"Hi, Andy!" The voice calling out, broke through the thinking in which the thin, young man was preoccupied. He looked up to see his high school buddy crossing the college campus, coming over to him.
"Oh, hi, Jake," he called back. "Howr ya doin?"
"Pretty good, man. How bout you? You look worn down, man! Whats wrong?"
"Im okay. Just tired, thats all. Too much on the plate."
"Really? You know, Andy, you got to slow down a little, and make some time to enjoy yourself. Here we are in our first year of college, and youre working like an old man owning a solo business. How come so extreme, man?"
Jake was a big, tall guy, 6'2", brown hair, hazel eyes, with a relaxed manner and an easy smile. Jake doesnt really know what its like to be poor, Andy thought. Jakes Dad was a pilot who made a lot of money. Jakes older brother had gone through college a few years before Jake, never worked while he was a student, and now more than 6 years later, still lived in the large family house and didnt have a full time job, but had a band that played clubs and was trying to make it by recording a cd.
Andys father was a manager of a hardware store, and they had three other kids besides Andy. So, there wasnt a lot of money or time available for Andy. He loved sports, – swam, played soccer, lacrosse, gymnastics – and music. He was not big, but handsome – a knockout: 5'11", lean, trim, muscular, 155 lbs, light brown hair and dark blue eyes. He favored his mothers build, slim and slender, but had his fathers eyes. His Dad was a real big, 6'4", 240 lb hulk, with dark blue eyes and ebony black hair. Andy looked like a swimmer and gymnast, and his whole body was conditioned like a splendid watch. He was strong, agile, could do seemingly endless series of back flips and somersaults, and could run and run and run without getting winded.
"Well, I got this scholarship to school, and I have to keep my grades up to keep it. Then, theres swimming, soccer, and lacrosse. Weve still got our band from high school, and we play high school dances on weekends, so we have to practice and prepare. I work all day Saturdays as a soccer referee, and Sunday night at the Snooze Inn as a desk clerk. So, theres not a lot of free time for fun thats left."
"Man, somebodys got to save you from being the worlds biggest overachiever!" Jake remonstrated his friend. "Its Friday, how bout joining some of us as the Pizza Barn for supper tonight. Were gonna get there about 9, eat dinner, get some pitchers, and kick back."
"Thanks, but I cant Jake. Our band is playing a high school dance tonight, from 7:30 to midnight."
"Where?"
"East Lake High, at the gym."
"Come on by after that, well probly still be hanging there."
"I cant, man. Ive got an 8 a. m. game to ref tomorrow, and then games all day till 6 p. m."
"You are a case, Andy. Howr you ever gonna keep up this pace?" Not waiting for an answer, Jake added, "I gotta go, man. See you in English this afternoon."
"Okay, Jake. See ya." He felt a tinge of self-pity for a moment as he watched his friend hurry away. Forget it, he thought to himself. This is just what I hafta do to get things done and be able to go to college. He trudged on to the rest of his classes that day.
That evening, Andys band played a series of 45-minute sets from 7:30 until 15 minutes after midnight. The high school crowd was so familiar to Andy, since he had just graduated the preceding May. Each of the 4 members of the band received $75, and got to enjoy free refreshments during the breaks. By 12:30, the band had rapidly packed up Andys truck, and left. Andy dropped the other 3 guys off, drove home and parked the truck in the garage without unpacking it, and by 1:30 a. m. was in bed asleep.
With rude annoyance, his alarm awakened him at 7 a. m. He pushed himself up and out of bed, headed down the hall to the shower, and returned about 7:20 to dress quickly in his referee uniform. Hurrying downstairs, he ate a quick dish of cereal, drank some orange juice, and raced out to leave. Suddenly, he remembered that the truck was still loaded with his bands equipment. He couldnt take that and park it at the soccer fields, and there wasnt time to unload it. He grabbed his 15-speed bicycle, slung his ref bag over his shoulder, and headed across town to the soccer field. At 7:55, he rode up to the referees pavilion.
"Andy, whereve ya been," Rudy, the head referee asked. "We were about to pull Michael from the dual hes doing to ref yours."
"Sorry, Rudy. Car trouble. Thats why Im on the bike. I"ll get out there right away. Im ready to go."
"Okay, but hurry. The teams are waiting."
Andy rode his bike across the grassy areas to field 24, locked it to a bike rack, and walked onto the field at 8:03. He paced up and down the field, then signaled to the coaches to send captains onto the field. After the coin toss, the game began. With one hour for lunch, Andy refereed 10 games all day Saturday, and at 7:15 received a check for $150. Wearily, he got back onto his bike, rode back across town to home, and by 8 p. m. it was getting dark when he entered his house.
"Andy," his Mom called out to him. Where have you been? Weve been worried? And why didnt you take your truck?"
"I was too tired to unpack it last night, when I got home, so I left it and went to bed. I didnt have time to unload it this morning, and I didnt want to park it in one of the unattended lots at the soccer fields. So, I rode my bike. Its okay. The ride was neat, its been a beautiful day. But Im tired, and hungry."
"Well, we left you some," his Dad teased, "but any later and it might have all been gone."
"Okay, thanks. Let me just wash up." A few minutes later he returned, looking slightly freshened, and sat down to eat.
"So, Mr. Moneybags, howd you do today," his father asked.
"Okay, Dad. Refd 10 games, and got a check for $150."
"Great, Andy," his Mom replied.
"Yeah, good work," said his Dad. "Whatr you doin tonight? Want to go to a movie with all of us?"
"I cant, Dad. The band is practicing at Chucks for a couple of hours."
"Oh, Andy, youre going to be out late again, and you need a good nights sleep," his Mom lamented.
"I wont be late, Mom. Im tired from last night and today, anyway. So, I wont be late."
"Be home before midnight, Andy," his Dad spoke.
"Daaaad! I will, but I dont need you to tell me."
"Watch yourself, young man. It sure seems like you do – coming in after 1 a. m, then running all day on about 5 hours sleep. If you havent got sense enough to take care of yourself, thats why you have parents. So, no backtalk, and no excuses. Be home before midnight."
"But Dad, . . ." Andy blushed crimson, as he stared back at his father.
"No buts, Andy. I said before midnight and I meant it. Otherwise, itll be your butt, young man."
Andy blushed even deeper red, if possible. He wanted to blurt out that he was an adult, a college student, and his father couldnt order him around. But he knew better. His father never hesitated to administer a sound spanking to discipline Andy, and although he had not had one in more than 5 months – in May, before he turned 18 in June – he was not going to risk getting one now. So, he conceded. "Okay, Dad. Ill be here."
"Good boy," his father answered. "As long as you live in our house, youre expected to meet our requirements and obey our rules. You do that and we wont have any problems. See you later – before midnight – then."
His Mom and Dad, and sisters, exited, leaving Andy to finish eating. He got up, rinsed off his dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Then, he went back upstairs, brushed his teeth, came back down, got into his truck in the garage, and drove off. About 11, the band had gone through several sets of numbers a couple of times. Andy was feeling tired, yet revved up by the music. Nevertheless, he interrupted the practice. "Ive got to go," he announced. "Help me pack everything back into the truck."
"Cmon, Andy, cant you stay until we complete the set?"
"I cant guys. Not tonight. Ive got to go. Well have another session Monday night."
At 11:40 p. m., he drove up to his house. After unloading his truck, he came into the house. It was just after midnight. His father was sitting up in his recliner and turned to bore holes though Andy with his stare as the young man came in. Feeling immediate anxiety, Andy spoke up to reassure his Dad. "Ive been here awhile, Dad. I had to unload the band equipment from my truck."
"I know, Andy. I heard you. But you really should have left earlier, so youd be done before midnight."
Man, hes picking at me tonight, Andy thought, but then said, "Im sorry, then, Dad. I didnt realize you wanted me in the house before midnight."
"All right. Ill be clearer next time. Anyway, get to bed, son. Well be getting you up at 8:30 tomorrow to get ready for church."
"Okay, Dad. Night," Andy called back as he climbed the stairs to go to his bedroom.
In late October, Jake stopped Andy as they were leaving world history class. "Andy, wait. I need to talk to you."
"What is it, Jake?"
"You know my brother, John?"
"Yeah, what about him?"
"Well, you know he and his friends – mostly friends from his past college days – have a band?"
"I guess so. I didnt know about that, Jake? Arent they about 27 or 28?"
"Yeah. Johns 27."
"So, whats the deal?"
"Well, they lost their lead singer and need another one – but a really good one – soon. Theyve been playing at that womens night club, Galactic Fantasy, for a several weeks. But now theyre in danger of losing their booking cause they dont have a lead singer. So, Andy, while he was complaining about this at dinner the other night, I remembered you and him John about you. He wants you to try out – audition – with them."
Andy was stunned with surprise. "What? You did? Gee, thanks, Jake. I dont know, though. Im not that good, and theyre a lot older than me – almost 10 years. But when do they want to do the audition?"
"Tonight, Andy, at 8:30, at the club. Its not open on Monday nights."
"Tonight?! Ive got soccer practice this afternoon, and homework tonight."
"Andy! Youve gotta do this. Its a big chance, man. They make lots of money for their shows, and you could maybe cut down on some other stuff with that kind of money."
Andys head was spinning. Maybe he could quit the job at the hotel, and once soccer season was over, he could have all day Saturday free too.
"What time, Jake?"
"8:30 tonight, GF."
"What?"
"Galactic Fantasy. John said to park in the back and come to the back door and knock. Hell be on the lookout for you."
Andy was distracted during soccer practice, thinking about that nights upcoming audition. His coach became irritated with him and pulled him off the field. "Whatn hells wrong with you, Andy?" he demanded.
"I dunno, coach. Im sorry. I guess Im just letting things get to my attention."
"You sure are. Shake the head trips and get your brain and butt – WHAUMP! WHAUMP! – in gear!" He applied two hard, solid swats to the seat of Andys shorts. The slight young midfielder lunged forward, surprised, running back onto the field. The rest of practice he was keenly aware of trying to keep out of trouble with coach, play well, and avoid any more swats to his behind.
He showered at the locker room, then drove home. He joined his family at the dinner table where they customarily ate together. Then he went upstairs to his room to start his homework. About 8:10, he came downstairs with his keys, headed to his truck.
"Whoa, there, buddy, Wait just a minute. Wherere you headed?" his Dad demanded.
"Oh, Ive got a chance to play with a different band in town, and they want me to audition with them. I wont be real late.
"What band? What happened to your band, Andy?"
"Nothing, Dad. I dont know the name of the band. Jakes big brother, John, heads it up, and Jake told me they were looking for somebody that could do things that I do. Anyway, its just a tryout."
"Arent those guys a lot older than you, Andy?" his mother interjected.
"Ah, yeah, I think so. Im just going to see whats involved. If its right for me, I might make more money, and then not have to spend so much time doing so many things to be able to afford college." He cringed as he spoke, realizing that it sounded like he was complaining about his parents inability to send him to college.
"Anyway, theyre probably looking for something way different than me. But I wont be late. I promise."
"Okay, Andy, back at 11," he Dad declared.
"How bout midnight, Dad? I dont know if Im the only one trying out."
"Alright, then. Midnight – in the house."
"Definitely, Dad. See ya. See ya, Mom."
Andy drove up to the back parking area of the Galactic Fantasy club. He pulled out his guitar and also brought along his fiddle. Who knows? Maybe that might be something extra they might like. He knocked at the door, it quickly opened, and he was looking in the face of an older, even bigger version of his buddy, Jake, but with light blue eyes. "You must be Andy. Im John, Jakes brother. Come on in."
Andy followed him down a dimly lit corridor, and then out onto a brightly lit stage. There were 2 other guys already there: a drummer and a bass guitar, besides John, who played keyboard, and brass-reeds -- trumpet, saxophone, oboe, flute, and trombone. Andy could feel himself becoming nervous in the midst of these guys. They introduced themselves to him, and then readied to begin the audition.
They started out with some 90's tunes that Andy recognized from his childhood. He recalled the words, struck up his guitar, and began playing along with them. It was astonishing how easily they blended and meshed together. After about 40 minutes, Andy walked up to the floor mike and began singing the lyrics. It sounded good – real good. The guys responded by cranking up their play.
About 10, they took a break and showed Andy the backstage and dressing room area. It was a four small rooms, with a bathroom across the hall. The owner, Joe Simons, was there and was obviously interested in who the group might get to replace the member who left. They all talked for a short while, and asked Andy about his singing. Howd he learn to sing? What did he like to sing? He mentioned that he had written some songs, and they asked to hear a couple.
So, they returned to the stage and got back to it, trying out some older 70's and 80's tunes. Most of them Andy did not know the words to, but could jump into the instrumental play. They stopped, and said, "Youre on, Andy. Do one of your songs."
Andy thought for a moment, then put down his guitar, and went over and picked up his fiddle. Then, he walked over to an empty stool, pulled it to front, center stage, and sat down with the fiddle. Through the quiet, the soft sound of the fiddle wafted. Then Andy began, just as softly, singing a love song. "All the winds and all the seas, could not drive me to my knees. Like a magnet to my brain, thoughts of you recur again, as I set out to go to you. . . ."
It was like the sweet, fragrance of lilacs as the tune serenaded the empty building. The guys looked at each other and nodded definite approval as he sang, but Andy was oblivious. Joe, standing alongside the club, nodded his agreement. Andy sang another song, a parody about soldier who battles overwhelming forces ferociously, but hungers for peacefulness and the simple delights of home and family. It would fit in a set of nostalgic love songs.
Then John began pounding out a beat, and the drummer joined with a throbbing rhythm, as they rocked the building with saxophone blasts. Andy took up his guitar, joined in, and they played a driving, repetitive instrumental number. As the beat and tune wound up and on and on and on, Andy dropped off, set down his guitar, and came back to front stage. He was jumping and dancing, spinning and jumping, when all at once, he turned and started a series of back flips across the stage. Reaching the other side, he stood, turned suddenly, and resumed back flips back across to the other side. Standing up, he returned to jumping and twirling with the music, stopping only long enough to pick his guitar back up.
The whole band, along with Joe, the owner, were awestruck. This kid has great instincts, as well as talent," Joe later told the band, after Andy had gone home about 11:30. "Theres some worries, though, guys," Joe added. "As good as he is, hes still a kid – underage. To work here, Ive got to have his parents permission, and he cant be on the floor alone – an adult has to be with him at all times. And he has to quit at 1 a. m.!"
"No problem, Joe. Understood," John replied. "We can get three sets in by 1 a. m. Do you have some kind of parental consent form?"
"Are you kidding? I dont deal with that stuff. Its your baby. But unless I have it, he cant come in here. And even with it, he cant be on the floor, amongst the customers, alone."
"Okay, well take care of it, Joe," John reassured him. But first weve got to see if he really wants to do this, and then if his parents will agree. Well get on it right away."
The next day, Jake met Andy at their World History class. "Woweee, Andy! You really impressed my brother and his band last night. I heard him talking on the phone late last night. I think theyre gonna ask you to join them."
Andy blushed and smiled, but felt excited at the news. Hed had a great, fun time at the audition last night, but when he left he didnt know what to think. He knew how he felt at this instant, though. To be able to play and sing with this band would be unbelievable. "Well, thanks, Jake. It was a lot of fun last night."
After soccer practice, Andy returned home and went up to his room to start right in on studying for the upcoming classes. He was reading English and working on some writing exercises, when the phone rang. "Andy, its for you," his Mom called up to him. He got up, came downstairs, and picked up the phone in the living room.
"Hello?"
"Andy, this is John. Listen, buddy, we want you to join the band. It was a great experience last night, and for a first time gig with you too. We have an extended run with GF here, and we want you to do it with us. I know theres gonna be some work to do to get everybody used to each other. But we had an amazing musical chemistry last night, and theres no question we really work well together."
"Thanks, yes. I felt it last night too."
"We want to invite you to join us and if you say yes, we need to get started practicing right away."
"Gosh, thats easy. Id love to," Andy quickly answered.
"Theres a couple of conditions that weve got to take care of, though. You know, GF is a womens night club, and serves alcohol, and youre only 18. The owner, who you met last night . . ."
"Joe?" Andy interrupted.
"Yeah, Joe. He requires written permission from your parents for you to be able to be there, and theres one other thing. You cant go down onto the floor without one of us being with you."
"Youre kidding," Andy remarked.
"No, for real. Its a part of his protecting himself from risk and liability. You can do it, cant you?"
"Oh, ah, sure thing," Andy replied. "When do we get started?"
How bout tonight? We can practice tonight, Wednesday and Thursday nights, and open up on Friday night. Can you do it?"
"Ah, I guess so. Its kind of quick though," Andy thought out loud.
"I know, kid, but we dont have a lot of time – if you want to do it."
"Oh, I do, I do, John. What time?"
"8:30, my folks place. Weve got a studio set up in the garage."
At dinner, his Mom asked him who had called. Carefully, he weighed what and how to tell them. "Ah, that was Jakes brother, John. They liked me with their group last night and would like me to join them."
"But what about your band, Blue Notes, Andy?"
"I know. Its hard, cause I cant do both. But this pays so much better, and I could cut down on other things that take up so much time."
"Like what, Andy?" his Dad demanded.
"Well, like working all day Saturday, and Sunday nights til midnight."
"Yeah, but wont you be out working, playing in this band for the same periods of time?" his father interrogated.
"Thats just it," Andy decided to work this to his benefit. "Because Im underage, I cant work that much, and the big nights they need me are Friday and Saturday nights. And then, I still have to be outta there at 1 a. m., cause Im underage. So, itll be better, because after all Im working that late at the high school dances now, anyway." He decided not to mention anything about permission.
"Wait a minute, Andy, I didnt know this was a night club, serving alcohol. I dont know about this."
"Its okay, Dad. Im up on the stage with the band, and I cant even go down on the floor where the crowd and any drinking is. I hafta stay with the band." Again, he thought better about telling them that he could go down onto the floor if he was escorted, since that would only make them more hesitant."
"We sure dont want you mixed up with drunken crowds, Andy. If I thought that was gonna happen, Id say you cant do it."
Aaaaah! There he goes, trying to tell me everything I can do and cant do, Andy thought to himself. "Its safe, Dad. The other guys in the band are older, and they wont let anything happen to me, cause they know my age. Anyway, Ive got a lotta catching up with them to do in the next three nights, to be ready for Friday night."
"What dya mean, Andy?" his Dad asked.
"Were practicing the next three nights, because they want me to open with em on Friday night."
"What about your school work, young man? And you have swimming practice at 6 every morning."
"I know, Dad. Im getting it done, and Ill make the practices. You know I work hard. Just watch me. And soon I wont have to work Saturdays and Sunday afternoon and night. Ill be able to get even more done."
"Okay, Andy, but you better, because if your grades start dropping, or you start missing games, meets, and practices, youre through. And youll be sitting at home on Friday and Saturday nights – that is, if you can sit."
Andy shuddered imperceptibly, understanding fully his fathers admonition. Then, he got up, took his plate to the sink, and headed out to his truck. "See you Mom, see you, Dad," he called over his shoulder. Before he could start the engine of his truck, his father appeared in the garage. "Home by 11:30, Andy."
"Aaaah, Dad. How bout midnight?"
"11:30 – or else."
"Okay, okay," he concurred, and started up and backed out of the garage. It was just after 8:30 when he arrived at Jakes – and Johns – folks house. He headed over to the big garage from where he heard the music coming. The guys greeted him, and he quickly got up with them. Methodically, they began working through sets of numbers with Andy, and they and he were amazed at how quickly he coalesced with them. At 11 p. m., he stopped and again announced that he had to leave. They seemed a little surprised and annoyed, but he reminded them, "Sorry, guys, but Im a college student too."
He was home by 11:23, and in bed by midnight. 5:30 a. m. was a shocking time to be awakened, but he forced himself up and out to drive to the pool. By 7:30, he had finished practice, was showering and shaving at the pool, to head off to campus. It went like that for the next two nights, and Andy was growing excited and nervous about the opening on Friday night.
After a Friday afternoon soccer practice, he went home and took an hours nap. Then, he got up, and went downstairs to eat dinner with his family. At supper, he ate lightly – mostly because of nerves. Then, he went back upstairs, showered again, and put on a pair of his newest, clean jeans and a clean, powder blue t-shirt, pulled on clean, white socks, and put white shoe polish on his running shoes to make them look clean and bright. His Mom and Dad spied him bounding downstairs, looking freshly scrubbed and combed.
"Im headed out now, Mom, Dad. Wish me luck," he called.
"You seem kind of keyed up tonight, Andy," his Mom said.
"Yeah, I am. You know, starting something new, not knowing for sure how itll go."
"Well, do good – and behave yourself, Andy," his father instructed him.
"I will, Dad. I promise. Ill be home before 1: 30, so, dont wait up."
He drove his truck to across town to the back of Galactic Fantasy, parked, and came to the back door. Knocking, he found it immediately opened to him. He went in, and headed to one of the dressing rooms. He pulled out a piece of paper, dated it that night, and wrote: "This will give our permission for our son, Andy, to work at Galactic Fantasy club." He signed, "George Mathews" and "Elinor Mathews." (He wrote his fathers name with is left hand, to make it look sloppy and more like a mans writing.)
Then he went to the stage to begin setting up for the first set of the nights performances. The rest of the band was there. Most of the guys were wearing jeans. Kenny, the keyboarder, had a long-sleeve shirt and open vest on. Everybody seemed pretty relaxed and casual, yet clean and sharp. He was glad he had chosen some of his best things to wear. He handed the signed permission to John, who looked relieved and folded it to give to Joe, the owner.
At 9 p. m. exactly, the band took the stage for the first one-hour set. They played and rocked, and Andy sang the lead vocals on everything. At the half-hour mark, they stopped; he grabbed a stool, and sat down at front, center stage. With his fiddle, and a soothing keyboard background, he sang the soft, lilting songs that were his own works, and a very emotional, romantic mood swept over the place. He ended up singing four songs before he quit.
Then, he got up, put the stool away, and the band signaled a return to rocking rhythms. Instead of floor mikes, each band member wore a mike on his head wrapping around to his mouth. The band was shaking the place with its beat, as Andy began the rapid lyrics. The number went on and on. Maybe it was just such a turnaround from the recent, sobering moments, but the crowd was into this one.
Instinctively, Andy, began jumping up and down, up and down, pulling his knees into his chest. Then, after maybe a dozen or more of those, he landed and spun around and around. The women broke into cheers and calls, and Andy responded with even more gymnastic movements. He set down his guitar, pulled off his head mike, and began a series of back flips, across the stage and back, in time with the beat. The crowd was besides itself. He repeated the back flips, ending with a spinorama twirl each time. Then, he picked up his head mike and began belting out the lyrics some more.
When the hour was over, he had soaked through his shirt and even parts of his jeans, with sweat. He was glad for a break, even just 30 minutes, and retreated to the small room to cool down and drink water. While waiting, he took off his shirt and jeans, to try to get them to dry out, but at 10:50, both his shirt and jeans were still wet from sweat. Dan, the drummer, came over and brought him a spare t-shirt and pair of jeans. Dan was Andys height, but a whole lot heavier, and the t-shirt was loose on Andy, and the jeans were huge.
Still, Andy needed something dry and clean to wear, so he pulled them on and headed out onto the stage. The next set was equally as favorable to the crowd. The girls greeted them, and him, enthusiastically. They performed more driving numbers, and Andy gave another, but shorter, mood interlude. Then they returned to the pounding numbers that got everyone going. Andy returned to jumping up and down repeatedly, pulling his knees up tight into his chest, and then spinning and twirling to the beat as well. While he was doing that, Dans spacious jeans just dropped over Andys hips, and down his legs to gather at his shoes.
He was stunned and embarrassed, but the band kept on playing. Quickly, he pulled them back up, blushing obviously; however, the crowd of women went nuts. They shrieked with delight, calling out "more, more, . . ." Andy only blushed more, then returned to jumping and spinning and dancing with the beat. Once again, Dans loose jeans failed Andy and slid to his feet at the floor. It was time for his back flips and twirls. He knew there was no way he could do that with these jeans.
So, he did an unbelievable thing. He bent down, pulled off his shoes, and stepped right out of the jeans. Picking the jeans and shoes up, he flung them to the back of the stage, standing there in his white socks, gray boxer briefs, and Dans roomy t-shirt. Then, without hesitating, he broke into his back flips across the stage and back, ending with a high twirl in the air.
The crowd nearly became hysterical with excitement. Calling to him, they begged for more. There was little more for Andy safely to give them, so he pulled the t-shirt off his bare chest and shoulders, tossed it away, and resumed the back flips and twirls, over and over, until he finally stopped, picked up his guitar, and resumed singing the lyrics in just his boxer briefs and socks. He was still sweating heavily, but at least it was drying quickly. The rest of the band just smiled, nodding to each other, noting the reaction of the female crowd.
And so a new show was born. But Andy knew he would need to bring more clothes to change into in the future, if he was going to go through three of these sets of performances a night. For the last set of the night, from midnight to 1 a. m., his put back on his own jeans and t-shirt, now dry. However, near the end of the set, even though his jeans were not failing him, he nevertheless pulled his t-shirt up and over his head, tossed it away, bent over, pulled off his shoes, unsnapped and unzipped his jeans, and slid them down his legs, stepping out of them. He was back in just his gray boxer briefs and white socks, jumping, twirling, spinning, flipping, to the hammering beat of the song. There was one problem. He had pretty much sweat through much of his boxer briefs, and he was more than a little embarrassed at how they clung to him and what they showed when there were soaked. More pairs of underwear too, he thought.
When the evenings performances were over, Andy grabbed up his clothes and swiftly retreated to the room in the back to pull his clothes back on. The guys were ecstatic about the night, teasing and praising him for what he had done. Then John said, "Andy, the women are calling for you. Come on out onto the floor with me. Ill stay with you, but they want to see you, kid."
Andy was stunned. What?! It was one thing to get caught up in the music and the show when they were responding to it all. But it was another to be going out like bait among them. John grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the room, down the hall, to a door that opened onto the floor. Then, standing behind Andy, he pushed him along through the crowd. A sound of excitement vibrated across the room as word that the athletic, young hunk was out among them. The next thing he knew, Andy felt fingers reaching into the pockets and waist of his jeans, inserting money. After about 20 minutes of going around, John pulled Andy away and through the door back to his room.
"Whats all this?" Andy asked, as he began pulling bills of money all his jeans pockets and his waist. He counted it, and there was $160!
"Tips, man. They love you, kid. You were a big hit tonight! It was great!"
Andy blushed again, puzzled that this could be such a big deal. Then, he grabbed up his guitar and fiddle, and quickly left, saying "goodnight" to all the guys and driving off in his truck.
Saturday morning was another day of soccer refereeing, and Andy was up early again. He drove his truck, emptied of band equipment. Refereed 8 games, and drove home by 6:45 for dinner. Then he raced upstairs, took a quick, half-hour nap, and was up showering and dressing for Saturday nights shows. In a sports bag he put a towel, two, spare changes of boxer briefs – gray and white, besides the navy ones hed put on fresh –, two more t-shirts, two more pairs of socks, and another pair of jeans. He would be ready this time.
Saturday night was even better. At the high pitch of the lengthy, concluding number, he pulled off his t-shirt, kicked off his shoes, and pulled down his jeans and kicked them off. Then, in navy boxer briefs, in gray boxer briefs, and in white boxer briefs – always dry and clean each time – he did his gymnastic moves and stirred the crowd. After each set, he went back to his little room, peeled of his sweaty boxer briefs, and wiped himself down with the towel, and changed into clean, dry underwear and clothes, adding fresh deodorant. This time, however, he sought out John, asking him to accompany him out on the floor.
Andy would walk through the crowd of women with John following directly behind him. They talked to and at him, telling him they loved his singing, his dancing, his agility; telling him he was cute and hot, and always stuffing money into his pants. This was almost like picking money off a tree, Andy thought to himself. When he returned to his room backstage, he counted the tips, which were always over $100, and stashed them away to take home. At the end of the night, after 1 a. m., he was walking around the floor with John behind him, smiling, laughing, talking to the women, while they stuffed more money into his jeans.
Suddenly, he felt a hand reach down the front of his jeans, into his crotch, clasping his package. He instinctively backed up, colliding with John who was right behind him, while the hand grasped his reacting, radiating rod. Andys eyes widened, his mouth fell open, and he inhaled sharply, his abdomen sinking in, and he reached down to pull away the hand that was invading his private area. As he grabbed the arm and pulled it up and out of the front of his pants, his hard rod was protruding against the front of his jeans. Then, he felt some other hands grabbing his butt through the seat of his jeans.
Worry swept over Andy. This was something he had not anticipated, and he was a little panicky about it. "John," he called out, "Get me outta here! I gotta-aaah! Aaah! Aaaaaaah!! John! Get me-aaaaah! Outta here nowwwwww!" He stretched his words as he felt hands grabbing and grasping the obvious bulge tenting out in the front of his jeans. He felt Johns strong hands on his arms, dragging him along towards the door. The crush of women followed him. When they got to the door, John opened it, pushed Andy through, and followed him, locking the door behind them.
Back in the dressing rooms, Andy was breathing hard, excited, but regaining his composure. John handed out checks to everyone. He handed Andy a check for $1,500, and Andy was shocked. $1,500 for two nights of playing in a band?! This was incredible! It was almost 2 a. m. when Andy finally got to bed at home. He was exhausted from the long days and nights, not to mention the excitement of the evening. The next morning, his Dad awakened him at 8:30, to get up and ready for church.
He quit his job at Snooze Inn the very next weekend. After soccer season was finished, in November, Andy no longer had to get up to referee on Saturdays. He continued swimming, and worked hard to keep his grades up; but most of all he was having a blast, making a lot of money and having a lot of fun too, at GF.
When his parents asked him about it, he would just tell them that it was going fine, that he was making a lot more money than he had done with high school dances. His Mom asked him why he was going through so many clothes every night. He told her that it was hot on the stage and he sweated through his clothes so bad that he needed to be able to sponge off, dry off, and then put on clean, dry clothes for the next show. She seemed satisfied with that explanation, and Andy seemed to be doing everything right.
Months later, in mid-May, on a Friday morning at the hardware store, a customer came in and purchased some materials. When he noticed George Mathewss name tag, he spoke up, "You have a son named "Andy"?"
"Yeah, why?" Mr. Mathews inquired warily.
"Well, he works at my club, playing and singing in the band there."
Mr. Mathews was a bit surprised but said, "I hope hes behaving himself, and no trouble."
"Oh, hes no trouble! Hes the best thing thats hit the club since we got our liquor license. The chicks are nuts over him. And when he sings and dances and strips, they almost go crazy!"
"Wha-at?!" George Mathews choked his question.
"You know, the little strip tease thing that the women want. And then all the gymnastic, atha-letic action – believe me, business is much bigger since he started playing there. Sure glad you let him come and do that."
George Mathews was stunned several times over. Strip tease?! Gymnastic, athletic action?! Let him come?! What is going on there? he thought. What is Andy into now? He was going to find out, that was for sure.
Friday evening, Andy was not at dinner. He had a swim meet at the college aquatic center that ran from the afternoon into the early evening. He had packed his bag for the show that night, so he could go from the meet to the club to be able to perform at 9 p. m.
At dinner, Mr. Mathews told his wife what the customer had said in the store that morning. Elinor Mathews was startled to hear such things about their son. "Well, Im going to find out, and if what I think may be happening is the case, one young man is going to have a mighty sore, blistered behind," Mr. Mathews stated.
"Now, George. We dont know if any of this is true. Lets give him the benefit of the doubt."
"Ill give him the benefit of the doubt all right. But if it is true, Ill give him the benefit of a rocket booster to his rearend too."
About 9:20, George Mathews opened the door to enter the Galactic Fantasy club. When the greeter saw it was a man, he charged him $10 and directed him up to a separate area at the back of the floor, enclosed behind glass, with a sign "Bull pen." There men were permitted to watch, and drink, but without being a part of the female crowd that rushed the stage during shows. He bought a beer for $2.50 and sat down to observe the stage and show through the glass windows.
Then he spotted Andy. The kid was dressed in a white t-shirt with two stripes, yellow and blue, swiping across the shirt just below his arms. He was wearing one of his older, faded pair of jeans, but they looked clean, and white socks and very white running shoes. The kid wore a head mike and was singing and playing the guitar to the music the band was playing for the crowd. Andy was leading the vocals of the tune, and danced and bounced around while playing his guitar.
When it stopped, the lights dimmed, and he spotted Andy putting down his guitar, picking up a wooden stool and his fiddle, and sitting down at the front of the stage. For about 15 minutes, George Mathews sat mesmerized by the haunting, enchanting sound of beautiful, touching songs, sung by his son with the sweet accompaniment of the fiddle and keyboard. It was unmistakeable that this kid could grip a crowd in his spell as he sang. Mr. Mathews felt a rush of fatherly pride in the talents and performance of his son.
Then it ended. The lights came back up, and the band was cranking it up into a frenzied, rocking tempo. Andy was back with his guitar, dancing and bouncing, singing out the vocals. After a while, he stopped singing and began jumping and jumping and jumping, pulling his knees into chest; then spinning and twirling high, only to land begin all over again. The kid truly is athletic, Mr. Mathews thought to himself.
Then it happened. The band notched up the beat even more as Andy set down his guitar. He pulled his t-shirt up over his head, and off, tossing it backstage. His bare shoulders, chest, and abdomen were glistening with perspiration. He kicked off his shoes, bending down to pick them up and toss them behind him to the vicinity of his t-shirt. Then he did the unthinkable. He unsnapped his jeans, unzipped them, slid them right down over his hips, down his legs, and off his feet, bent over, picked them up, and heaved them to the back of the stage as well.
Andy was standing there in only a pair of navy boxer briefs and white socks. He picked up his guitar again, and began singing and jumping, singing and jumping, bare legs pulled up tight into his bare stomach and chest, then springing back down, over and over. He set the guitar back down and turned backwards, springing into a series of repeated back flips across the stage, twirling, then resuming the flips.
The crowd was wildly animated with enthusiasm. Andy was jumping and spinning, even balancing on handstands for a few seconds, while the ladies pressed against the stage to get a closer view. He concluded by retaking his guitar, singing and jumping and twirling, until the number was over. Then, almost instantly, he was gone, racing backstage, picking up his clothes as he ran off.
Andy did not know that his father was in the "Bull Pen" in the back. After sponging himself down in the bathroom, he dried, and put on clean, dry boxer briefs, jeans, socks, and t-shirt. Then, with John in tow, he came out onto the floor with the mass of excited women. He had learned not to stand still, but to keep moving, in order to lessen the opportunity for hands to explore where they should not be. Even then, it was not foolproof, and sometimes he would feel fingers and hands rubbing his stomach and chest under his t-shirt, reaching down the back of his jeans to his butt, and grabbing the front of his jeans to evoke an arousal. Always the tips were good, though. And every weekend he brought home a check for $1,500, plus $300 to $500 in tips.
Mr. Mathews could not get to the floor where he saw his son meandering among the crowd; and he could not go to the backstage area to get to his son. He was taken aback by what he had just witnessed, but he stayed there until 11:30, watching another, complete show. No doubt about it, Andy was driving the whole thing, including the crowd of delighted women, by his performance. This time he had on gray boxer briefs, another pair of jeans, and a different t-shirt; but the ending was the same. Shortly after 11:40, Mr. Mathews again spotted Andy working his way through the crowd on the floor, with John at his side. George Mathews got up, furious, and left.
At 1:40 a. m., Andy drove into the garage, parked his truck, and came quietly into the house. He quietly unlocked the door, stepped in, closed and locked it behind him. As he began walking towards the stairway, he noticed a low light in the living room. Turning towards it, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder, and startled, turned around further and looked up to see his father, standing silently, staring down, straight at him. Immediately, Andy felt that terrified anxiousness and dread when you know youve been caught, and theres no escape.
"Oh, Dad. Whatre you doing up still?" he asked inquisitively.
"What have you been doing, Andy?"
"You know, Dad, working. Sorry if I woke you. Im beat. Im headin to bed right away." He turned back and stepped forward to begin climbing the stairs. Suddenly, his Dad grabbed Andys right wrist with tight power, pulling and turning the young man back to face him.
"Just a minute, Andy. Not so fast." his Dad commanded, stopping Andys movement with a firm grip.
"What is it, Dad?" Andy whispered back, looking unsuspectingly at Dad's face.
Shifting the grip of his right hand on Andys right wrist, to grasp his sons left arm with his left hand, he also grasped the back of Andys neck with his right hand. Then he forced the young man forward, directing him back towards the door leading to the garage. Andy followed his fathers shoves without resistance. Mr. Mathews unlocked the door, opened it swiftly, but quietly, then swung around behind his son, his hands still clasping the young mans arm and neck, and marched him through the door and back into the garage.
Momentarily releasing his grip on his sons neck, Mr. Mathews reached back and pulled the door closed. Then he continued walking his son to the small office room that was at the back of the garage. He opened the door, turned on the light, budged his son into the room, and closed the door behind them. It really ticked Andy off to be forced through the door and garage by his father, and then into the little office, like that; but at that hour – and as weary as he was – he wasnt about to voice an objection. At the same time, his anxiety heightened remembering the countless times he had been taken into this room and punished by his father.
He gulped and spoke nervously, "Whats wrong, Dad?"
Not replying, Mr. Mathews guided his son over to the old, wooden, armless desk chair where he often sat while working at his desk. At this point, Andys suspicions concerning what his father was about to do were on target. "Dad! Dad?! Whats the matter?! Whats going on?!"
Mr. Mathews paused, stared directly into Andys face, and spoke. "I was at the club where you play tonight, Andy."
Immediately, Andys brain was swirling with apprehension. What did he see? What did he know? Did he talk to anybody? "You were? I couldnt see you or anything," he replied.
"I was in the Bull Pen area."
"Oh, . . . ah, well, . . ."
"Andy, I cant believe it! You – acting like a teenage, male stripper or male prostitute. I had no idea thats what you were doing there!"
"Its not that, Dad, – not really. Its just, ah, . . . performing and, . . . ah, entertaining the crowd."
"Dropping your pants? And stripping off your clothes?"
"Well, ah, Dad, its not that bad. Its just, ah, . . ."
"And then wandering around down on the floor with all that booze and those women – and you way underage! I thought you told me that wouldnt happen?!"
Andy was really on the defensive, trying to come up with words to deal with the situation. "Well, ah, Dad, ah, . . . I wasnt down there by myself. John – Jakes brother – was with me."
"Is that supposed to make it okay?!" his father demanded of him. "I wouldnt have expected this kind of behavior from you, Andy. But you are going to learn a serious lesson about it – you can count on that!" Mr. Mathews reached to Andys belt, and began unbuckling it. Automatically, Andy pushed his fathers hands away and stepped back.
Unhesitatingly, Mr. Mathews strode straight to his son, reached up with his right hand and cupped it behind Andys head, bending it forward and downward. He encircled his sons waist with his left arm, lifting the young man right up off his feet. Hanging doubled over from his fathers strong, left arm, Andy protested to his father the whole way as he was carried back to the chair, that it wasnt necessary, wasnt right. This time his father said nothing. He protested also against his fathers quick unbuckling of his sons belt, unsnapping and unzipping his jeans, and yanking them down by the back waistband to slide down his legs to his ankles. Still hanging, Andy was squirming and wriggling furiously, objecting. "Dad, whatr you doing?! No! You cant! Dont do this! Stop it!"
Ignoring his sons protestations, Mr. Mathews stood him in front of him. "You just calm yourself down, right now, young man. This is way overdue, but youve for sure got it coming tonight," he began as he sat down on the chair. "That kind of behavior – tonights – is not going to go unpunished. But it is going to stop – right here and now!"
Without delay, his fathers right hand grabbed the back of Andys neck, pulling him forward, downward, hauling him over his fathers knees. His heart was pounding rapidly and his pulse was racing as he was sprawled across his fathers lap. He began writhing and struggling immediately, trying to get off his Dads lap, to get away from what he knew was coming. His father was so strong, though. He could not slide or slip or wriggle away from his grip. Instantly, he felt that familiar, defeated capitulation of futility and helplessness of being draped across the lap of his bigger, stronger Dad.
He was bounced and bobbled forward across his father's lap. Reaching out with his arms to brace himself from hitting the floor, his legs and feet lifted off the floor. His eyes were staring at the floor just inches from his face, and his t-shirt slid up his back as he wrestled against his fathers grasp. The upturned seat of his white boxer briefs was poised and aimed when the first of the volley of swats began.
Even though it had been almost a year since he had been in this same place and position, the first swat shocked him! His brain jolted more alert, and his head jerked up, backwards. Before he could think or speak, with machine-like repetition and force, his father began swatting his positioned behind.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACK!
He had come home exhausted, expecting to go straight to bed, but never this! He couldnt believe this was happening, and he was in this position once again. He reacted by thrashing and squirming, grunting, huffing, puffing, and gasping as his bottom was swiftly heating up. He pushed, pulled, and wriggled, trying to get away from the fiery swats of his father. The heat was swiftly building up on the bottom of his boxer briefs, as it was warmed by the powerful barrage of his Dad's spanking. His twisting and squirming around across his Dad's lap grew more desperate. After another 20 or more swats, Andy balanced on one arm, while his right hand and arm flew back, trying to shield and protect his behind.
Mr. Mathews did not hesitate. He lifted his left arm from encircling his sons waist and grabbed Andys right arm, wrenching it up against the upper bare back of this battling young man, pinning him in place across his knees. All the while, his right arm kept delivering pummeling spanks all over Andys upturned backside. Andys emotions of outrage, anger, and humiliation overwhelmed him. "Stop it, Dad! You cant doooooo- this! Im too old! Stop! Stop! Wait! Stop! Uhmph! Aaaah-uhm! Stop! You can't do this! Owwaa! Uh, uh, staaaahp-it! Aaaaaaaaa . . ., _d_a_m_n_ it! You cant do, uh, thisssss!"
At those words, Mr. Mathews intensified his swatting and swatting the igniting cotton bottom of his sons boxer briefs. Andy writhed and fought, trying to elude the crescendo of spanks descending on his butt. It was hurting bad, – as he remembered it did – like his butt was set on fire!
Nearly 60, hard, fast swats later, Andy was screaming and hollering. He first demanded that his father stop. When that was ignored, he began bargaining and begging. His legs were thrusting out, kicking, and bucking over his fathers lap, and he automatically began pleading under the blazing spanking that was torching his behind. A flood of tears surged up within him, pushing against his eyes and his resolve, and he began crying.
His father stopped for a minute. Andy thought it was over. Then he felt his boxer briefs being yanked down by the waistband, over his buttocks, past his thighs and knees, to gather, tangled with his pants at his feet. Andy was frantic!
"No-no-no-nooooooooo!" he screamed. "Not thaaaat! Noooooo! You caaaaaant!" And he thrashed around all over his fathers lap as if he were in the throes of a seizure.
"You think I cant, young man? Youre about to find out again, Andrew," his father replied. Then he picked up the old, familiar hair brush and fired it into Andys bare, sizzling behind.
"Yeeeeaaaowww!" the young man shrieked. "Ooooaaah! Nnnnnaaaggh! Ow! Ow! Owowoww!"
WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK!
The wooden hair brush repeatedly struck all over his buttocks and thighs, only with even increased intensity and speed. Another 50 or more smacks and Andy was besides himself with the mounting fire and pain, and his desperation. He thrust up and outward, his legs kicking scissor-like and jack-knifed, as his body recoiled, bouncing and bumping around on his fathers lap.
"Stop! Aaaahrghaaa! Stop!" he yelled. "Oooooo-aaaaa-yow! Oww! Oww! OWW!! Nnnnnaaaa-n-noooooaaaah! Moooooor! Ooooo! Ahgrrrhaa! OwowowowOWW!! STOP! Oh, please! Im sorry! Please! Yow! Owowow! I said-uh-Im sorry! Oooaaah! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ooooaaa, pleeeezaaah! Ow-ow-ow-ow! OWW!"
Writhing violently, struggling, he was trying to free himself and flee from this painful punishment – but it was unavailing. Each time he renewed his fighting, Mr. Mathews tightened the wrench on his arm and hand, briefly quieting and settling the young man down, only to be jarred by another round of fiery blasts blistering his bare, burning bottom.
"Ooooarghaaa-uh! Uh! Puh-uh-leeeez! Nnnrgghaaa! Ow! Illbegood! Illbegood! Awww! Waaaaa-uh! Arghaaaoooo-uh! Ill-uhm-uh! n-never! Ow! Eeeyow! Never! Ooow! doitagain! Uh! Uh! Dad! Never! Uh, Dad! Uh! Never! Uh, uh-gaaain! P-pleeeez! Oooo-uh! Awww! Y-your-uh! hurrrrting me! Daddy! Pleeeez! Youre-aaa-hurrrting-aah meeeee! Awww-uh-uh-waaaaa! Waaa-uh! It hurrrtz! It hurrrtz! Agh-ahwaaa! Illbegood! I promise! Illbegood! Illbegood! Illbegooooood! Oooarrghaaa! Dad! Oweeeuh! Ow! Ow! Daddy! Owowowow! Pleeez, uh, daaaa-uh-deeeeeee! Ow! Ow! Owww!"
His head jerked upwards; his body arched backwards and stiffened; his mouth burst open into sobs, and tears cascaded from his eyes, streaking down his face, his nose running with them. His legs were kicking and bucking as furiously as they could with his pants and boxer briefs snarled around his ankles. Then, he collapsed over his fathers knees, surrendering to the unending paddling of the hair brush and the terrible thrashing it was inflicting. He wept and sobbed, gasping, choking, shaking, heaving – no longer able to speak.
"Awwww! Waaaaa! Uh! Uhgha! Waaa! Ahwww, uh, Dadeeee! Ahw-uh-whaaaaa! Waaaaaa! Whaaaa! Awhaaaaa! Uh! Uh! Huhaughuh! Noooo-augh-uh-uh! Dadeeeeee! Waaaaa! Uh! Waaaaaa! Uh-aaaaw! Waaaaaa! Uhlaaaa-uh! Waaaaaa! Uh-uh-aaa-augh-uh-Dadeeee! Uh, uh! Awhaugh-uh-waaaaaaa! Aw-aw-uh! Waaaaaaa! Oooo-uh-aw-waaaaaaa!"
Each branding smack of the hair brush against his blazing bottom sent him lurching forward across his Dads lap as far as his fathers restraint would allow. He wailed and howled with agony, not really aware of his cries and gagging for breath. When Mr. Mathews had finished, he let Andy lay dangling across his knees, like a beaten, defeated rag doll. The cool, teenage, college idol of the Galactic Fantasy club was now a chastened, wayward boy whose father had spanked him.
After some minutes of letting Andy lie there convulsing in choking sobs, Mr. Mathews reached under the slim, muscular arms of his son, picked up right up off his knees, and stood him on wobbly feet in front of him. Stomping up and down, up and down, in place before his father, Andy wailed loudly, doubled over, sobbing hysterically, his arms and hands flung back to clasp and rub the inferno on his behind.
"Pull up your pants, and then get yourself upstairs and into bed, if you know whats good for you, young man," his father ordered. Still bawling uncontrollably, Andy could only wail his agreement, and he struggled to stand still enough to pull gingerly his boxer briefs and jeans back over his blistered thighs and butt. Mr. Mathews opened the door and stood waiting while his son walked sobbing past him, through the garage, then the kitchen, into the house and up the stairs to his bedroom.
By 3 a. m., Andy was stretched out on his stomach in bed, his face buried in his pillow, sobbing himself to sleep. He slept until 10:30 the next morning. Blinking open his eyes awake, Andy rolled over from his stomach onto his back and butt. Immediately, he rolled back onto his side. Instantly, he recalled the punishment of the preceding night. He slid onto his stomach, easing himself out of bed, and walked to the bathroom. The shower was agony on his battered rearend, but he shaved and finished, then returned to his room to dress.
When he came downstairs, his father had long been at work at the store. Andy poured himself a glass of orange juice, drank it down, then headed out to his truck to go to the library. Sitting on the truck bench was excruciating, exceeded however by the pain of sitting on the wooden seats in the library. Still, he knew the work he needed to get done and spent most of the day there, breaking only to buy a sandwich and a pint of milk from the store across from the library.
It was almost 7 that evening when he returned home. His family was sitting down to dinner, and he carefully lowered his bottom onto one of the dining room chairs to join them. Nothing was said about the previous night, and no one acted as if they knew – except, of course, for his father. After dinner, he went upstairs, showered again, packed his bag with changes of underwear and clothes, and wearing a light jacket came downstairs about 8 p. m.
"Where do you think youre going, mister?" his father interrogated.
"Ah, Ive gotta play at the club again tonight, Dad."
"Oh, no, youre not, young man! Didnt you get the message last night?!"
"Listen, Dad. I'm old enough to take care of myself and make my own decisions about this. I don't need you and Mom looking after me and second-guessing everything I do like I was a little kid."
"You may think so, Andy. But, while you're living with us, you are bound to go by the conditions that we set for you in our house and our family. So, there's nothing more to discuss. You're not going."
"Cmon, Dad, you cant do this. Ive got to go. The rest of the guys are counting on me. Theyre expecting me."
"You're not going," his father spoke flatly and unemotionally. "When I say no, I mean no!" he ended emphatically.
"_d_a_m_n_ it, Dad! I'm not a little kid! You can't do this to me! I'm 18 – almost 19 – years old, and a college student, and it's my job, and my life. If I want to go play with the band and earn money, it's my business! I'm going, Dad – now!" Andys anger was evident as he moved towards the door.
Quicker than lightning, Mr. Mathews was out of his chair, and grabbed Andy's arm. Andy jerked back, starting to pull away towards the door.
"No, you don't, young man! I said you're not going, and you're about to find out – again – what I can do. Im going to show you the consequences for a young hothead who thinks he's too big for his britches, and tries to defy his folks!" Mr. Mathews grabbed his strong, slender son, and dragged the young man along, over to a small bar stool standing near the counter. When he reached the stool, he sat down and pulled Andy down across his lap, face down and hanging over and off his left leg. Andys eyes had widened as he was draped across his fathers knees, again staring only inches from the floor, his bottom elevated and aimed, and the tips of his shoes scarcely touching the floor.
"What?! Oh, noooo! Not again! You caaaaant!" Andy bellowed, recognizing immediately exactly what his father was going to do. He began to thrust himself in an effort to get up. With his far superior strength, however, Mr. Mathews pulled Andy's jacket up over his arms and head, pulling the t-shirt up along with it, and pushing Andys head farther over his left knee and closer to the floor.
WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP!
Ten thunderous swats crashed into Andys backside, catching him by surprise with their swiftness and force. From the thrashing of the previous night, his behind was sore and sensitive to these new swats on it. With his jacket over the back and top of his head, he could not see around the side and behind to anticipate what was happening.
"Aaaaummph! Aaaayaaumpphh! Aaaaayaaaummpphaaa!" Andy squirmed and pushed forward, nearly toppling onto his head, as he released moaning gasps under the volley of hard swats.
His Dad grabbed his right arm up, out from under Andy, leaving him supported only by his left arm and hand, and pulled the lean young man's right arm up behind him, holding it up toward the center of Andy's now-bare shoulder blades. His father then turned him on his left side, reached around the front of Andy, unbuckling his belt and pulling all the way out of the loops of the jeans, then buttoning and unzipping them.
"Nooo, Dad! Dont! Please!" Andy shouted. But just as quickly, his father turned him back over on his stomach, lying face down across his lap. Then, reaching the waistband, he bounced Andy slightly on his knees, while he jerked the jeans down the wriggling young mans behind, his thighs, past his knees to his ankles, where they gathered, bound around his white, running shoes.
WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMP!
"Ow! Ow! Owouch! Ow! Whew! Owww! Stop it! Stop! Please! Owwww! It hurts! Owwweeeyowww! It hurts! Stop! Oooo-stop! Please! It hurts! Ooooo-aaaa, uh, uh, yowee! Its hurting! Ooooo-uh-owowow! Its hurting! Ow! Stop! Oh, stop it! Ow! Pleeeez! Owweeeyowwwowowwww! Its hurrrrt-uh-innnggg! Oooaayoweeee! Oweeyoweeeowwww! Oo-uh-it-uh-hurrrtzzz! It hurrrrtzzzz! Owowowwww, uh, oh, uh, pleeeeez!"
Mr. Mathews trounced Andy's bottom. Covered only by his thin, blue boxer briefs, Andys behind, that already felt scorched, now felt like it was being ignited once again by a torch. He began bucking and kicking, twisting, squirming, and pushing, thrusting and thrashing about, trying to free himself from the unrelenting fire that was igniting his bottom ablaze! Mr. Mathews kept up the barrage of swats against his son's jumping bottom. Andys wailing was near tears as his Dad spanked him faster and faster, and harder and harder.
WHAAUMP! WHAAUMP! WHAAUMP! WHAAUMP! WHAAUMP! WHAAUMP! WHAAAUMPWHAAAUMPWHAAAUMPWHAAAUMPWHAAAUMP! WHAAAUMPWHAAAUMPWHAAAUMPWHAAAUMPWHAAAUMPWHAAAAUUMP!
"Aieeyoweee! Aiyee-uh-owowowowowwww! Noooo-ah! Stop! Ow! Ow! Owowowwweee! Stop-uhaugh! Please! Oooo-ah-owowoww! No, uh mooooor! Stop! Puh-leeeez! Oooo, ow! Owowowwwwaaaah! Its hurrrrtinnnng! Yowowoww! Dad, please! Owowoweeee! No, uh, oh, ow! Uh, moooor, uh pleeeez! Stop it!"
His father stopped spanking, and Andy gulped deep, gasping breaths, thinking he had just undergone, but somehow managed to survive, another terrible, humiliating, even more painful ordeal. His Dad reached to the waist of Andys boxer briefs and rapidly pulled them down to join his jeans around his ankles.
"Uh, aieeeaughaaaa! Ooooo, uh, noooo, uh, Dad! Please! Uh, not that agaaaain!"
Mr. Mathews reached down and grabbed Andy's belt.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACKCRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!
The sudden, swift, long volley from the belt jolted Andys brain. With last night's whipping fresh, his butt was already seared and he really had no reserve to resist. Instantly, he burst into tears, crying. Right away, he was kicking and bucking, thrashing and pushing, twisting and sliding, bouncing and thrusting, trying to avoid the unrelenting bites of the belt. He hated the decision his father was forcing on him; but he hated whippings like this so much more!
"Yeeaiiowowow! Oweeeyoweeeyow! Ooo-uh-noooo-uh-oweeeyoweeeyow! Stop! Stop! Stop! Oooo-ah-uh Ooooo-ah-I'm sorry! Aiieeeyowowoww! P-please! Please! Stop! Please, Dad! I'm sorry! You're right!! I won't, uh, uh, goooooo-uh! I wont! Oooo, uh, ow-ow-ow! Ooooo, uh, ow! You're right, Dad! Owowow! Dad! Dad! Pleeeez! Eeeyow! Dad! I said I'm sorry! Ooooo-uh-uh-owoww-augh-ahhh! I'm sorrrrry! Nooooo-uh-uh-noooo, uh, mooooor! P-please! Owowoweeee! Ooo-uh-uh-oweeyoweeeoww! Uh, uh, Ill, uh, dooo! Uh! wha-aat you saaaaay, uh, un! Oooo, uh, nooooo! Uh, uh, Daaaad! Aughuh, waaaa! Waaaaaaa! Oooo, uh, waaaaaa!" He broke down into hysterical shrieking, wailing, screaming, sobbing, kicking, bucking, and bouncing as each bite of the belt launched him forward across his fathers lap.
"Ooooo, uh, Ill, uh, lissssen, uh, to youuuu, uh, Daddy, uh, uh! Daaaady! Ooooo! Stop! Stop! Puh-leeeez, uh, Dadeeeee! Nooooo, uh, mooor! Stopit, stopit, stopit! Ooo-haugh-uh, uh uh, staahp, uh, uh, staaap, uh, spank-uh-uh-keeenguh! meeee! Oooo, uh, noooo, uh, Dadeeee, pleeeeez! Ill be good, uh, uh, Illbegood! Illbegood! Aaa, oooo-uh, waaaaa! Illbegoooood! Staaaap! Oooo, uh, waaaaa! Pleeez! Ill do what you say! Uh, aughuh, waaaaaa! Iwilllll! Oooo, uh, ow, uh, waaaaa! Dadeeee! Dadeeee! Please! Please! Ill do whatever, uh, uh, you saaaay! Waaaaa! Waaaaa! Uh! Uh, waaaaaaaaa! Illobey! Illobey! Oooooo, uh, pleeeez, uh, uh, Dadeeee, stop! Please, uh, Dadeee! No, uh, moooooor! Uh, uh, staaaahp, uh, uh, Waaaaa! Dadeeee! Puh-pleeeez! Uh, waaaa! Ill, uh, never, uh, disobey you, augh-uh-uh, agaaaain! Oooooo, uh, waaaaa, uh, pleeeez! Uh, uh, waaaaaa! Waaaaaa! Huh-uh-waaaaa! Uh, waaaa! Uh, uh, waaaaa, huh-uh-waaaaaa!"
Mr. Mathews was unrelenting. He blistered Andy's bottom until the young man was shrieking and wailing, amidst gagging coughs and gasps, begging and promising to be good – like a naughty, small boy being spanked. Andy screamed as the belt bit at every point, from his upper out and inner thighs, to his inner buttocks, blistering his bottom all over, completely. He was frantic. Strangling sobs began cascading over each other – screaming, wailing, sobbing, choking, and shaking. The flaming inferno on his rear end was just one, constant, branding, searing fire that got hotter and hotter and hotter.
Before his father finished, Andy had lost awareness of any separate spanks, as the entire blistering left him jerking and jumping across his Dad's knees. His begging, pleading, confessing, vowing, promising, and negotiating were short-lived. His head, neck, and shouldered jerked upward a few times, he stiffened and arched, then collapsed, succumbing to just lying there, hanging and dangling with torturous, racking sobs and gasps, heaving, howling, bawling until he could not speak, and could scarcely breath. He had no choice but to accept and endure the discipline being administered.
When Mr. Mathews stopped, he let his son lie there a while longer, dangling over his lap, racked with shuddering, heaving, shaking, gagging, unintelligible sobbing. His Dad allowed this to go on for about 15 minutes. As Andy's sobs subsided, his Dad reached under Andy's arms and firmly lifted him up, off the knees over which he had hung while being punished, sitting him down on his fathers right leg.
"Aauyaaaa, uh, waaaa!" Andy sobbed again, shifteing and squirming around slightly, scarcely able to sit still in such agony. He was still shuddering and gasping, tears streaming down his face and onto his shirt and jacket, and his burning, bare behind was excruciatingly painful as his father held him firmly, but gently, in place on his lap.
Mr. Mathews lectured: "You are our son, Andy. We expect you to do what we tell you to do, and not to do what we tell you you cant. Do you understand? The next time you think about disobeying, you remember this lesson, young man. You just try it again, and the next session will be a lot worse and more intense than this!"
"Nnggh-auh-y-yes, sir, uh! Uh, I, uh, uh, will, uh, uh, waaaa! I mean, uh, uh I wooont!" Andy stammered, shaking and heaving. Mr. Mathews then grasped both sides of Andys torso, lifted him up, and planted him on his feet before his father. Andy's legs were wobbly. He stumbled, doubled over, stomping up and down, up and down, from the burning, throbbing pain in his bare behind.
"Pull up your pants, son, and get on up to bed. Your mother will call John's house and let him know that you wont be going. Gingerly and carefully, without looking at either of them, Andy slowly pulled up his boxer briefs and jeans over his sore, aching bottom. He did not ask or reach for his belt, but just hobbled upstairs to his bedroom. There he tore off his clothes into a pile on the floor, quickly pulled on some light, cotton sleep pants and slid into bed on his chest, weeping into his pillow as he fell asleep. Andy Mathews showtimes at Galactic Fantasy were over.