(Author Note: This is Part 1 of a 2 Part Story.)

Wednesday

Jake Royer took a deep breath, sighed quietly, then took another look at the clock on the classroom wall... only five minutes to go. Like most 14-year-olds, it seemed to Jake that time took forever to pass when he was bored. Although he was definitely bored with his school work - his assignments for the day were already complete - the eighth grader was quite conflicted about whether he really wanted the clock to move any faster. The problem was that every click of the second hand brought Jake, and his four fellow inmates in the In-School Suspension program, closer to their appointments with pain.

James Bowie Middle School was a small, modern American secondary school in the 20th century mold. Okay, it wasn't really that modern, since it was now the early 21st century. Teaching students in grades six through eight (mostly 11-14 years old) Jim Bowie Middle School was located in the small West Texas town of Pecan Bluff. A part of Texas Hill Country, Pecan Bluff had a population of about 2,800 people, most of whom provided supplies and/or services to the ranches that surrounded the town on all sides.

Jake had grown up on one of those ranches, a small (at least by Texas standards) 1,820 acre live water spread that had been in the Royer family for 3 generations. The Royers bred Angus cattle and their calves were in great demand by their fellow Texas cattle ranchers. The Royers were a prominent, upstanding family here in Kimball County. God-fearing members of the Baptist church, they raised their children to be good citizens.

Unfortunately Jake's parents did not believe that their youngest child getting himself sent to In-School Suspension, for the second time in eighth grade, counted as good citizenship. He would be very lucky if he didn't get extra punishment at home.

These happy thoughts were interrupted when the door to the classroom opened and Mr. Hawkes, the assistant principal of James Bowie Middle School, entered the room. Jake glanced at the clock, and sure enough five minutes had passed. Showtime! One of the stars of the upcoming show was held firmly in the right hand of Mr. Hawkes. It was a hardwood school spanking paddle made from clear varnished oak. His friend Ed Healy claimed to have sneaked into Hawkes' office the year before and measured it. Ed claimed it was about 20 inches long, with the blade part being about 14 inches of that. The blade was nearly 3 inches wide and about a half-inch thick. Jake wasn't sure he believed the story about Ed sneaking into Hawkes' office, but the dimensions quoted did look about right to him.

"On your feet, boys," ordered Mr. Tanner, the student teacher who was overseeing In-School Suspension (ISS) that day. The five suspended boys rose from their seats, which were strategically spaced around the classroom to deny the inmates any opportunity of speaking to each other or passing notes or other items without being detected.

As the boys obediently stood up, anyone viewing from the back of the room would have witnessed the unveiling of the remaining stars of the show that was about to start. The five jeans-clad adolescent rumps possessed by two sixth graders, one seventh grader, and two eighth graders were soon to make their acquaintance with Mr. Hawkes' paddle. Of course in some cases, like Jake's, it would be a reacquaintance. Jake had served ISS one time each in sixth and seventh grades, and this was his second time in eighth grade.

Mr. Tanner moved over near the windows by the front row of desks, "Okay boys, line up here," he ordered, pointing to a spot on the floor by the windows. The boys didn't exactly dawdle as they obeyed this command, but they didn't sprint to the appointed spot either. They all clearly dreaded what was about to happen.

For his part, Jake had butterflies in his tummy, his bottom already felt tingly in anticipation, and he could really have used a quick visit to the boy's restroom. Unfortunately the one allowed afternoon restroom break for ISS students had been nearly 90 minutes earlier. Jake and his fellow sufferers would just have to hold it until they were dismissed.

"Alright, you five delinquents," said Mr. Hawkes. "You are all supposed to know the rules by now... even you, Carter." Hawkes glared at the sixth grade boy at the front of the line, a skinny 12-year-old who gulped in fear and nodded his head in agreement. "So I won't quote you chapter and verse. You have all been sentenced to ISS and CP. You've all successfully completed a day of ISS," he turned to Mr. Tanner, who nodded his confirmation of that fact, "so now it only remains to administer the CP. Alright Carter, let's put you out of your apparent misery."

Hawkes pointed, with his paddle, at a desk in the front row. "Bend over the front of the desk, Carter."

"Yes, sir," came the barely whispered reply from the sixth grader, who had a sick look on his face as he complied with the order. He bent over the front of the desk and grabbed the sides of the attached seat with his hands. This left the seat of his jeans positioned perfectly over the desk to received the unwanted attentions of the paddle and his feet dangling just above the floor.

Mr. Hawkes wasted no further time, stepping up next to the desk and laying the paddle flush against the waiting denim of the targeted jeans seat. Carter squeezed his eyes closed as he felt the paddle resting there and Jake could see the boy's dangling feet twitch slightly in anticipation. Then Hawkes raised the paddle up so it was just slightly above his head level, paused a second, then swung it down with considerable force.. Craaackk!!

Carter thrashed his legs once in response, but it was his face... Jake would never forget it... that stunned, wide-eyed look of horror on the boy's face as the sting of his first official ISS paddle swat registered with his brain. To the lad's credit he only gasped slightly.

Soon Hawkes was lining up again, the paddle looking huge compared to small denim surface it was connecting with. Swing, Craaackk!!

Carter's face contorted with pain and his legs thrashed once again, but he only emitted something that sounded like a cross between a sneeze and a squeak.

As the paddle lined up a third time, Jake guessed that it wouldn't be long before the yelping started. Craaackk!! "Owww!"

Yep. Obviously the burn was getting through to young Carter now, and he yelped, howled and kicked his way through the remaining three swats. Six swats was the standard dose of the paddle at the end of an ISS session. The boy climbed off the desk and immediately began rubbing the seat of his jeans, a tear or two running down his face. The boy was ordered to stand next to the desk where he had been seated all day, face the front and watch the rest of the paddlings.

Jake glanced at the other three boys still in line, and the faces he could see made it clear they felt the same way about the situation as he did. They looked like they would dearly love to be anywhere else at that moment.

The other sixth grader, a chunky 12-year-old named Howell, was the next to present his denim-covered seat over the desk. This kid wasn't as fat as the best friend from those Diary of a Wimpy Kid movies, but he clearly needed more exercise. Jake guessed the kid lived in town, since ranch kids had way too many chores to do to get that out of shape by age twelve.

Craaackk!! "OOoooowww!" Howell, as it turned out, lived up to his name. He was howling and kicking for all he was worth from the first swat of the paddle until the sixth. Jake was actually a bit surprised when the kid climbed off the desk afterwards and displayed dry jeans. At least the kid wasn't completely wimpy. He marched back to his desk to stand next to it, rubbing his flaming bottom and with a few tears still streaming down his face.

As Blake, the 13-year-old seventh grader, climbed aboard the desk to receive his dose of the paddle Jake's nerves kicked into overdrive. He was next in line, and less than 2 minutes away from being in the same position. The butterflies in his stomach had turned into dive bombers, and he definitely felt the need to pee.

Blake, as it turned out, was a real trouper. He certainly put the two squalling sixth graders to shame. Yes, there was pain apparent on his face, but he never moved a muscle otherwise, and only groaned softly in response to the final two swats. Nary a tear, or any other liquids, were in evidence as Blake climbed off the punishment desk and returned to his desk near the middle of the room. Great, this guy was going to be a tough act to follow.

Yet follow it he did. "Royer!" said Hawkes, pointing to the punishment desk with his paddle.

Jake approached the desk and bent over the front, stretching himself out across the desk top and firmly grasping the attached seat on both sides. Like Blake, Jake was tall enough that his feet were still on the floor, not dangling above it like the two sixth graders. Once he was in position Jake tried to banish all thoughts of what was about to happen to him from his mind. Unfortunately the feeling of the paddle resting on the seat of jeans brought his mind right back to the 'here and now'.

Damn! Okay, plan B. Scotty, route all emergency power to the sphincter! We can't afford to have any coolant leakage while we're being paddled, we'd never live it down...

Craaackk!! Yowza! That woke Jake right up. Luckily he was too stunned to move or make any sound. Just five more to go... today.

Craaackk!! Jake managed to keep quiet, but something happened with his feet and/or legs. It was over before he could register if it was a kick or what...

Craaackk!! Jake was unable to stifle a gasp on that one. How the hell did Blake make it through this so stoically? The kid must have buns of steel or something.

Craaackk!! "Ahhhh!" Damn it! So much for keeping quiet as long as Blake.

Craaackk!! "SSsssss!" Does a hiss count? Jake didn't think so. Oh, shit! Or rather, oh, piss! There may have been a small coolant leak on that last hit. Scotty! Give me more power....

Crraaaacckkk!! "Ooooowww!" Over at last! But possibly too late... Jake definitely felt a couple of tears running down his cheeks. But that was not the leakage he was most worried about. He was sure another squirt of coolant had been released down there. Fuck you Scotty, lay off the damned whiskey, will ya? Jake started fervently praying to Jesus, Jehovah, Allah, Buddah, Vishnu and Alanis Morrisette (who played God in some weird old movie he had seen once on late night television) - anyone who might be able to make his briefs soak up enough pee so that no stains showed on the outside of his jeans. If it became generally known that he had wet his pants during a paddling - even an ISS paddling - Jake's reputation at Jim Bowie Middle School would be utterly ruined.

"Get up, Royer," said Mr. Hawkes.

Jake climbed off the desk, using all his will power to stop himself from rubbing the seat of his jeans. He did feel some wetness next to his skin in the crotch area, so he had definitely leaked in his briefs. He imagined it felt warm down there too, but it was kinda hard to tell for sure, what with a major inferno underway around back. In any event Jake was afraid to look down and see if his jeans were stained in front. There was nothing he could do about it right now except maybe draw unwanted attention to any spots that happened to be there.

"I'll see you back here again tomorrow, Royer," said Mr. Hawkes.

"Yes, sir," said Jake, nodding as he moved off towards his desk near the back of the room. Thanks for reminding me. He had been trying to forget about the fact that a second office referral for a "Level II" offense in a single school year resulted in 2 days of ISS and/or CP. That's right, the official, published Student Disciplinary Plan for James Bowie Middle School actually said '2 days of ISS and/or CP.' Complete bullshit! That 'or' was a sick joke, as near as Jake could determine. Nobody, or at least no boys, ever got only ISS or only CP - it was always both.

As Jake made his way back to his desk his backside started feeling numb. The paddle did that to him sometimes, he wasn't sure why. The numb feeling was a lot better than the searing pain that proceeded it, of course. But Jake knew from painful experience that the numbness would fade all too soon, leaving him to cope with a pair of buttocks that were throbbing with pain for the rest of the day.

Once Jake returned to stand next to his desk and took up his position facing the front of the room it was the final eighth grader's turn over the punishment desk. Danny Winslow was 14-years-old and Jake's best friend in the whole world. They had literally known each other and been classmates since kindergarten. They had been playing and learning together, and getting into trouble together, for nearly ten years now.

Craaackk!! Danny's face showed the pain he was feeling, but that was his only reaction to the first swat. It was painful watching his best friend be hurt like this, though not quite as painful as when it was actually happening to him.

Craaackk!! More agony on Danny's face. The crazy part was that neither Danny nor Jake had committed a 'Level II' offense. They had, in fact, committed three minor 'Level I' offenses, namely cutting in line in the cafeteria a month or so ago, and two incidents of 'horseplay', the second of which became their third Level I offense, which automatically became an Office Referral and a Level II offense.

Craaackk!! Danny grunted and snorted, but otherwise kept control. The craziest part was that horseplay is left to be defined by the teacher in each classroom. So an act that they might get away with being yelled at for in one classroom, would get written up as a Level I 'horseplay' offense in another classroom.

Craaackk!! "Ahhhhhww!" Dang it! Danny is really feeling the burn in his backside now. ISS just seemed so pointless to Jake, at least for such minor offenses. Why bore them to death for a whole day before burning their asses with the paddle?

Craaackk!! "Oowww!" At least Danny kept that one down to a brief, clipped yelp. Why couldn't Hawkes simply give them a lecture and then make them bend over in his office for their dose of the paddle? Why is always "and ISS" for boys? It's not like he and Danny were desperate criminals or gang members.

Crraaaacckk!! "OOuuuwwwwcch!" Danny couldn't avoid yelping loudly when the final swat hit home. Poor guy.

After Danny climbed off the punishment desk and returned to stand by his desk, the boys recieved a final lecture on their behavior from Mr. Hawkes, who also reminded them to stop by the front office on the way to their buses to pick up the letters home to their parents.

Terrific. Of course Jake's parents had already read the letter he brought home yesterday detailing his latest 'horseplay' incident with Danny and informing them that he had earned 2 days of ISS. They were considerably less than pleased, of course, although even his father had considered 2 days of ISS a bit of overkill in the current situation. Adam Royer had said, "Why don't they just take a paddle to your naughty butts right then and there - in front of the class where you committed the horseplay? That's what they used to do back when I was in middle school."

Jake sincerely hoped that his father kept that attitude towards the situation, since he had been told that he would informed on Thurday night, after his final day of ISS, if his father would also give him a dose of his razor strop as a "reminder" about his continuing bad behavior. Jake was desperate to avoid another appointment with the razor strop, particularly after 12 searing paddle swats over 2 days, and especially since his father only administers the razor strop one way - on the bare-naked asses of his erring sons.

In fact Jake's 17-year-old brother Tom, a junior in high school, still gets the razor strop when their dad thinks he needs it, and it still makes him cry like a 10-year-old. Jake shuddered to think how old he might have to get before his father stops taking that razor strop to his bare butt.

The freshly paddled ISS inmates were released about five minutes before the final bell of the day so they could pick up their letters at the front office and still make their buses home in time.

On the way to the office Jake stopped in at the boy's bathroom to check his jeans. No external signs of a wet spot, thank Alanis Morrisette! Jake went into a stall to actually pee, and to use some toilet paper to dry out the crotch of his briefs as much as possible. He was now completely confident that he could get home without anyone being the wiser about his little 'accident' while being paddled.

Then Jake picked up his disciplinary letter from the office and got on the bus. School bus seats aren't very comfortable under the best of circumstances, and sitting on a freshly paddled backside hardly counts as the best of circumstances. Even better, the Royer ranch was more than 15 miles outside of Pecan Bluff, with loads of stops to drop off other kids along the way. It was gonna be a long ride home, and tomorrow looked like it could be much, much worse.

To be continued with: In-School Suspension - Thursday

The author welcomes comments from readers. You can contact Bobby Watson by e-mail at: mrbwatson (at) gmail.com
Please be patient - Bobby doesn't always check his e-mail every day.