouldn’t be making rude comments when I ask or tell you to do something?"

The boy gave his agreement.

"Good, but there’s also the matter of your telling off color jokes around the younger kids. If I’d heard you telling jokes like that to Barry or Noah or even the twins, I would have told you to watch it, but you wouldn’t be in any trouble for it. Do you understand why you can’t treat Van and Scooter like you do kids your own age, and you can’t talk around them like you might if there were no little kids or parents around?"

He nodded again, "Yes, sir."

"It sounds like we’re doing pretty good, Tim. Maybe this is how I should have talked to you the first time you smarted off to me, but here’s something else you need to understand. Our families are friends. That doesn’t just mean that I like your parents and you like some of my kids. It means that I like you." He looked up and smiled, which is no surprise; I don’t think I ever met a boy who got too much affection. "The bad part of that is, because I like you, I want to help you do good in the future. That means that, when you can’t behave, I’m going to see that you’re corrected. What does that mean?"

"It means, when I act up, you’re gonna spank me," he said, obviously torn between his fondness of the attention and affection and his equal fondness for being able to sit comfortably.

"Now, there’s one other problem we have to deal with. That’s your language. ‘Ass’ is a word I don’t tolerate. It’s not that it’s really that bad a word, but people use it in bad ways and way too much, so I don’t want to hear it. Now, if that’s a word your mom would let you use, we can just call her…."

The boy cut me off before I could even get through the sentence. "She wouldn’t," he assured me, obviously not wanting her to hear about this, on top of whatever else was going to happen.

"Okay," I nodded, "then I want you to keep a couple of things about your language in mind. First, I know that boys don’t always talk around each other the way they should, and I’m not going to try to change that. What I am going to do is make sure you learn that there are times and places where you can use that kind of language, and times and places you can’t. Does that make sense?

He nodded.

"Since we seem to understand each other all the way across the board, here’s what we’re going to do. If I ever hear you telling an off color story or joke in front of the little kids again, I’ll spank you right there in front of them, so they learn that it’s not a good idea to tell that kind of joke. If I ever hear you using bad language in front of me or the little kids, or if I hear you cussing AT someone," and I paused a minute to be sure he understood the difference between cussing around someone and cussing at them, "I will soap your mouth. If I ever hear you take the Lord’s name in vain or use the ‘F-word’, I will soap your mouth after I get through spanking your bottom. Are we clear on all that."

He had a very worried look on his face as he nodded. "Yes, sir," he added in a squeak.

"Now, if you’ve been paying attention, you may have noticed that all of that is stuff we’re going to do, not stuff we’re about to do right now. In other words, I’m not going to spank you for either of those things this time. Consider it your final warning."

A look of glee came over his face at his unexpected reprieve, which I quickly shot down.

"I’m still going to spank you, Tim."

His face was suddenly aghast.

"Tim, I hate to spank a boy for being disrespectful because it’s so hard to really define that. However, you knew it was wrong to backtalk me, you admitted you wouldn’t act that way around your parents, but the real capper is that you and I have talked about this before. If you think I’m being unfair to you, we can call your parents and let them decide, but I think we both know that you deserve a good spanking; don’t you?"

I really felt a little bad about doing that to the kid, but I had realized that this was a boy who was going to keep testing the limits until they were firmly set for him. The fact that tears were slowly creeping down his face as he nodded didn’t change the fact that he did nod, and I saw no sign in his watery eyes that he was only telling me what I wanted to hear, or that he was just trying to avoid his parents being called. He’d screwed up, he’d gone over the line, and he was willing to admit it, even though he was scared of the consequences.

"Let’s get this over with, then. You need to get your shoes off."

Tim looked down at his feet, then toed his sneakers off, letting them lie where they fell. Then he looked up at me.

"C’mon, kiddo," I invited him even as I came to my feet. After a second, I looked back and he was just sitting there. I reached down, took him by the arm and pulled him to his feet. He wasn’t resisting or defying me, he was just too busy fighting his nerves to actively participate in his own execution. As soon as he was on his feet, I laid my hand across the back of his neck and guided him to my desk.

He stood there as I positioned the spanking chair and took my seat. When I gestured, Tim stepped in front of me, and I looked at him for a minute. His jeans were just fine, but the baggy, long-sleeved, green shirt he was wearing fell nearly to his upper thighs.

"I think you’re going to have to take that off, Tim."

Without replying, he pulled this shirt over his head, revealing a white understhirt. He looked around for a minute, unsure what to do with the shirt, so I took it from him, folded it loosely, and placed it on the desk behind me.

"Lift your shirt."

Tim took the t-shirt by the front and lifted it up so his hands rested on his upper chest, pulling the shirt up a bit behind him, but fully exposing his flat belly and the fly of his jeans. He twitched and looked away as I slid his zipper down, then undid the button. I had a pleasant surprise when I spread his jeans open, though. Tim had wanted and received boxers for Christmas, but I guess it wasn’t a full week’s worth, and he was wearing a pair of white, Gap briefs. They must be fairly new, I thought, as I slid the jeans down his legs, since they were still very white, except for a slight stain where the boy had dripped. When they reached his ankles, Tim stepped out of them without complaint. As a matter of fact, he was totally silent, except for a small whine, nearly a sob, that escaped as I slid fingers into the waistband of his briefs, but he stood still, keeping the shirt up, as the briefs slid down.

I know this part is agony for a boy; when he no longer has any hope of a reprieve, but the worst is still to come. I try not to drag things out too much, but I do love that first time I get to expose a boy. It’s especially wonderful when the boy is at that age where he’s probably teetering on the brink of puberty, and there’s no telling what you might find, no matter how big or small he may look. Tim was about what you’d expect from a slightly smaller than average eleven year old, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Like his brothers, Tim was circumcised. Also like them, his equipment was white and pink and hairless. His scrotum had loosened up enough that he did have a pair hanging, but the sac was still pale, and the boys were no bigger than one of his brothers. His penis was longer than the younger boys’, but maybe only an inch or so, and he wasn’t any thicker than they were. It was so cute and such a perfect example of a boy in the very first stage of puberty that I took my time admiring it, even as Tim stepped out of his briefs.

As I leaned back, I took a moment to let my gaze travel up his firm, nude, wonderfully boyish body, before looking him in the face. We stared at each other for a few second, through the tears gathered there, until I finally broke the silence.

"I think we’ve already had enough lecture, Tim. You know why you’re about to get spanked, don’t you?"

The boy jerked his head in a nervous nod, so I turned sidewise to him and reached for the drawer. The hairbrush was right on top, but I pushed it aside. The boy might be used to getting that from his mom, but the differences in the way we spanked would make it much too harsh an implement in my hands, at least for his first time, for something not that serious. Instead, I picked up both Heat and Red and looked at them for a moment.

"This," I said, holding up Red, "is what I’d use on Barry and Noah, who are the same age as you. This one is what I’d use on the twins, who are about the same size as you." I paused and thought about allowing him the pick, but I decided not to do that to him. He was already tensed out and forcing the boy to make a decision like that is harsh at the best of times. "I’m going to use this one," I said, lifting Heat, "This time. If we have to do this again… no guarantees."

I turned and dropped Red into the drawer, pushing it shut, then turned back to him, spreading my legs, then patting them. With a whimper he moved to my side and lowered himself into place. I tucked Heat under my leg, then took him by the hips and adjusted him a bit. When I had him where I wanted him, I straightened my left leg a bit, tucked my right heel against the leg of the chair, which lifted his bottom nicely. And it was a very nice bottom. Boys who are teetering on the brink of adolescence, just waiting for that first growth spurt, seem to have the overall best bottoms. Tim’s was round and full, with a full, well-defined arch to the back and just mild dimples on either side, and it was just as firm and muscled as I would have thought, but still had just a hint of baby fat to soften and round it. I took a minute to enjoy patting and rubbing it with my hand, then retrieved the paddle. Wrapping my left hand around his waist, I went to work.

Tim took the spanking well at first. He jerked a bit with each swat, as the paddle traced down the middle of his bottom, then moved aside to concentrate on each cheek separately. As the swats kept falling over and over again, as his bottom became deeper and deeper red, his reactions became more and more pronounced. Just like I’d expected, the boy was used to hard but fast punishment. Just like with Tyler, the slow, continuing build was outside his experience. As the swats moved onto his legs, he started to really cry, and the crying grew louder and harsher as I moved back onto his bottom.

Since Tim is several years older than Tyler, I really expected him to take his spanking better than his little brother had; but, by the time I was giving his cheeks separate attention again, I had to deal with an errant hand.

"Timothy, if you don’t move that hand right now, you’re going to get extra spanks before we’re done."

"Please, Jack," the boy sobbed in reply. "Please, I’ve learned my lesson. That’s enough."

His feet were kicking around and he was squirming pretty hard, but he wasn’t the worst I’d dealt with. I moved my hand from his hip, quickly grabbing his wrist and pinning it to his lower back, then holding it in place with my left elbow, before grabbing his hip again. Then, not being sure where I’d left off, I placed a couple of more swats on his upper thighs, then started the second pattern on his bottom from the beginning.

The boy was still begging me to stop, but his words were soon incoherent. His struggled, grew wilder for a minute, but started to slacken off as he became too tired and sore to do anything but cry.

As the paddle started its final trail of swats moving down his crack and about to jump back to his legs, the boy broke, and his crying and pleading gave way to uninhibited bawling. I knew I’d made my point and gotten through to him, but I also knew I wasn’t going to stop. I’d given Tim several chances and he’d just kept pushing. He’d gone way over the line, and I was going to make sure he remembered this for a while. He found enough strength to kick his legs as I placed four more on the uppermost part of each of his thighs, but they were weak, mild little kicks.

I was lining up on his sit spots, when I stopped myself. His little bottom was already crimson from the top of his crack down to his legs and from one sweet, little dimple to the other. Any of my boys would probably get twice their age on those extra-sensitive spots, and I had no doubt that Tim deserved it; but it had already been rough on him, and I wanted to be doing this for him to learn, not because I was insulted. Still, I wasn’t going to let him off entirely, and placed four extra firm swats to each spot, back and forth, one right after the other, that left him squealing, and I was sure would leave him sitting uncomfortably for dinner. Then I dropped the paddle on the desk behind me.

Tim was a mess, too far gone to do anything but lie there and cry. I began rubbing his lower back, so he’d realize it was over, but was trying to figure out why he’d taken the spanking so much worse than Tyler had. I know boys react differently, but Tyler and Tim are very similar in build and activity level, so it was confusing to me. I finally decided, though I had no way of knowing for sure, that Tyler had come to me full of guilt, and looking to be purified with the cleaning flame, while Tim was straight out being punished. Attitude makes as much of a difference as anything else.

Tim was crying so hard he was hiccupping and coughing, so I grabbed him under his chest and legs, lifting and turning him so he was sitting in my lap, with as much of his bottom as possible between my legs. His face was soaked with tears and snot, so I reached behind me for some Kleenex. He let me wipe his face, but tried to push away when I went to hug him.

"It hurts!" the boy informed me, nearly in a yell, like I wouldn’t have figured that out by his reactions.

"I know it does, baby. It’s supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to hurt enough that we never have to do this again." I paused trying to think of the best way to phrase this. "If you don’t want a hug, do you want to get up?"

He was still crying too hard to say much, but he shook his head. After a minute, with the tears still freely flowing, and with his hands behind him, rubbing my leg as much as his rear, he leaned into me, seeking comfort and love, no matter from where it came.

With his arms wrapped around me, I began to slowly rub circles on his back with my right hand, and gently massage his sore little nether cheeks. We sat like that for a while, until the coughing and sobbing slowly died away. Then I moved my hands and pushed him back so I could look him in the face.

"You still need to do a little corner time, buddy. Think you’re ready for it?"

His face crumpled a bit, and he started to cry a little harder, but he nodded. I helped him up and walked him to the wall, making sure his hands and nose were where they belonged.

As far as I know, the Malones don’t go in much for corner time, so I only left him there long enough for him to finish calming down. When I was ready for him to come out, I gathered up his clothes and led him back to my bedroom. He was a little shy and nervous about coming out of my office in nothing but socks and a t-shirt, but he really didn’t want to dress yet, either.

In my bathroom, I stayed in physical contact with him almost the entire time, as we washed his face and got him cleaned up, then dressed. I walked with him back to the playroom, where the twins and most of the other kids were messing around. Tim was extremely subdued at first, but Tyler came over and gave him a hug. Tim was surprised at first, but melted into his younger brother’s affection.

Noah looked up from the Tony Hawk video game, where Roland was demonstrating his expertise. Looking at how stiffly Tim was moving, Noah said, "Yeah, you should have seen me after my first day here."

Even Tim had to laugh at that.