Tracy and the Smoking Hot Summer

It was the middle of June 2006 or maybe just before that - probably the twelfth or thirteenth. I really remember two things. The first is that I was stuck in my office, sorting through a pile of solicitations, trying to get ready for our managers’ order meeting. The second is that it was hot.

June isn’t usually as hot as July or August, but it still does a credible job. That’s why my kids, who all like being outside and doing stuff, don’t complain too much about starting the day early.

So there I was, stuck in my office, trying to either finish the pile of paperwork, or at least get it to a controllable size so I could work on it outside with the kids, when Charlie stuck his head around the corner.

"Hi, Dad."

I smiled. Charlie was still a little tentative about calling me Dad, but he liked it and was working at becoming comfortable with it. I was okay with that, because he really hadn’t had much practice.

Charlie had just arrived home after just over two years at the military academy. He’d hated it at first, and had hated me for sending him there. He’d already hated his mom at that point for making him move in with me, forcing him to submit to either obeying the rules or getting spanked (and worse, making him wear his pants up around his waist).

As time passed, he got past all that. I’d worked to get him off all the medications he’d been on, but the school had the manpower to give him the kind of constant supervision he’d required. At one point, he’d complained to me bitterly that he couldn’t even take a dump without someone checking on him. I don’t think that was quite true, but they were able to get him off the checklist of meds he’d been taking, and down to just a couple that he seemed to really need.

Of course, when that part of his treatment was through, he realized how much better things started being. He still didn’t like what he’d had to go through, but he came to accept it.

He also came to accept that I cared for him and was trying to do what was best for him. The fact that I was able to afford the time and money to pay him an occasional visit helped him accept it. He had limited phone access, and he used those times to talk to his mom, but he and I wrote regularly, and the superintendent there told me how excited Charlie got when he knew one of my visits was drawing near (something Charlie would never have been able to admit without violating his teenage cool).

Almost two years from the time when Charlie’s uncontrollable temper had caused him to blacken Johnny’s eye, the academy informed me that Charlie was able to control and care for himself. He’d still need regular supervision to make sure that he was taking his meds and following his routines, but they saw no reason he couldn’t come home and attend a regular school if we wanted.

We all wanted very much.

And now here he was. None of my kids were from great situations, so Charlie was surprised at how easily he’d been forgiven any past problems and accepted back into the family. It shouldn’t have surprised him, given how hard he’d worked for just that on the rare short visits home he was allowed, but it obviously still did. It surprised and gratified him both.

His biggest problem was that he didn’t want to get back with the same group of boys with whom he’d been running and getting into trouble, but he still loved skating. He had one friend whom he’d met a couple of years before, right after moving in with me, Toby Kaufmann, who was both a skater and someone Charlie was able to track down.

Toby was glad to see him, and the two of them quickly renewed their old friendship. Toby also introduced him to a couple of other guys, and Charlie was quickly spending a lot of his mornings at the skate park, honing his somewhat atrophied skills. That’s where he’d been that morning.

We’d already broken one hundred Fahrenheit by that time, though it was mostly in the mid-nineties, which was bad enough. The only good thing was that the overnight lows were getting down into the low seventies, which helped keep the mornings bearable. The way his hair was plastered to his forehead made it obvious that today wasn’t going to be any cooler.

"Hey, Charlie. How’d it go?"

"Getting better," he assured me.

"Need any first aid today?"

"Nope, did better than that, anyway. I got my Ollie down, but I’m trying to get up more with it."

I vaguely understood that. ‘Ollie’ was some stunt with getting the board off the ground and into the air, and was the basis of a lot of the other stunts. It was fairly fundamental, but he’d had to go two years without getting any practice, so, even though he knew how to do stunts, his body would have been pretty rusty, even if he hadn’t grown so much during the intervening time.

The first aid, of course, was just a reference to what happens when you’re rebuilding that type of skills. Despite helmet and pads, I’d had to doctor a number of scrapes since he’d started practicing again. He’d had more than one day limping around like an invalid, but he seemed to love it.

"Hey, Dad, I met a new kid today. He came home with me…"

Charlie let it trail off, questioningly. Despite the fact that he was living here, and that I’d assured him he was one of the family, he still had a certain formality to his behavior, and I think bringing a guest to the house without permission must have made him a little nervous.

"That’s nice. You going to introduce us?"

Charlie smiled, relieved that he hadn’t transgressed. Then he leaned back and waved.

The boy that stepped up beside him was both very cute and very nervous. He wore his medium-dark blond hair above his ears, but it was still long enough to be shaggy. He must have spent a lot of time outdoors, because his hair already had streaks of reddish-gold standing out in it. That went well with the gold-framed glasses he wore, which were a lot thinner and less geeky than what I’d worn around his age.

"Dad, this is Tracy. Tracy, this is my dad."

"Glad to meet you, Tracy."

"Thanks. You too, Mr. Lohring."

Charlie and I both laughed.

"I’m actually Charlie’s guardian. My name is Jack Wells."

Tracy was tanned, but he still managed to blush deeply enough for it to show.

"Sorry, Mr. … Wells."

"It’s okay, bud. A natural mistake."

Tracy was actually an interesting mix of contrasts. He wasn’t nearly as big as Charlie, who wasn’t especially huge. That was no big deal, but despite being firm and toned, he had a bit of softness to him, especially around the middle and chest, that made me think he was about to have a growth spurt. Of course, if Charlie had met him at the skate park, there was no reason they should be the same age.

It was easy to see how tanned Tracy really was, because he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He had a t-shirt, or maybe a muscle shirt, hanging from the back of his pants, though I couldn’t tell if it was stuffed partly in a pocket or hanging from a belt loop. His jean shorts hung down to his knees and were a bit baggy. They weren’t about to fall off of him, but they were loose enough they were hanging lopsided, exposing the waistband of his Hanes briefs.

When Charlie quit laughing, he gave Tracy directions to the bathroom. As soon as Tracy was gone, Charlie turned back to me.

"I’m sorry I didn’t ask first, but I had to bring him home."

"Charlie, you don’t have to ask just for someone to come over during the day. The worst I’m going to do is say he can’t stay, and I’m not even going to do that without a good reason. But ‘had to’?"

"He was hanging around with some of those guys I used to."

That was explanation enough. I didn’t know the guys to which he referred specifically, but I still remember the trouble that brought Charlie and I to meet, and I knew how much he regretted that now and wanted to put it behind him. I could hardly blame him for trying to help someone else stay out of trouble.

"Well, he’s certainly welcome around here."

For a minute, I just listened while Charlie told me about his day in a bit more detail, until Tracy came back to join us.

"Can we go swimming now, Dad?"

"Sure, just make sure you shower off before you get in the pool."

"Okay. Can Tracy borrow a suit?"

"Of course."

I looked at the boy for a minute.

"You wear size twelve?"

He shrugged, then thought about it a minute and nodded.

"Try the hand-me-down closet. Some of Bobby’s old stuff should fit him."

"Okay," Charlie agreed, then turned to go.

After a moment’s hesitation, Tracy turned to go with him, but Charlie stopped him and nodded towards me. Tracy suddenly looked nervous to the point of being sick, but he stayed when Charlie left.

I couldn’t help noticing that Charlie pulled the door closed behind him.

"Um…" Tracy started, nervousness dripping from his voice. "Charlie said that if I wanna hang out around here, you were gonna give me a whupping."

I was taken aback by his direct approach, but was able to answer quickly enough.

"Well, I do spank my kids if they need it, but I hardly whup every kid that walks through the door."

I might want to, but that was a different subject.

"Yeah, but…"

Tracy paused and took a deep breath, trying to steel himself for what came next.

"When Charlie met me, I was smoking."

I nodded, understanding more now. Then I thought of the boys he’d been hanging with when Charlie met him.

"What were you smoking?"

"Marlboros," Tracy answered deadpan and without hesitation, removing my worst fear.

"Well, Tracy, I don’t allow smoking around here."

If I had to give up my cigars to raise the boys, no one else was going to be smoking for certain.

"As a matter of fact, it’s illegal for guys your age to smoke. If I caught one of my boys doing it, they’d get switched."

I made a brief digression to explain switching, then got back to the subject.

"Do you have any cigarettes on you now?" I asked.

Tracy nodded. Without me prompting, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a rumpled pack that couldn’t have had more than two or three cigarettes.

"Now, you have a choice to make, Tracy. You see that over there?"

He looked where I was pointing, saw the trash can, and nodded.

"Do you want to hang around over here?"

He hadn’t seen much of the place, but I’m sure Charlie had told him some about it, and he obviously knew about the pool. He definitely didn’t hesitate before nodding.

"That’s your choice. If you want to hang around here, those need to go in the trash, and you never bring any around here again. Can you do that?"

The pack of cigarettes hit the trashcan almost before he started nodding.

"Yes, sir," he confirmed, then hesitated. "Are you going to whup me now?" he asked, miserably.

"Do you deserve a spanking, Tracy?"

He paused a moment. It seemed less that he really had to think about it than he had to steel himself to give the answer. He finally nodded.

"Why?"

"’Cause I was smoking, and it’s bad for you, and it’s illegal for kids."

"If you know that, why’d you do it?"

He shrugged, which was about what I’d expected. It’s hard for a kid to not do something he knows is stupid because he wants to look cool. It’s also hard to admit that (if they even understand that’s what they did).

"Have you ever had a spanking before?"

"My uncle useta. My mom whips me with the belt sometimes."

"Have you ever been paddled?"

"At school."

While we were discussing it, I moved over to the desk and dug into the paddle drawer.

"How old are you, Tracy? Thirteen?"

"Twelve," he answered, with the slight pride of a boy who’d been mistaken for older than he really was.

That changed my mind. He wasn’t as tall as Caleb, but he was built a bit sturdier. I dug for another second, then turned back to him.

"Have you ever had your pants and underwear pulled down, been put over someone’s lap, and had your backside paddled ‘til you were howling?"

He looked miserable now, and his eyes were tearing up. He shook his head ‘no’.

I tossed him the hairbrush.

"You think that’d hurt?"

"On my bare butt?"

I nodded.

He looked at it for a second, then reached behind and gave himself a moderately light swat on the pants. He jumped just a bit, then reached behind with the other hand to rub.

"Yes," he squeaked, now sure it’d hurt.

"No, I’m not going to spank you."

"You’re not?" he said, sounding almost disappointed.

"No. You’re not my kid. While you’re here, I’m somewhat responsible for you, but you haven’t smoked here. Don’t smoke when you’re here, don’t bring any more of those things around, and we’ll be okay."

"Thanks," he mumbled, finally seeming to accept that he was getting a reprieve.

"No problem," I answered.

I took the brush from him and dropped it back in the drawer. Then I stood and dropped my arm around his shoulder to escort him to the door. He didn’t try to draw away from me.

When we opened the office door, Charlie was in the living room. His hair was still a bit damp with sweat, but he’d changed into his swim trunks and looked much cooler. He was actually on the far side from my office, but he was still watching the door. He seemed a bit shocked that Tracy and I hadn’t been in there longer, and that Tracy was coming out clear eyed and dry faced.

"I think these’ll fit," Charlie announced, holding up a red and white pair of floral print trunks. Go put ’em on, and I’ll introduce you to everyone."

"Thanks again, Mr. Wells," Tracy told me as he followed Charlie.

"You can call me Jack, Tracy."



"Hi, Jack," Tracy said a couple of weeks later as I pulled open the front door.

"Hello, Tracy."

"Um… when did you say Charlie was gonna be back?"

Despite being gone for two years, Charlie had been interested in going to camp. He’d felt a little torn by wanting to be at home, but the idea of a couple of weeks of only mildly restrained freedom, spent with other boys, getting to mostly do fun stuff, was enough to convince him to go.

Unfortunately, that left his new friend alone for two weeks.

"He’s still not going to be home until a week from Saturday, Tracy. And then it’s going to be late, so really it’ll be Sunday. We’re going to have a cookout that day, though, and you’re welcome to come."

"Okay. Well, thanks."

The poor kid looked so miserable that I just couldn’t help myself.

"I was about to fix a sandwich. Would you like one?"

"Yes, please," he answered, and I felt guilty that he’d be that excited about just getting to share lunch with his friend’s dad.

I hadn’t really been about to eat. I’d actually been catching up on my summer reading, sitting out by the pool, alternating an occasional dip with plenty of reading in the warm sun. However, since I’d already had to get up, a sandwich sounded pretty good.



Tracy had been more than just a regular visitor after that first day. He’d been at our house every day after that, and he’d slept over a couple of times. He loved the pool and the game room and the dogs and the amount of space we had. The only thing he didn’t seem to take to right away was my other kids. That’s not to say he had troubles with them; he just seemed… not shy, but hesitant to get to know them.

Over time, I came to understand why.

Tracy didn’t remember his father. What he did remember was moving around a lot. His mom was trying to find a better job or a nicer apartment. For an adult, that’s okay, but I don’t think she ever realized how hard that kind of thing can be on a kid, when he’s always the new kid and never has any roots or old friends.

The happiest time in his life had been when they moved to Fort Worth. They’d been living in Arlington. He wasn’t sure if the guy was just a roommate or had been his mom’s boy friend, but the guy disappeared, and they couldn’t afford the apartment anymore, so they’d moved to Fort Worth, where they lived with his Uncle Mike. For a couple of years, he’d been ecstatic (and settled). However, Mike was in the National Guard or Army Reserves, and his unit had been called up. Once again, Mom decided the place was too expensive on their own, and they’d moved.

I wonder if his mom had seen how much he loved being in one place, because Bransom was only their second move after that, and that was because of a job promotion. Tracy had been pretty miserable about the move, but Bransom does have a lot going for it for adults or kids, unless you’re just a dedicated urbanite. Once he’d met Charlie, Tracy had started to settle in.

And then my kids went to camp. Tracy knew a couple of other kids in the area, but my house had become the center of his summertime activities, and he seemed somewhat adrift without that base.

My trouble was, unlike with a lot of my kids’ friends, I didn’t have a lot in common with Tracy. While Charlie and I had formed our initial bonds on the love of fantasy and collectible-card games his father had left him, his friendship with Tracy was based on other things. With a lot of kids, I would have been happy to invite them to hang out for a while. With Tracy, I just didn’t know what I could offer him.

And then he walked past me.

"Tracy," I asked suspiciously, "have you been smoking again?"

He’d turned to face me when I said his name, and now his eyes went wide. He looked panicky, looked at the door as if measuring his chances of running, then looked back at me and nodded.

"Didn’t you realize that cigarette smoke stinks? You reek of it."

He gave himself a sniff or two, then just shrugged.

"Didn’t we talk about that?"

"You said I couldn’t do it here."

Is that what I’d said? I thought back over the days, trying to remember for sure. Honestly, it probably had been. Then I looked down, and my doubt was removed.

"If you remember me saying that, Tracy, then I’m also sure you remember telling me you weren’t going to bring cigarettes in my house again."

The blond boy didn’t try to argue or deny it. He did go flaming red in the face.

"I’m sorry. I forgot."

"I’m sorry you forgot, too, Tracy, but I still don’t want them here."

"I still wanna hang out here, Jack."

I felt a little bad as I realized how he’d taken my comment.

"I want you to, too, Tracy. Charlie really likes having you around, the other kids all seem to like you, and you’ve been a good guest. I want you around, but I don’t want those around," I added, pointing at his sock, where the pack was stuck.

"Are you going to spank me," he asked after a long minute. His voice was diffident and he refused to look at me.

I sure wanted to. I knew he was about to turn thirteen, and given that he was just over five foot, there was no guessing how developed he was. Beyond that, I knew he had a nice rear end. I’d love to get his shorts and briefs down and get him over my lap.

But was that the best way to deal with him just now? Would the risk of giving one spanking be worth costing Charlie one of his new friends? Worse, if the kid didn’t hang around with Charlie, would he end up back with those troublemakers Charlie had found him with?

Sigh.

"Let’s talk a bit, Trace."

Since I was the only one home, I led Tracy into the living room, where we sat and talked about smoking. We talked about the coughs and the stinky breath. We talked about the smelly clothes and the ashes that ended up everywhere. We talked about burned furniture, forest fires, and death by falling asleep with a lit cigarette in hand. We talked about how many thousands of dollars a year it cost to smoke. We talked about the fact that my grandma had died from lung cancer. Then we talked about why people still smoked, and how it still seemed to be cool to a lot of people, which got them started, and how addictive it is, which kept them going.

"Do you understand why I don’t want you smoking, Tracy?"

He nodded, looking absolutely miserable.

"I know I’m not responsible for you – maybe some when you’re over here – but I am responsible for my kids, and I don’t want it around here. I hate the idea that some of the younger kids might see you with a cigarette and decide it’s cool. I think that’s how a lot of kids get started, and I don’t want that happening to my kids. Understand?"

"Yes," he chocked out. "I’m sorry, Jack. I swear I won’t bring any over again. I’ll try to stop. I know I deserve a spanking, but please let me keep coming over."

The poor kid seemed scared to death. The idea of spanking wasn’t the big deal to him (and having lived five different places between kindergarten and first grade, I could understand his feelings).

"Come here, Trace," I said, moving to sit by him and wrapping my arm around his shoulders.

"You can still come over."

"Thank you, Jack. I’m really sorry. I swear I’ll try…"

"I know you will."

He turned into the hug a bit, so it was somewhere between arm around shoulder and real hug, but closer to a real hug. We sat like that for a few seconds, quietly, before he finally broke it.

"I don’t think I can eat right now, Jack. Could we get it over with?"

"What’s that?"

"I know I screwed up, and you said you’d spank me if I brought those over again, but can we do it now. Please?"

Who am I to deny a plea like that?

"First, we need to get rid of those," I replied, nodding towards his feet. "Give me your socks."

He kicked his sneakers off, then started removing his socks. They should have fit pretty high on his legs, but he had them scrunched down into a bunch just above his ankles. He was wearing blue mesh basketball shorts, so he had no pockets, which I guess explained the obvious bulge in his sock.

The first sock he handed me only had his wallet in it. I removed the billfold, sat it aside, and shook the sock out. With the second, we hit pay dirt. Another beat up pack of Marlboro. This time with only two cigarettes.

"Are you really smoking this many, Tracy?"

"No," he said defensively.

He looked at me for a minute and I just looked back, awaiting an explanation.

"This guy I know snags ‘em from his dad. Dad smokes a bunch, so M… he can grab one that’s almost empty and Dad don’t really notice. He’s afraid to take ‘em back home, though, so sometimes he gives them to me."

I nodded, willing to accept that. It’s actually very close to how I’d gotten my smokes when I was a kid.

"So these are all you have?"

He nodded.

"Let’s get it over with, then."

Tracy managed to look absolutely miserable as he pushed himself to his feet. Obviously Charlie had shared at least a little general information with him, because I heard a quiet whimper from behind me as I went into my office. Despite the fact that we were alone in the house, I held the door until Tracy passed me, then shut it.

Without me saying a word, Tracy pulled the Rangers jersey he was wearing over his head. He often went shirtless, so I wasn’t surprised by his smooth, hairless pits, or by his firm, flat, but not quite hard belly.

He looked around for a second, then dropped the shirt on the coffee table. I took the spanking chair from the desk and turned it to face into the room. When I sat, he came over to my side, but I was turned sideways, digging in the paddle drawer.

After only a second’s thought, my hand moved past the brush, and I lifted Red from the drawer.

"You’re not going to use the brush?"

"You’ve never been paddled this way before?"

He shook his head.

"I think this will do the job then."

"Can I see it?"

I handed it to him. He held it in his hands, feeling the weight, then patted it against his hand and gave it a test swing.

"Does it hurt?"

The tone of his voice said he already knew the answer. I wasn’t sure if he was seeking reassurance or honesty. I know honesty’s best, but I didn’t want to scare him (any worse) either, so I went with evasive.

"It’s what I spanked Charlie with when he was your age."

The way he clenched his eyes shut let me know Charlie had definitely been telling stories. Still, he visibly made himself relax, then handed the paddle back to me.

"I though you said you’d brush me."

It was pretty clear he wasn’t asking for the brush, but also clear he wanted to know what was going on. I tried to explain my decision in a way he could understand.

"Well, you didn’t smoke around my kids. You didn’t even smoke over here. I would like it if you didn’t smoke, for your own sake as much as anything, and I don’t want you coming over here reeking of smoke anymore; but the main reason I’m spanking you is that you disobeyed me and broke your word by bringing those over again. But if you‘d rather I use the brush…?"

His head shook like a cheap car with a bad tire.

"Okay, then c’mere."

I was going to pull his pants and briefs down like I would have done for one of my own boys, but instead of stepping in front of me, where I’d gestured, Tracy stepped right up to my side.

"Could ya turn your head a minute? Please?"

The please was so plaintive, I couldn’t resist.

I turned to face away, and a second later, I felt his weight settle across my lap. Looking down, I saw he’d pushed shorts and briefs down to his ankles. I took him by the hips and adjusted him just a bit.

"We’ve already had the talk, so I’m not going to lecture you much more."

I felt him relax a bit.

"Besides all the stuff we talked about just now, you need to remember that cigarettes are illegal for kids your age. If a cop catches you, he will ticket you, and your mom would have to go to the station and pick you up. The real reason you’re getting spanked, though, is for not keeping your word. If you want to go someplace, you have to follow the rules there, and if you want people to trust and respect you, then you have to keep your word when you tell them something. Understand?"

He’d been making little affirmative grunting noises as I spoke, but now he answered, ‘yes, sir.’

I tried to make it a short, to the point lecture because I knew he was nervous and upset with himself. I’d also been rubbing his rear as I went. He was hardly as tense as some kids I’d spanked before (my benchmark on that is still Brandon Lanigan, who’d actually started out bowed a bit upwards), but I wanted him to relax a bit. The gentle rubbing not only did that, but gave me a feel for his rear. Like the rest of him, he was in good shape and firm, but he had a bit of extra padding. I was sure he’d be able to take a better paddling than Cal, who was a bit taller than Tracy, but much leaner.

"All right then. Grab the legs of the chair and hold on."

I waited while he obeyed.

"Try to put your toes on the ground and spread your legs just a bit."

The boy was so anxious to please, even though he was obviously scared of the upcoming punishment, that it tore my heart a bit not to let him off. I think that if it had been something less serious than this, I would have.

As it was, I moved the paddle to my right hand, lined up, then went to work.

I can’t quite say my pattern was perfected by this point, but I’d long since worked out any bugs. Even if he wasn’t used to this type of punishment, he had a very spankable rear end, and I wasn’t worried about doing any real damage.

Tracy was really pretty stoic as the paddle tracked down the middle of his seat, from near the small of his back down towards his legs. As I switched and did the same thing to each cheek, he began to squirm a bit – not like he was struggling, but almost the same way someone would when they just couldn’t get comfortable.

When the paddle moved back and went over the same ground it had on its first trip, his movements became a bit more noticeable. He must have had a good grip on the legs of the chair, because I could see his shoulders rolling around. He wasn’t actually kicking, but it looked like he had a severe case of Restless Leg Syndrome. He also began making these little noises, something about halfway between a moan and an ouch.

A couple of swats on each side, towards the dimples, then one more time down the center, and his quiet ‘oh’ became a louder ‘Aah!’, and his feet began to play an air drum roll.

And then I moved down onto his legs.

He went taut and silent for just a second after the first smack landed on his left leg. Then another landed on the right and he went into action. He began thrashing around on my lap, his legs started really kicking, and he twisted to the side as his hand shot back behind him, all to the accompaniment of loud, vibrato howl.

"Move your hand, Tracy."

"Not the legs. Please not the legs."

"You’re the one that earned the spanking, Tracy, I’m the one that’s giving it. I think you know you deserve this. Now move your hand."

I was trying to give him a chance to do it himself instead of making me pin him. It’s hard to say if it’s meaner to restrain them or make them be active participants in their own spanking, but I wanted to be able to tell him I was proud of how he took it.

His only answered was a broken, shaking moan that let me know he was starting to really cry, but he lay back flat across my lap, not quite loose, but his hand moved away from his rear.

I gave him a second and gently patted his back, then lined up the paddle.

"Ooh, no," was his response as he felt the paddle softly touch down on his leg again, but he didn’t try to stop it when the paddle lifted.

He stayed pretty still as the paddle smacked his left leg again, but there was no doubt he was crying now, and he began to really thrash around and kick as I went back and forth on his legs for a third time.

Back up to his bottom, and he was too far gone to settle down or control himself. He was crying hard and loud, not quite out of control, but headed that way. His legs were kicking up and down and scissoring a bit, and the only reason he stayed on my lap was my left arm wrapped firmly around his waist.

As the paddle moved back and forth, working its way from cheek to cheek, it was obvious that the boy was right on the edge of his breaking point. Going back to the center of his rear, working the paddle from the top to the bottom of his crack, pushed him over. He suddenly collapsed across my legs, all tension and resistance gone. His body still twitched with each swat, and shook with his broken sobs, but he was no longer fighting and struggling. A couple of swats to each side, then one more down the center, then it was time for the legs again.

I looked down at the boy; the broken, bawling boy; the boy who was so lonely he wanted to hang out with his friend’s dad; the boy who was so scared of losing his friend that he was willing to take a spanking from a guy he barely knew rather than risk it. I put the paddle down.

"C’mon, Champ," I said, reaching under his chest and gently helping him up, "I think you’re going to remember this for a while."

Tracy really surprised me with how tough he was. Most boys crying that hard don’t want to do anything but wallow in their misery. As soon as he realized I was through and lifting him, Tracy nearly bounced to his feet. Then he was bouncing.

It had been far from the hardest spanking I’d ever given, but I was still impressed by how vigorous a fire dance he was managing. He was bouncing up and down on his toes, flexing his knees, shifting back and forth like it was his feet that hurt. The entire time, he was bent at the waist just a bit, reaching behind him to rub vigorously – first his rear, then his legs. His hands rubbed, moved down, rubbed, moved up. Suddenly he shifted rhythm, and one hand rubbed a leg while the other administered to the rump, before he shifted sides.

Despite his earlier modesty, Tracy was completely naked while doing all this, and I had a perfect view of him. He really was a beautiful boy in early adolescence. His balls were a pretty decent size, and his sac was loose, but his little peter, though nicely chubby, was barely more than an inch long, albeit still soft. The whole thing was bouncing and bobbing as much as the rest of him was, and I had a hard time fighting off a smile.

However, I’d not gone easy on the spanking to humiliate him, so I climbed to my feet before he could realize what a show he was putting on and that I was watching. The way he was bouncing around left no doubt his ankles were unhobbled, so I picked up his clothing.

His shorts were easy to find, almost exactly where I’d expected them to be. His briefs nearly eluded me, though, until I caught a glimpse of white out of the corner of my eye. The Fruit of the Looms had ended up on my desk. The only thing I could figure was that was that maybe they’d caught around one ankle before he started the really vigorous kicking, and that they’d come off then, on an upswing. I’m surprised I didn’t notice them flying past my head, but I had been concentrating on other things.

I turned back to him then, with shorts and undies in hand. By that time, his crying had faded to light sobs, and he was still rubbing, but without the entire dance routine.

I handed him the clothes.

Realizing how nude he was, his still flushed face went even redder, and he grabbed them and held them in front of his boyhood.

I spread my arms.

"Why don’t you get dressed and come get a hug?"

He turned his back long enough to get into his briefs, his whole body wincing as he scraped the elastic over his raw rear, then turned and nearly threw himself into my arms.

I held him tight for a few minutes. I think he started to sob a bit harder, probably from relief. I guess he took the hug as a sign that I wasn’t mad at him. I’d suppose a person is much less likely to hug someone if they’re about to ban them from a return visit.

After a few minutes, I let go with one arm and ran my hand through his thick hair. He leaned back a bit and looked up at me.

"You going to survive?"

"I think so," he sniffed. "You spank hard!"

"Trying to make a point."

"You sure did. No wonder Charlie doesn’t want to get in trouble."

I considered not telling him, but…

"If that had been Charlie, he would have gotten it worse."

"No way!" he exclaimed, his eyes going wide.

"Yep," I assured him, before explaining how I would normally have finished, with more attention to the legs and swats on the sit spots.

Tracy, with his arms still wrapped around me, closed his eyes and leaned his head back for a minute. Then his eyes opened and he looked back at me.

"Thanks," he said with what I didn’t doubt was complete sincerity.

"You’re welcome. It’s your first time, and I think I made my point."

"You sure did. I’m gonna try to never get in trouble here again."

I hugged him back to me at that, and thought about giving him the kiss I would have given any of my kids, but didn’t want to push it. Instead, I gave him one last, firm squeeze, and released him.

"Think you can eat now?"

He sniffed and wiped the back of his wrist across his face.

"Uh huh."

"Good. Why don’t you go get washed up and dressed, and I’ll get things ready?"



Five minutes later, I had things mostly ready to go when he walked into the kitchen, damp faced, but clean.

"What’s that?"

I explained how I’d made chicken Parmesan sandwiches with roast chicken, which I’d heated in one microwave, then melted the cheese on it, while heating some Ragu in the other.

"You need anything else on it?"

It was funny, because Tracy was acting very shy – especially for him. He hadn’t put any other clothes on, except his basketball shorts, but that didn’t seem to worry him. He definitely wasn’t mad at me. I’m not sure if he was embarrassed at how hard he’d cried, at me seeing him nude, or just not sure how to act now. Whatever it is didn’t make him shy about food.

"Could I have lettuce and tomato?"

I got those out of the fridge.

And onions.

"Are those avocado slices?"

I’m surprised he could get his mouth around it.

While we ate, me sitting at one side of the kitchen counters, him making a major point of standing across from me, we talked about a lot of stuff. One major subject that came up was his lack of things to do while Charlie was at camp. He was trying to avoid the guys Charlie said were bad news, but Toby was almost the only other guy he’d met, and Toby was visiting family.

"Do you like Six Flags?"

"Yeah," he answered enthusiastically and with no hesitation. "But Mom can’t afford for me to go," he added miserably.

"I’d love to get to go some time when I wasn’t with a huge crowd, but it sucks to go alone."

"I’ll bet."

"I’ve got an idea. I have a season’s ticket, and season ticket owners get a lot of coupons, including a couple for free guest. You want to go with me tomorrow?"

For just a second, his face really lit up. Then he realized how expensive it is to go all day, even without having to pay for a ticket.

I saw that coming though.

"If your mom says it’s okay, I have some chores to do here today. If you help me get them all done – and do a good job – then I’ll pay for you tomorrow. Sound like a good deal?"

"Sounds great, Jack."







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