Speeding Is Dangerous


by Graham

My father is an insurance broker, and my mother is a realtor. When I was 20, I still lived at home in our house that was in a rural, restricted, and gated community in Wyoming. I had been about three months into my third year at Clarion College, which is about 20 miles from where we lived. I worked two nights a week, Saturday and Sunday nights, at a nearby hotel as a desk clerk and valet. Otherwise, I was a pretty good student (3.68 GPA), and a member of the mens swim team.

I had a problem, however. My parents had bought me a car when I graduated from high school, so I would have reliable transportation for college; but it was still in my Dads name. I had a bad habit of speeding, and began collecting speeding tickets (4 of them!). The speed limit in our community is 15 mph.

Late one Thursday afternoon, I arrived at home and checked the mail. A letter from the homeowners association was addressed to me. Hurriedly opening it, I read:

Dear Jason,

As you know, the posted speed limit on our communitys residential streets is 15 mph. Additionally, the restrictions covering the community require all residents to comply with the posted regulations governing traffic for the residential streets of the community.

You have been repeatedly observed driving at extremely high speeds in the community, and have been spoken to at least twice by individual residents about your speeding. We know that the vehicle you are driving is titled and registered to your father.

Your continued driving in this manner will result in penalties not just to you, but to your father and family as well. You are urged and admonished to control your driving within the restricted speed, or we will be forced to report your violations to the law enforcement authorities and to your father. Please govern yourself appropriately in light of this warning.

I blushed deeply with embarrassment and pique as I read the letter. They were chastising me like I was a little child. Because they knew how strict my Dad has been over the years, they were adding that warning as well. The letter really irked me. So, I folded it up and put it in the glove box of my car.

Almost a month later, I was speeding through the subdivision, when a car coming from the other direction beeped it horn at me, and the driver pointed his hand at me. I raced ahead, ignoring him. When I got home that night, I parked the car in the driveway, and went into the house. As I walked into the kitchen, my father got up from the table and came right up to me, holding a couple of pages in his hand.

"Jason, I want you to look at this, and then explain to me what is going on, young man," he ordered.

I gritted myself inwardly, accepting that my Dad always has to be the man giving orders, always has to be in control. He pushed the papers before me and I looked down at the top one. It was a hand delivery letter addressed to him.

Dear Mr. Hanson,

We regret having to write to you about this problem, but several attempts to handle this otherwise have met with failure. Your son, Jason, has repeatedly been observed driving at extremely high speeds on the residential streets of our community. As you know, the posted speed is 15 mph. Jason has actually been clocked at speeds exceeding 60 mph on these same streets.

Numerous people have spoken to him about the danger of his speeding, only to find no change at all. We recently sent him a letter notifying him of the need for him to conform to the speed restrictions here. A copy of that letter is enclosed. Additionally, we have checked Jasons driving record to find that he has gotten 4 speeding tickets in the last 10 months. As you know, he is driving your vehicle, which makes you as liable for his actions behind the wheel as he is.

This morning, Jason was encountered speeding on the streets, nearly causing a collision with an oncoming car. We now have no other course left. We are sending this warning to the County Sheriffs office, and to you, along with the additional notice that any future behavior like this will result in fines and assessments against your lot in the community. Failure to pay those may result in a lien and foreclosure against you. Please take steps to correct this situation with Jason.

I gulped and shuffled the page to see what I recognized instantly as a copy of the letter I had received a month ago. The third was a certified letter from the State motor vehicle operators agency, informing me that my drivers license had been suspended for failure to pay the 4 speeding tickets.

"Now, young man, I want the truth, and I want it now! What has been going on?"

"I dont know, Dad. I dont drive that fast."

"Oh, really. Then how do you account for those 4 tickets for speeding?"

"Well, . . ."

"Well, nothing, Jason. Why havent we heard about these tickets? Youre driving my car like this."

"Well, Dad, . . . I dont think it is 4, and, ah, I dont know anything about this letter. Ill try to do better, though. I promise."

"I hate to say it, Jason, but I dont believe you. Give me your keys."

"What?! My keys? Why?" He just stuck out his hand waiting. Reluctantly, I pulled my keys out of my pocket and deposited them in his hand.

"Come with me, mister," he demanded and turned to walk out of the house to the car. I began to feel very nervous, but followed him as he ordered.

At the car, he unlocked the door, opened the door, and looked around the car. Then, he unlocked the glove box, and opened it. Immediately, the original letter that the homeowners association had sent to me fell out. Then, he reached in and pulled out 4 traffic tickets – all unpaid. He picked up the letter, glanced at it, then shut the glove box, closed the car, and turned to face me. I guess my face and eyes registered the apprehension I was feeling, because he responded.

"Thats right, young man. Youre in big trouble, big time. Now, get yourself inside, and downstairs to the basement immediately."

Downstairs? In the basement? Immediately? All long-familiar terms, well-associated with past discipline from my father. But I hadnt been in any trouble bad enough to get punished by him in more than 3 years. Why now? What is this? I wondered all this as I trudged along behind him, walking into the kitchen, and then following him down the steps into the basement.

My father turned on the basement, overhead lights, and suddenly I saw the still-familiar environment where I had sustained some of the unforgettable whippings for misbehaving in the past. Unthinkingly, I shuddered.

"All right, Jason. This is it. This is the end of this kind of behavior from you – period. Im taking the car away and grounding you for 3 months. You are to go to school and work, and thats all; and well see whether having to be driven around to them will make you slow down.

"But you are also going to get your butt blistered, right now, tonight; and again tomorrow night for lying about the letter. Then next weekend, you are going to get two more for all these speeding tickets, and for hiding them. The weekend after that, you can expect two more for not paying those tickets, and for letting your license be suspended. So, for the first 3 weeks of your 3 months grounding, you can expect to get your rearend roasted. Understand?! Now, get your pants off and get over here!"

I couldnt believe my ears. Im 20, a junior in college, and my Dad is going to spank me, and 2 nights in a row for 3 weekends! "No way," I remonstrated.

"Dont tell me no way, Jason."

"Cmon, Dad. You cant do this! Im too old for this kind of stuff. Im 20 years old, and a junior in college, for cryin out loud. What dyou think youre trying to prove?!"

"Im not trying to prove anything, Jason. I can, and Im going to, burn your butt bad, young man. You are not too old, buddy. While youre living in our house, driving my car, and enjoying our provision and protection, you are going to obey the conditions of our house, or find out how you like not being able to sit comfortably for a while. You are the only one who is going to be crying out loud, young man."

Gulping, I stiffened and stepped back away from him, over towards the steps. That was a big mistake. Dad was on his feet, at my side, and grabbed my right arm and neck, bending me over and directing back to the old, oak chair that he usually sat in when dishing out this kind of punishment. Sitting down, he jerked me over alongside his right leg. Before my mind could appreciate what was happening, he had unbuckled my belt, unsnapped and unzipped my jeans, and was tugging them down my legs and over my butt.

"You dont need to do this, Dad, you dont have to . . ."

He interrupted me, reaching up and hauling me by my arms across his lap.

"Mmmmmmmphhhhh!" I gasped as I stretched out and over his knees.

"Dad, noooo," I called out. "You cant do this! Im not going to let you . . . "

SMACKSMACKSMACK! SMACKSMACKSMACK! SMACKSMACKSMACK!

Again I was interrupted, but this time by the repetitive swatting of my behind with my fathers granite-like hand.

I began wriggling to try to avoid the rain of swats falling on my backside, while protesting. "Cut if out, Dad. You cant dooo this! Ah! Stop it, Dad!"

SMACKSMACKSMACK! SMACKSMACKSMACK! SMACKSMACKSMACK!

My father did not reply, but continued to pummel my rearend. My right arm shot back to protect my battered behind, but he grasped it with his left hand and wrenched it up and back between my shoulder blades. Then he continued the barrage.

SMACKSMACKSMACK! SMACKSMACKSMACK! SMACKSMACKSMACK!

That many hard-hitting swats that fast were beginning to sting and heat up my backside rapidly. I was bucking and bouncing around on my fathers lap, while he trounced my bottom. Oh, wow, uh, whewww! The smarting and burning were mounting, and at first I gasped and groaned, then began trying to wheedle and bargain amidst shouting and yelling under the battering spanking he was administering.

"Ummmphaaa-ooooaaaa! Dad! Stopit! Ill pay the tickets! Uh-ummmphaaaa! Dad, Ill slow down! I will! Uh-uh-ow! Ooo-uh-ow! I wont speeeeed, uh, anymooooor! Stopit! Uh-uh-augh-uh-ow! Ow! Stopit, Dad! Ill be gooooood, uh, ooo, uh, ow-ow-ow!"

Dad stopped, and I gasped sharply inhaling as I realized how close I had come to breaking down under my fathers discipline. He reached across my waist, grasped the waistband of my boxers, and yanked them down over my buttocks, down past my thighs and knees, to join my jeans tangled at my ankles. I couldnt believe this was happening.

"Nooooo, uh, you, dooooont!" I shrieked and began bucking and thrashing around on my fathers lap. "Not thisssss! You, uh, caaaaant, uh, ooooo, uh, arrrrrrgh!"

My father reached over, picked up an old hairbrush with which I had been well-acquainted in past years, and began to pepper my already throbbing bottom. He made the back of that brush dance all around and over my butt, my thighs, the sensitive spots where they meet, as his wrist snapped the back of the brush over and over. In a minute, from deep within sprung forth tears and sobs, and I was bawling and squalling like a young, naughty boy being punished. I couldnt get away, and I no longer could hold back my wailing tears. My father was not deterred. He blistered my bare bottom until my only reaction was to jerk and jump hanging across his knees with each additional smack of the brush.

When he stopped, I was choking and gagging through my sobs, but that did not seem to faze him. He pulled me up off his lap, standing me before him. I doubled over stomping up and down, dancing the spanked-little-boy-dance. Still, he did not pause.

"Pull up your jeans and get yourself dressed, Jason," he ordered.

I felt so humiliated and so much pain, I couldnt straighten up to pull up my boxers and jeans. "Augh-uh-uh-huh-uh, I, uh-uh-, caaaaant, uh-huh-uh-augh-uh!" I wailed. Dad spun me slightly and resumed paddling my deeply branded butt with the brush. "Aaaargh-uh! Oooo-uh-oweee, uh, owww! Ok-ok-Ill, uh, dooooo it!" I hollered. He kept on delivering more spanks to my butt, and I bent over swiftly and pulled up my boxers and then my jeans, wailing and wincing as they scraped my bruised behind.

"Now, get upstairs to your room, and into bed, young man."

"But, Dad, . . ."

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

He applied the brush still more to the seat of my jeans. I jumped, breaking down into more sobbing. "Ooooo-uh-araugh-uh-oooo-uh-kaaaay!" Then I raced up the steps, through the kitchen, and down the hall to my bedroom. Stripping off my clothes, I threw myself into my bed on my stomach and face, and continued sobbing into my pillow.

The next morning, Dad woke me up early, dictating to me that I get up and ready, since he would be driving me to school early, because he had to go on to work. I hated this, but had no choice. The next night found me back across my fathers knees, being spanked once again. The following two weeks repeated the same discipline; and I served out my 3 months grounding, restricted to home when not working or going to class, and being driven everywhere by my mother and father.

During that time, word circulated around the community about what had happened and what my father had done to me because of my driving record and habits. When I was able to get my drivers license reinstated, and my keys back – after the 3 months –, I drove slowly and carefully along the streets – except now and then Id forget and start gunning the car down the streets and out of the gate.

One Friday, I had forgotten, and in a hurry, had raced down the streets and out the gate on my way to classes. Later, that evening, I was returning back home in the dark, and I stopped at the entrance guard building, waiting for the gate to open. Instead of automatically opening it, the security officer came out and over to my car. I recognized him as Bob Shackleford, our neighbor. He had been a police officer for 30 years, and now, at 52, had been retired about 2 years and worked security for our community.

"Good evening, Jason," he addressed me as he looked at me through my open window. "Park your car over there for a moment, and come into the office." He pointed where he wanted me to park.

I couldnt think of why he would need to see me in the guard office, but neither could think of any reason to refuse. Parking the car, I turned of the engine and opened the door and stepped out. Then followed him into the guard office, where he closed and locked the door behind us. That made me feel a little nervous, as I looked around.

"I didnt see you driving around here for a few months, Jason. Is that right?"

I was embarrassed, but a little annoyed that he stopped me for that remark.

"Yeah, I guess," I muttered softly, wondering what the point was.

"Get into a little trouble because of your driving?"

Now I was embarrassed – and really annoyed. This was none of his business. Why did he stop me for that?

"Ah, sort of," I hedged.

"Like several weeks in a row?" he persisted. "Like not able to sit down comfortably for a few weeks?" he added before I could respond.

I guess the look on my face was a giveaway of my astonishment at what he said.

"Its okay, kid, your Mom told my wife what happened. I admire your old man. If more fathers took their kids in hand when they misbehave, the kids would learn a lesson and things would be better for everybody.

"Anyway, thats why I stopped you tonight, son. I saw you speeding down the streets this afternoon, and actually clocked you passing the gate at 62 mph. Thats more than just a little above the speed limit, isnt it, Jason?"

Now I was on the spot with Bob badgering me. "Ah, yeah, I guess so," I conceded.

"Yeah?! You guess so?! Its yes, sir, and after what happened to you, by your Dad, it should have registered crystal clear from your behind to your brain! Did you forget all that, young man?! Kinda looks like you need another refresher, kid.

"N-no, sir," I stumbled.

"Ill tell you what, Jason: you come with me, and well get to the bottom of this right away. Come in here," he called, as he opened a steel door into a darkened room, but then turned on the light. I walked in slowly past him, startled by what he had just said to me. He closed the door and turned the deadbolt on it. I felt more anxious, wondering what was going on. He took hold of my left arm, just above my elbow, and directed me into the center of the small room.

"Now, then, Jason, youve been at it again – driving at dangerous speeds around the community. Youve been acting bad, and you know it." Suddenly, I felt intense pressure and nervousness, as I was placed on the spot by Bob. I decided to admit this and get it over with, so I could go and get home.

"Ah, ahm, ah, sorry, Bob, . . ."

"Sgt Shackleford," he corrected me.

"Ah, Sgt Shackleford. I wont do it again."

"Thats what you told your father every week, the last time he had you over his knees, isnt it?" Why did he have to say that? I cringed internally.

"Well, ah, yes, ah, sir, but . . . "

"But, what?! Whats he gonna do to you when he learns about this latest incident, Jason?!" Again I cringed, but this time it showed on my face.

"Thats right, buddy. Itll be warm-up time for your butt for a few weeks again, and youll be standing – not sitting – without any car or keys again. Am I right?!" he demanded. Boy I hated to acknowledge what he was saying.

"Aah, well, . . ."

"Well, what, kid?! Stop beating around the bush. Youre Dadll beat your butt over and over again when he finds out youre back to speeding, and disobeying again to boot. Wont he?! Tell the truth now."

Man, I hated this so much. When I was still slow in answering him, he came up close, towering over me at 6'2", and lifted me up under my arms, right off my feet. Now I was hanging in his grip, looking him in the eye, face-to-face.

"Aah," I gulped, "y-yeah, Bob, er, I mean Sgt. Shackleford, ah, h-he will. But you dont have to tell him. Please. Give me a break, please. I wont do it again. I promise."

"Okay, kid. Im gonna give you a break. But Im not gonna let you skate. Youre not gonna behave like this still, and think you can get away with it. Speeding like youve been doing, and disobeying the traffic laws, is dangerous. And it needs to be dangerous to you, too. So, heres the deal. Ill discipline you here, right now, and nothing more will be said or done. If you object to that, well call the Sheriff, and then your father – right now – and let him come get you."

I was stunned. It seemed pretty obvious that by discipline he meant to administer the same kind of punishment as my Dad – a thrashing. I couldnt believe it. He was going to do the same thing to me that my Dad had done a few months ago. No way. I was 20 years old, an adult, a college student.

"All right, Jason, whats it gonna be. A single spanking here, or the whole set of what your old man will do to your hide?! – not to mention the Sheriff and your license. "

"Youre, ah, kidding, right?" I asked, hoping that was some kind of scare tactic.

"You heard me, kid. Do I look like Im kidding? Sound like Im kidding? I dont have all night, Jason. Ive got a job to do. If you want to get off easy, youll take it now. If not, lets get to calling your Dad and the Sheriff."

I was in a panic. "No, no," I retorted rapidly. "Not that. You dont need to do that. Ill change. Ill shape up, I promise. Just let me have another chance."

"Im already doing that, Jason. By taking care of your punishment here and now, instead of letting you have the full blast from your old man – and the law."

"But, . . . cant you just give me a warning and let me go?" I whined.

"No, siree, Jason. Your behiney is gonna learn the lesson again for you, youngster. Then your warning will register every time you go to sit down. Now, whats it gonna be – one spanking, or many?!" He was blunt now. I hated this, but the choice was simple. If I took it now, and got it over with, my Dad wouldnt find out, the Sheriff wouldnt find out, and I wouldnt have to undergo the continuing punishment.

"Ah, Bob, er, I mean, Sgt. Shackleford, sir, isnt there some thing else, some other way, I could . . ."

"There isnt, kid," he interjected, staring right at, and through, me.

Slumping and shrugging my shoulders slightly, I muttered my resigned choice. "Ah, ah, oh, ah, okay. I mean, if Ive got to take it, ah, sir, . . . Ill do it now, I guess."

"You guess?!" he shouted in my face.

"I mean, okay, sir, Ill take it." He lowered me to stand on my feet before him.

"Hurry up, then, kid. Take that jacket off and hang it on that hook near the door. Get those jeans off and get across my lap. I dont have all night." He sat down in an old oak chair as he spoke. I was horrified and humiliated beyond imagining. I just stood there, frozen with shame and fear. Because I didnt move right away, he stood up and yanked my arm, pulling me over close to him.

"Do you want me to call the Sheriff and let him take you personally to your father, young man?"

Now, that, I knew I did not want. "Noooo, sir," I answered softly.

"Then get those jeans off quickly, and get yourself over my knees," he barked.

I sighed a groan of resignation and unbuckled my belt, unsnapped and unzipped my jeans, and began slowly pulling them down over my boxers and down my legs. While he was standing, he reached down, and jerked my jeans down rapidly to fall at my feet. Then, turning me around, he pulled my jacket off my arms and tossed it over by the door of the safe. I felt like I was being undressed against my will. He sat down, pulled me around to his right, then firmly guided me down and across his lap. As I was being draped over his knees, I groaned audibly, as I thought to my self, how did I get into this mess?

The next thing I was aware of, and suddenly, his big hand was crashing down against the almost unprotected seat of my boxers. My eyes and mouth opened widely in shocked reaction. The crashes against my thinly clad rump were hard, and already stinging and warming it up. I wriggled and squirmed some, hoping to cool off and blunt the powerful force of swats peppering my behind. He wrapped his arm around my waist, and pounded my butt for all he was worth.

Whoaaah! Wow! It was hurting already! This was going to be tough, but I was determined to take it, and not break. The thunderous swats of his big hand were smarting and smoldering my butt from my upper thighs where they met my buttocks, to all over them. A wave of panic swept over me. It dawned on me that this big, burly officer was going to administer a spanking to me, without any personal knowledge or concern about me that my father would have – even when he had blistered my rearend recently. If Sgt. Bob Shackleford thought that my parents had not punished me often, or hard, enough, he was going to take the opportunity to see that I received what he felt I needed and deserved.

In a short matter of minutes I was grunting, groaning, and huffing, and my right arm shot up and back to try to protect my behind from the painful onslaught. Bob grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm up against my back, pushing my sweater and t-shirt up onto my back, pinning my arm there. Now I was locked into position, while he bounced his legs, bobbling me farther forward across his lap, aiming my bottom higher.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK!

He intensified and accelerated the torrent of swats raining down all over my backside. I bounced and bucked, twisted and thrashed about, unable to get free, to get away from the pummeling that was warming my rump to an inferno pitch.

"Oooo, ah, ow, Bob, ow! I mean, uh, ow! Ow! Sgt. Shackleford! Ooooh! Ow! Im really sorry! Oooo-uh-ow! Please, please. Ow! Ow! OWW! Im sorreeee! Ow! Ow! I'm sorreeee! Ow! Ow! Ooww! Ive learned my lesson! Oooooo-uh-ow! Ow!"

"I doubt that – yet – youngster," Bob replied, while continuing to smash my legs and seat with his hand. "But you will, and you truly will be sorry. I can guarantee that!"

My breathing was becoming quicker, shallower, and less under control, as I felt myself gulping and gritting my teeth, to keep back tears that threatened. "Puh-leeeez! Ooooo-uh-ow! Ow! Stop it! Ow! Ow! Ow! OWW! STOP! Huh-uh-uh-oooo-uh-ow-ow-ow-ow!" I was almost beside myself with the frantic frenzy that this mounting, fiery pain was producing. How did I end up getting in a mess like this! I thought to myself.

"Cmon, Bob, uh, ow-oww! I mean, Sgt. Shackleford, sir! Oooooooo-uh-uh-ow! Ill be good! Ooooo-uh-ow! I will! Uh, I will! Uh-uh, ooooo-uh-ow-ow! Stopit! Stopit! Ooooo-uh-ow! Ow! Ow! Its enough! Oooooo-uhna-noooo-uh-moooor-uh-ow-ow-ow! Its gotta- ow! Uh-beeeee-uh-uh-ow! Uh! Uh! Eeee-uh-uh-nuffffff!" I could tell I was on the edge of snapping. Then he stopped.

Whewwww! This was awful, but Id made it, and at least I had escaped worse – and more – from my Dad. "Aaaaaaaaaurrrrrghhhh-uh-noooooooooo!" I shouted my protest as I realized Bob had speedily yanked my boxers down over my hips and buttocks, down my thighs, past my knees, to my feet.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK!

Something 10 times harder than Bobs hand was striking my already steaming hot, sore behind, over and over and over. I wrenched my head around and up to the right, to see him snapping the back of an old wooden hairbrush repeatedly against my bare, burning bottom. I shrieked from this hotter, stinging pain.

"Please, Bob-uh-Sgt-uh-uh-oooo-uh-uh, sir! Pleeeeez! Its gotta be, uh-uh, ow-ow-ow-ow! eee-ow-ow-uh-uh-uh-nufffffff!! Ow! Ow! Ooooo-uh-huh-uh-ow! Uh, Im, uh, sorreeeeee!" I screamed at him.

"You will be, Jason. That much you can count on. And you can also count on this being what awaits you anytime you speed, young man. Remember! This is what you can look forward to, if you keep on disobeying and driving like you have. Youll pay, and pay, through you behiney, buddy."

He continued making that vicious brush dance all over my thighs, inner and upper, and buttocks, until I was kicking and screaming with pain beyond anything I had ever experienced. My Dad had really hurt me, bad, for a few weeks, a few months ago. But Bob was now pushing this punishment beyond that.

Bob must have felt that my parents had been too easy on me, as he lectured me through the seemingly incessant, unrelenting barrage of spanks with the hairbrush. All at once, from deep within me, sobbing and bawling burst forth. My head snapped backwards, followed by my neck and back arching backwards. I held firmly in the convex position for about a minute, summoning all of the strength I could gather, as I screeched from the pain and shame I was undergoing. Then I collapsed forward, wailing through heaving, shuddering gags and sobs, bouncing and lurching with every swat of that brush.

It seemed to me that this was the longest, hardest, most intense spanking I had ever experienced in my +20 years. I just wailed and shrieked, strangled by gasping, gagging sobs. The realization sunk in that he was not one of my family, and was not disposed to let up on my in any fashion, any time soon.

I lost track of the entire session, as my consciousness was swallowed up by the misery and agony of my blistered bottom. I was intermittently interrupted by awareness of dangling over this big cops lap, and receiving a whipping like I had never known or imagined. The rising pain eclipsed my feelings of humiliation, which earlier had superceded my outrage over being disciplined, at my age, like a naughty, small child.

Finally, he stopped. I must have been over his knees, being tanned with first his hand, and then the hair brush, for more than 50 minutes! While I was still choking and shuddering, desperately trying to gain some composure, he jerked me up off his lap, and stood me in front of him. I could not stand up or still. Doubled over, hands furiously clutching my blistered bottom, I bounced and danced up and down, up and down. He stood up, grasped the back of my neck, and marched me, waddling with my tangled jeans and boxers, over to the locked door of a tall safe. "Stand there, facing the door, hands on your head, until I tell you you can move."

I broke down more, sobbing and choking, Ooooh, n-n-nooooooo," but I did as he directed. He unlocked and opened the door, walking out of the room, leaving me alone, still weeping. More than an hour later, he returned. I had fallen down on my knees, though still facing the safe. He came over and reached under my arms, pulling me up on my feet. Then he pulled up the back of my boxers, while I reached for them and finished pulling them up. Bending down with agonizing pain, I pulled up my jeans, letting my sweater and t-shirt drop down. My face was streaked with tears, my hair disheveled, my eyes reddened and teary. I was a mess.

He took hold of my left arm with his steely grip, and turned me towards the door. WHAUMPWHAUMPWHAUMPWHAUMPWHAUMPWHAUMPWHAUMPWHAUMP!! He was peppering the seat of my jeans with that brush again, and I jumped up off the floor and burst out sobbing uncontrollably again.

"Alright, then. This is what you need to remember is waiting for you, young Mr. Hanson, everytime you break the rules, disobey, or speed. Am I getting through to you, young man?!"

"Gggghhaghyesssss, uh, uh, waaaaaaa!" I wailed and sobbed on

"Time will tell, wont it, Jason. Time will tell. If you find yourself back here, in the same fix,– but getting even worse, by the way – well both know that you still havent gotten the message, and need more instruction and lessons."

"Uh, oh, uh, nooooooo, uh, uh, nooooo!" I sobbed. How could anything be worse than this?! I wondered.

Before I had regained control of my tearful emotions, or dried my eyes and face, and combed my hair, I was shoved out the door, into the main office building, and then escorted by the same strong grasp on my arm, out to my car.

Still weeping and heaving, I fumbled with my keys, finally opened the door, and grimaced as I sat my aching bottom down on the seat. Starting the engine, I closed the door, and Bob, who had returned to the office, opened the gate, and I drove through.

I turned right at the first street (even though it was off of, and away from, the street my parents lived one, because I needed time and a place to stop and regain my composure. Parking the car alongside a vacant lot, I sat still weeping, until my crying finally subsided. I took out a handkerchief, wiped my eyes and face, and then combed my hair. I tried smiling and breathing deeply, in order to re-establish my usual self-control. Then I drove home, hoping and dreading, lest my father decteded what I had done, and what had happened to me.

Once I had entered the house and greeted my parents, I made an excuse about being exhausted and needing to get to bed right away, because I had a lot scheduled to be done the next day. In my room, I stripped of my clothes, sandwiched myself face down between the sheets, and dropped off to sleep quickly. My parents did not find out what had happened.

Over the next two years, I found myself back for repeat discipline sessions with Sgt. Bob Shackleford, because I messed up and disobeyed the laws, rules, and restrictions in the development. He always waved when I drove past the office, and I shuddered sometimes when I thought of what he did to me at times. And I was always in instant dread, whenever he signaled me to pull over and park, instead of letting me go through. I knew I was in trouble again. But as bad as each of those was – and each one seemed to be worse than the earlier ones – he never told my parents, and neither did I.


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