It was a lazy, hazy late summer day in a rural part of the Northeastern United States. In other words, a perfect day for teenaged country boys to get in some fishing before school started up again in a few weeks. After that they'd be stuck inside school rooms for most of every weekday for the next nine months.

That probably explains the two teenaged boys sitting on the bridge abutment wing wall on the west side of a small one-lane bridge over Indian Creek, their monofilament fishing lines dangling down into the deep water pooled below. It was readily apparent that they were teenaged boys since they looked to be about the right size, their hair was too long, and most importantly they were both wearing the standard summer uniform for American teen boys: t-shirt, shorts and sneakers.

Dale Brown was fifteen years old and about to enter 10th grade, his second year of high school. An only child, Brown lived up to his last name, sporting shaggy brown hair and bright brown eyes. Although short for his age and not much of an athlete, Dale did have a few brains goin' on. In fact he expected to make the high school chess team in his sophomore year, and fully expected to be the best player on the team by his senior year. Dale was wearing navy blue bermuda shorts over tighty whities, a pair of beat up old sneakers, and a t-shirt advertising the Cog Railway at Mount Washington, New Hampshire - an attraction he had visited with his family while on vacation the previous summer.

Bradley Keller was fourteen years old and Dale's best friend. Brad was a middle child who had older and younger brothers. In fact Dale had first befriended Brad's older brother Todd. But as Dale spent time with the Kellers, he found that he had more in common with middle brother Bradley, and they became close friends. With his blonde hair and blue eyes, Brad had good looks going for him, plus he was a decent athlete and mechanically inclined. He did have some trouble with "book larnin'", as he sarcastically referred to school work. He also had a bit of a temper and a much shorter fuse than the more easy-going Dale. Brad was wearing blue denim shorts over tighty whities, a brand new pair of Converse Jack Purcell sneakers worn over new white crew socks, and a t-shirt promoting the Chevelle SS 454 2-door hardtop - the type of car he hoped to own some day.

Dale wasn't sure why Brad had worn such fancy new sneakers for a trip to the local fishing hole. Okay, it was almost a cool day for August, so they weren't likely to sweat much. But his brand new sneakers... and socks? Dale always wore the most beat up pair of sneakers he owned without socks to go fishing, just in case he needed to jump into the creek to help land a big fish or to free up a stuck line. Not to mention the possibility of falling into the water by accident. Brad hadn't been interested in discussing his clothing choices and it wasn't important enough for Dale to push the matter. Brad had always been more interested in clothing than Dale was, and more worried about what clothing he was wearing and what people would think. But why bother for a fishing trip? Did Brad honestly think the fish would be impressed with his new shoes?

Brad was quiet for a while, not even responding to Dale's retelling of the latest new jokes he had heard. That was odd since their wacky sense of humor was the thing the two friends had most in common. So the boys sat in silence for a while, drowning worms and just generally enjoying the hell out of not having anything to do. Eventually Dale got a nibble, but was unable to hook the fish. He reeled in his line and put a new worm on the hook. He cast his line back into the deep pool below their perch and settled back down.

Indian Creek was home to a few rainbow trout, but for the boys fishing with worms from the bridge abutments, they mostly caught suckers or catfish. In fact they rarely caught any fish, which was not considered a major problem. For Brad and Dale, and for most of the other boys who fished off of and around Sherman's Bridge, their primary goal was to sit under the shade of the trees that lined both the creek and the narrow dirt road that crossed the bridge, and spend part of a summer day away from adult supervision.

The small one-lane bridge on the dirt road was called Sherman's bridge because the Sherman family lived in the old farmhouse that was visible from the bridge, located about 200 feet further west along the dirt road, just before that road began a steep climb up the hill behind the farmhouse. The Shermans did not actually own the land or the farmhouse where they lived. Mr. Sherman was the groundskeeper and caretaker for the small religious college that was located at the top of the hill. The one lane dirt road was in fact a very rarely used access road to the grounds of the college. The farmhouse and nearby barn belonged to the college.

Dale eventually got Brad talking again when he brought up their great "night fishing adventure" from the previous summer. The friends laughed as they recalled the incident where they, along with two other friends, had brought a propane camping lantern down to Sherman's Bridge at dusk and began fishing from the east bank of the creek just north of the bridge. Somewhere they had gotten the idea that trout might be more apt to bite at night. In fact within an hour or so of full dark setting in one of them got a strong hit and hooked something. It quickly became apparent that whatever it was, it was a real monster!

Dale had grabbed the net to help land the catch, since it was extremely unlikely that anything that big could be hauled out of the creek without help, or without breaking the line. He'd never forget the excitement he felt standing at the edge of the creek ready to net the huge catch... until the monster surfaced within the sphere of the lamplight and Dale saw the long, sinuous, thrashing form of a... "Snake!!"

"You screamed like a girl!" said Brad, laughing. "And dropped the net."

"Well I did drop the net," said Dale, "but I certainly did not scream... at least not like a girl."

"You did too," said Brad, "and it was only a stupid eel!"

"Well, I didn't know that at the time, did I? I thought it might be a water mocassin or a copperhead...some kind of poisonous snake. Were you gonna suck the venom out of me if I got bit?"

"Hell no!" said Brad, pretending to gag. "There is no part of you that I would suck for any reason."

"Well," said Dale, pretending to be offended, "it's good to know who your friends are."

"It sure is," said Brad, nodding. "Let me know if you ever find any."

"Tee-Hee!" said Dale. Then he started laughing and was joined by Brad.

Eventually Brad opened up and it turned out he was worried about starting high school in a few weeks. Dale pointed out that it was just the nature of things - Brad had been through it all before.

"You went from being a 'big fish in a little pond' as a fifth grader in elementary school to being a 'little fish in a big pond' as a sixth grader in middle school," said Dale. "You made the transition to middle school just fine. You'll do okay in high school, too."

"I guess," said Brad, doubtfully.

"Don't doubt it, my friend," said Dale. "You'll do great!"

-------------------------

About an hour later the two friends were discussing how many 'Indian Creeks' were likely to exist in the United States.

"Well, there were Indian tribes living in every state," said Dale. "Lots of creeks and rivers have Indian names: Lackawanna, Monocacy, Susquehanna, Tuscarora... just to name a few."

"Yeah," said Brad, "but 'Indian Creek' isn't really an Indian name, is it?"

"Huh?" said Dale, pretending not to understand. "It's only about as Indian as you can get, being the actual word."

"Okay, smart ass," said Brad, "you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. 'Indians' is the English word for Native Americans. It's also the name of a major league baseball team."

Brad laughed, "If you want to call that disaster in Cleveland a baseball team."

"You have a point there," said Dale, joining in the laugher, "but you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know," said Brad. "loads of things are named after 'Indians'."

"Including loads of creeks, rivers, lakes and so forth," said Dale. "So there is bound to be at least one 'Indian Creek' in nearly every state."

"Got it," said Brad. "Your point being..."

"That is the point."

"Really?" said Brad, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure glad we got that straightened out, Mister Wizard. Someday you might want to tell all that to somebody who actually cares." Switching to a whisper, Brad then pointed out something that Dale had already noticed. "Uh, oh. Looks like we're about to have company."

"I see 'em," whispered Dale. Two other fishermen had just appeared upstream from around a bend in the creek. The two men were duded up in full fly fishing gear and were wading slowly and carefully down the creek, casting their lures into likely pools downstream as they went.

As they got a bit closer it became obvious that they were fairly young men, maybe in their late twenties or early thirties. Each man was wearing one of those special fishing hats that holds your fishing license and a bunch of spare lures, a special fishing vest with approximately 300 pockets, and hip waders. Needless to say they each had a fancy fly casting rod and reel. These guys were obviously serious fisherman, or wanted everyone to think they were. In fact they looked almost identical, except that one was wearing a green vest, and the other a khaki vest. Dale did not recognize either man. Clearly they were not locals.

Once they got closer to the deep water pool by the bridge, the men climbed up on the west bank of Indian Creek and began casting from shore as they moved downstream. It just figured that they chose the same side of the creek where the two boys were sitting on the bridge abutment. "You guys catch anything?" asked the guy wearing the khaki vest.

"Not yet," said Brad. "You guys?"

"I've got three trout so far," said Khaki.

"Two trout," said Green. By this time the men were standing on the bank just past the end of the bridge abutment wing wall where the boys were sitting. They had started casting into the deep pool around and under the bridge. The same pool the boys were fishing from.

"How long you fellas been sittin' up there?" said Khaki.

"A couple of hours," said Dale.

"Two hours, and no fish?" said Green, "you guys are either real patient, or real stupid."

"Or both," said Khaki.

"We're stupid?" said Brad, his dander already up, "At least we don't look like refugees from a Cabela's catalog!"

"Hey!" said Green, "at least we're dressed to go fishing."

"Yeah," said Khaki, "do you guys even have fishing licenses?"

Dale was alarmed. Why were these guys acting like such assholes? It was also apparent that Brad's fuse had already been lit. If Dale couldn't get these clowns to leave soon, there was probably gonna be real trouble. He tried to think of how he could engineer that diplomatically. Dale said, "Yes, we do have licenses."

"Let's see 'em then," said Green. "You're supposed to have your licenses displayed any time you're fishing." He tapped the clear plastic holder on his hat that held his own fishing license for emphasis.

Brad laughed at the men, "Unless one of you clowns is a state or federal fish and game warden, you can blow me." He pointed at his crotch for emphasis.

"Sorry," said Khaki, "I forgot my microscope, so I'd never find it."

"Why don't you guys fuck off?" said Dale. So much for diplomacy.

"Ooooo!" said Khaki, "The enraged chimp comes to the defense of his mate."

"They do make a cute couple," said Green, "don't they?"

"Yeah," said Khaki, "is that why you guys are killin' time here? Waitin' for the haywagon to take you to the junior prom?"

Green laughed, "Which one of you little girls is gonna be the Prom Queen?"

Khaki joined in the laughter, "Both of them, I'd guess."

At that point Brad's fuse reached his detonator. "I'll show you fuckheads who's a queen!"

Oh fuck! Dale jumped to his feet as Brad jumped to his. Dale needed to stop Brad from charging these ignorant assholes. Luckily Dale was between Brad and the two idiots, and in position to cut off his friend when Brad tried to run down the embankment from the bridge ramp to the creek bank. Unfortunately that wasn't what Brad was planning. What Brad actually did took Dale... and the two morons... completely by surprise.

Brad turned towards the creek and leapt off the abutment, feet first and fully clothed, into the deep pool below. A huge geyser of water spouted up into the air where Brad entered the creek. The two men standing on the creek bank and the boy standing on the abutment were left totally speechless, staring at the rapidly spreading disturbance in the water where Brad had splashed down.

Double fuck! Dale was not the best swimmer in the world, yet he was thinking about jumping in the creek to save Brad. Fortunately he was saved from having to do so when Brad's head popped up out of the water. "Are you okay?" Dale called down to his friend.

Brad looked up at Dale standing on the abutment, "Yeah, I'm just peachy."

Dale breathed a big sigh of relief. At this point the two 'adult' fishermen began heaping abuse on Brad for ruining fishing in that part of the creek. Brad responded by cursing out the two fly fishermen, splashing water at them, and generally making as much disturbance in the water as possible. This caused Dale to begin laughing uncontrollably.

Eventually Khaki and Green realized that Brad wasn't going to leave the water, or abandon his efforts at disturbing the water and ruining the fishing, while they remained in the area. So they climbed up over the ramp to the bridge, passing near Dale - who suddenly found himself guarding his and Brad's fishing gear. Dale glared at the two men, trying to look as dangerous as possible while secretly hoping that they wouldn't try to take out their frustrations on him. In fact the two men settled for heaping more verbal abuse on Dale as they passed, questioning both his lineage and his parents' marital status. Then the big jerks climbed down the other side of the ramp and continued downstream. Although they quickly passed out of sight, their loud complaints to each other about "stupid, disrespectful pansy teenagers" were audible for some time, but eventually faded off in the distance.

Once the two idiot fly fishermen were safely downstream of the bridge Brad climbed up on to the west bank of the creek. Dale thought his friend looked a bit like a drowned rat. Brad's bushy blonde hair was matted down on top, and stringing down along the sides. Needless to say his clothes were completely soaked, including his brand new sneakers and socks.

"Well, pal," said Dale. "I sure as hell didn't expect you to do that!"

Brad laughed, "Yeah, neither did I, really. It was kind of a 'spur of the moment' thing. I did manage to annoy those idiots, and that's always fun."

"True," said Dale. He eyed his dripping wet friend from head to toe, "Are you really okay?"

"I'm still in one piece, if that's what you mean. I am feeling very cold, though." He shivered slightly.

"Cold? It's nearly eighty degrees today... plenty warm enough for how we're dressed."

"Plenty warm enough if you're dry, like you are. I just spent the last few minutes up to my neck in sixty degree water. Oh, it felt great at first, but then it started getting cold. If those twerps hadn't left I was gonna have to get out of the water soon anyway."

"Ah," said Dale, looking around. "Damn it! We don't have any towels with us."

"I know," said Brad. "We're just gonna have to go home."

"Okay," said Dale, "let's gather our gear and go. You should probably take off your wet clothes, that would help you warm back up faster in the summer air."

"Right," said Brad, shaking his head, "You want me to take off all my clothes and ride my bike home bare-assed?"

"Don't look, Ethel!" said Dale, doing his best Ray Stevens imitation, then laughing at his own pop culture reference.

"Very funny, Gitarzan," said Brad. "That's really helpful."

"Sorry, pal," said Dale. He grabbed the hem of his own t-shirt and looked at it. "Hmm, could you use my t-shirt as sort of a night shirt, maybe?"

"Are you kidding me? My sausage and meatballs would be hanging out below that shirt," said Brad. "I appreciate the thought, but forget it, pal. Let's just get to my house quickly so I can change into dry clothes."

"Okay."

The two friends gathered up their fishing gear and walked across the bridge to the spot where their bikes were hidden in some trees just off the dirt road. Brad's soaked shoes squeaked and squished as he walked.

"Aren't those the brand new sneakers your parents bought you for school this year?"

"Don't remind me," said Brad. "That's the main reason I want to get home as soon as possible. I need to find a way to dry these clothes, and my wallet, out before my parents get home from work."

"Okay!" said Dale. The two friends mounted their bikes and pedalled off east down the dirt road, headed for the paved roads that would lead them to the Keller home.

-------------------------

"Oh fuck, no!" whispered Brad as they approached his house. "My Dad's car is in the driveway. He must be home from work early."

"Ouch," said Dale. "Maybe I should just go back to my place, then."

"Ah, come on, Dale," said Brad. "Maybe you can cover for me."

"How?"

"I dunno, distract my Dad while I change into dry clothes."

"Okay," said Dale. "I can sure give it a try."

"That's the spirit."

There is an old adage about 'the best laid plans of mice and men'. Considerably less well known, but no less true, is the adage that 'the hastily made and poorly thought out plans of naughty boys typically blow up in their faces, often with collateral damage to their backsides'.

Dale parked his bike next to the driveway, then followed Brad through the open garage door. Brad returned his bike and fishing gear to their proper places in the attached three car garage. He led the way through the connecting inside door into the laundry room. There Brad took off his shoes, intending to carry them so the squeaking wouldn't attact any unwanted parental attention. The two boys had not made it more than three steps into the kitchen before being confronted by Michael Keller, Brad's father. "What in blazes happened to you, Bradley?"

Uh, oh. Dale knew that Mr. Keller didn't refer to Brad as 'Bradley' unless his son was in trouble.

"Umm," said Brad, "we were fishing."

"Fishing?" said Mr. Keller, eyeing his soaking wet middle son from head to toe. "So you jumped in to catch them by hand?"

"No, of course not," said Brad, "I fell in the creek by accident."

"Well, you certainly did a thorough job of it," said Mr. Keller. "Completely soaking your new school shoes." The man turned his attention to Dale, "Is that what really happened, Dale?"

Dale was shocked to have the spotlight turned on him so suddenly. He gulped once before saying, "Yes, sir. Brad just fell in the creek."

Mr. Keller's attention remained firmly fixed on his son's best friend. "Did you push him in while you two were horsing around?"

Dale was stunned, "No, sir! I wouldn't push Brad in the creek!"

"Dad!" complained Brad, "Nobody pushed anyone into the creek. It was simply an accident."

Mr. Keller glanced back and forth between the two boys. "So you're both sticking to that story, eh?"

"It's the truth!" said Brad.

"Okay," said Mr. Keller, looking frustrated. "Let's pretend for a minute that I believe your story."

"But it's true!" complained Brad.

"Yes, yes," said Mr. Keller, impatiently. "Now shut up until I'm finished asking you a very important question."

Brad looked like he was ready to complain some more, but he caught the warning look in his father's eye. The boy simply nodded his head and kept quiet.

"So Bradley," said Mr. Keller. "Please explain to me why you were wearing your brand new school sneakers to go fishing? Was that 'simply an accident' as well?"

"Not really an accident," said Brad, clearly groping for something to say. "That was more of an oversight."

"An oversight?" said Mr. Keller, his anger level clearly rising. "How many times do you have to be told to take better care of your clothes? You insist of having nice clothes for school, and then you don't take care of them! Do you think money grows on trees?"

"No, sir."

"Your mother and I work our butts off making enough money to keep this family going! Do you think it's cheap to feed, clothe and shelter three teenaged boys in this day and age?"

"No, sir," said Dale. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"Sorry?" Mr. Keller shook his head, then he glared at his son. "Bradley Charles Keller, get your ass down in the basement and get it ready for the paddle, now!"

It looked for a second like Brad was going to argue with the man, but under with withering glare of his angry father he wilted and eventually said softly, "Yes, sir." The boy turned and slowly walked towards the stairs to the basement, still carrying his soaked shoes.

Mr. Keller's withering glare was then turned full force on Dale. The boy gulped and said, "Ummm, I think I should be going..."

"Oh no!" said Mr. Keller, "You simply must join the party, Dale. Follow your fellow delinquent to the basement."

"But, Mr. Keller!" protested Dale, "I honestly didn't push Brad into the creek... it really was an accident."

"Oh, I believe you didn't push him," said Mr. Keller. "I also believe that you participated with my sons earlier this year in that little scam where you drank alcohol from our bar, then refilled the bottles back to their original levels with water."

Dale was unable to prevent himself from looking totally stunned, and probably extremely guilty. Dear God! How did Mr. Keller figure that out? Dale had, in fact, sipped a bit of the booze that the Keller boys swiped from the wet bar in the rec room when their parents were not around. But that scam had been uncovered months ago and the three brothers all had their rumps duly roasted down in the basement with their father's old fraternity paddle. Since nothing had been said to him at the time, Dale figured he was in the clear on that score.... until now.

"You certainly look guilty, lad," said Mr. Keller. "Are you gonna try to deny it?"

Dale gulped and said, "No, sir. I did it. But only once or twice."

"Understood," said Mr. Keller, "you only stole from us once or twice." A wave of guilt washed over Dale and he found himself unable to look the man in the eye. "So now you have two choices. Look at me when I'm talking to you, boy! That's better. Your first option is - I can call your parents and tell them all about this and let them decide if they want me to deal with you, or they want to deal with you themselves... or both. Or your second option - you can march down to the basement and accept the punishment I decide to give you now... then your parents will never need to know."

Dale stood there under the angry glare of Mr. Keller, trying to decide what to do, butterflies suddenly inhabiting his stomach. In the end there really wasn't much of a choice, particularly since he had long been curious as to how much it hurt to get spanked... really spanked... with Mr. Keller's fraternity paddle. Finally Dale looked the big man in the eye, "I choose option two, Mr. Keller. I'll take whatever punishment you decide to give me now."

"Alright, Dale," said Mr. Keller. "But I need to warn you. I will not go easy on you just because you're a guest. My old fraternity paddle will probably sting a lot worse than anything you've been spanked with in your life. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I don't really want to be spanked with your paddle, Mr. Keller. But I do deserve to be punished. I know you spanked your sons with that paddle for... stealing the alcohol. It's only fair that I get spanked with the same paddle for the same offense... even if I didn't do it as often as they did."

"Okay, then. Dale William Brown, get your ass down in the basement and get it ready for the paddle, now! Brad will tell you what to do."

"Yes, sir," said Dale. He slowly headed for the basement stairs, unable to believe the day he was having.

-------------------------

When Dale got down to the basement he found Brad undressing. His shirt and socks were already off, and he was just unzipping his denim shorts. Brad sighed in relief when he saw Dale, "Thank God it's only you! I thought it was Dad already. He seems really pissed."

"He is," said Dale. He started taking off his shirt. "Do we have to get naked?"

"Whoa!" said Brad. "He's gonna paddle you for pushing me?"

"No, he believes I didn't push you."

Brad frowned. "Then what exactly did you tell him?"

"Nothing!" said Dale. "He busted me for that watered booze debacle from months ago."

"He did?"

"Yep, told me I had to take a paddling from him now or he'd call my parents and ask them if he could do it... plus whatever they'd decide to do to me themselves."

"Ouch," said Brad.

"And how! Since I don't fancy the idea of being grounded for the rest of the summer... just for starters... I agreed to take the paddle." Dale began to remove his shoes and socks. "So, naked?"

"Nah," said Brad. "Stripped to our underpants. Sometimes he decides to pull them down part way through the lickin', but usually not."

"Great," said Dale. "Something else to look forward to."

"Ah, I wouldn't worry if I were you," said Brad. "I doubt he would paddle a guy who wasn't his own son bare-assed."

"Terrific!" said Dale. "So I have absolutely nothing to worry about then."

The two friends shared a morbid chuckle over that jest. After removing his shorts, Brad hiked up his soaking wet Hanes tighty whities and looked down at them sadly. "I'm kinda hoping he pulls these down."

"Yeah," said Dale, as he stood to unzip his bermuda shorts. He glanced at the crotch of the wet undies, which were basically form fitting around Brad's genitals. "Your Dad and I have already seen your equipment, and with those soaking wet there's not much left to the imagination anyway."

"True," said Brad. "But I'm more worried about this side of them." He turned and displayed the also wet form-fitting seat of the briefs that quite clearly outlined his firm 14-year-old buttocks.

"What? You think it will sting more on wet undies?"

"Damn straight it will," said Brad. "You ever get spanked on the seat of a wet bathing suit?"

"Nope."

"Lucky you," said Brad. "It stings...a lot more than on a dry suit."

"Great," said Dale. He stepped out of his bermuda shorts and set them aside, then he hiked up and adjusted his white Fruit of the Loom briefs. He couldn't help but wonder how much difference the wet briefs would make to the sting. But for his first experience with a real fraternity paddle he was more than happy to be getting his dose on the seat of dry briefs.

"Okay," said Brad. "We're both properly attired now. We need to get in position to wait for Dad to show up."

"Okay," said Dale. He followed Brad over to the wall of the rec room where Mr. Keller's fraternity paddle was hanging from a peg. It looked impressive, about 22 inches long and 3.5 inches wide and 0.75 inches thick - made of hardwood. There was a small hole drilled in the handle with a thin leather thong looped through it that allowed the paddle to be easily hung on a wall. The blade had 3 large figures burned into it, a triangle shape, a capital "K" and an odd-looking capital "E".

"Now look," said Brad, stopping a few feet short of the paddle. "Once we are in waiting position we're not allowed to talk. So do you have any questions for me before that?"

"Yeah," said Dale. "What is that triangle thingy burned into the paddle? It looks vaguely familiar and I think I should recognize it, but I don't."

"Oh, that's the Greek letter 'Delta', it was basically the 'D' in the old Greek alphabet," said Brad. "My Dad is a brother in the Delta Kappa Epsilon fraternity."

"It that a good fraternity?"

"It sure is!" said Brad. "Deke brothers have included Teddy Roosevelt, Dick Clark, Tom Landry, and astronaut Alan Bean, the fourth man to walk on the moon."

"Wow, that's cool," said Dale. He couldn't imagine being the fraternity brother of an Apollo astronaut.

"Any other questions?"

"Just one. How many swats did you and your brothers get for the watered booze debacle?"

"Twelve each," said Brad.

"Yikes!"

"Yep, that's what we thought, too," said Brad. "Anything else?"

"Nope, that's more than enough for now."

"Okay," said Brad. He took the last few steps to stand right in front of the paddle, but slightly to the left side. "Stand next to me here on my right." Brad followed his directions. "Okay, now we lock our hands behind our heads, stare at the paddle, and wait. No talking."

Dale watched what Brad did, interlacing his fingers behind his head, elbows splayed out at the sides. He copied his friend, and he had to reposition himself slightly, since his left elbow was hitting Brad's right elbow at first. "Is this correct?" he whispered.

Brad took a peek and whispered, "Yes. Good luck."

"You too," whispered Dale. Then they fell silent, staring at the paddle hanging on the wall in front of them.

When Dale first heard the final instructions he nearly snorted with derision. Why make them stare at the paddle? It sounded ridiculous. But now as he stood there staring at the long hardwood board that would soon be slamming into the seat of his thin cotton briefs - if he was lucky - it didn't seem nearly as ridiculous. In fact the butterflies in his stomach started putting on an air show at the very thought.

This was all so stupid! Dale was about to have his ass blasted, possibly a dozen times, all over a few stolen sips of watered down booze. Not to mention whatever Mr. Keller might chose to give him for this afternoon's mischief down at Sherman's bridge. The man clearly knew they were lying about that, he wondered how?

To pass the time and get his mind off the damage that this hardwood board was about to do to his backside, Dale tried to read the smaller lettering on the paddle he was staring at. It wasn't an easy task. The large Delta, Kappa and Epsilon figures were placed in a position to be read while the paddle hung lengthwise on display as it did now on the basement wall. The smaller lettering was placed at a 90 degree angle to the Deke logo letters, which made it a lot harder to read. All he could really make out looked to Dale like 'Lafayette - Rho Chapter'. It seemed obvious that 'Rho Chapter' was the name of the local fraternity branch that Mr. Keller belonged to. Dale wondered if General Lafayette of Revolutionary War fame was a member of the fraternity, too. Given the other names on the list it certainly didn't seem impossible.

The door at the top of the stairs opened and Dale heard footsteps on the stairs. Here we go. His stomach butterflies began the grand finale of their air show.

"Well, well, well!" said a very familiar voice that did not belong to Mr. Keller. Well, it didn't belong to Mr. Michael Keller. "I see two very naughty boys waiting to get their butts torn up with a paddle."

Terrific, Todd Keller would have to show up now. Brad's older brother was 15 years old and in the same class as Dale, about to start his second year of high school. Although still outwardly friendly to Dale, Todd never really forgave him for choosing his younger brother Brad to be his best friend after starting out as Todd's friend first. Since Brad and Dale were forbidden from speaking in their current situation, Todd could say anything he wanted to them without any reply... at least without any immediate reply.

"Hmm, this looks interesting," said Todd. "Brad looks like he stepped out of the shower. Or more likely the creek, since I noticed the fishing gear tied to Dale's bike parked out front. Got your brand new Jack Purcells soaked? That won't go over well with Dad. I wouldn't want to be in your dripping wet briefs right now, my brother. And what about our guest, Mr. Brown? All his clothes are dry, so that leaves it wide open as to why he's staring at the paddle. Some kind of fight? A lover's spat? I suppose I'll find out soon enough."

"Indeed you will, Todd," said Mr. Keller, who apparently had come down the steps quietly while Todd was taunting the two doomed boys.

"Oh, Dad," said Todd. "Sorry, I didn't expect you down here so soon."

"Obviously," said Mr. Keller. "Todd, we've spoken before about showing proper respect to your brothers, and especially to guests in this house."

"Yes, sir," said Todd. "But Dale's gonna be paddled by you!"

"Yes he is," said Mr. Keller, "but that is a matter between Dale, Dale's parents, and myself. It is none of your business except to the extent that I've asked you here as a witness. Now, can you refrain from any further unwanted comments during the proceedings, or must I ask you to leave the house until dinner time?"

"No, sir," said Todd. "I'll keep my mouth shut."

"Good," said Mr. Keller. "Now, Bradley, I spoke with your brother, Jeff. I gave him permission to sleep over at his friend Josh's house tonight. Jeff won't be available as a witness, so we might as well get started."

"Yes, sir," said Brad.

"Bradley, bring me the paddle," said Mr. Keller. "Dale, about-face."

"Yes, sir." Brad released his arms from behind his head and reached out to unhook the paddle from the peg on the wall. Then he turned to face his father and walked over to him. Meanwhile Dale turned around to face Mr. Keller, the standard military about-face maneuver.

Mr. Keller took the paddle from Brad. "Alright Bradley, assume the position over the left side of the couch."

Brad moved in position, facing the leftmost seat cushion of the three cushion couch along the wall. He bent down, putting his hands flat on the cushion near the backrest, and lowering his head until his face was practically resting on the seat cushion. Brad spread his legs wide without bending his knees - this had the effect of presenting his wet white cotton-enclosed backside as an inviting target for the large wooden paddle.

"Alright, Dale," said Mr. Keller, "you take up the exact same position on the far right cushion of the couch."

Dale hesitated for a few seconds. He had expected to stand there and witness Brad's paddling before having to bend over for his own swats. Obviously Mr. Keller had other plans. Finally Dale said, "Yes, sir."

Dale moved over to the couch slowly, further examining Brad's posture as he passed his friend. The 14-year-old's backside looked incredibly vulnerable, the white cloth target framed below by the elastic leg bands and the seam between the seat panel and the back of the genital pouch panel of his wet briefs. Brad filled out that nearly transparent pouch nicely, at least for a boy his age.

Dale winced, realizing that he was about to put his own nether regions in the exact same position and on the same kind of display, although at least his own briefs were dry and therefore not quite as revealing. Reaching the third and right-most seat cushion, he bent forward, placing his hands on the cushion and lowering his face almost to the cushion. Mr. Keller patiently reminded Dale to spread his legs wide to present a proper target for the paddle.

After years of wondering what a real paddling with Mr. Keller's fraternity paddle would feel like, Dale's curiosity was about to be satisfied. But for some irrational reason all he could think about at that moment was how many people may have farted into that seat cushion over the years. He might actually have done so himself. In any event he didn't want his face touching that cushion directly. Unfortunately he couldn't stop his shaggy hair from hanging down and brushing the cushion. Charming.

Speaking of unwanted touches, Dale was reminded of more important and immediate matters when he heard a loud Crack! as the wooden paddle connected sharply with a boy's cotton-covered butt. Dale didn't feel anything, but he heard Brad grunt in pain. The paddlings had begun. Dale wondered how many swats Mr. Keller would give Brad before moving over to his own waiting backside.

Crack! "Ouch!!" And your winning number is...one. Apparently Mr. Keller planned to alternate swats between his two targets. And what a swat it was! It burned brightly at first, and didn't seem to be fading much by the time he heard the second swat Crack! and Brad's anguished response. The sting still had only barely started fading when...

Crack! "Uhh!" Oh, boy! This was gonna get real bad. He managed to only grunt slightly even though the burn from the second swat seemed at least double that from the first. To make matters worse, Dale suddenly realized, to his horror, that Mr. Keller had never announced how many swats either culprit would be getting. So Dale had no idea how many of these searing paddle swats he was gonna have to endure. Could it be a full dozen? Even more? He heard the distant Crack! and Brad's yelp of pain and realized that he was next again. Too soon... tears sprang unbidden to his eyes as he realized he was in for a very rough late afternoon.

Crack! "Ahhh!" Wow! The pain was getting out of hand. So far Dale hadn't yelped or howled, except for the first swat that surprised him with its intensity. But he knew he wouldn't be able to hang on long before he would be yelping.... Crack! .... make that howling like Brad. Of course Brad was a year younger and wearing wet briefs to boot.

Crack! "Owww!!" Jesus H. Christ! The pain was getting unbearable and Dale had started yelping again! Why the hell did he agree to try and help Brad sneak past his father so he could change his clothes? He could be at home right now, not getting his buttocks mashed into a pulp by a huge fraternity paddle. Crack! Poor Brad's howls weren't adding to his ability to hang tough.

Crack! "OOowwwwww!!" The damn burst and Dale began sobbing, he also howled in agony with each new swat. He suddenly wondered if Mr. Keller would have called his parents if he had gone home. Hmm, doubtful. Crack! Apparently the man knew about Dale's involvement in the booze watering scam all this time and never called him on it. Why today, then?

Crack! "OOowwwwww!!" Dale and Mr. Keller had spoken several times since the booze watering situation blew up. Dale was nervous the first time, though that incident never came up. Crack! Dale had eventually come to feel that was home free on that score.

Crack! "OOowwwwww!!" Clearly Mr. Keller was waiting until he felt the time was right. Crack! But why was the time suddenly right today?

Crack! "OOwwwwwww!!" At that point Dale's ability to think rational thoughts began to be impared by the waves of searing pain radiating from his buttocks, up his spinal cord, and into his brain, which was becoming overloaded with pain signals. Crack! All he could do was focus on holding himself in position. This was tough since part of him was desperate to scramble up off the couch and attempt to escape from the rest of his punishment.

Crack! "Nnoooooooo!!" Eventually his remaining brain capacity was capable of only one very primitive, testosterone-derived thought. Dale Brown would rather die than be thought a coward by his friends and peers. Crack! So he rode it out as best he could, his mind a confusing mix of overwhelming pain signals, anguished howls - his own and those of his best friend, and a tiny reservoir of stubborn, macho defiance.

Crack! "OOowwwww!!" It actually took Dale's pain-addled brain a few seconds to realize that Mr. Keller had announced an end to the paddling and ordered the boys to stand up. Dale eventually stood up straight, his hands immediately moving to rub the seat of his briefs in a desperate attempt to quell the searing pain radiating from his buttocks.

After a time Mr. Keller ordered the boys to stop rubbing and put their hands behind their heads again. He ordered them to about-face and the two tearful boys stood there in front of the man who had paddled them. Dale was still crying, with tears and snot running down his face. A brief glance showed Brad standng to his right, in a similar pose and condition. Dale's butt started to go numb at that point. Although this meant he was in considerably less pain, he wondered if the heavy paddle had destroyed the nerves in his bottom. Not exactly a comforting thought.

"I gave you each ten swats," said Mr. Keller. "Though you probably deserved more than that, especially you, Dale."

"Yes, sir," said Dale. "I really am sorry about the alcohol. I'll never do anything like that again."

"That's good to hear," said Mr. Keller. "And you, Bradley. Will you ever wear school clothing to go fishing again?"

"No, sir," said Brad. "I'm really sorry, Dad."

"That's good to know, son. You had better hope that your shoes are not completely ruined for school use. If they need to be replaced, the cost will be coming out of your allowance."

"Yes, sir," said Brad.

"Dale," said Mr. Keller. "Would you like to join us for dinner tonight, perhaps even sleep over? It would give you more time to recover from this, and make it less likely that your parents will notice you were punished."

"Yes, sir," said Dale. "Thank you, sir."

"No problem," said Mr. Keller. "Since Mrs. Keller has her book club tonight, I thought I'd take you fellas out to Angelo's for pizza."

This idea immediately gained the enthusiastic approval of all three boys, including Todd, who was still there witnessing.

"Okay then," said Mr. Keller. "Just one more thing to take care of. Follow me, you two."

Mr. Keller walked over to the place where his fraternity paddle hangs when not in use. He carefully hung it back on its peg so that it was straight, and so that the Delta Kappa Epsilon letters were facing the room. He stepped to one side. "Okay, you two. I want you both to stand here staring at the paddle for the next 30 minutes. Keep your hands behind your heads. No rubbing... of anything... and no talking. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!" chorused the two tearful boys. They resumed their former places standing and staring at the huge paddle.

"I'll set the timer over here for 30 minutes. When it goes off, you can get dressed and come back upstairs to get ready to go out for dinner. Todd, the no talking directive applies to you, too. You may sit there and watch them, make sure they follow the rules. But keep your comments to yourself."

"Yes, sir," said Todd, from somewhere in the room behind them.

There was a slight movement to Dale's left and he heard an audible gasp from Brad. Dale realized why a moment later when Mr. Keller grabbed the waistband of his briefs and pulled them down to his knees. Terrific! Todd was gonna get to stare at their bare, blistered asses for 30 minutes while they only got to stare at the paddle that provided the blistering.

Mr. Keller started up the stairs, then paused. "Todd, when the timer goes off I want you to come right upstairs. I need to talk to you privately about something while those two get dressed."

"Yes, sir," said Todd.

After a few minutes of standing there staring at the paddle, the numbness wore off and Dale's bottom resumed throbbing with a vengeance, sending strong new waves of pain to his beleaguered brain. Fresh tears began running down his upper cheeks, but he managed to avoid making any sounds as he stood there dealing with the after effects of the beating with the fearsome paddle that filled his vision.

Dale could not believe that he had actually been curious for so long about what a spanking with this fraternity paddle really felt like. His curiosity on that score had just been satisfied in the most dramatic possible way, and he wasn't the least bit happy about it. What was that old saying? "Be careful what you wish for."

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.