(Author Note: This is the third episode in a series. The characters and situations were introduced in the story:
Camp Torowa Falls 1: Wet Sheets Lead to Sore Rumps.
Read that episode first! This story is a direct continuation of the second story:
Camp Torowa Falls 2: Where There's Smoke There's Fire.
Read that episode first too! Okay, read it second. But read it before this one!)
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As Boss Lemmon left the Mess Hall, Corey Lane stood near the front of the hall next to his cabin counselor, Jeff Paulsen. Corey couldn't take his eyes off the five miserable boys who stood facing the wall at the very front of the room. Rob Anderson and Roland Bell were still snifling a bit, and all five swollen, blazing rumps now showed small purple marks here and there as bruises formed on the ten tomato-red globes.

As the other counselors moved to check on the progress of their charges, Jeff signaled Corey to grab the towel from the bench and follow him. Corey moved carefully, hoping that his erection wasn't visible in this shorts. They re-entered the storeroom at the side of the hall. Jeff pointed at the chamber pot and said, "You will have to carry that thing to the Bath House and empty it. But first we need to have a little talk. Pull up a box and have a seat."

"Sure," said Corey. As he looked for a box to sit on, Corey wondered what the talk would be about. Was Jeff going to question him about why he thought he was gonna be strapped? What could he say? Would Jeff paddle him for showing disrespect to the Asscons? Would he turn him over to Boss Lemmon?

Jeff pulled up another box and sat on it, looking at Corey quite seriously. "First of all, I wanted to apologize for not warning you before."

"Warning me?" asked Corey, confused.

"Warning you about being the helper for the thrashing just now. Normally I would coach you before you have to do it the first time. But this one was impromptu."

"It was in prompt who?" asked Corey.

"'Impromptu', it means the thrashing wasn't planned, like the ones at evening assembly."

"Oh, I get it." said Corey. He thought he mostly did, and didn't want to dwell on vocabulary words just now.

"I had decided to pick you the next time Fox Cabin needed to provide the helper for a thrashing, but I expected to be able to run through it with you beforehand."

"I see." said Corey. "How do they decide which cabin will provide the 'pissboy', did you say?"

Jeff winced, "Yeah, I did use that word, but you'll notice I didn't use it front of Boss Lemmon. I don't expect to ever hear you use it again, or I'll have to paddle you for swearing."

Corey rolled his eyes and then smirked, "You're as bad as the Asscons."

"Corey!" Jeff exclaimed. "Don't use that word, either! You call them 'assistant counselors' and nothing else. Understand?"

"Yes, Jeff." said Corey, clearly annoyed.

"One more swear word out of you, young man, and I'll wash your mouth out with soap and paddle your bare butt at bedtime tonight. Got it?"

"Yes, Jeff." said Corey, deflated. The idea of having to drop his jockeys and bend over the end of the bed for a paddling at bedtime got his attention.

"Now," said Jeff, "to get back to the question you asked before you started swearing like a sailor, the helper is always picked from one of the younger cabins. You might have noticed that the five boys you held the pot for were all older than you."

"Yeah, I did notice." agreed Corey.

"Boss Lemmon says that the only thing more humiliating for a boy about to be thrashed than peeing in a chamber pot in front of other people, is if that pot is being held by a boy younger than himself."

"So that means if I..." Corey stopped, shocked at what he was asking.

Jeff grinned and finished the thought for him, "if you are ever dumb enough to earn yourself a thrashing, you'll have to pee in that pot while it's being held for you by a nine or ten year old boy."

Corey felt himself blush at the very thought of having to pee like that in front of one of the little shrimps from Squirrel Cabin or Muskrat Cabin. Some of those little brats still really wet their beds. "I would hate to do that," Corey finally said.

"I should think so!" said Jeff. "You're a good kid, Corey." Corey beamed at the compliment. "So do us both a favor and try to keep out of trouble - at least serious trouble."

"I will, Jeff!" Corey said, quite earnestly.

"Okay, then." said Jeff. He pointed towards the chamber pot. "Now you need to take that thing down to the Bath House and empty it in the trough. Rinse it out with clean water a couple of times - be sure to empty the rinse water out in the trough, not the sink. Then bring it back here and put it back in the storeroom.

"Okay, Jeff." said Corey. He picked up the pot and Jeff unlocked a side door, letting Corey out directly into the rain. "I'll leave it unlocked, Corey. Come back in through this door."

"Okay!" said Corey, raising his voice a bit to be heard over the rain. He moved as fast as he could on the soggy ground, the contents of the more than half-full pot sloshing around inside. Eventually Corey realized that it didn't matter much if anything spilled, so he moved a little faster. But he was still mostly soaked by the time he reached the Bath House.

After performing the required task, a quick check of the Bath House convinced Corey he was alone there. So he went back into one of the stalls, closed the door, dropped his pants and shorts, and began remembering. Corey remembered the way the five smokers reacted to the searing lashes of the strap. Corey especially remembered the way Roland had energetically bucked and writhed on the bench as the heavy leather strap roasted his backside.

Corey remembered that when he removed the towel from the bench after the proceedings, he touched the stain on the towel and found it cold, but with a familar stickiness. It seemed clear that Roland's wiener had sprayed some of that sticky stuff on the towel while he was bucking and writhing on the bench. But how could anyone get excited while they were feeling such intense pain? Corey kept remembering the strapping he had just witnessed, and very soon his hand felt that stickiness again, splashing hot and intense.

As Corey trudged back to the Mess Hall, he felt pangs of guilt over what he had done. He wasn't worried about being caught. Nobody had seen him do it, and his clothes couldn't give him away. It was pouring down rain and Corey knew that by the time he got back to the Mess Hall his clothes would look like he had just been swimming in the lake with them on.

All he wanted to do was feel that incredible feeling that coursed through his body when his wiener sprayed that sticky white stuff. It seemed so harmless, but the adults in Corey's life all seemed to think it was some big crime. He knew God was watching him. So what did God really think about all this? Would He make Corey burn in Hell for making that stuff come out of his wiener?

Could I be evil, Corey thought? No, his parents told him he was a good boy, although they whipped him when he was naughty. Corey knew that naughty was not the same as evil. Jeff had just told him he was a good kid, too. Jeff was smart, and definitely not evil. So Corey was probably okay. He just needed to be sure he didn't get caught. He sure didn't want to have to pee in the pot he was holding and then bend over the bench for a dose of Boss Lemmon's razor strap. Corey held no delusions about being able to take a strapping like that without bawling like a baby in front of everyone.

After Corey had completed his assignment he returned to his cabin's table in the Mess Hall. He got there just in time for the end of the craft activity period (Hurray!). As the campers from Fox Cabin returned their materials to the store room, Corey was bombarded with questions about his role in recent events.

Corey was tempted to claim that he knew about being the helper all the time. But since Jeff was nearby, he knew that outright lying was a bad idea. Luckily the other guys were more interested in the details of holding the chamber pot, etc. Corey was kind of glad when the questions finally petered out.

When it came time for the final activity period of the afternoon, Jeff announced that this was laundry day for Fox Cabin. This news was greeted with moans and groans, especially from the veterans of Camp Torowa Falls. It was generally accepted that Laundry Inspection was one of the most humiliating features of life at camp. The only good thing was that it had finally stopped raining, and there was only a fine mist falling, along with water from the earlier downpour dripping from the trees.

Soon they were all back in Fox Cabin, sorting their soiled clothes and placing them in the canvas laundry bags each camper had stowed under his bed. When everyone was ready, they all hoisted their bags over their shoulders and headed off for the Laundry Shack. Corey's stomach was churning slightly, since he had just spotted evidence that he wasn't going to get through the next hour unscathed.

As they arrived at the Laundry Shack - Corey thought it was very large building to be called a "shack" - the campers from Elk Cabin were already waiting in a line that reached out the door. Two cabins showed up for laundry inspection in the late afteroon every day, Monday through Thursday. The campers' clean laundry was returned to their cabins the following afternoon.

This was the first full Thursday of the second summer session, which had started exactly seven days ago. So that meant that Corey had his cabinmates from Fox Cabin would be lining up here on Thursday afternoons with the 14 and 15-year-old campers from Elk Cabin for the rest of the summer.

"Craack", a distinctive sound issued forth from the shack. It was muffled, but unmistakable. It sounded like solid wood colliding with a boy's backside. You could tell who all the first timers are, since they all started looking around, confused. Corey directed a smile at Jerry, who smiled back. "Craacck!" Both boys lost their smiles when they remembered that their own butts would soon to be receiving some of the same treatment.

"Are we gonna get spanked?" asked 11-year-old Kyle Garlin nervously. His concern was echoed by 11-year-old Paulie Jenkins and 12-year-old Phil Lundon. They were the first-year campers in Fox Cabin this year.

"Probably," was the non-reassuring answer they received from the veterans. The veterans disagreed slightly on the details, but eventually spun the tale of what lay in store for them inside that door.

Their laundry was always inspected by the laundry ladies, three large burly middle-aged matrons. Special attention was paid to a camper's briefs. They were expected to be soiled, of course, that being the purpose of underwear. But soiling was only tolerated within reason.

A few pee stains in front were overlooked. But woe betide a boy who had wet his bed, or had one of "those dreams" and left tell-tale traces (and stiffness) in the material at the crotch of his briefs. Skidmarks were also punishable, unless that camper had a note from the nurse stating he had been sick.

The worst fate befell a boy who had more than one pair of soiled briefs in his laundry bag. Such a boy was forced to take off his khaki shorts and briefs. The humiliated boy had to hand his briefs to his inspector for immediate inspection. Any stains or skidmarks would be punished immediately - and again next week when those briefs turned up in the unfortunate camper's laundry bag.

Miss Bertha, the biggest laundry lady, was the one who wielded the laundry brush. It was a big, wooden backed weapon, kind of like a very wide hairbrush with an extra long handle. Miss Bertha gave every camper who failed inspection his spanking. You had to climb over Miss Bertha's lap, which was big enough to accommodate even the tallest 16-year-old campers.

The penalty was two whacks with the laundry brush, one on each cheek, for each soiled item in your laundry bag. And of course if you had been forced to remove your current briefs for inspection, you weren't allowed to put them back on until after Miss Bertha was done with you, so you had to take your spanking bare-assed.

Corey knew from painful experience that having to bare yourself in front of these ladies was a lot worse than having to do it in front of Jeff and his cabinmates when he got paddled at morning inspection. And now Corey had a problem. He had the stained briefs from his dream the other night, of course. But when sorting his clothes just now he noticed a small skidmark on another pair of his white jockey shorts. That meant that he would probably have to strip in front of those women in a few minutes.

Corey fervently hoped that there weren't any marks in the jockeys he was currently wearing. He sure didn't want to take six whacks on the bare. Four was gonna be bad enough. "Craackk" the distinctive sound of Miss Bertha's laundry brush imparting a message of cleanliness to the bare backside of another boy whose laundry had failed to pass muster could be heard. There were five more whacks heard - as they neared the door the noise became clearer.

All too soon 11-year old Alan Dunson, the first Fox camper in line, was at the door. Alan was in his second summer at Camp Torowa Falls, and had been in Corey's cabin last year, too. Corey liked Alan well enough, although they hadn't become good friends or anything. Corey remembered that Alan had a summer birthday, so he would be turning twelve in another week or two. A birthday party was always something to look forward to. He would have to discuss present ideas with Jerry later on.

Lionel Harper, another 11-year-old, was next in line after Alan. Lionel had been in Corey's cabin two years ago, the rookie year for both of them. Lionel and Corey had some falling out that year, so Lionel refused to talk to Corey much at all. Funny thing was, Corey couldn't even remember what the fuss had been about. But whatever it was, Lionel didn't seem inclined to make amends.

Paulie Jenkins, an 11-year-old rookie, was third in line. Corey didn't care for this kid, who seemed way too high-strung and nervous for a full month away from home in sleepaway camp. The kid was so small, he looked like he should be in a crib with a teddy bear rather than a bed in summer camp.

Next in line was Paulie's best friend at camp, 11-year-old Kyle Garlin. This kid looked more like summer camp material, but seemed to be having some trouble in this, his rookie year. Kyle had seen Jeff for private counseling at least twice in his first week at camp, and he was always writing stuff down in a little book he carried around. Corey didn't know what his problem was, but it sure wasn't a lack of religious fervor. Kyle was one of the most enthusiastic "bible thumpers" among the junior campers at Camp Torowa Falls.

Corey realized that many (heck, most) of the other campers were more religious than he was, but Kyle seemed just a little too righteously indignant at the sins of others. Especially sins that didn't affect Kyle at all. Corey found himself secretly hoping that skidmarks would be found in every pair of Kyle's briefs.

Eric Linsey had been been coming to the camp since he was nine years old, same as Jerry. This was Eric's third year in the same cabin as Jerry (out of four years in camp). He and Jerry were definitely friends, although Corey didn't believe they were as close as Jerry and Corey. Eric was very smart, probably the smartest kid in the cabin. He should have been a real asset to Jerry and Corey's gang, and often was. But Eric could be a little shy about asserting himself when his smarts might prevent them from making a serious blunder. Corey promised himself - again - that he would have a little chat with Eric on that subject just as soon as possible. Corey seemed to be getting more than enough whackings this year on his own without getting even more (unnecessary ones) for gang-related mischief.

Corey himself was in line behind Eric and in front of Jerry. The three of them could almost always be found together. The trio had a "Three Musketeers" thing going last summer. But now that seemed kind of lame. Most of the horsing around this year followed a prison camp theme inspired, of course, by The Great Escape the smash hit movie of the summer of 1963.

Jerry Farnham was the coolest guy in camp under the age of 15, at least as far as Corey was concerned. Tall and athletic for his twelve years, Jerry was a natural-born leader of boys. Corey didn't doubt for a second that he would one day become a great leader of men. Jerry planned to become a US Marine Corps officer like his father, who died in combat in Korea when Jerry was a toddler. Although Corey admired both the goal and the dedication, he thought it was a bit sad that Jerry worshipped the memory of a man he didn't even remember.

Tony Lansing, an 11-year-old in his third summer at camp, was the youngest member of their gang. Corey always thought of it as his and Jerry's gang, although Jerry was the undisputed leader. Although quick to follow Jerry's lead, this was one area where Corey disagreed with his friend. Tony wasn't terribly bright, which Corey felt made him a liability to the gang. Tony followed Jerry around like a loyal puppy, but for some reason Corey never completely trusted him.

Willie Strand, an 11-year-old in his second summer at camp, could be a bit pathetic. He tried hard, but could never seem to do anything right. Willie was always late - he had been paddled twice in seven days for being late for morning inspection - and he never seemed to have the right gear for whatever they were doing. When it was time to go swimming, Willie couldn't find his swim suit, when it was time to do laundry today, Willie couldn't find his laundry bag. Willie had been fervently trying to get Tony, or any of the boys in the cabin to befriend him, but nobody wanted any part of him. Corey could tell that even Jeff was getting a little tired of this kid.

Phil Lundon was the last camper in line today. A stocky 12-year-old rookie, Phil had distinguished himself last Saturday morning by being the first Fox Cabin camper to be paddled by Jeff this year. Eric, Jerry and Corey had been trying to get information out of this guy for the past week, but Phil wasn't the talkative type. He seemed to have about average abilities in everything he tried, and his main attribute seemed to be a lack of any main attribute. Phil always cooperated, but never seemed to be enthusiastic about anything, or troubled by anything. He didn't even seem to be terribly put out by the fact that he was about to get a spanking.

One thing Corey did know about Phil, not to mention Jerry and himself, was that they were all in for at least two whacks of the laundry brush on the seat of their khaki shorts for the wet dream-stained briefs they were each carrying in their laundry bags. Corey had checked his as he sorted his laundry minutes ago, and the stupid things were stiff in the crotch area, no doubt from dried sticky stuff. There was no way those nosy old women were going to miss that sign of "evil thoughts", and there was no way that Miss Bertha's laundry brush was gonna miss his butt.

"Craack! Craack!" the laundry brush was back at work. Corey noticed that Kyle was standing at the door now, which meant that Lionel and Paulie were having their laundry inspected. That meant that Alan must have gotten those two whacks they just heard.

Kyle stepped into the shack, and Eric was now in the doorway. Corey would be next in the doorway. About a minute later Eric stepped into the shack and Corey stepped into the doorway. He could now see what was happening inside the shack.

Eric walked up to a table and placed his laundry bag on it so the laundry matron, Miss Sally, could inspect his laundry. Kyle was standing in front of the other table while Miss Linda inspected his laundry. She seemed to be examining a pair of Kyle's Fruit of the Loom briefs quite carefully, like a scientist examining a particularly interesting new species of plant.

Meanwhile Paulie, minus his shorts and underpants, was climbing up on the vast lap of Miss Bertha. So, Paulie was on the hook for at least four whacks. This should be entertaining, for at least a bit. The big brush swept back in a tremendous arc, then flew through the air very fast. "Crraacck! Craacck! Craacck! Oww! Craackk! Ouch!" Paulie scrambled off Miss Bertha's lap and furiously rubbed his wounded behind a for a few seconds, his equipment flopping around in front.

As Paulie finally dressed himself again, Miss Linda announced, "Garlin, two swats!" Kyle grumpily moved over towards Miss Bertha, while Miss Linda casually tossed his bag of laundry on the pile behind her, looked over towards the door, and Corey, and said, "Next!"

Corey strode forward and placed his laundry bag on Miss Linda's table. On the way he noticed that Miss Sally had already set aside a pair of Eric's briefs. Corey hoped for his sake that those were the ones that Eric had soiled during his dream on Saturday. "Craaack! Craaacck!"

Corey heard Kyle getting spanked, but couldn't turn around and see the operation. A boy whose laundry was being inspected was required to focus his attention exclusively on his examiner. Corey had arranged his bag as required, with the shirts, socks, shorts, and underwear all separated. The briefs had to be on top, so they could be inspected first. If there were no problems there, the rest of the laundry was given only a cursory examination.

In fact Corey had been through this process about eight times in the previous two years. Although he had only been spanked twice, both times for skidmarks, he heard plenty of stories from other campers. In fact it was almost unheard of for a camper to be spanked for anything other than "dirty" stains on his underpants. About the only other way to get spanked was to completely cake your clothing in mud.

Miss Linda examined the pee stains on Corey's jockey shorts. Although frowned upon, they really didn't spank you for those unless you stained them so much, either in one go or over the course of the day, that they looked like you had actually wet yourself. Call it bedwetting or call it incontinence, a camper was required to remain in control of his bladder at all time. Failure to do so brought a paddling on the day, and a dose of laundry brush to look forward to during your next laundry inspection.

Soon enough Miss Linda found the pair with the small skid mark and set them aside. Damn it! Once she found the wet dream-stained ones, Corey would have to strip. There they are....she's feeling the stiffness in the crotch material. She set them aside. Looking up at Corey, Miss Linda said, "Strip off and let me see those briefs you're wearing, you filthy little boy."

"Yes, Miss." said Corey sadly, looking down. He quickly unzipped and stepped out of this shorts. Then he whisked off his briefs and handed them to Miss Linda. He was afraid to look at them himself, it wouldn't matter anyway.

She didn't find any skidmarks. Whew! What a relief. But she did seem to be carefully examining the crotch area. Corey didn't think they were stained badly. Then it hit him like a thunderbolt - when he had "pleasured himself" in the Bath House while running that errand for Jeff, some of the goo that his wiener sprayed had dripped off his hand. Corey just assumed that it fell on the floor. But if it landed on the crotch of his jockeys and dried there - it couldn't be explained away as a wet dream. He had put these briefs on after showering this morning, so sticky-stuff stains could only mean "self-abuse", which would lead to a dose of Boss Lemmon's strap after dinner tonight, not just a couple more whacks of the laundry brush.

Miss Linda looked up at Corey, a narrow-eyed, suspicious look on her face. Corey placed his most innocent, babe-in-the-woods look on his face, trying to bluff his way out of this. He realized that he wasn't breathing. Finally, Miss Linda handed his briefs back to him. "You better not be playing with yourself, you dirty boy." she said.

"No, Miss!" insisted Corey, breathing again at last. Miss Linda gave the rest of Corey's laundry a thorough inspection, during which Corey heard the "Craacck! Craacck!" of Eric's spanking. So he had lucked out after all.

Then Miss Linda was packing Corey's laundry back in his bag, and announced, "Lane, four swats." Corey turned, giving Jerry, who was standing in front of Miss Sally's table, a quick glance, and walked unwillingly over to Miss Bertha, who grinned at him with a 'come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly' look on her face.

Corey climbed up onto Miss Bertha's vast lap, a task made more difficult by the shorts and jockeys he was holding in his left hand. Finally settled in place, Corey could feel his thighs pressing against Miss Bertha's meaty thighs. Her huge left hand settled in the middle of his back to hold him still - he could imagine the right hand sweeping the big brush back in the air in a huge arc. "Crraackk!"

Wow, that stings! Corey was profoundly glad he was only getting four whacks. Six like that might have brought tears to his eyes. "Crraackk!" That one was on his right cheek. The huge size of both the brush and the lap over which he wriggled, despite his best efforts to remain still, reminded Corey of when he was seven years old, wriggling over his mother's lap while she blistered his little backside with a sturdy hairbrush.

"Crraackk!" There went the left cheek again, down in the crease where his thigh met his backside. "Crraackk!" And there was the right cheek in the same place. Of course one big difference was that four whacks with his mom's hairbrush would have had 7-year-old Corey howling for mercy. Today he hadn't made a sound.

Miss Bertha finally lifted up her hand off his back and the still slightly wriggling Corey scrambled down off her lap. He dressed himself as quickly as possible and left the shack while Jerry climbed up on Miss Bertha's lap for his two swats.

Jerry soon departed the shack as well and they stood together with Eric, listening as the last campers were inspected. Apparently nobody had taught Tony how to wipe himself, since he was charged with four pairs of skidmarked briefs and had to endure a tongue-lashing from Miss Linda as well as eight blistering whacks from Miss Bertha's brush.

"That boy's as sharp as a bowlin' ball," remarked Jerry in a fake southern drawl. Corey and Eric both chuckled at that one. Foghorn Leghorn was one of Jerry's favorite cartoon characters. Tony eventually emerged from the shack wiping the tears from his eyes.

Phil ended up the inspection process for the day, only getting two whacks for his wet dream-stained briefs. Then the campers all trooped back to the cabin - the remainder of the final activity period was now free time for them. They could do pretty much as they pleased until dinner time.

Tony decided to "take a nap" before dinner, but Eric, Jerry and Corey knew he wanted to be alone to cope with the after effects of the rather vicious spanking he had just received. Well, it had sounded vicious to Corey anyway, and had definitely brought tears to Tony's eyes.

The trees were still too dripping wet for proper play in the woods, so the trio sat on the front porch of Fox Cabin, chatting away the time until Jeff came by to collect them for dinner. Willie Strand had tried to hang out with the gang again, but Corey had given the brat a wedgie. Jerry then patted Willie on the head as the younger boy dug his underpants out of his crack, given him a "wet willie" and then sent him on his way, close to tears.

Corey wasn't sure why there were always arguments, but they certainly seem to happen, even among friends. Today the subject of the argument was a movie, but surprisingly enough it wasn't The Great Escape.

Eric and Corey were having what Corey's mother would call "a spirited discussion" about The Guns of Navarone, another World War II movie that had come out two summers before. Corey's father had taken him to see it in the theater that summer over his mother's objections that Corey was too young. He had also managed to see it on television since then, and really loved it.

In fact Corey thought that The Guns of Navarone was the best war movie he had ever seen, which was not a popular opinion to hold this summer. He especially didn't trouble Jerry with this piece of information, since Jerry had made it quite clear to everyone that Steve McQueen's motorcycle jump over the barbed-wire fence was the coolest thing he had ever seen on film.

Eric, for some reason Corey couldn't fathom, was convinced that Mallory (the Gregory Peck character) should have killed Andrea (the Anthony Quinn character) at the earliest opportunity. "Listen, dimwit," Eric said sarcastically, "Andrea said he was gonna kill Mallory as soon as the war was over. If I said I was gonna kill you when camp was over this summer, wouldn't you try to kill me before then?"

"If you call me a dimwit again, I'll kill you right on the spot." threatened Corey, a flush rising to his face.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah!!"

Jerry moved between his friends since they appeared to be about to start shoving each other. "I think you're both dimwits, and you'll both end up feeling Jeff's paddle if he catches you fighting." The two would-be combatants grumbled, but separated.

Corey regained his composure and decided to try a logical tack. "Mallory had given the Germans a free pass - the same Germans who killed Andrea's family. What would you do if someone killed your family?"

"Mallory didn't kill his family!" Eric objected.

"No, but he was at least partially responsible for their deaths." Corey knew that if he ever came home and found his parents and little sister, Becky, murdered that he wouldn't rest until the people responsible for the act were dead, or until he was. The only way in which he disagreed with Andrea's actions was that Corey wouldn't wait, even if one of the people responsible was a close friend - even if it was Jerry.

"Civilized people don't act like that," insisted Eric.

"Civilized?" huffed Corey. "Andrea was a Greek assassin fighting again German invaders. How civilized do you expect him to be?"

"He wasn't Greek!" said Eric triumphantly. "He was Cretan, you cretin!"

"What?" said Corey, clearly confused. "Stop spewing shit from your mouth, will ya, Eric? At least try to speak plain English."

"You're the one spewing shit, you stupid fuck!" shouted Eric.

"You're the only stupid fuck around here!" screamed Corey.

Once again Jerry stepped between them, "Quiet down, both of you stupid fucks, or there will be Hell to pay!"

"Indeed there will!" said Jeff, in a low, ominous voice from behind them. The three boys all looked over their left shoulders and saw Jeff standing there, a very cross look on his face. The trio stared at Jeff, like deer caught in the headlights.

"All right you three sailors, follow me!" ordered Jeff, leading the way into the cabin. The three boys followed meekly, heads and shoulders drooping in shame. Corey knew he was in real trouble this time, since Jeff had just warned him about swearing a few hours ago.

Jeff entered his private room at the back of the cabin and beckoned the three miscreants into his sanctum. "Close the door, Corey." Jeff ordered after they were all inside. Corey quickly complied.

Jeff's private room was a small affair, perhaps 12 feet by 14 feet. It contained a single bed, superbly made, Corey noticed. It also had a small dresser and a desk with a decent looking office swivel chair. There were two plain chairs in the room, where campers could sit while being counseled. Finally, there was a small sink with a mirror above it and a standard chamber pot for the counselor's convenience in the night.

"We we dispense with the accusation and denial phase, if that's alright with you fellas." said Jeff. "We all know what you said, correct?"

"Yes, Jeff." the three boys quickly agreed.

"So that just leaves us with dispensing the punishment. You know you all have to get the soap and the paddle, right?"

"Yes, Jeff." the increasingly nervous boys agreed.

"Right!" Jeff said brightly. "Let's get to it, then. Hands behind your heads!" The three boys, lined up in loose formation near the door, all threaded their fingers together behind their heads in the prescribed fashion, then watched the preparations with increasing tension. Jeff unwrapped a fresh bar of Palmolive soap, then used his pocket knife to cut the large green bar into three pieces. He then went to the sink and worked the first piece up into a lather.

"Come here, Corey." Jeff said. Corey made the short walk, standing next to Jeff. "Open wide." Corey did so, and once again tasted soap in his mouth. His mother had been doing this for the past ten years and it never got any easier. Jeff was able to get the small piece of soap most of the way into Corey's mouth, and it was really disgusting. Corey tried to keep a neutral face, wanting desperately to appear unaffected, but he knew his face bore a look of disgust despite his efforts. "Back in line."

The procedure was repeated with Jerry and then Eric. Soon the trio were standing back in a loose line, muzzled by the soap, looks of disgust gracing all three faces. Jeff grabbed one of the side chairs, set it down with its back to the culprits, then straddled it facing them, his arms resting on the back of the chair. "Now I'm gonna talk, and you three are gonna listen, understand?" All three boys nodded vigorously.

"That language you were using is completely unacceptable, agreed?" Three vigorously nodding heads answered him mutely. "In addition to getting soaped, which we're now taking care of, you all need to be paddled, agreed?" More nodding answered this, although it was somewhat less enthusiastic. "All that remains is to determine how many whacks of the paddle you will each get at bedtime tonight. I'm gonna let you face the wall and think about how many paddle whacks you deserve. When it's time for dinner and I let you rinse your mouths, you will each tell me how many whacks you think you deserve."

"You won't get any less than the amount you name," Jeff continued. "But I do reserve the right to increase the amount you actually get, especially if I believe you're trying to let yourself off too lightly. And Corey, don't forget to include those bad words you used earlier this afternoon when making your calculation." Corey nodded his head slightly to acknowledge the order.

"In fact, Corey," continued Jeff, "since you decided to go on a cursing streak today, and since you started that little swearing festival out on the porch just now, I'm thinking about turning your case over to Boss Lemmon."

Corey was horrified by this idea, too stunned to move. "Would you like that, Corey?" Jeff asked. Corey finally shook his head. "Would you like Boss Lemmon to strap you for swearing after supper tonight?" Corey shook his head quite vigorously, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to form in his eyes.

"Well in that case I strongly recommend that you think of a real good reason why I should deal with you myself. You can tell me after you rinse the soap out of your mouth. And don't forget to come up with a number of whacks you deserve, just in case you do convince me to paddle you at bedtime." With that, Jeff got up and grabbed Corey by the right ear. Using his ear as a handle, Jeff manuevered Corey to the desired place on the wall and left him there, nose touching the wall. "Stay there until I say you can move." Corey nodded his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement of the order.

Corey heard the door open, and some shuffling of feet. He was burning with curiosity to know what was going on, but too scared to steal a peek. Silence filled the room then, and Corey was left alone with his thoughts.

A wave of anger came over Corey then, and he stood there shaking with silent fury, his mind filled with every swear word he knew, directed mindlessly at Eric, Jerry, Jeff, Boss Lemmon, Miss Bertha, his parents, and every teacher, relative and babysitter that ever beat his ass. After a couple of minutes he settled down and directed his anger at himself, furious that his mouth had once again gotten his ass in trouble.

Eventually, Corey calmed down and set his mind to work on the two problems he had. How to convince Jeff to paddle him? What a stange thing to be attempting. He usually tried to avoid that sort of thing. Then how many whacks? He wanted to say six, but knew that was probably way too low. Ten? He hated the idea of that many, but would probably have to suffer it, like it or not. Twelve? No, Jeff wouldn't insist on that many, would he? This was terrible, to have to decide on the number of whacks for your own paddling.

Corey struggled with these questions for who knows how long. Eventually the door opened again, and Corey heard Jeff enter. So he had left them alone all this time. Corey was glad that the others hadn't started screwing around or talking. That would have been the last thing they needed at this point. Corey knew he hadn't moved, so he should be okay on that score.

After a few minutes, Jeff said, "Corey, come over here." Corey turned and approached Jeff, who was standing by the sink. A quick glance around the room revealed the fact that they were alone. Jeff must have already released the others. That was strange - strangely ominous. Corey must really be in trouble. His time for decision was fast approaching. What would he do? "Open up," ordered Jeff. Corey complied, and Jeff removed the gooey bar of soap from his mouth. "Go ahead and rinse."

Corey filled his hand with water from the tap and scooped it into his mouth, then he spit it out. Scoop and spit. Scoop and spit. Scoop and spit. The horrible taste of soap remained. Corey knew that it might seem to last forever, but it would eventually go away. "Jeff, I'm really sorry." Corey said, looking up at his counselor.

Jeff nodded and placed his hand on Corey's shoulder. "I know you are, Corey. I'm really sorry I have to whack you."

"I know, Jeff." said Corey, hoping that all thought of Boss Lemmon's strap had faded.

"So, why should I whack you Corey?" asked Jeff, as if reading his mind.

Corey sighed, then said, "Because I didn't swear in front of the whole camp. I swore in private in the storeroom. And I swore on the porch of this cabin. Only you, and campers from this cabin heard me swear, so only you and they should see me punished for it."

Jeff thought that over a few seconds and then smiled. "Very good, Corey. Ever think of becoming a lawyer?"

"My mom says that all the time. She says I argue like a lawyer."

"She's right, you do argue like a lawyer." said Jeff. He chuckled. "But you still get whacked most of the time anyway, don't you."

Corey laughed, "Yeah, I guess I do!"

"Speaking of which," Jeff said, interrupting the merriment, "how many whacks should I give you tonight?"

This brought Corey crashing back down to earth. What was the lowest number he could get away with? A mistake now could be extremely painful later tonight. "Ten whacks?" Corey asked, sheepishly.

"Hmmm," began Jeff, "ten whacks. Is that enough? Let me think.... Yes, I suppose ten whacks will be sufficient." Corey started breathing again. "Okay, Corey. Go get washed up for dinner. I'll see you there."

Corey left the room, followed by Jeff, who said, "Jerry, come in here." Corey turned and watched his friend enter the room, his mouth still full of soap. Then the door closed. Eric was still standing with his nose against the wall out in the main room of the cabin, hands behind his head. Corey headed out for the bath house and then dinner.

Corey ate dinner with Danny Myers and some of Danny's friends. By common agreement, the gang members were free to eat with whomever they choose, so they usually ate with other friends. Besides, Corey figured that Jerry and Eric wouldn't be willing to speak to him, since he was the one who had escalated the argument into the profanity area.

Corey shouldn't have been surprised when Danny asked him about his pending paddling almost immediately after he sat down for dinner. "How did you hear about it so quickly?" Corey asked.

"That kind of news travels fast around here." answered Danny. "How many are you gonna get?"

"Ten," said Corey, a bit sheepishly.

Danny whistled, then said, "Wow! What did you do, cuss out Jeff?"

"No," moaned Corey, "but I did kind of swear in front of him twice today."

"Twice!" said Danny. "You're lucky you aren't getting it from Boss Lemmon!"

"Don't I know it! Jeff was thinking of turning me in, but I talked him out of it."

"Lucky pup!"

"Oh, yeah," complained Corey, "I feel real lucky!" He picked at his food for two reasons. One, everything still kind of tasted like soap, and he was getting more nervous about his bedtime appointment with Jeff's paddle.

After the Thursday night prayer meeting, Corey trudged back to the cabin. Corey had prayed for Jeff to take pity on him and go easy with his paddling tonight, although there wasn't much hope of that. The storm that had dumped on them had moved on and the sliver of moon was out.

Corey detoured to the bath house on the way back. He passed the barrel on the way in, guarded by Simon Leary, one of the Asscons. He wanted to peek in there to see if anyone had turned in their smokes, but didn't think Simon would allow that. As he made his way to the trough, Corey thought that perhaps he wouldn't have gotten in trouble for peeking, but this was not a time to be risking further punishment.

As Corey stood at the trough relieving himself, Jerry pulled up beside him, with Eric on his far side. Might as well try to make peace. "Hi guys!"

"Hey, Corey." said Jerry. Eric just grunted.

Swell! This was going just great. "Look guys, I wanted to apologize, for starting the swearing today..." Corey glanced over, and Jerry was giving him a long-suffering, but mischievous look.

"That's okay," said Eric, from behind Jerry. "If I hadn't sworn back, I wouldn't be getting my eight whacks tonight."

"Right," said Jerry. "And if I had kept you guys apart without swearing, I wouldn't be getting my six whacks."

"Six!" exclaimed Corey, as he tucked himself away. "You got six for trying to break up a fight?"

"No," explained Jerry, "I got six for swearing. Just because you started it doesn't mean we had to start swearing, too."

Eric nodded in agreement. He said, "Look, Corey. We were all way out of line - about a lot of things - today. And now we all have to pay the piper."

As they walked towards the sinks, Jerry said "let's just get through this, get some sleep, and wake up friends again tomorrow."

"I'm all for that!" exclaimed Corey.

"So am I!" agreed Eric. He reached out his hand. Jerry placed his hand on top of it, then Corey, then Eric, and so forth until all six hands were stacked up between them. They looked at each other fondly, until someone directed a wolf-whistle at them, and they remembered they weren't alone in there. Quickly they disentangled their hands and moved to wash them. They studiously ignored the taunts, mostly along the lines of "Check out the love birds!" None of them could afford to add fighting to the bill they were about to pay.

There was no talking on the way back to the cabin. There didn't need to be. Corey knew that all was right with the world, assuming he could get through the next few minutes. Why the heck did he say ten whacks?

In the blink of an eye the campers of Fox Cabin were snug in their beds, with three exceptions. Jeff, paddle in hand, ordered Corey, Jerry and Eric to drop their briefs and bend of the foot of their beds.

Corey was steeling himself for his coming ordeal, and didn't even bother to keep an eye on Jeff and his progress. He just grabbed two fists full of blanket, screwed his eyes shut, and waited.

"Craacckk!" "Craaccckk!" "Craaaccckk!" "Craaaccckkk!" "Craaaaccckkk!" "Oww," groaned Jerry. "Craaaacccckkkk"!

Corey could hear Jeff's footsteps, then... "Craacckk!" His own backside didn't register any pain, so it must be Eric's turn. "Craaccckk!" "Craaaccckk!" "Yeow!" "Craaaccckkk!" "Owww!" "Craaaaccckkk!" "Oooch!" "Craaaacccckkkk"! "Ssssssshhss" "Craaaaccckkk!" "Grrwwwwooff!" "Craaaacccckkkk"! "Nooohooo", Eric wailed.

As Jeff's footsteps approached him, Corey could heard Eric clearly sobbing and gasping for breath. Corey prayed for strength to take his medicine like a man... "Craaacccckk!" His hind cheeks exploded in pain, and the air was physically forced from his lungs. He couldn't have yelled even if he wanted to. "Craaaacccckkk!" No fair! Jeff was hitting him harder than he ever did before. Corey almost yelped on the second whack, and he could already feel tears in his eyes. Seems like Jeff really doesn't want him to swear anymore.

"Crraaaacccckkk!" "Owwww!" Corey yelped, involuntarily. This one was gonna be bad.

"Crraaaacccckkkk!" "Sssssss!" Corey hissed, trying to remain in control. Corey knew he was only a couple whacks like that away from bawling like a baby.

"Crraaaaacccckkkk!" "Oooowwwwww!" Corey yelped. Jesus Christ!! Oh no, did he say that out loud? Don't think so.

"Crrraaaaacccckkkk!" "Whaahaa!" yelled Corey. He could feel the dam breaking inside. The tears began falling on the blanket as he sobbed.

"Crrraaaaaccccckkkk!" "Woooohoooo!" bellowed Corey. He was really crying like a little kid now, and his nose was even leaking snot!

"Crrraaaaacccckkkkk!" Corey jerked as the whack hit home. He was crying too brokenly to react to the specific whacks anymore. And he had lost count. His pain-fogged mind prayed that it was the last one.

"Crrraaaaaccccckkkkk!" No such luck! Somewhere inside his nearly panicked mind, Corey realized that the last whack didn't hurt nearly as much. Maybe Jeff was going easy on him at the end, or maybe he was dying, and losing the ability to feel pain.

"Crrrraaaaaccccckkkkk!" That one definitely didn't hurt as much. Corey nearly panicked again when he remembered that he had taken the Lord's name in vain before. If Jeff heard that, this beating would probably go on forever. Well, he was nearly ready to welcome death at this point anyway.

Eventually Corey's pain-numbed mind registered the fact that Jeff had stopped paddling him. Now he needed to work on re-gaining control of his body. He pushed himself off the bed, and came unsteadily to his feet. He tried to walk, but stumbled on the briefs around his ankles. He pulled them up, moving gingerly when they reached the sorely wounded areas in the rear.

Corey staggered to the side of his bed, pulled back the covers, and fell gracelessly into bed, lying on his stomach. Later, as he lay there sobbing into his pillow, Corey felt someone cover him with the top sheet and blanket. Corey was beyond caring who did it, but did manage to notice that whoever did it was careful not to aggravate his damaged rear end.

No one in the room spoke afterwards, at least not loud enough for Corey to hear. Eventually his breathing returned to normal and he calmed down. His flaming backside settled down to a dull, numb throbbing, and as Corey sobbed himself to sleep he thought back on what a long, strange day this had been.