After a dozen or so trips back and forth to the woodshed the closet was full and would last for quite a while. I don't know why I filled it up, it just seemed the thing to do. Dad, although retired, is not all that old, he was twenty when I was born and had just elected to take his retirement at a young age for he had made an absolute fortune at a business that he had started and still owned although it was now run by a very efficient manager. Now he just putters around in his woodworking shop and travels a lot. Mom had died a few years ago so he was all alone now and I did feel an occasional twinge of guilt for not visiting him more often.
I built a fire like he had taught me to, there were plenty of ashes in the fireplace so I did it the way it has been done in New England for years when folks used to use a fireplace for heat and cooking and not just for looking at. I put a large log against the back of the firebox and another at the back of the andirons and carefully moved the ashes from between the two logs to provide a place for the paper and kindling wood, banking the ashes in front of the outermost log to act as a damper and seal the air from coming into the front of the fire, all the air had to enter through the sides. Crumpling up a few sheets of paper, I placed them into the cavity between the logs and placed kindling wood like a roof over the paper and crossing the two logs I put into the fireplace already. This done, I touched off a match and lit the paper.
The kindling caught with a cheerful crackle and as it burned I pushed it sideways so it landed between the two logs and added larger sticks to the blaze. When you create a fire like this it will burn long and hot and you simply replace the front log when it burns down, pushing it toward the back of the fireplace and putting a fresh one in its place. This makes a very hot, very controlled fire once it has caught and gets going, the old timers knew their stuff for sure. I put the firescreen in front of the blaze and then sat back in the chair facing the fire, drink at hand.
Dad looked at me from his chair where he had been watching me at my efforts. "You're getting pretty good at that, son," he said, "almost as good as I am."
"No, Dad," I replied without thinking, "you'll always be the best at lighting fires." I blushed as I realized what had just come out of my mouth, I hope that it went over Dad's head. I was a bit uneasy as I felt my penis rise to the occasion again, darn it all but even just thinking about getting spanked still did that to me! I crossed my legs.
"What were you doing out in that shed?" asked Dad, "I thought you had taken root out there. There is nothing that interesting out there that I know of."
I chuckled uneasily and said, "I was on a trip down memory lane," I said, "for some silly reason when I opened the shed door I started to think about all the involuntary trips I made out there when you figured I needed a talking to."
Dad became a bit defensive then. "I never took you out there for a spanking unless you deserved one," he said, "and I hope that you learned from each and every one."
"No, no, Dad," I protested, "I'm not complaining about getting spanked, I know that I had earned every tanning that you gave me, I was just kind of wishing that life was that simple nowadays. Back then I knew just exactly what the penalty was for misbehaving, when you found out I'd be across your knees getting my butt blistered, in adult life it is nowhere near that simple."
"Tell me about what is bothering you, son," Dad said.
I don't know exactly why I did it but I started to tell him about my job and what a hassle it was and how there was constant back biting and underhanded work done to try to get ahead and how I had done quite a few things in my life that I wasn't too proud of in order to play the game as it was played today.
"Now don't get me wrong," I said, "everything that I did was accepted practice in our world today but there were a few times that I was rather ashamed of what I had done and almost wished that I could revert to my childhood and ease my guilty conscious the way I had back then. I can't say that I ever enjoyed any of the spankings that you gave me over the years, they hurt like blazes, but at least I knew once they were over my guilt had been cleared until the next time that I messed up."
Dad had remained quite silent during my out pouring, just interjecting a question now and again when it seemed appropriate but now he spoke.
"Son," he said, "is there anything I can do to help?"
"I don't think so, Dad," I said, grinning crookedly, "I'm a bit too big to spank now, don't you think?"
"Nonsense!" Dad snapped, "a boy is never too big to spank as long as his father is still alive and last time I checked my heart is still beating. As I recall you said about the same thing to me just short of your nineteenth birthday and I proved it to you then and can still prove it to you now. You may be bigger now but that just gives me more of you to spank, the method is the same."
There was a long silence and then Dad said those words I never thought to hear again. "Son, I think it's time to go out to the shed for a little discussion."
There was a sudden snap in time as I went back almost sixteen years when I last heard those words and I wordlessly got up from my chair and headed out the back door to the woodshed, Dad following behind me. Believe it or not, my penis was fully erect once more and my fanny had that old familiar itching that I hadn't felt in years knowing that once again after all this time I was about to go through the old ritual with my father. Strange thing is I never thought of protesting this, he is still my father after all and I still can learn things from him even if it has to be over his knees.
I stepped into the shed and Dad followed me in and firmly closed the door behind him. He reached up and took the old paddle from its hook and sat down on the chopping block, sliding the thong around his wrist. "What are you waiting for, son," he said, "we have some business to attend to so get ready."
I knew what he meant but I had to try to wiggle out of it. "Dad," I said, "couldn't I just drop my...."
"No," he cut me off. "spankings are done in only one way around here and you know how so get to it."
I slipped off one of my loafers and hopped on one foot to keep the sock clean and then repeated with the other foot. The floor hadn't warmed up any over the years, that's for sure! I unbuttoned my shirt and hung it on a nail in the wall and then hesitated as I reached for the button on my pants.
Now I'm not embarrassed about my body, I jog on an almost daily basis and swim and play racquetball at a club I belong to three times a week so I am in pretty good shape. I am used to being seen naked in front of other men for the club is male only and we swim in the nude and it being an old building it still has the large gang style shower instead of individual stalls like they have today. Somehow this was different, however, in the club I got undressed because I wanted to, in this case I was being ordered to undress and to be truthful about it, it was still as humiliating as it was when I was a teenager.
Regardless, I undid the fly on my pants and took them off and then slipped off my briefs and stood there naked in front of my father for the first time in years and years. I had filled out a lot since the last time he had seen me like this and gotten a heck of a lot hairier over the years as well but one thing hadn't changed at all, I was fully erect in anticipation of my butt getting a good blistering.
I walked over to where Dad was sitting on the chopping block and in an automatic gesture held my erection down as I lay down over his knees. Memories came flooding back as I looked at the dirt floor of the shed and felt Dad's still strong left arm go around my waist as it had so many times in the past. It somehow seemed like only yesterday that I had been in this position and about to get my behind warmed thoroughly.
"Are you ready for this, son?" Dad asked.
"Yes, Dad," I answered in a small voice.
"I hope that this will help," he said and brought the paddle down hard on my bare behind.
I would like to be able to report that I took this spanking like a man and didn't cry because of it but I'm afraid that I can't make that claim. True, I handled the first dozen or so stinging swats pretty well but as I have said before, Dad really knows how to spank a guy and he hadn't lost any of his talent at that over the years. At about stroke thirty or so I started to sob for the flames burning on my butt were growing rather hot and by the time he had laid down fifty I was bawling just like the little kid I used to be. I was kicking and bucking my rear end up and down trying in vain to lessen the distance between it and the paddle and inadvertently exposed that private spot on my body that nobody except for my doctor had seen to Dad's view, one that had not been seen either in the shower or the pool and only ever seen by my doctor at my annual physical exam. Somehow the embarrassment of having that area seen was not very much on my mind at the moment, the flames blazing merrily on my rump were. It was only after the spanking, which lasted long and hurt just as badly as when I was a kid was over and I was standing in the corner just like I had as a kid that it came into my mind and I blushed as I realized suddenly that he most likely was no stranger to seeing that spot for I had always kicked and bucked when he was tanning my hide for me. I guess in the past it was just the apprehension that I always felt before a spanking and the pain afterwards that made me ignore that in the position Dad always had me in to spank me my most private area was on display and it only got worse when I launched into my kicking and thrashing around.
Dad had really blistered my backside for me this time, just as hard and long as he had the last time he had me out in the shed for a talking to, not a square inch of my fanny wasn't blazing hot and sore. After he had left me to stand in the corner for a while to think about what had just happened I took the same relief that I had as a teenager, spurting long and hard against the logs piled in the corner.
After I stopped sobbing, I got my handkerchief from the pocket of my pants and wiped my face of the tears and other fluids that had made it messy and then used it to wipe the evidence of my other activity as well, the one that took place much lower on my body, and then looked over at the chopping block. There, on the dirt floor on the right side of the block, was a large dark spot, for the second time I had peed under the pain of a spanking.
I gathered up my clothing from the hook on the wall and instead of getting dressed, walked naked across the yard and into the house. I dropped my clothing on the kitchen table and walked into the living room and over to Dad. He rose from his chair and I put my arms around him and hugged him tightly, my face pressed into his shoulder.
"Thanks, Dad," I whispered into his ear.
He patted my back and then ran his hand lower over my fiery behind. "Anytime you feel the need, son," he said, "I'm here for you so don't forget."
I unwrapped my arms from around his back and looked him in the eye. "I won't forget, Dad," I said and I headed to the kitchen to get dressed.
All the ride home that night and for the next couple of days I could still feel where he had given me the spanking that I had needed, the one that helped to relieve my guilt and clear my mind to get on with life. I had a blistered area and a goodly bruise on the bottom of each butt cheek from where he had spanked me extra hard and I was too embarrassed to go to the club until they healed up which took about a week and a half or so, how could I explain to anyone at the club that I had gotten a spanking at my ripe old age? That was just not done to an adult.
I would visit Dad a lot more often after that day in the shed and every now and again when the pressures of work were too great and I had done something that I was ashamed of I would ask for another walk to the shed. Dad never seemed to feel the request was strange and always obliged me and for that short period of time, during the spanking I got and until I had healed up from it, I felt that things were wonderful in the world again, a time of little responsibilities and one where you always knew where you stood in the scheme of things.
There are many forms of escapism in our world when the pressures of life become too much--some folks gamble, others drink to excess and some even resort to using drugs of various sorts. For me, from the time it is announced that we should take a walk out to the wood shed, through stripping naked and bending over my father's knees and receiving a justly deserved tanning and reflecting on that spanking in the corner for a while, I can escape back to my childhood when life was simple and the rules few and you always, always knew what would happen if you stepped out of bounds. I know it won't work for everyone but it works for me and I can renew my efforts with a lightened heart.
Thanks, Dad.