(Author's Note: Although Bobby Watson does condone reasonable corporal punishment for disobedient juveniles, he feels that punishing pubescent kids for masturbation and/or wet dreams makes about as much sense as punishing them for breathing. The following is complete fiction and the behaviors depicted shouldn't be repeated by anyone in real life.)
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Corey Lane rested on his belly in bed, tears in his eyes. He reached back and rubbed his bottom cheeks through the sheets, anticipating the pain he would be feeling all too soon. Finally, giving up on the idea of going back to sleep for the moment, he rolled over on his back and looked around the room. In the dim light of early dawn he could see the other nine beds in the room, each containing a sleeping eleven or twelve year old boy. Corey looked down to the end of the room to make sure the door to the cabin counselor's private room was closed.

Corey just lay there, staring at the ceiling for a while, listening to the soft sounds of his sleeping cabin-mates. This was Corey's third summer at Camp Torowa Falls, a mountain camp for evangelical Christian boys in upstate New York. He first attended as a ten-year-old two years ago, and he always had a good time. The camp offered two 30 day sessions for up to 80 boys (ages 9 thru 16) each summer. Corey always attended the second summer session, from mid-July to mid-August. Now, in the summer of 1963 Corey found himself 12-years-old, assigned as one of the campers in Fox Cabin.

Discipline was strict at the camp, but Corey was used to that both at home and in school. Jeff Paulsen, the counselor for their cabin, was a tough but fair guy. Tall and athletic, Jeff was the starting shortstop for his college baseball team. His ever-present paddle stung like fire on the naughty rumps of "his boys," but he was a certain friend to them too, liked and admired by the residents of Fox Cabin.

One new factor that was giving Corey a lot of trouble and pain lately was his budding sexuality. The main problem was that Corey didn't really understand what was going on with his body. His father had given him a "talk" about a year ago, the main points of which were "playing with yourself is a sin" and "save yourself for marriage." At the time the very confused eleven-year-old simply didn't understand any of it.

One day Corey had noticed light hairs growing "down there". But since he had seen his father naked, this didn't bother him. He knew that men had hair in lots of places that boys didn't. Then about three months ago Corey woke up one morning and realized that his pajama pants were wet. Oh God, he had wet the bed! How could he wet bed at twelve years old? He hadn't done that since he was five! Strange, this stuff was sticky. What the hell was going on? His father only told him not to worry, that he was simply growing up, and repeated the admonishment not to "play with himself". What a big help he was!

This "sticky pants in the morning" experience had been repeated two or three times a month since then, despite Corey's fervent prayers to God to "please make it stop." His mother simply changed his sheets without comment. Corey had been afraid to mention the situation to any of his friends back home. He certainly didn't want to be known as a bedwetter.

When he arrived last week, Corey was able to confide in Jerry Farnham, his best friend here at camp. Jerry told him all about wet dreams, and about something even more amazing! Alas, this really amazing thing seemed to be one of the things that Corey's father thought was a sin.

He wasn't the only one who frowned upon the habit. "Self Abuse", as it was referred to in the camp rules, was a major offense punishable by a pants-down razor-strapping by Boss Lemmon (the imposing camp director) given in front of the entire camp. Corey just couldn't understand why something that felt so good was deemed so bad by everyone in charge. Still, they were all watched closely enough that opportunities to practice this "vice" were few and far between. In bed, they were required to keep their hands above the blankets at all times.

Then something ominous happened during morning bed inspection. This was where the boys all stood at the foot of their beds in their night clothes (pjs or undies - campers were not allowed to sleep in the nude) while Jeff inspected both them and their unmade beds. On the second morning of camp Phil Lundon, a 12-year-old in his first summer here, was discovered with familiar-looking stains on the front of his pajama shorts and his bed sheet. Jeff shook his head, then simply said, "Bed wetter, Phil. Get those soiled clothes off and bend over your bed."

Phil looked like he wanted to argue. But he simply grimaced, turned, whisked his shorts and undies down to his ankles, stepped out of them, then threw the soiled garments on his bed. The boy then bent slowly and reluctantly over the foot of his bed.

Jeff completed his inspection, finding no other faults. He then walked back to his private room. The campers stayed just as they were, having not been dismissed. Jeff soon returned to the room, paddle in hand. The standard wooden camp paddle at Camp Torowa Falls was about two feet long, 3 to 4 inches wide, and about 3/8 inch thick. Jerry knew from experience that it stung really bad, especially when swung by Jeff's strong hand!

Phil saw Jeff approaching, and as he lined up the paddle on Phil's cringing backside, Corey saw Phil's hands each grab a handful of blanket to hang on to. The paddle swung back in a wide arc, then... Craaacckk! Phil's head jerked up involuntarily, a gasp of painful disbelief escaping his lips.

Craacckk! "Oww," Phil gasped. Corey could see Phil's hands clenching desperately at the blanket, trying to hang on.

Craacckk! "Uuhh!" Phil groaned. His head jerked up again. A few seconds passed with only the sound of Phil's heavy breathing in the room.

"Get up, Phil," Jeff said. The boy painfully lifted himself off the bed, and turned to stand in the normal inspection stance at the foot of his bed. Phil was red faced, his lips clenched, trying to control the pain. Corey noticed that the boy had definitely not become aroused by the paddling.

"If you wet the bed again, you'll get four swats," said Jeff. "Understand, Phil?"

Phil nodded his head and said, "Yes, Jeff." Corey noticed him rubbing his wounded backside at the thought.

"Alright then," said Jeff. "Dismissed! Go get washed up, dressed, and ready for breakfast." The boys all grabbed their shower stuff and took off for the bath house.

Minutes later in the bath house Corey had noticed Phil standing in a line of seven nude boys all relieving themselves in the trough-style urinal. Phil's backside was just one of three in the line that were glowing red from very recent inspection paddlings. Those six tomato-red globes of painful flesh haunted his thoughts for the rest of the day. The way they stood out from the unmarked cheeks in the line was astonishing.

Given his wet dream track record, and the lack of opportunities to satisfy his burgeoning lust "by hand", Corey suspected that he might be putting on a similar red-cheeked show for the morning bathers all too soon, and far too often. Corey had been paddled in his previous two summers at the camp, of course. But it only happened once or twice each summer, and had always been for some mischief he had knowingly committed. Being paddled for something you did in your sleep just seemed so unfair!

Now here he was, not even a week later, laying in bed in the early dawn light knowing that his first red bottom day had arrived. A few minutes ago he had woken from some dream to find himself thrashing face down on the bed, grinding his hips into the mattress, his rampant wiener attempting to fertilize his underpants with a gooey mess that immediately soaked through to his sheets. The ecstacy he felt from the orgasm brought tears to his eyes. The knowledge of the pain he soon faced keep them there.

As soon as Jeff saw his stains at inspection, Corey knew he would be have to strip off the soaked undies and lay face down over his bed, awaiting the first kiss of wood from Jeff's paddle. What a way to start a day! Corey wished he could at least remember the dream that was about to cause him such pain. He hoped it was really sexy!

Corey slipped his hand under his sheets, slithered it into his undies, and felt the sticky mess contained therein. Great! He hoped it wouldn't happen more than one or two more times during the rest of the summer. This kind of thing could get old quickly. Someone coughed in the room. His cabin-mates were starting to stir. Corey yanked his hand out above his sheet. The last thing he needed was a stapping from Boss Lemmon on top of the paddling he was about to receive.

Corey rubbed the tears from his eyes. Mustn't let the other guys see him cry. As the other boys slowly woke up, Corey realized he needed to pee. That meant a quick trip to the bath house before inspection. As he climbed out of bed, Corey remmebered a boy in his cabin last summer named Steve Markley. Steve had lost control and pissed himself during a morning inspection paddling. The throughly humiliated boy had to endure an immediate second paddling (six whacks!) for "bedwetting." Corey did not want to risk such a disaster befalling himself.

Corey slipped his feet into his flip-flop sandals and headed for the front door of the cabin. Stepping out onto the porch, he could see it was gonna be another beautiful day in the Adirondack Mountains. Too bad it was gonna be a sore morning for him. It would have been easy to whip out his wiener and pee off the porch, but boys were not allowed to urinate outdoors while on camp property. They could only do that when on overnight campouts in the wooded hills surrounding the camp.

As he headed for the bath house, Corey looked down at his stained white Jockey y-front briefs. He hated those things! Corey wanted to wear boxers, but his parents wouldn't hear of it. Camp Torowa Falls required all campers to wear "tightey whiteys," and his parents weren't going to spend good money on *two sets* of underpants he would outgrow in a year's time. Corey couldn't imagine why the camp bosses cared what kind of underpants the boys wore.

Corey noticed that the tip of his wiener was clearly visible in the slightly tented wet white cloth as it moved while he walked to the bath house. Corey hoped no other guys would be in there to see him like this. They'd all know immediately he was gonna get paddled.

It might have been nice to put on clean briefs first, but Corey had heard about what could happen then. The story went that a guy had changed his briefs, but still had stained sheets. His counselor assumed he had pulled down his pants and committed an act of self-abuse. Before the guy knew what was happening he found himself bending over bare-assed in the mess hall, while Boss Lemmon scorched his backside with a huge razor strap.

Corey decided it would be far better to risk embarrassment in the bath house rather than a bare-bottom strapping in front of the entire camp.

As Corey neared the bath house, he became aware of other campers moving through the trees towards the same destination. So much for privacy. The white brief-clad figures were easy to spot in the green and brown forest where the camp had been built. Most of their parents had packed pyjamas for them, but few boys wore them on these warm summer nights. So briefs were the uniform of the early morning, before showers, after which clean clothes were donned for a new day. A few campers wore t-shirts to bed, but most couldn't be bothered, except maybe on rainy or windy nights.

Approaching the bath house door Corey exchanged greetings with Danny Myers, a fourteen- year-old who had been coming to Camp Torowa Falls since he was nine. They spoke in the hushed, just above whispering tones that people tend to use in the very early morning. "Oh, oh," remarked Danny, staring deliberately at Corey's stained briefs. "Looks like somebody's in for a rough morning."

"Yeah," Corey admitted, blushing a bit. Corey liked Danny, and they often sat together at dinner. Cabin-mates performed most activities together and ate breakfast and lunch as a unit. But campers were allowed to sit with whomever they wanted at dinner. The various age groups also mixed together freely during evening activity periods. "It's not pee," Corey whispered, anxious for his friend not think he was a real bedwetter.

"I didn't think it was," Danny assured him. "I know you're an alright guy, not some little bedwetting pussy." Corey smiled for the first time that day. The two friends entered the bath house and made straight for the trough-style urinal along one wall. Everyone was heading either there, or for the toilet stalls in the back, an area referred to (very unofficially) by the campers as the "Turd Farm".

Corey followed Danny as they strode up to the urinal, where they stood side by side to take care of business. Corey ended up between Danny and an older boy Corey didn't know who was already arcing his stream from a very impressive erection. Danny immediately fished his own healthy erection out of the fly of his white Fruit of the Looms. In seconds he was adding to the yellow river being washed down the trough by a steady trickle of water.

Corey experienced a brief flash of modesty, standing as he was between two larger boys. Larger in every possible dimension, in fact. Screw it, Corey couldn't afford to be late back to the cabin for inspection, especially today. So he finally yanked down the front of his briefs, grabbed, aimed, and almost immediately began spraying urine out of his hose at that amazing pressure only possible in young boys.

The other boys soon finished and departed, leaving Danny and Corey temporarily alone at the trough. "So who was she?" asked Danny.

Corey was so surprised by the question that his pee stream shut off suddenly like a faucet. "Who was who? Corey asked, confused, looking up at his friend.

"The girl you were humping in your dream," Danny said, smiling. "The girl you're gonna have to bend over and hump the end of your bed for, while Jeff blisters your little ass with his paddle."

At the mention of Jeff's paddle blistering his ass, Corey's cock jerked almost fully erect and began spraying pee again of it's own accord, startling the boy holding it. In truth Corey had no memory of the dream, but was afraid to admit it to Danny. "Oh, some girl I know back home," he mumbled.

Corey was spared further questions on the topic by the arrival of some new boys at the trough. Roland Bell, a tall thirteen-year-old from California, of all places, walked up next to Corey and began to get out his dick, which was tenting his obviously stained briefs. So California boys have "unauthorized dreams" too, eh? Corey was almost grateful for the fact that he wasn't the only camper who would be suffering for this particular vice. Not that his own bottom would be any less sore for the companionship.

Danny obviously had spotted the state of Roland's briefs as well. "So who was she, Roland?" he asked.

Roland chuckled. "A big-titted life guard from Venice Beach," he replied.

"Was she worth it?" Danny asked, as he tucked himself back in and prepared to leave.

Roland chuckled again. He briefly rubbed the shaft of his pissing erection with his left hand. "A few minutes ago I thought so." Then he patted the seat of his briefs. "But a few minutes from now I won't be so sure." All the boys standing at the trough broke up with laughter.

Corey was still smiling at the joke at minute later as he washed his hands at one of the sinks. "What are you doing that for?" asked Roland as he walked by.

"Force of habit, I guess," Corey answered, a little confused. "Don't you wash your hands after peeing in California?"

"I don't. At least not when all I'm gonna do before my next shower is pull down my pants and grab a handful of blanket while some big guy blasts my ass with a paddle."

"Oh, yeah," admitted Corey, drying his hands. The reminder of the pending operation had wiped the smile right off of his face.

The two boys left the bath hall together. On their way out the door they were passed by a weeping little'un. He looked to be at most ten-years-old, and his briefs were obviously stained - stained yellow with pee. "Poor little brat," said Roland, after the crying boy had disappeared into the bath house. Corey nodded his agreement.

Bear Cabin, where Roland lived, was close to Fox Cabin. So the two boys moved together for most of the trip back. Roland was usually quite talkative and a real joker. But now he seemed rather quiet. I wasn't hard to imagine why. Soon they reached the parting of paths back to their cabins. Roland said, "Good luck, Corey" as he headed off on the path towards Bear Cabin.

"You too, Roland." said Corey, as he continued up the path back to Fox Cabin. He stole a look in Roland's direction just once and spotted the older boy unconsciously rubbing the back of his briefs in antipation of the fire to come. Then Corey realized that he was doing the very same thing.

By the time Corey arrived back in Fox Cabin everybody was up. He exchanged morning greetings with people as he made his way back to his bunk. Nobody commented on his stained briefs. And Corey didn't comment on the stains he noticed on Eric Linsey's briefs, either. So, he wasn't gonna be the only one to feel Jeff's paddle this morning. Corey exchanged looks with his best friend, Jerry. Jerry eyed Corey's briefs and shrugged. Corey chuckled, shrugged, and walked back to his bed.

As inspection time approached, Jeff's door opened at the end of the cabin. The campers knew they had about two minutes to get into place. They all started to drift to the foot of their beds. Corey looked at his bed, trying to imagine what he'd look like in a couple minutes, bent over the end of it waiting for his whacks.

When Jeff emerged into the room, all the campers assumed inspection posture. That is they were all in front of their beds, standing up straight, their arms at their sides. As Jeff started his inspection, the front door burst open and 11-year-old Willie Strand skidded into the room. His hopeful smile melted right off his face when he realized he was late.

"Late for Inspection, Willie." Jeff said flatly. Willie stared at him dumbly. "Get moving, boy, get in your place! Jeff demanded, in obvious irritation. Willie dashed across the room and took his place in front of his bed. Jeff decided to re-start his inspection with Willie's bed. It may have passed muster, but, "Turn around, drop 'em, and bend over the bed, Willie."

Willie looked sick, but he did turn around, lowered his briefs to his knees, and bent over the foot of his bed.

The inspection continued, a flush rising in Corey's face as Jeff got to him. It only took a glance at the state of his briefs and sheets before, "Bed wetter, Corey. Get those soiled briefs off and bend over your bed." Corey turned to face his bed, dropped his undies, stepped out of them and threw them on the bed, where they landed right on top of the stain on his sheets. As Corey forced himself to calmly bend over the end of the bed, he felt his half-stiff member became trapped between his belly and the scratchy blanket.

A minute later he heard, "Bed wetter, Eric. Get those soiled pants off and bend over your bed." Corey looked back over his left shoulder, but Jeff was standing in his way. He heard slight sounds of movement as Eric complied with the orders. After Jeff moved away to finish his inspection, Corey could see Eric bent over his bed, his bottom already cringing.

Soon Jeff disappeared into his room to retrieve the paddle. A minute later Corey heard him return. He turned to the right so he could watch the counselor's progress. He saw Jeff line himself up behind Willie. Craacckk! "Owwww!" Willy yelped.

Jeff waited a few seconds, Willie squirming with anticipation. "Get up, Willie," Jeff said finally. Willie practically jumped up off his bed like he had been propelled with a spring. He turned to stand in the normal inspection stance at the foot of his bed. "You'll get the second whack if you're ever late again."

"Yes, Jeff," said Willie. As soon as Jeff turned away from him the boy began furiously rubbing his stinging bottom.

As Jeff approached his bed, Corey followed his progress, turning his head to the left just in time to see Jeff take up position behind him. He was next. He felt the paddle rub against his bottom flesh and his entire body clenched. He just couldn't stand to watch anymore so he faced forward, grabbed two handfuls of blanket, and closed his eyes.

Crrraacckk! The pain was astonishing, snapping Corey's head back, but he made no sound except an involuntary gasp as the breath was driven from his lungs by the sheer force of the whack. He held on to the blankets for dear life.

Crrraaacckk! Corey bit back a yelp, and barely kept both feet on the floor. He gripped the blankets even tighter.

Crrraaacckk! Corey's head was snapped back, and his right leg did kick once. He sincerely hoped that had been the last whack. There was a pause.

"Get up, Corey," Jeff said. The boy gratefully lifted himself off the bed, turned to stand in the normal inspection stance at the foot of his bed. Corey knew his face was quite red, but at least he had avoided any tears and he didn't have an embarassing erection. "If you wet the bed again, you'll get four swats," said Jeff. "Understand, Corey?"

"Yes, Jeff," replied Corey. As Jeff turned to go deal with Eric, Corey glanced over at Jerry. His friend smiled and winked. Corey winked and tried to smile, though it didn't come easy at the moment. He turned his attention back to Jeff, who was in position behind Eric. The paddle came back.

Crraacckk! Eric gasped, but managed to remain silent.

Crraaacckk! Eric gasped again, his right fist punched the bed.

Crraaaccckk! Eric groaned. He managed to stay still. The expected pause.

"Get up, Eric," Jeff said. Eric slowly got back to his feet. His hands started to reach back to rub his bottom, then retreated. He then turned to stand in the normal inspection stance at the foot of his bed. "If you wet the bed again, you'll get four swats," said Jeff. "Understand, Eric?"

"Yes, Jeff," said Eric. His face was quite red, with a couple of tears rolling down his face.

"Alright then," said Jeff. "Dismissed! Go get washed up, dressed, and ready for breakfast." The boys all grabbed their shower stuff and took off for the bath house.

Corey noticed several other red-bottomed boys in the showers. He, Eric and Roland compared their tomato-red hindquarters. It wasn't nearly as embarassing as Corey had feared. Soon enough they were back in the cabin, the soiled beds had been re-made with fresh sheets and the boys of Fox Cabin were all dressed and headed off to the Mess Hall for breakfast.

Over breakfast Corey and Jerry continued their lively argument about whether American POWs were ever really held in the same Nazi prison camps as British POWs during World War II. The two friends, like many of their fellow campers, had seen The Great Escape just before heading off to camp, and it was a major topic of the summer.

The staff were less than pleased by the oft-made comparisons between Stalag 3, the prison camp in that summer's hottest movie, and Camp Torowa Falls. But they were used to the impertinence of the campers in their care. As long as it didn't get out of hand they tolerated it. And when it did get out of hand, they could always fall back on their paddles and straps.

After breakfast and morning assembly, the campers started out on another day's adventures. Except for an occasional rub at the seat of their khaki shorts, Corey and Eric appeared to be absolutely normal boisterous young boys as they moved through the day.