(Author Note: This is the sixth 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! Then read episodes 2 through 5 before reading this one!) -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cold water falling...falling....falling. Corey Lane shivered, shook his head, and finally started soaping himself up. Cold showers were an interesting way to start the day. It did tend to wake you up, no matter how little sleep you had gotten the night before.

It was a cool morning on what promised to be a beautiful Saturday in the Adirondack Mountains. Corey could never remember the specific date while in camp - it hardly mattered. But Corey did remember that it was now August - just about two more weeks of camp before he had to go home - with only another year of school to look forward to after that.

Corey would be heading to junior high school in September as a seventh grader. His home room teacher had warned his class on the last day of sixth grade that they would be going from "being the big fish in a little pond to being little fish in a big pond." This sounded corny, of course, but Corey imagined that it just might be true.

Now that he was awake, Corey moved over to the warm part of the showers to rinse off and hopefully thaw out a little. At least today promised to be better than yesterday. It would almost have to be, unless he actually died or something stupid like that. Corey and his friends had spent Friday being punished and humilated for the crime of making their cabinmates wet their beds. The punishment, and the humiliation, had lasted all day and night.

Corey's backside was still quite sore, although he could move now without limping...much. He glanced at his swollen butt cheeks in the mirror this morning - he was going bottomless until he got back to the cabin after this shower - and they were black and blue, but the bruising wasn't quite as bad as he had imagined. For a while yesterday afternoon he felt like his poor little behind had been paddled right off of him.

And there was Kyle, the overly-righteous twerp who had held him down for his paddlings, showering next to some 9-10 year old little'uns. Corey thought one of them was Kyle's kid brother. At least Corey would be seeing a lot less of Kyle today, since he and Jerry were going into town on the bus to do some shopping for Alan Dunson's birthday party...

"Hey, you little brats!" Corey looked around quickly, and saw Adam North, the 17-year-old Asscon on bath house duty, standing at the entry to the showers. He had also seen....

"Stop peeing in the showers!" shouted Adam. Sure enough, Corey had seen the three little'uns standing next to Kyle adding their own contributions to the streams of water coming from the shower heads. And as he looked back - damn if Kyle wasn't peeing too. What the hell?

"All right, you four little piddlers, get out here right now!" ordered Adam, clearly livid. The four boys shut down their personal streams and filed dejectedly out of the shower.

That was weird, Corey thought. He was nearly sure that Kyle hadn't been peeing when he swiveled his head around in response to Adam's initial shout. It was only when he looked back... It was almost as though Kyle had deliberately started peeing after the little'uns had been caught. But that didn't make any sense.

Especially not Kyle - he was one of the worst goody-two-shoes bible-thumpers. He would never deliberatly break a rule. And nobody in their right mind would start breaking a rule after the rule breakers in the area were already being busted.

In any event, Corey was done showering and wasn't one to pass up a free show. He walked out of the showers to retrieve his towel and dry off. Meanwhile, Adam was making the four offenders line up along the wall just outside the showers. He made them all lean forward, hands on the wall.

Then, as an appreciative crowd gathered to watch, he marched up and down the line, planting fast, hard hand swats on each hind cheek presented. Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! Eight dripping wet cheeks, eight swats up, eight swats back. Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! The little'uns already started to yelp and kick by the second pass. Swack! Swack! "Ahh!" Swack! Swack! Swack! "Ow!" Swack! Swack! Swack! Eight wet white cheeks turning quickly red as they jiggled and clenched. Swack! Swack! Swack! "Ssss!" Swack! Swack! "Ow!" Swack! Swack! "Ooo!" Swack!

"No peeing in the showers! Understand?" demanded Adam.

"Yes, Adam!" sang a four boy chorus in reply. The four naked miscreants were finding out why the bath house was the one place where the Asscons were actually feared. Here they could spank campers on their bare bottoms, particularly if the campers screwed up in the showers.

"Just to remind you, we'll do one more round..." announced Adam. Swack! Swack! "Oooo!" Swack! Swack! "Eeeh!" Swack! "Oww!" Swack! "Oww!" Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! "Ooww!" Swack! "Ooww!" Swack! "Woowie!" Swack! Swack! "Ooo!" Swack! "Oooo!"

"Alright, that's just a taste of what you'll get if you pee in the showers again. There's a perfectly good urinal over there, not 20 feet away. Surely you're not so lazy you can't walk 20 feet, are you?"

"No, Adam!" replied the four miscreants, still bending over.

"Okay, get out of here, you little twerps!"

The four boys straightened up and rubbed their red bottoms. Two of the little'uns, including Kyle's brother, were sobbing slightly. The show over, Corey threw his towel over his shoulder and headed back to the cabin.

As he was getting dressed, Corey noticed that he had received mail the day before. He had been "tied up" and/or too sore to notice the night before. Two letters! One from his parents, and one from Becky, his little sister who was going to a Christian camp for girls up near Saranac Lake.

Corey read the letter from Becky first. She was 10-years-old, and in her first year at camp. Although the camps usually take younger kids, their parents didn't believe in sending children to summer camp before the age of ten. Seems like Becky was having a great time. It sounded pretty good.

Corey loved his little sister more than almost anything, but he did sometimes wish she was a little brother instead. For one thing, he'd be able to keep an eye on "him" if "he" was here at Camp Torowa Falls. Oh well, Corey just prayed that Becky would be able to make good friends like he had in the form of Jerry and Eric.

Next was the letter from mom. It was signed "Mom and Dad", but was clearly written by mom. Full of warnings to be careful, etc. Yeah, like he was planning to go jumping off cliffs or something. Wow! So dad finally got that big promotion at work. Cool!

Corey knew his family could use the money. He had accidentally overheard a conversation between his parents back in June - apparently they had just barely been able to afford the camp fees for Becky and him this summer. He realized at the time that is why his father bought that Falcon station wagon back in April, rather than the Galaxie wagon that his father (and Corey) would have prefered.

Corey had been wondering if he should take a paper route when he got home from camp. Now it didn't seem necessary - unless he just wanted the money for himself. That might be attractive, except for the idea of having to get up so ridiculously early in the morning to deliver the papers before heading off to school. Corey liked getting up early in the summertime, but those short, freezing winter days were another matter.

"Corey," said Tony, cautiously approaching Corey's bed. "I'm really sorry about yesterday..."

Corey glared at Tony - he had nothing to say to him. So he said nothing, and pointedly turned his back on the little traitor. He heard the younger boy move away.

Corey had waffles, bacon and eggs for breakfast. He hadn't eaten much of anything the day before and realized, as soon as he smelled the food, that he was famished. Jerry and Eric were also eating big breakfasts. Their only problem was finding a way to sit comforably on the hard benches of the mess hall - their khaki shorts and thin briefs provided very little in the way of padding. They would be feeling the dozens of paddle whacks they received yesterday for several days. Corey just prayed they could manage to stay out of trouble that long.

The bus for town would leave at 9 AM. Jerry and Corey would be on it as planned. But the plan had called for Eric and Tony to distract Alan so that he wouldn't be able to sign up to go into town (only four campers from Fox Cabin were allowed to go each week). Now Tony was being shunned by the other three boys, and could no longer be part of the plan.

As it turned out, Jeff was a willing accomplice and sent Alan on a useless errand at a critical moment. Thus the four Fox Cabin campers signed up to go to town this week were Jerry, Corey, Paulie and Kyle. At the appointed time, the four climbed aboard the old blue Dodge forty passenger school bus.

They joined thirty campers from the seven other cabins (the two senior cabins each got to send five campers per week), four Asscons, and two counselors (Jeff and Roger Morton, the counselor from Moose Cabin) for the forty minute drive into town. The bus was driven, as always, by Todd Ritter, the camp's handy man and only permanent resident.

This was Corey's first time out of camp since the session started two weeks ago. As the bus left the camp driveway and headed south on the main road, the little kids in the front started singing "Puff the Magic Dragon", which had hit #1 on the pop charts earlier in the summer. Corey loved the song, but was a bit embarrassed to admit it in front of teenagers and the counselors. But soon Jerry joined in, and so did most of the other guys on the bus, including Corey. It was a song that truly appealed to children of all ages.

The sing-along continued with "This Land Is Your Land", but petered out when most people couldn't remember the lyrics to "If I Had A Hammer". The singing ended and people just settled down into normal conversations.

Jerry and Corey were discussing the space program - Gordo Cooper's fantastic final Mercury flight back in May, and the upcoming Gemini program. Jerry was convinced that Marine Corps Major John Glenn would command the first Gemini mission, whereas Corey was certain it would be Alan Shepard, America's first man in space.

As they exited the Adirondack State Park and entered more populated areas, Jerry spotted a Corvette going the other way. Corey saw him watch it longingly until it disappeared from view. Jerry wanted to own a Corvette some day. Corey would prefer to own a Thunderbird convertible. Corey's father was a Ford man, and Corey supposed that he would be, too.

Soon the bus had parked in a lot near the business district of Glens Falls, New York. Todd announced, "It is now 9:50 AM. This bus will leave from this spot to return to camp at exactly 3 PM. If you're late, you'll have to walk back. Be on time, and don't get lost!"

Boys poured out of the bus, heading in various directions. Jerry and Corey made a bee-line for the business district, where they visited Woolworth's and a local hobby shop to locate birthday gifts for Alan. There were some last minute discussions about what specifically to buy, as well as what Eric and the others had asked them to buy, but they had located the necessary items within an hour. The actual purchases would be made after lunch so they wouldn't have to drag the stuff around all day.

They had both eaten a monster breakfast, so they decided to stroll around town until it was time for a late lunch, then make their gift purchases and spend the rest of the afternoon loading up on candy and other goodies, both for the celebration tomorrow and for the rest of the camp session. Soon they spotted Kyle and his little brother, Timmy (Jerry remembered his name) walking along about a block ahead.

Corey told Jerry about the strange peeing incident in the showers that morning. Jerry figured that Corey had probably just missed Kyle's stream as he turned around at first, or that Kyle had just paused between squirts as Corey turned. Corey agreed that it made sense, largely because no other explanation made any sense.

The two friends walked down to the river and crossed the bridge over the Hudson River - though only half-way. Campers were not allowed to cross the bridge into South Glens Falls. They stood on the bridge watching the water flow towards New York City and the Atlantic Ocean a couple hundred miles to the south. The "falls" in the river there were disappointing, at least when compared to the narrow, but high, Torowa Falls back at camp.

According to legend the falls used to be quite impressive way back when the town was first founded. But the river eventually reshaped the river bed around the "Big Bend" and the falls are only impressive now during the heavy spring runoffs. Older campers claimed that you used to be able to walk down a staircase from the bridge to "Cooper's Cave", a location made famous in The Last of the Mohicans by James Fennimore Cooper. Apparently the events in that novel took place in this area, although neither Corey nor Jerry had read the book.

Eventually they decided they were hungry enough that it was time to find some lunch. They started back towards the west shore of the bridge, their gaze taking in the red brick-faced factory buildings lining the river. "Hey, those are our guys!" said Jerry, suddenly stopping. He pointed down towards the river's edge.

Corey stepped over to the railing and looked down, following the line of sight indicated by Jerry's finger. Sure enough it looked like three boys in Camp Torowa Falls uniforms down there between the canal and the river. There were about twice that number of local boys there too, and it looked suspiciously like some kind of standoff.

"I'm going down there to help those guys!" said Jerry. "You go find Jeff or Roger!"

"But, shouldn't I come too?" asked Corey, quite concerned for his friend's safety. "Five against six is better than four against six."

"Four against six is fine as long as the cavalry is on the way." countered Jerry. Corey looked doubtful. "Now get going!" Jerry ordered in his best tone of command.

"Okay." Corey conceeded, as he started running.

"Bring any Asscons you can find, too!" Jerry added, running behind Corey.

"Would you like a platoon of Bengal Lancers while I'm at it?"

"Just bring any guys bigger than you that you can find, okay smartass?" Jerry said, breaking off as they reached the end of the bridge.

"Alright!" shouted Corey. He watched his friend pound down the embankment towards the other boys. At least nobody had started swinging yet.

Corey ran as fast as he could, heading for the downtown district of restaurants and stores where he had the best chance of finding some fellow campers. A minute or so later - although it felt like an eternity to Corey, he found Jeff and Cliff English, one of the Asscons, coming out of the Boston Candy Kitchen on Elm Street with some younger campers.

Corey quickly explained the situation to them, and then led Jeff and Cliff back towards the river at a trot. Corey was praying that they would be quick enough to spare Jerry and the others any serious injury. They reached the embankment and Corey pointed to...a completely empty space.

"So, where are they?" demanded Jeff, breathing a bit heavily.

"I dunno." said Corey, confused. He knew there had been ten guys down there just a few minutes ago, so where did they go?

"Is this some kind of joke?" asked Cliff, panting to catch his breath.

"No!" insisted Corey. "Maybe the locals captured them and took them someplace...Oww!" His ear had been grabbed - hard - and his face was forceably turned to face Jeff.

"If this is some kind of practical joke that you and Jerry cooked up..." said Jeff, impatiently.

"No Jeff! I swear to God there were three of our guys down there facing off with six local kids. Jerry told me to go get help and then he ran down that bank to help our guys hold them off."

"There better be some good explantion for this, Corey, or an eternity in Perdition with Satan and all his demons will seem like a Sunday picnic compared to what I'll do to you both when I get you back to camp."

"I'm serious, Jeff! I think something bad happened to Jerry and those other guys.

"Did you recognize the three other campers?" asked Cliff.

"No. They were too far away to recognize them. But they were older kids - at least 14-years-old or so. Shouldn't we at least look around down there?" asked Corey.

"You know that going down by the riverside is forbidden." stated Jeff. He finally let go of Corey's ear.

"They're not on the other side of the bridge." said Cliff. He had run across the road to check the other side.

"Let's go back," decided Jeff.

"But what about..." said Corey.

"No buts, Corey!" Jeff said, decisively. "Whoever was here isn't here anymore. They must be back in town. So that's where we're going to look."

"Yes, Jeff." said Corey. He knew better than to argue. As they walked back into town, Corey kept looking back towards the river and the adjoining factory area, looking for signs of Jerry or the others. Eventually he couldn't see that area anymore and was reduced to simply looking around.

A couple minutes later Corey grew bored with simply looking, and decided to finally ask Jeff about the strange letters on the baseball cap he wore when outside of camp. "They're Greek letters," answered Jeff.

"Which letters?" asked Corey.

"Sigma Theta Epsilon. The name of the fraternity I belong to at college."

"What do they mean?"

"They don't 'mean' anything, Corey. They're just the letters that make up the name of the fraternity."

"They're not initials that mean something...I can't remember the word..."

"An acronym?"

"Yeah, that's it!"

"Nope. The founders of the fraternity just chose those letters to represent the organization. Oh, they make up a bunch of phoney-baloney stuff about what the letters stand for...but it's mostly just garbage they make pledges memorize."

"I see." said Corey, although the look on his face made it clear that it wasn't the case.

"There's Jerry!" exclaimed Cliff, pointing down a side street. Corey looked around and realized they were nearly two blocks from the river. He also didn't see any other campers with Jerry - or local kids, for that matter. Corey was bursting with questions he wanted to ask his friend, but felt that under the circumstances he should let Jeff have the first go at him.

"Hey guys!" said Jerry, trying to act nonchalant as he approached.

"Hey yourself, Jerry." said Jeff, a slightly sarcastic tone in his voice. "I trust you have the riveting conclusion to the story that Corey here started to tell us."

"Oh...that." said Jerry. He seemed more than a little embarrassed. "It turns out those weren't our guys down there."

"Really?" said Jeff. "Whose guys were they?"

"I think they were just locals in some kind of uniform..or something." Jerry didn't even sound totally convinced himself.

"Like gang colors?" asked Jeff, his eyes narrowing.

"Yeah...kind of like that..." said Jerry, hopefully.

"I see." said Jeff. His tone made it obvious that he didn't believe a single word of this. He sighed heavily. "All right, you two. I'm too tired of paddling your butts after yesterday to do anything about this, but you both better watch your step, got it?"

"Yes, Jeff!" said Corey and Jerry.

"Go buy those presents for Alan, and get yourselves some goodies. If you're late for the bus or cause any more commotion here in town I will personally blister both your butts at bedtime tonight. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Jeff!" said Corey and Jerry.

"Come on Cliff." said Jeff. "Let's get back to those little'uns before they get themselves in trouble." Jeff took one last stern look at Jerry and Corey as he and Cliff strode away.

The two friends waited until Jeff and Cliff were out of earshot then Corey said, "Why did you leave me hanging out to dry like that? I thought Jeff was gonna throw me off the fuckin' bridge when we got back to the river and everyone was gone!"

"Calm down, will ya?" said Jerry, in his most reasonable voice. "I didn't have any choice in the matter..."

"No choice? Why didn't you just stay there when the locals left so that you could explain this to Jeff?"

"Don't be dense." said Jerry. "Those guys were our guys."

"They were?"

"Of course! They were buying fireworks from the local kids."

"Oh, that's why they scattered when they knew that counselors were coming."

"You got it."

"So, who were they?"

"It doesn't matter." said Jerry. "Let's grab some lunch and get the presents like Jeff said."

"Okay," said Corey. He was curious, but mostly relieved that Jerry was alright.

They had lunch at Finley's Pantry, a small deli. Then they went back to Woolworth's and the hobby shop to buy Alan's presents. Finally they went to the Boston Candy Kitchen to have some ice cream and load up on candy until it was time to head back to the bus.

The bus trip back to camp was noisy, but in a disorganized way. Many of the campers were high as kites from all the sugar in the candy they had gorged on, or in some cases were gorging on. The Asscons made a haphazard attempt to get boys to stop eating on the bus "because it will ruin your dinners" but quickly gave up.

Corey and Jerry were saving their candy stockpiles for later. There were nearly two weeks left of camp and this was probably going to be their last trip into town, so their sweet treasures had to last the duration.

For some reason the trip home always seems to take less time that the original trip to your destination. Soon the bus was pulling into the camp and the campers were streaming off of it, bags of toys and candy clutched in their hands.

Jeff led his four campers back to Fox Cabin. Alan's gifts would be stored safely out of sight in Jeff's private room until they were needed for the birthday celebration tomorrow. The four boys entered Jeff's room and placed the gifts in a locking chest that Jeff kept there for the express purpose of storing campers' "valuables."

Corey was first to place the gifts he had been carrying into the chest. As he waited for the others, he turned to Jeff and said, "What about gift-wrapping paper?"

"Come on, Corey." said Jeff. "You know we don't wrap presents here. Boss Lemmon is against it. We'll put tags on the gifts tomorrow."

The prohibition on wrapping paper is just one of the things Corey didn't understand about camp rules. "Why don't they..." Corey's question was cut off by a flash of white and an explosion of pain. He staggered backwards clutching his injured nose. His mind registered an unlikely fact - somebody had punched him in the nose!

Corey could hear voices and a scuffle. He shook his head to clear his vision. Jeff was holding Kyle by the scruff of the neck with his right hand, and Jerry by the scruff of the neck with his left hand. Kyle was glaring at Corey with a look of disgust and loathing on his face. Jerry looked really pissed off, and would clearly love to throttle Kyle. Paulie just looked on in stunned amazement.

"What the hell was that for, Kyle?" demanded Jeff.

"Dunno." answered Kyle, sullenly. "I just felt like doing it."

"That's no answer!" said Jeff. He shook Kyle slightly, his anger nearing the boiling point. Kyle just looked at him insolently. Jeff sighed and shook his head. Then he turned to address Jerry. "Jerry, I'm gonna let you go. You will not attack Kyle, no matter how much he may deserve it. I'll take care of him. I need you to escort Corey to the nurse to have that bloody nose fixed up."

Corey took his hand from his nose and was surprised to see bright red blood on it. Great! Jerry was still glaring at Kyle.

"Jerry! Can you do that for me?" asked Jeff, shaking Jerry slightly.

Jerry finally snapped out his fury. "Sure, I'll help him, Jeff." Jeff started Jerry moving towards Corey - and away from Kyle - before releasing him. Jerry still glared at Kyle, but moved to help his friend.

As they headed for the Nurse's Hut, Corey asked (in a pinched voice, because of his messed up nose), "Why do you think he hit be?"

"I was gonna ask you the same question." replied Jerry. "You didn't say anything to him to provoke it, did ya?"

"Nah! The less I have to do with that little creep, da better."

"I'm with ya on that one, buddy!" agreed Jerry. "Well, maybe Jeff can find out what's going on. We'll ask him when the nurse is done with you."

Corey nodded his agreement. The bleeding seemed to be slowing down a bit. But it still probably needed professional attention.

They approached the Nurse's Hut and knocked on the door. "Come in!" said a gruff voice from inside.

Jerry and Corey entered, to find Parker "Doc" Moseley, R.N. drinking a cup of coffee. A six foot-two inch black man, he was formerly Sgt. Parker Moseley, who served with distinction as an army medic in Korea. Corey knew that Jerry was fond of Doc Moseley, since he had served in the same war as Jerry's father.

Corey liked Doc Moseley too. The big man was a gentle soul who knew his business and fixed up bruised campers with skill and compassion. Doc was the first (and still only) black person that Corey had ever met. The small town in Northeastern Pennsylvania where Corey lived with his family had no black or other minority people whatsoever.

"So, what have we here?" said Doc. "A bloody nose?" Corey nodded.

"Yeah, Doc." said Jerry. "It was bleedin' pretty good at first, but seems to have slowed down a lot on the way over here."

"Okay, well we can sure fix that up right quick." said Doc. "You two been scrappin' again?"

"No, Doc!" exclaimed Jerry. Corey shook his head. "Kyle Garlin sucker punched Corey for no reason."

"No reason, huh?" Doc said, chuckling. "That's what you boys always say."

"No, really!" insisted Jerry. "We were putting some stuff away in Jeff's office - presents for Alan Dunson's birthday tomorrow - and Corey was talking to Jeff about gift wrapping paper. Then out of nowhere Kyle sucker punched Corey."

"Right in front of Jeff?" asked Doc incredulously.

"Yep, Jeff was looking right at Corey when Kyle hit him." said Jerry.

"If that don't beat all." said Doc. He looked at Corey seriously as he worked on his nose, "What did you say to that boy?"

"Nuffin!" exclaimed Corey, breathing through his mouth since there was cotton in his nostrils at this point.

"Nothin', eh?" said Doc. "Wait a minute - Kyle. That's that little boy with the big honkin' crucifix?"

Corey nodded. "Yep," said Jerry. That's the one."

"He's also one of the boys you made wet their beds." noted Doc.

"Yeah..." said Jerry.

"Kyle's the one who I made wet his bed!" said Corey, proudly.

"Oh really," said Doc. "I'm not so sure that's something you'd want to be proud of." Corey shrugged his shoulders, then had the grace to deflate - at least a little bit - at the admonishment.

"So you're saying that Kyle socked Corey because he's still mad about the bedwetting thing?" said Jerry.

"Probably." said Doc. "That is a pretty humiliating thing to do to a fellow human being, especially one of your Christian brothers."

"He's no brother of mine!" said Corey, a bit loudly. Doc just stared at him with a disappointed look on his face. After a about 20 or 30 seconds Corey averted his eyes in shame, a flush rising to his face. "Sorry." he mumbled.

"That's better." said Doc.

"But why is he still mad?" asked Jerry. "He saw us get our butts paddled just about off yesterday for that. He even held Corey down for his paddlings!"

Corey nodded in agreement. He wanted to say something about the tenting in the front of Kyle's swimsuit, then thought better of it. If he opened that particular can of worms, it just might come out that Corey reacted similarly when he saw guys "getting it".

"Well, boys." said Doc. "He just might have wanted to put a personal hurtin' on old Corey here to get revenge."

"Yeah, but now Jeff's sure to paddle him, and in front of us!" said Jerry.

"That's the funny thing about revenge." said Doc, chuckling again as he finished treating Corey's nose. "They have an old saying in Asia, 'when you go out for revenge, first dig two graves'."

"Two graves?" said Jerry. Corey shrugged his shoulders.

"That's right," continued Doc. "One for your intended victim, and one for you."

"Do you know what Doc meant by that 'two graves' deal?" asked Corey a few minutes later as they headed back to the cabin.

"I'm not really sure," said Jerry. "But it could mean that going out for revenge kills your soul, even if it doesn't kill you physically."

"I guess." said Corey. "It's just that Kyle doesn't strike me as the revenge type."

"Did you break some commandment that Kyle might know about?" asked Jerry.

"Just 'Thou shalt not make bible-thumping little creeps wet their beds'." said Corey, chuckling. "But he's just self-righteous enough that he might try to punish me himself instead of waiting for God to get around to it."

"Screw Kyle anyway!" said Jerry. "We'll get to see his ass blistered for a change. What's for dinner tonight?"

"I think it's fried chicken!"

"Cool!" said Jerry. "Almost as good as sloppy joes."

"You got that right!" said Corey.

The boys of Fox Cabin were amazed when Jeff told them that Kyle would be strapped by Boss Lemmon at evening assembly. Corey and Jerry tried to question him about the situation, but he shooed them away. "Just enjoy the strapping and leave the situation alone." Was all Jeff would say. "Do yourselves a favor and don't try to get back at Kyle. I don't want to send you two up for a strapping this summer."

Eric had been sailing on the lake for most of the afternoon. As they headed for the mess hall and dinner, Corey and Jerry informed him about the events of the afternoon. "Does your nose still hurt," Eric asked, as he inspected the cotton in Corey's left nostril.

"Nah." said Corey. "Lucky for me, Kyle doesn't pack much of a punch."

"Seriously, though." said Eric. "Did you do anything to Kyle to make him take a swing at you?"

"No!" shouted Corey. "You know, I'm getting really tired of everyone assuming that! Did it ever occur to you all that he just might be nuts?"

"Okay, okay!" said Eric. "Sorry I doubted you." He punched Corey on the shoulder. Corey punched him back...and all was right with the world.

Despite their late lunch Corey and Jerry dug into the fried chicken with a vengeance. Corey noticed with pleasure that Kyle (sitting a couple tables away), was just picking at his food. Obviously the little twerp was nervous about his first public razor strapping, which was coming up next. This was gonna be a fun evening.

Kyle was already stripped to his briefs as he ate, and was clearly uncomfortable about being seen like this in front of everyone. Wait until the little creep has to come out of the store room in the buff! Corey was surprised that there were a couple of other kids eating dinner just in briefs too, so this was gonna be a big strapping event. The more, the merrier!

As Corey lingered over blueberry pie, his favorite dessert at camp, Eric said, "You two seem happy with yourselves."

"Why not?" said Corey. "We had a great day in town, and now we're gonna get to see 'Bible-Boy' get his butt blistered."

"It doesn't get any better than this." Jerry added.

Well, I'm just glad 'Bible-Boy' decided to attack Corey right in front of Jeff." said Eric. "Otherwise you both would be sitting here wearing only your briefs too, waiting for your own doses of Boss Lemmon's strap."

Corey and Jerry looked at each other in stunned horror at the very thought. "But we didn't start it!" protested Corey.

"You know they don't care about that." countered Eric. "Every boy involved in a fight gets the same dose of punishment, no matter who started it. You guys are really lucky."

"So that means the little freak was trying to get us all strapped for fighting?" said Corey.

"If he was, Kyle's a lot dumber than I thought." said Eric. "Clearly he meant to get himself punished, but not you guys."

"That doesn't make any sense!" said Jerry. Corey nodded in agreement.

"I agree. I'm just telling you what the facts suggest." said Eric.

"Now, hang on." said Corey. He related to Eric the strange events in the shower that morning.

"Yeah, that would fit in with what I said before." said Eric. "For some unknown reason Kyle is deliberately trying to get himself punished."

"That's crazy!" protested Jerry.

"I know it is," said Eric, "but that's what Kyle's behavior suggests."

"This all seems so unlikely." said Corey, clearly confused.

Eric shrugged and went back to eating his apple crumb pie. Jerry and Corey looked at each other for a few seconds, shrugged, then went back to eating their desserts.

Evening assembly started off with prayers, as usual. There were a few general announcements, including the reminder about Alan Dunson's twelfth birthday tomorrow. Finally, there was the really big announcement.

"Unfortunately, three boys in this camp have earned a dose of the razor strap tonight." Boss Lemmon began. "Vincent Dobry, Wolf Cabin." A stocky 14-year-old at a nearby table rose and made his way to the front of the hall, his hands clasped firmly behind his head.

"Steven Walker, Elk Cabin." A tall, skinny 15-year-old at a table near the front rose and took the short walk to the front, his hands also clasped firmly behind his head.

"Kyle Garlin, Fox Cabin." Kyle got to his feet reluctantly and followed the example of the doomed boys before him. As Kyle made his way to the front of the hall, Corey noticed Mark Guidry, the counselor for Squirrel Cabin heading up there too. In Mark's wake was a little'un from his cabin.

Corey knew that this kid was going to assist with the trashings to come. He also realized with a start that this was one of the little'uns that had been caught peeing in the showers that morning and spanked by Adam. Corey didn't know the boy's name, but did know it wasn't Timmy Garlin, Kyle's kid brother. Mark and the little'un moved to the side of the hall and entered the store room as the sentences were announced.

The attention of everyone in the hall was fixed on the three nervous, nearly naked boys who stood facing them, their hands behind their heads. "Vincent Dobry, Wolf Cabin. Self-abuse, 12 lashes with the razor strap on the bare." Vincent clearly flinched as he heard his sentence.

"Steven Walker, Elk Cabin. Smoking, 12 lashes with the razor strap on the bare." Steven was trying to maintain a stoic expression on his face.

"Kyle Garlin, Fox Cabin. Assault, 10 lashes with the razor strap on the bare." Kyle was red-faced, and his blush increased when he heard his sentence.

The culprits were ushered into the store room. Corey knew that they were being made to remove their briefs and line up to pee in the chamber pot held by the little'un from Squirrel Cabin.

Corey found himself profoundly glad that we wasn't in that line of doomed boys. Could Eric be right about Kyle? If so, what did it all mean?

Soon Boss Lemmon led the culprits back out of the storeroom to face the camp completely nude. Kyle's face was a red as a tomato with embarrassment. Corey couldn't help chuckling at the thought that Kyle's backside would soon be just as red. The culprits lined up facing the hall, hands still threaded behind their heads.

As Boss Lemmon lectured the culprits and the assembled campers on the evils that had been committed, Mark came out of the store room and stood to one side. The little'un stood next to Mark, holding the culprits' discarded briefs in his hand. Corey found himself wondering if that was the little'un who had touched his wiener last evening.

"Dobry!" called Boss Lemmon, jolting Corey from his reverie. The main event was about to begin. Boss Lemmon was pointing at the end of "the bench".

Vincent Dobry lowered himself very slowly and reluctantly over the towel strategically placed at the end of the bench and grabbed on to the bench legs for dear life. He didn't have to wait long for a reason to hold on tight - the razor strap flew through the air and "Thwwaaccckk!" Vincent's face contorted in agony, but he managed not to make a sound.

By the fourth lash Vincent was crying, and by the sixth lash he was screaming in agony as each new "Thwwwaaaccckk!" rent the air, setting further fires in his blazing rump. Corey was amazed at how hard Boss Lemmon was hitting Vincent. Apparently Boss Lemmon really had it in for anyone who practiced "self-abuse".

As the final two lashes were adminstered to the howling Vincent, Corey again promised himself that he would never get caught doing anything that would warrant a strapping. It was intense enough seeing a severe strapping like this from a range of about sixty feet. Corey had no desire to experience the effects of that strap "up close and personal" like Vincent was doing. The thoroughly-whipped boy had trouble standing when it was over.

Steven Walker was next to climb aboard the bench for a painful ride. Corey didn't know this boy at all - he might be a rookie. Steven clearly hadn't taken advantage of Boss Lemmon's smoking amnesty, and now the razor strap would light up his backside and make it burn.

"Thwwaacckk!" "Thwwaacckk!" "Thwwaacckk!" "Thwwaacckk!" "Thwwaacckk!" "Ummm," grunted Steven, as the burn from the tough leather forced a response out of him at last. "Thwwwaaacckk!" "Urmm!" Steven groaned as he struggled with the pain. Half way home now.

Corey looked at the two red-faced boys in line who were observing the strapping as well. Vincent was still sobbing from his whipping, and Kyle had a look of absolute terror on his face as he helplessly watched the viscious strapping right in front of him - knowing that it was his turn next to lay over that bench and feel the strap. Corey felt his own wiener begin to stiffen at the thought of Kyle howling and writhing on the bench. This was too cool for words!

"Thwwwaaacckk!" "Owwww!" "Thwwwaaacckk!" "OOoooww!" As the final lashes struck home, Steven could no longer suppress howls of pain, although it didn't look like he was crying.

"Thwwwaaaccckk!" "Owwwww! "Thwwwaaaccckk!" "Ooooowwww!" As usual, the final two lashes were the hardest ones. As Steven forced his hands to release the bench legs and push him off the bench, he was obviously quite close to crying, although he did manage to refrain from doing so.

"Garlin!" called Boss Lemmon finally. It looked like Kyle was already in tears as he reluctantly moved towards the bench. Corey couldn't believe that Kyle would deliberately set himself up for this kind of thrashing, no matter what Eric said.

As Kyle laid himself carefully over the end of the bench, Corey was struck with how small the 11-year-old looked compared to the two boys who rode the bench before him. Kyle grasped the legs of the bench in a death grip and waited. He didn't have long to wait.

"Thwwwaaacckk!" "Ooooofff!" The first last knocked the wind out of Kyle. "Thwwwaaacckk!" "Owww!" "Thwwwaaacckk!" "Noooo!" "Thwwwaaacckk!" "Owwww! God forgive me!" "Thwwwaaacckk!" "Oooowwww!" "Thwwwaaacckk!" "Nooowwwaahhh!" "Thwwwaaacckk!" After the seventh lash, Kyle had been reduced to a bawling, writhing creature, apparently incapable of forming coherent words. "Thwwwaaacckk!" "Thwwwaaaccckk!" "Thwwwaaaccckkk!"

Eventually Boss Lemmon had to help Kyle to his feet, and the boy shuffled painfully back to his place in line, his hands behind his head. Corey heard sobbing elsewhere in the room, and noticed that Timmy Garlin, Kyle's little brother, was in tears at his table, being comforted by some of his young friends.

Corey had to shift himself on his own bench. Between his bruised bottom cheeks and the rock hard erection tenting his pants, Corey was more than a little uncomfortable, though not nearly as uncomfortable as the three freshly whipped boys at the front of the hall.

After lecturing the assembled campers on the evils of self-abuse, smoking, and attacking fellow campers when they aren't looking, Boss Lemmon ordered, "Derek, hood them."

The little'un holding their briefs, apparently named Derek, walked up to each culprit and placed his briefs over his head, the fly-fronts covering his face. Steven was so much taller than Derek that he had to lean forward so the small boy could perform this task. The culprits were then ordered to face the wall at the front of the hall, displaying their vividly red and damaged posteriors to the assembled audience.

It was Eric's turn to operate the projector for the regular Saturday night movie. Jerry and Corey always volunteered to help him, so the three friends stopped near the front of the hall a few minutes later for a closer look at the culprits' backsides before starting to set up the projector.

You had to admit that Boss Lemmon was a real expert at whipping boys' backsides. All six cheeks were red and swollen, with black and blue bruises beginning to form here and there. Kyle was still sniffling a bit, they could hear, as he shifted slightly and his well-thrashed nether cheeks clenched and unclenched periodically. Once again Corey found himself grateful that he and Jerry weren't standing in that row, their already paddle-damaged cheeks seared by the heavy leather strap. He shivered in the warm evening air at the very thought of it.