The White Rabbit Syndrome

It was Wednesday night. Ryan and I would be leaving to visit a performing arts boarding school in which he was interested the next day. That wasn’t a problem, except that Caleb’s birthday was coming up. While his birthday was actually Saturday, Ryan and I were going to be gone Thursday and Friday, and I knew Cal would want to be out with his friends Saturday evening, so I’d decided to make his birthday dinner that night.

The whole family was sitting at the table, enjoying the meal—chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, cream gravy, green beans, fried okra, and homemade biscuits. There was even a chocolate sheet cake with fudge icing and vanilla ice cream waiting for dessert. Everyone had congratulated Cal on turning sixteen, and we were now sharing the regular conversation about the day, among only a little teasing about the upcoming spanking.

I should say that almost the whole family was there. Chris and JD had come over for dinner, and the table was pretty packed, but there was one empty seat. We’d waited until 6:31 to start eating, but it was ten minutes after that when Mickey finally walked in, looking guilty, sheepish, and very nervous.

I didn’t notice him at first, as I was making a comment to Chris about the differences in teaching, when I noticed that everyone else had gotten very quiet. I looked up, and seeing Mickey, took a moment to wipe my mouth.

"Do you want to get it over with now or eat first?"

"I don’t think I can eat right now, Dad."

"Okay," I said, nodding in perfect understanding. "Go to your room, and I’ll be there in a few seconds."

He sighed, and walked away in perfect silence. I stayed for a couple of minutes to get the previous conversations started again. Not one boy at the table hadn’t been in a similar situation before, and all of them were feeling sympathy for Mickey, even as they were blessing their own good behavior for the day. When they’d settled back down, I finished the bite of steak I’d been cutting, then patted my lips with a napkin.

"If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ll be back in a few minutes."

There were a few scattered winces, mostly from the boys who’d been spanked most recently, but everyone nodded and made polite sounds as I stepped away from the table. I hate to interrupt a meal for a punishment because it is an interruption for everyone. However, I hate more to ruin a boy’s entire meal by making him wait when he already knows what’s coming.

Mickey basically is a good boy. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have troubles and doesn’t make mistakes, and it doesn’t mean he doesn’t need an adult to hold him accountable. What it does mean is that he tries hard, and he owns up to it when he does screw up. When I walked into his room, Mickey was ready and waiting for me. He’d not only removed his pants and briefs, as I’d expected, but he’d pulled off the long Dallas Mavericks jersey he’d been wearing, leaving him totally nude. For that matter, his desk chair was already facing into the room, and Red had been laid in the seat. He stood when I walked into the room.

"Dad, I’m really sorry I was late. I know I’m in trouble, but couldn’t you do something besides spank me?"

I looked at him for a moment, and held up a finger in a way that all my kids recognize as ‘give me a moment to think’. While I thought, I appreciated the view.

Mickey’s not huge for his age, but he is pretty decent-sized for a seventh grader. I think he stands about 5’6" and weighs a lean but firm 112 or so. If it weren’t for his height, how well he’s hung (he’s about as big as I am, which looks huge on his shorter, leaner frame), and the fact that he does have hair around the upper base of his penis, under his arms, and on his lower legs, I’d think he’s a late bloomer. For a long time, I thought he was one of those slow, but steady growers. However, recently Mickey’s developed a coltish, slightly gawky, awkward look that makes me suspect he’s going to be close to six foot by the end of summer.

Mickey probably has an average looking face. I like it better when he lets his hair get long, but he likes it real short during the summer and has already talked about going to get a haircut (at least he doesn’t want to go bald). His face looks just a bit wide, mostly because of his current, lanky build. His lips are a bit big without quite being pouty, and he has beautiful green eyes. While he doesn’t look like Brad Pitt, there’s certainly nothing wrong with his face, except a habit of squinting his eyes (and yes, we’ve checked and he doesn’t need glasses). He’s a good, but not great, looking kid.

No, it’s his body that’s great. Mickey loves playing sports as much as he loves watching them and reading about them, and his body reflects that. His pecs aren’t well developed yet, but they are very defined. You can see his ribs, especially when he stretches, and his stomach is flat and just shy of a sixpack. The ‘V’ of his hip bones is beautifully defined, and makes it hard for me not to check him out when he’s undressed. His legs are just as good, and he already has wonderfully rounded calves from all his time on his bike and running around. Though his body hair is darker than what’s atop his head, it’s still barely even medium blond, and makes him look smooth unless you’re up close.

After a few moments thought, I shook my head.

"I’m leaning towards no on that, Mickey. Let me tell you why, then see what you have to say. Okay?"

He shrugged and nodded. It was fair and probably more than he’d hoped.

"I guess the main reason is, if you want to change punishments, the time to ask me is when you’re not in trouble. There’s also the fact that I don’t think letting you off without a spanking would be very fair to the younger kids, who don’t really have that option. For that matter, I don’t think it’s really fair to Cal, Daniel, or Ryan, who’ve worked really hard to put their paddles away. With me so far?"

He nodded, and the look on his face let me know that, as much as he’d prefer not to, he was agreeing with me.

"However, for you, the most important reason is, if I don’t spank you, I’d have to ground you. If I ground you, that means you couldn’t go to Topher’s house Friday night, and I’m not sure how it would affect skiing, but I’m sure you’re gonna want to see your other friends before we leave, aren’t you?"

He nodded again. I’m sure he’d known it wasn’t likely to work, but he hated to see it shot full of that many holes.

"Now, can you think of any reasons I should let you off?"

He just shook his head, not even bothering to try."

"Okay," I said, crossing over to the chair, lifting Red, and sitting down. "Do you need a lecture?"

"No, sir. I know I’m supposed to be on time, and I know why it’s important. When I screw up, I gotta take the consequences."

Even as he was talking, he was crossing over to me, but I stopped him.

"Okay, but there is one thing I want to say. I called Mrs. Goodens to ask her to send you home. She said you weren’t there."

"Chuck’s got a new friend over the ridge who’s really into baseball and stuff. We just went over there to look at his baseball card collection, but we got talking about doing a baseball fantasy league, and I just lost track of time."

"That’s okay, and I’m glad you’re making new friends and having a good time. I trust you to go other places, Mickey; but when you do, that makes it even more important for you to be on time. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"This is pretty close to the same reason you and Topher got spanked… six weeks ago? Two months ago? Anyway, the point is, if you lose track of time, maybe you should only go where you tell me you’re going or call me when you go someplace else. I know you can take care of yourself, Mickey, but I do worry about you, whatever the other reasons you should be home on time."

"I’m sorry."

"I know, and I wish I could just let you boys run all over the place, do whatever you want, and come home when you want to, but I just don’t think that’s a good idea."

"It isn’t," he agreed vehemently, probably thinking of me letting Van act like that.

I gestured over my lap, then raised my arms to let him lower himself into place. I placed Red on his back for a minute so I could lift his hips and adjust him, then lifted it again.

Normally I give three-down patterns, which have a fair amount of overlap side to side, but barely any as I let the swats track down each line. I’d already decided that Mickey was getting a four-downer.

The first swat fell at the uppermost slope of his bottom, with the middle of the paddle lined up with his crack. The second swat fell far below that, leaving over an inch of white between them. Then the third swat fell over that white stripe, causing nearly an inch of overlap with the first two. Then the fourth swat fell where it covered a lot more of his sit spots than I normally get early in the spanking. I placed those first four swats just a little faster than normal, and Mickey’s gasp of indrawn breath and the sudden tension in his back and legs let me know just how effective they really were.

Mickey’s bottom is as lean as the rest of him, but what there is of it is very nice. He has very slight dimples and plenty of backwards arch. Even so, fitting five swats on each cheek left him very close to a true red color, and he was letting me know that he felt it, with loud, intense yelps.

Mickey was almost straight as a board by the time I finished my third trip down his crack. His legs and head were straight out, and you could tell he was having to really fight the burn. I was placing the spanks like I always do—carefully, without a lot of haste, and with mostly wrist, a bit of elbow, and no shoulder at all. Even then, all the overlap was causing the sting to build a lot faster than it normally did, and Mickey was losing his stoicism very quickly.

Down on his legs, I placed the first three a little further to the outside of each leg than I normally would, then placed the second set of three a little further to the inside than normal. Then I added a third set right to the back of each leg, and that surprised the first sob out of him, and he’d lost it. As I went back to his bottom to begin another covering, his sobs quickly escalated to cries, and he began to really squirm and kick, as the paddle worked another ten swats back and forth between each cheek.

As I started another trip down his crack, he howled, and his right hand shot back behind him. I stopped the next swat before smacking it.

"Move your hand, Mickey," I instructed him calmly, and just loudly enough to be sure he heard.

"I’m sorry, Dad. Please, that’s enough. It hurts," he managed to choke out through his tears.

"I know it hurts, Mickey. It’s supposed to. Don’t make this worse than it has to be." I tapped the palm of his hand lightly with the paddle. "Move. Your. Hand."

He slowly dragged the hand in front of him, and I raised the paddle but stopped as he shifted. Suddenly his head dropped down, and I could feel him wrapping his arms around my leg, as Barry sometimes does. As soon as his shifting stopped, I started again, starting at the top again, which added just a couple of swats.

Mickey wasn’t bawling as I placed another set of swats on those tiny dimples, but he was crying loud and hard and unreservedly. It was only when I started adding another set of spanks on his upper thighs that he went over the edge and was really bawling. The slight kicking of his legs ended, and became minor twitches.

Normally I finish on the sit spots, and I’m sure that’s what Mickey was expecting, but I surprised him again. After the last set on his legs, I stopped and put the paddle on the desk behind me. I didn’t let him up, though. Instead, I began rubbing his flaming bottom, letting that volcanic heat soak into my hands. I kept that up until his crying calmed enough I thought he could converse.

"Mickey?"

"Y-y-yes?"

"This is the second time I’ve had to spank you for the same thing. The second time in a row. You’re a good kid, and you don’t get into much trouble. You’re not really much younger than Daniel, and I think you’re actually a little bigger than he was last year. The reason I’m still spanking you with Red is that you don’t get in much trouble. However, considering that this IS your second time in trouble in a couple of months, and it IS the second time for the same thing, Saturday, we’re going to go out to the garage and make you a new paddle. Understand me?"

The news drew a fresh burst of tears, but he managed to choke out a yes. This time, I gave each sit spot a couple of sharp pats, then rolled him up to sit in my lap, and we cuddled for a few minutes, until he recovered enough for his adolescent dignity to reassert itself, and he hopped up.

Mickey reached behind him and started to rub, then jerked his hands away and looked at me.

"Corner time?"

"No, dinnertime. Can you face your brothers now, or should I hold you a plate?"

He shrugged. It’s not like they didn’t know what had happened. It’s not like they’d not been in the same place before.

"Just let me get washed up and dressed."

"Sounds great. We’ll wait the cake on you."



When you’re thinking about it, things like this seem to last forever. Yet, when I returned to the dining room, a few people had finished, but most of the teens were still shoveling away. Before I could get seated, Ryan hopped up and ran into the kitchen, coming back with my plate, covered with a paper towel.

"I stuck it in the oven, to help keep it warm."

"Thank you, Ryan. Don’t let Mickey know, though. He might decide you’re a traitor."

That drew a little more laughter than it really deserved, showing how tense everyone was. With the scene over, everyone managed to relax again, and things were pretty normal when Mickey joined us a few minutes later.

The only signs of his ordeal were the slight damp bangs, where he’d washed his face, red eyes, and a stiffness to his normally smooth gait. He grabbed the clean plate from his space and heaped it full of food from the warming trays on the sideboard. Then he sat down; or should I say he tried. He bent down, then came out of the chair with a hiss, before easing himself back down, to some sympathy and a few giggles.

Twenty minutes later, everyone had had his fill of everything, except fried okra, which I think I could have run out of with twice as much. No one complained much since we still had cake and ice cream to come. Before that, though, we still had a couple of things to deal with.

As the twins started clearing the table, Chris spoke up before I could say anything. "Someone needs to be more careful," he said. "They left the keys to this Altima in the car. Any idea who it belongs to?"

The boys who were old enough to drive all said, ‘I don’t have an Altima.’ Poor Steven looked wistful, but Cal’s eyes suddenly went wide. I nodded. "Go look."

Everyone had to rush out to examine it. Metallic gold, 2007, with only 31,000 miles on it, and in cherry condition. It’s a four door, like I prefer my kids to start with, but it still has a sporty look, and he was very impressed.

"Chris has promised to come get you Saturday morning and take you for your test. If you pass and can review the safety rules with me when I get home, then I’ll let you go pick up your friends Saturday night. For now, let’s get inside, so you can get your birthday spanking before we have cake."

"Birthday spanking!" Cal protested as we walked inside. "I thought Mickey already took that for me."

"Hey!" Mickey protested, then Cal echoed him when Bobby, PJ, and I grabbed him and forced him over the back of the couch.

"Just for that, I’m going to let Mickey do the spanking this time."

Mickey had an evil smile as he lined up to get started.





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