In the late 1960's I was sixteen and just completed the first week of my Junior year in high school.. My parents rented a cottage by the shore for the weekend and I got to go along. What a blast. It was great...well, at least half the time. The weather could not have been any better. The sun was out and it was very warm for a September weekend
For the previous year I had been using some dumb bells to work out my arms, shoulders and chest. Although I wouldn't have called myself Mr. Muscles, I was getting a manly look that I liked. That weekend I enjoyed walking on the beach in my formfitting latex rubber and cotton swimsuit that was the in thing in those days. It not only made me FEEL great in the right areas as I walked, but it did a nice job showing off my good points, a nice teenager bubble butt, narrow waist, nice package up front and my shoulders and chest didn't look bad either.
Sunday morning came around and that meant church. I never minded going to church as I treated it as a social event. I got dressed in my dress up sporty duds of the day. They included A form fitting long sleeve white shirt with hardly any tails and a slim black tie. I liked the shirt because it made my upper body look as it had a better "V" taper than it really did. The pants were a pair of 30 inch waist, light weight cotton/rayon Continentals. Continentals were slacks that had an extended waistband tab with a double hook on the front. They were cut to fit snug in the waist, seat and thighs and all the way down to the cuffs for that matter. Mine like many continentals had the pockets set in at the waistband seam, both front and back. They looked neat and smooth and did a good job in showing off the teenage body, especially as I walked or bent my legs slightly. I put on some socks and flip snap shoes (the tongue flipped down to lock the shoe in place instead of having to tie them). Oh and yes, a snug white T shirt and a real tight pair of boxer briefs, with no seams in the back. I sure didn't want an underwear seam to show through the smooth rear end of my slacks.. They were like hanes boxer briefs of today. I was one of the few to wear boxer briefs then, but I had been wearing regular briefs so tight that the leg openings were cutting into my groin. I began to prefer to wear a real tight pair of boxer briefs without that happening. The leg seams on them did not show through because they became short as a result of their small size and being stretched fully in the other direction.
After I went to church and came back to the cottage, my dad asked me to put out the garbage in a dumpster down the road. I told him I would get to it later when I got back. I was on my way out to see a friend next door.
My dad from behind his newspaper replied, "Not later. Now!"
I guess I was feeling moody, and big for my britches as some would say in those days. The reply that I came out of my mouth was "Jesus Christ, I told you I'll do it when I get back God Dammit!"
Looking back on it, that was not a smart thing to say...to be more exact, really dumb and stupid. More to the point, I was an ASSHOLE! This was especially true being a Sunday and using the name "Jesus Christ" in vain in front of my father and then some.
The next thing I knew my dad was out of his chair yelling big time at me. I was beginning to feel that funny feeling in my groin, that feeling that I got when I thought I might be in for a spanking. Soon my dad asked, "Do you see any reason why you should get spanked?"
Wow, the blood rushed through all parts of my body after that statement.. I quickly replied that I was sorry and that I would put out the garbage right away. Dad told me it was too late to do that. He told me that I had made my bed and so I was going to sleep in it and ordered me to the bedroom. He grabbed the garbage and walked out the door.
I figured that I had better do as I was told. On the way to the bedroom I placed my left hand palm on the top of my left ass cheek and slid it down the smooth and form fitting fabric of my slacks. The pocket on that cheek had a thin wallet in it, but I soon decided it wouldn't help me much as my pockets were set in at the waistline and they left off at the middle of my ass. I couldn't believe that at sixteen, seventeen in four months, I was having to worry about a spanking. At least the word spanking usually meant the use of my father hand on my ass. As my hand reached the bottom of my ass cheek, I suddenly realized that I could not feel a hem from a pair of briefs. I thankfully remembered that I was wearing boxer briefs. At least if he started hitting my thighs I'd have a little more protection.
There I sat waiting on the bed for my father to come back. A list of things were racing through my mind like:
-My arms were as big as his arms, shoulders too. I had been working out and he was a desk jockey. Could I over power him? -Take a swing at him?. I wouldn't do that. Anyway, if I did, he would Kill me. -How hard would he hit? -How may times would he hit? -Could I take it? -Would I cry? -Should I cry and put on a show and hope he goes easier on me? -Would he hit me with anything other than his hand? -Thank goodness the stick was safely at home. -I wished my slacks were not so thin. -A pair of jeans would be nice, -Do I have time to change into my corduroy Levi jeans? That wouldn't work. He would notice that I changed.. -Might he use a belt? That thought caused the blood to rush. -Thank goodness my pants were belt less and so were my dads. There was no need for belts and there were no belts around. -Was there wood around for a stick? -The night before he couldn't find anything but logs for the fireplace. -Should I tighten my cheeks when my butt gets spanked? -What position will he try to put me? -Will he try to pull down my pants? -If I kept my stomach firm and pushed out, it should keep the waistband hooks tight. He wouldn't be able to unhook my pants then...I hoped. He might try. -What if I put on a pair of Corduroy cutoffs under my slacks...NAH...they would show. -How about adding a pair of briefs. That sounded like a good idea.
I was getting a boner just thinking about all of these things. I looked out the window and saw my dad dumping the garbage and talking with someone. I had time to change I assumed.
I took off my shoes and pants, added another pair of boxer briefs and put my pants back on. The two boxers bunched up around the legs and showed big time. That wouldn't do. I decided to put a real pair of BVD briefs under my boxer briefs. They would show naturally if at all. I removed my pants again, then one boxer brief, then the other and went to the other side of the room to retrieve the pair of BVD's. Wow, through the window I could see my dad was almost back to the cottage coming a different route than I expected. I managed to rush back to my pants, throw them on, slip into my shoes and throw the underwear in the suitcase just as my dad came back into the cottage. Oh man, I surely did it to myself this time. Now I wasn't wearing any underwear and I could feel my slack's ass seam form fitting into the crack of my ass. Even a hand spanking now would most likely ruin my day.
He closed the door as well as several open windows including the one in the bathroom where he stayed for a few seconds. The windows were not a good sign and it sounded as if he were looking around for something in the bathroom. He then proceeded into the bedroom where I sat.
What I then spotted in his hand blew me away. A plastic hair brush! MY plastic hairbrush with a handle. The back of it was slightly rounded, thick enough and a perfect size to do a real efficient job on the butt that accompanied my 30 inch waist. He had given that thing to me for my sixteenth birthday. I didn't use a hairbrush then and I still didn't, but my mother must have packed it with my father handle less one, as he used his all the time. Talk about a feeling in my groin!
One of my friends had told me about his dad using a hairbrush on him. He had nothing but great respect for the brush and told me that his dad's brush had bitten through his new stiff and snug 501 Levi's as if he were not wearing them. I wasn't wearing jeans. I wasn't even wearing my underwear! I knew I was in trouble.
I pleaded with my dad...that we could work it out without hitting me. He seemed cool and calmly told me again he was not happy with my earlier actions and response. He told me with a question, "Why don't you get into bed for the afternoon?"
With that I thought...maybe he just was going to talk things out...like he had done a number of times in the past. Maybe he is just trying to scare me. If he was, he was doing a good job. I decided that if he started to look as he was going to use it, I could try to grab it from him. After all, I was as strong or stronger than he. He then said, "Take off your shoes and get into bed"
At that moment he reached for my left ankle. For sure now he was going to paddle me like he had done with the stick. I yelled out "NO!" I couldn't do much because I was foolishly lying back on my elbows as I was sitting on the edge of the bed and now he had leverage on me. He didn't hit me though. I watched him like a hawk as he flipped the shoe tongue open and slipped my left shoe off. He put my foot back down and then proceeded to do the same with the right one as he kept saying, "You are going to bed."
As he proceeded to remove my right shoe in the same way, I began to relax. I was beginning to really believe he wasn't going to hit me, or at least not hard and put me to bed. I felt like a little kid, but it was better than being paddled. What about taking off my pants before I got into bed, I didn't like that thought.
As he appeared to be ready to put my right foot back down, he instead began raising it. As my foot went into the air I could feel the thin fabric of my slacks tighten as it stretched around my bottom. The slacks pulled tighter against my crotch and also pulled down on my waistband giving me a very weird sensation in this time of peril.
Soon my right ankle was high, my left foot was toward the floor and my butt was out over the bed. If I had been facing down instead of up, the position would be like lying over the bed with my legs spread far apart exposing the inner crack of my cheeks. The cheek he was about to hit was at a 45, just a perfect angle for paddling and the other one was nearly straight. My dad had tremendous leverage on me with the position I was in. I doubted that I could get away. My strong arms, shoulders and pec's were doing me no good while I lay on my back like a pinned wrestler. I didn't want to pull or turn the wrong way, as he might lower my leg a bit and paddle my thigh instead. I wondered if there would be much difference between the sting of my thigh versus the sting of my ass without underwear. The stick last time certainly made me leery of my thigh though.
Smack! Right on the inside lower part of the right ass cheek In no time my cheek was talking to me big time. After about two seconds he proceeded to land one about every second to a count of probably eight. By two, the tears were flowing out of this sixteen year olds eyes. After three, things were just a blur. A lot of noise, tears and stinging pain continued, which was beyond anything I could have possibly imagined.
The brush was far worse than the stick as it covered much more area. The sting through my thin slacks seemed to take over my whole backside, even though the right cheek was the only part directly involved. After he dropped my leg to the floor I spun around the floor as a Disco dancer before Disco ever became a fad.
Later in the afternoon, as I got ready for the drive home, I unhooked, unzipped and peeled my slacks down over my stinging and THROBBING right cheek. There it was in the mirror, a butt that looked like a dark red apple skin that is bruised from dropping from the tree.
I retrieved my BVD briefs from the suitcase and put them on. Then changed into the pair of corduroy Levi jeans that I wished I had on earlier. They probably would not have helped much. Anything should have been better than the thin slacks that fit snug right up the crack and around my globes and for all practical purposes had no back pockets.
My ride home was definitely no joy. Every bump and turn was painful. Changing into my jeans was not smart either. They had seams around the patch pocket that did nothing but annoy my throbbing butt. I would have been better off with the smooth, almost pocket less rear of my dress pants. As for the BVD briefs, they bothered me to no end. The 28 sized briefs were not only tight around the groin, the tight elastic leg openings, specially the right one, cut into my paddled cheek and kept it sore as hell.
At home, I truly had a difficult time sitting on my right side for a couple of days. This time I promised my self, definitely, positively, I would never do anything again that warranted even the slightest slap to the rear no matter how fascinating. Could I keep my promise? I sure hoped I could.