# Reposted-Paddled As a Freshman (A True Story)

### by Nathan mailto:Nathan9001@yahoo.com

[Author's note: The following story is being reposted. It doesn't really need an introduction. It's straight from my memory, well, 95% of it is for sure, and I hope you enjoy it. It really did happen. Perhaps I've exaggerated a few points, but basically, its pretty much the way I remember it. If you have the time, and you read it, please let me know your thoughts. I like your notes, comments, and suggestions, and it's because of them that I keep writing---Nathan9001@yahoo. com]

Reposted--Paddled as a Freshman (A true story)

The following story is true. It actually happened. I know, because, well, because it happened to ME. Now, before you get all excited, and start rubbing your hands together in eager anticipation, well, the details of this story are, by necessity, not 100% the way they happened. But I do promise they are as accurate as to the extent of the memory, and well, as a fourteen year old teenage boy, my memory at that time was pretty clouded. I had a LOT of things on my mind just then, and afterwards, well, after my ass met Mr. Novack's paddle, well, after THAT, the memory just sorta never would quite go away. It was the one science class in high school that I just never could forget. Initially, it was my burning ass that wouldn't let me forget it, then later it was my friends that would make sure and keep the reminder going. Much later it was just my brain—hell, guess that paddle just imbedded itself right through my ass and ended up right in my brain, cause even now, yes sir-ree-bob, even now, I can remember it like it happened yesterday. And that, I swear to you, is the God's given truth, well sorta it is, and that's no lie. Now, well, the story is true like I said, but the names, well, the names have been changed, but not totally because I am trying to protect anyone here. I mean it was MY ASS that felt the heat, so if there is someone's ass that is needin' protection today well it would be MINE. And my ass is long since passed the time when it's needin' that kind of protection. But, still, I don't have the names quite right, no-sir-ree, and the main reason the names aren't quite right is that well, I just don't remember them anymore. I mean, I don't remember any of my teachers really, and I sure as hell don't remember most of the guys and only a few of the girls I shared my high school classrooms with. But as for the event itself, oh yeah, I remember that very well, and I don't think I've forgotten even a tiny bit of that little episode. Never will I imagine--it was just a little too intense for my fourteen year old brain, and so, well, so, now that the absolute total humiliation I felt has sorta gone away, washed away if you will by more than a few years of time, well, now, finally, I can tell about what it was that I can never, ever forget.

Now, as I said, this story is as true as I can make it. Because of that, it's not full of the B.S. that could make this story hotter than it is, and if you're looking for a hot _s_e_x_ tale and a bunch of teenage butts circle jerkin' themselves with asses that are lit up and on fire, well, sorry, but it's only my little butt, and there ain't much _s_e_x_ in the story to tell. Hell, at that age I don't think I knew what _s_e_x_ was even, and while I'm sure I was jerkin' by then, I don't remember any of it as being especially memorable. I know I sure wasn't shaving much then—that's one thing I am sure certain of. I know, cause I remember the church campout where some adult laughed at my little bit of peach fuzz that was sproutin' on my lip and my cheeks--they all laughed at it, and said, "Hey look....Nathan's tryin' to be a MAN." God, I think that embarrassed me so much that I almost ran home to sneak my dad's razor to get rid of it--after that I shaved it off at least every week or so and never did let it grow...nope...never did. Nothin' too excitin' there, and not an adventure worth telling that's for sure. Except for this one here, the one where my ass found out that a paddling and a spanking are not the same thing. No sir, that they are not. If you are a mightin' confused about the two, well, you've just never experienced a real paddling, and that by God, is one lucky ass you have. Anyway, I wasn't quite so lucky...nope, that I was not. And so, while I can't flavor this little tale with exciting little episodes of my youth that someone else might be able to write about all day long if they were tellin' you about themselves, I can nevertheless write about my ass, and what it learned that day that it met what they laughingly referred to as "the board of education." Yep, my ass definitely had an adventure, and well, its high time to start tellin' the tale rather than getting ya ready for it. But I do want you to know, that well, hell, even today, years later, my ass tingles from the latent memory.

This little story took place in Virginia, and Virginia is a nice place to grow up; good schools, good neighborhoods, and lots of tradition and lots of history. We lived along the Mt Vernon Parkway, and the neighborhood and the schools and the river are all pretty much still there. The trees are a _d_a_m_n_ lot taller than when I remembered them, and the river, that polluted cesspool of a river I knew as a kid, called the Potomac, well, they actually cleaned it up by God. The politics are still there, and the museums are still there, although the Air & Space Museum wasn't and the Holocaust museum wasn't and there sure as heck wasn't no Vietnam Memorial back then either. No-sir-ree, back then the Vietnam memorial was live--it was fillin' the big black and white television with its 4 minute warm up; yep, it was on the news and by God I loved my country but I sure didn't understand the dying I was watchin'. My dad, with his USAF background and his WWII heritage musta had it figured out, cause he would rant and rave about given-em-hell and the dominos were a-fallin' by God and we had to show em--something like that as I remember it anyway. For me, hell, I was a kid then, and I just figured the whole thing scared me but I wasn't about to tell my old man. Instead, I just played with mt friends. And boy could my friends and I launch rockets back then, and I had em all and built almost every kit they made. And my friends and I launched our little fleet of Estees rockets every chance we got—Atlas, Gemini, Redstone, V2, Little Joe, and of course the Saturn series, and I, along with all my friends, just knew that someday by God we would go to the moon we would. Hell, Kennedy had said we were going, and even though he was dead the rockets were flying and they were really landin' on the moon by God they were and my friends were Spock and Kirk and "Bones" and I even knew that warp drives were just waitin' to be invented. Yep, I was fourteen and innocent to the extreme.

That's just the way it was. Today, a lot has changed. But, the schools are all still there. Sure, there are more now, and newer, but my old school is still there and even though I haven't been back in many years I know nevertheless it's changed. For one thing, the paddles, well, those paddles aren't there anymore. I don't think they are very many places anymore. Guess the lawyers got rid of em, and the parents got rid of em, and well, hell, they just sorta went away over the years. But not soon enough for my butt; no-sir, definitely not soon enough for my ass. But I remember em, yes sir I do, and they were things that we all just sorta took in stride, right along with the war and the TV and the rockets and the excitement of being fourteen in a world that was changing so fast I was missin' part of it even as I was tryin not too. Yep, paddles were just paddles, and they were as much a part of the schools I went to as were the books.

Like I said, the paddles are gone now. But when I went to school, they were there. Most of the men teachers had them hanging in their classrooms, and every paddle was different than the next one. The school sure wasn't making them or anything, although I think the shop teacher made his right in the school. Where the other's came from I have no idea. Thinkin' back, I only recollect one hanging in a female teacher's room.....and that was in English class and I think it even had dust on it. She was a pretty intense lady, and if there was ever a woman that might have used a paddle on a misbehaving kid it would have had to have been her. There might have been more, but my fourteen year old brain just never recorded them and I don't ever remember any of my female teachers smackin' anyone's butt. Not even her. I sure as hell KNOW that no girls ever took a smack--not in our school. No-sir-ree, just didn't happen as far as I can remember. I mean, I guess it could have.....I don't remember any rules really, but no sir, just never saw it, and I don't think they ever worried about it. So, I guess as I remember it the female teachers just never paddled you--might be a hotter story if they had but this is a reality trip so live with it. But the other classes, well, yep, they had paddles hanging right there, right in front of the class itself, and you didn't need to be told they weren't hanging there for decorations. No sir, they sure weren't decorations. For one thing, most of em had signatures on em, yep, little names signed all over the things. And every single name corresponded to a bright red teenage ass. Yep, there were sure a lot of paddles. Some of them were long, some of them were short and fat, like ping pong paddles. More than a few were long and ½ thick and heavy, with big handles and one in particular, the one my science teacher used to burn my ass completely off me, well, that one even had holes in it! It was the most formidable paddle I had ever seen, before or since. It would scare anyone, and for good reason. But it wasn't THAT unique, and like I said, there were lots of paddles in our high school. Yep, it seemed every teacher, the male teachers anyway, had their own favorite. The older teachers seemed to have older paddles, and some of them looked pretty used. In fact, we got pretty good at sizing up a teacher with a single look at his paddle. A smooth paddle with lots of signatures on it got your attention--yes sir, cause those signatures didn't get their by themselves and one thing I knew, I mean KNEW, was I didn't want my signature on any paddle. Not ever!

The ultimate paddle was supposed to be hidden in the main office somewhere. Never saw it--hell, it was probably a lie that they just let run wild. But, it was definitely reported that the principal had a really big one, and the way the seniors talked it was said if you were ever in there that when he swung it you would be getting it on a bare ass. That was the rumor, and it was probably a lie, but hell, how at fourteen would you know? I just thank GOD if he did own a huge paddle and used it on a bare ass I never experienced it. I don't think a bare ass paddling would have been survivable, not at fourteen I don't. Not after my experience. I knew a couple of kids though that had to "go to the principals office," and when they did they never came back to class the same day. Just never happened. Rick Sickler got it once for droppin M-80's down the toilets, and I know cause when he came back the next day he was still sore and I still remember his ass in gym class, a deep red like the Japanese 'rising sun' only with a tinge of purple in it. It was almost like the circle I had painted on my WWII Zero models, yep, it was one red ass and it was something that I just knew I never wanted to have. He had tried to hide it, but back in those days we all took showers, and if you dared not to the coach would have paddled your ass and there is no question in my mind it would have happened. Anyway, like I said, Rick's ass made quite an impression on our very impressionable minds. He wouldn't talk about it, and I didn't ask, and it might have even come from home, but he sure had a red ass that's for sure, and he sure never brought another firecracker to school. For us he was all the walking proof we needed that there had to be some kind of monster paddle at the principal's office, just waitin' for anyone too stupid to end up there.

Now I don't want to give the impression that the students were always getting smacked. No-sir-ree, it just wasn't that way. I mean we knew the paddles were there, but when I think back on it I only can recall about 5 actual board-meets-ass sessions that I ever got to witness. Three of those were in gym class, once when some guys cut a run short and pissed off the coach, and another time when the coach gave a single small smack to a couple of guys who hadn't dressed out in the right uniforms. The third time I got to witness a paddling was when Charles Larter or Lackter or something-like-that got it pretty good. He was a student assistant in gym and had put some fiberglass "itching powder" he got at some novelty store in our jocks right before a volleyball game, and well, it just itched like hell and if you scratched yourself it really got to going. Soon we were all scratchin' and pullin' on our jocks and finally the coach figured something was up and then before we knew it, yep, even as our dicks were itching like ants were on em or something, he had Charles out there talkin' to him since he had the only access to the master locker key besides the coach. Sure enough, soon he was confessing and then well next thing I knew that little jerk was bending over right in front of us and the two teams and everyone else in the gym. I know I musta had a big grin on my face--yep, watching that board crack out its message loud and clear and from the itch I was feeling from the fiberglass powder I was really happy to be watchin' him get it too. Yep, it was a sight to be remembered! While he touched his toes, we all watched him take three really hard hits right across his ass. Gym shorts don't offer a lot of protection, especially when all you've got on under em is a jockstrap. Yep, I do remember that day, and he sure as never even thought about screwin' around with any of us again. Nope, when the coach swung his board, God it made an impression on every guy that saw it. Of course, for the poor guy on the receivin' end, it made even more of an impression, and to say the coach could light a guys ass on fire, well, that is just about the biggest understatement you could possibly make. The other thing I remember about that day was Charles got three hits--and well, that was REALLY unusual and in fact, the rumor was that was the maximum number any teacher could give you--except for the principal with his bare-ass-closed-door paddlings. Yep, the rumors were that the principal could go on swingin' forever if he wanted to. Course, that was one of those rumors, like most of em, that nobody ever really could verify. I never knew about the rumors, except for the 'three hits' rumor. When it was MY TURN Mr. Novack seemed to make his own decisions in that regard, and after that the number three rumor was one of those rumors that didn't mean much to me anymore.

The only other paddlings I saw, until my day came, were in shop class. You just didn't screw around with the saws or the drill presses or the foundry. One guy got smacked for not wearing safety goggles, and another guy, got his ass set on fire, right in the middle of class, when he jokingly turned on a saw that another guy was settin up. He took 2 hard cracks on his ass, and I can still remember his look, cause when that oak paddle struck him he was hanging onto a stool and each time the shop teacher hit him the paddle landed so hard that he and the stool went flying forward. After his second smack, well, I still remember his look; I remember his red hair, and his face full of freckles, and his red face that matched his red hair. And that look--after that second one had cracked across his ass, he had looked right at ME, with my smiling face laughing at what I was seeing, and I noted that his eyes were watering like a little boys and I just KNEW his ass was as red as his hair. Yep, gettin' the paddle didn't happen very often, but when it did it always happened right there in class, and immediately, and boy was it entertaining! Yes-sir-ree, it was entertaining as long as you weren't the poor guy gettin' it. And I know that some of you are thinkin' that well, you wouldn't have bent over and just let em give it to you. But you're wrong there. The poor guy getting paddled really didn't have any choice really, I mean, if you didn't bend over right NOW and take it, well, you were definitely going to the principal's office, where the rumored bare-ass paddle was just waitin' for ya, and then straight home after that, and there was no way in hell any of us were gonna volunteer to do that!

One last thing before I tell ya about when my ass met the biggest paddle I had ever seen. Back then, the paddle sorta kept us all in line. When a teacher would give you a warning, like "Sit down NOW" or "Is there a PROBLEM here?" the class would go instant quiet man, and I mean QUIET. Everyone would just sorta freeze, and the poor guy being talked to would always answer "Yes sir" or "No sir" or "I'm sorry sir." Yep, that's just the way it was back then. I mean teachers ruled their classrooms, and we paid attention and concentrated on school stuff. And God, you would never have dared a "yeahhhh," much less a talkin' back if it was you the teacher was a talkin' to. No-sir-ree, any fool that would have even thought about doing that was a bigger fool than I ever saw. Not that way today I guess. Now, well, the paddles are gone and the kids do what they want and when they are really bad then they are put in detention or suspension or expulsion, depending on the nature of the deed. For some it's a reward, and what's a couple of days of video watchin' and Nintendo playin' while mom's at work compared to getting to talk back to the teacher? That can even be ultra cool now, and its even possible for a guy to actually yell back at his teacher and maybe even throw in a cussword or two and only end up with an afternoon in detention and a nod of approval from his classmates. For a lot of guys now-a-days, the coolness of daring the dare is just plain worth the measly consequences. Hell, now we even have kids shootin' up their schools for God's sake and really showin' their teachers--yep, the teachers are afraid of the students and their parents and their lawyers. Nope, not true in my day--cause there was nothing, nope NOTHING measly about a paddling, and a paddling is what you got if you dared to misbehave. And let me assure you, from my personal experience, that there is NOTHING more embarrassing or more humiliating than having to bend your teenage ass over and try to hold it together while you got your ass paddled right in front of everyone. Nope, nothing more embarrassing than that. If you think you can act cool while that's going on you're just dead wrong. Nope, nothin' cool about a paddling, that's for sure. And of course, that humiliation factor was a part of it, and it was that part that the other students, the ones not getting the paddling, well it was that part that we always liked the best.

Now, I was one of those good guys, the "A" students, the slightly nerdy type that made the honor society and all that. Needless to say, my parents were pretty happy with my behavior. My dad was the old school, and he had spanked me as a little kid but only if I pushed the wrong buttons too often and for too long. Usually he gave me plenty of warning before I went that far. In fact, most of the time before things went CRITICAL he would say "Do you WANT a spanking young man?" I'm not stupid, and I usually could figure out not to keep pushing after that dumb question. In fact, I can only remember about three spankin's EVER in my life, and they were all pretty quick events....he would just bend me over, take his hand, and smack my ass through my jeans or pants or whatever I was wearin' until he just figured I had had enough. I usually yelled out and made a scene, cause it would shorten the session, but except for the one time he spanked my ass on a family vacation right on the side of the Florida turnpike he never did it in front of anyone and I didn't hate him for too long afterwards. Like I said earlier, a spanking and a paddling aren't the same thing, and while my dad spanked me from time to time, there sure weren't any paddles at our house and it wasn't something as a teenager I was even concerned about. My dad never smacked me after about age 10 or 11 anyway. Like I said, I guess I was well behaved, and it just seemed easier to do what I was told than to try and rebel and put my butt through a bunch of unnecessary attention. I kept my good behavior going not just at home either; I mean I was a pretty straight kid at church and at school and even when I was just having fun with my friends, launchin' our rockets and playin' out our dreams. At school, I just behaved well there too, and while I knew the paddles were there, and I had enjoyed watching a few guys get a few whacks or "licks" as some guys called them, I also just wasn't worried about it. I did what I was supposed to, and I was well respected and a good student. By the time I was fourteen I had my stuff pretty well together, and so the idea that I might get paddled just never even occurred to me.

Then, it happened. So fast, so _d_a_m_n_ fast I just didn't even realize what was happening when it was happening. I had just had lunch, and was heading to my science class, which up until that day was my favorite class of all my classes. Mr. Novack was my science teacher, and he was one of those cool younger teachers, probably in his mid 30's thinkin' back, and he had been in the military and was teachin' us now I guess instead of fightin' in Vietnam. He taught me about rockets and he taught me about space and he taught me about airplanes. He used books to teach most of his stuff, and sometimes movies and sometimes models and sometimes his chalkboard. And yep, he also taught me about controlling myself too, and about Kinetic Energy and all about Momentum---but for those lessons, well for THOSE lessons he taught me by using his paddle.

As I was saying, before I started to get distracted by the memories of the man who paddled my ass, that I was headin' to class right after lunch. My locker was about two feet from the entrance to Mr. Novack's classroom, and as I went to open my locker to get my science book I reached down to spin the combo when my right hand was suddenly covered in butter. Someone had placed a pat of butter from the lunchroom right on the latch to my locker! Another kid, a little fat kid as I remember him, who went by the name of Dillard, well, Alan Dillard had the locker next to mine and he was laughin' at the butter and I was more pissed than I had ever been. I don't know if he put it there to this day, but I assumed he had, and well, I just don't know what happened but I wasn't really thinkin' as I listened to his laughter at my expense. I flicked my hand, and well, the remains of the pat of butter just flew off and landed on his shirt, and when it did well he grabbed that little pat of butter and then flicked it right back on my shirt. I wish to God I had left it there, and I probably even had enough time and could have run to the bathroom and maybe even cleaned it up. But I didn't; no-sir-ree, and because I didn't the next few minutes of my life were to become some of the most intense memories of my high school days. I don't really know what happened exactly after that, because I wasn't thinkin' that's for sure when I suddenly swung my fist. But I sure as heck did it, and I sure as heck connected. I never got in a second blow, and he never had a chance to strike me back. Because, all of a sudden, there, standing two feet away, right in the _d_a_m_n_ class door, was Mr. Novack, and well, he suddenly just boomed out "YOU!" and I looked up, eyes to eyes, his locked on mine and with that LOOK, that look of anger and oh God it cut me right through to the core. I'm sure my mouth was agape in total surprise.

"MEYER—INSIDE. YOU TOO DILLARD! AND DON'T BOTHER SITTIN DOWN, EITHER OF YOU. AS SOON AS THE BELL RINGS I'LL DEAL WITH BOTH OF YOU AND YOUR ANTICS."

My God! I was in shock....OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD! I think I protested, started to tell him about the butter and the locker and the feelin' and "GOD SIR I AM SORRY" and "I DIDN'T MEAN TO HIT HIM--I SWEAR SIR." But Mr. Novack just said "MOVE IT NOW" and I was goin' into the classroom next thing I knew and my heart was racin' and I just KNEW, GOD I KNEW that I was in for it and it was my turn and my ass was his and there was NOTHING I could do. Oh GOD I remember it like it was yesterday!

And so I remember going into that classroom, and having to wait at the front of the room. WAIT! I had to wait for the bell to ring, for class to start. And, as Dillard and I stood up in front of the class watchin' the other students come into the room, well, soon enough as they each took their seat and watched us standing there they KNEW too, and we KNEW and GOD it was so _d_a_m_n_ embarrassing. I was standin' there waitin' to be paddled, waitin' for the bell to ring so I could get PADDLED! Oh GOD OH GOD OH GOD! I was fourteen for God's sake! Believe me, at fourteen you just don't want to even think of getting paddled. And of course, as I waited, almost shaking as I stood, my eyes wandered over to the edge of the blackboard, where, waitin' on a hook, well, there it was, just waitin' for me now as I stood waitin' for it, hanging down there, the big paddle and it was there that my eyes lingered.

Now, like I've told you his paddle was something to look at. Until the day I got to know it, I had never seen it used. It was almost new lookin', and yep, it was formidable looking too. Counting the handle, it was a good 2 ½ feet long, and it had been varnished until it glistened. The business end was everything a paddle is supposed to be. As I was starin' at it, studying it, the bell suddenly rang and I literally jumped as it did so. Suddenly, Mr. Novack closed his door, as he always did cause you were never late to his class cause the door was closed and you just didn't dare be late that was all. As he came into the room, he grabbed the paddle, and it was the first time I had ever seen it when it wasn't on its hook. My heart was pounding then, and as I stared at it, knowing as I did so my classmates were lookin' at it and me and Dillard, and well, the room was quiet and I mean QUIET. Everyone stared, at Mr. Novack, and me, and Dillard, and at that _d_a_m_n_ paddle in his hand. Oh I was so _d_a_m_n_ scared, and I just knew I knew I knew it was going to hurt and everyone else was just waitin' eagerly for it to happen.

Then, well, then Mr. Novack started teachin'! Yep, that's exactly what he did. He started talking about the science of a paddling. God! As he hefted the paddle he suddenly just started talkin' about "momentum." He said that momentum was defined by Newton as the "quantity of motion of a moving body." He said the momentum of an object, such as "this here paddle," depends on its mass and how fast it is moving. He wrote the formula on the board:

M = mV

Then he went on to explain that there is an important law in Physics that states that momentum is always conserved, and in fact, if two objects collide, the total momentum of both objects after the collision equals their total momentum before the collision. As he talked he hefted the paddle and swung it about, all eyes watchin' it as he moved it through the air. Then he said something that went like this:

"Now class, if we take one object, like this paddle here, and give it a LOT of momentum, and then strike another object, like Nathan's butt which is just standing there, waiting with zero momentum, what will happen?" Then, not waiting for an answer he continued "Knowing that the total momentum must be preserved, if the paddle's momentum falls to zero when it hits his rear end where does it's momentum go?"

I still remember the answer, cause someone called out "It ALL goes to Nathan's butt!"

I turned bright red, and the class roared with laughter! God I was dying.

He said "That's 100% correct, and that is a fundamental law of Physics."

He then went on to further explain how his paddle had a lot of mass, and then he told us it was made out of cherry wood. I remember the wood cause he made reference to it, how cherry was a "hardwood" and how hardwoods tended to hold their shape, which allowed for the direct transfer of energy, which kept any loss of momentum as close to zero as possible. He said it acted much like a billiard ball when it is moved by the Q-ball, traveling outward at the same force and in an opposite direction to the impact. Yep, like a Q-ball, a hardwood paddle has less give, and so the transfer of energy is more total and it tends to deliver the burn to a greater degree. I remember as he talked listening to every word, in rapt attention, like I had never listened to any science lecture, before or since. He talked about the mass of the paddle, and then he talked about the need to accelerate it to the highest possible velocity if you want the highest possible momentum. The more you accelerated the paddle, the higher the final velocity and the greater the momentum of the paddle and the greater will be the impact force at the point of contact. As he said that, he pointed back to the blackboard and to his formula:

M = mV

And then he wrote a second formula on the blackboard:

KE = ½ mV²

He said that the moving energy of anything is referred to as Kinetic Energy. And he said that the Kinetic Energy can be thought of as the energy that is actually doin' the work. He said, for example, that in the case of "this cherry paddle" he was holding in his hand, the energy that it could impart into a misbehaving boy's rear end was equal to one half of the mass of the paddle times the velocity squared. In other words, if you really wanted to paddle someone, and make it COUNT, to help them LEARN from it, well, then you start by using a heavy paddle, like this one. He gave the weight of his paddle in grams, and while I used to have the number memorized I'm not sure anymore. I think though it was around 900 grams, or something close to that. The number might have been 800, but I remember the number 900 for some reason. One thing I do remember for sure though was how he said that to get the mass of the paddle up he had imbedded lead weights in its tip. I remember when he said he had added weight to the end of the paddle to get its MASS up that my heart started beating really fast and I was so scared I didn't know if I could go through with what I had to face. So, while I don't remember the exact weight to this day, I do remember that it was extra heavy, and it was already obviously thick, and it sure was long. And oh God I remember thinking that it sure as hell had a lot of MASS. And then, well, he said the second part of the formula was the most important, because the kinetic energy in the paddle was related to the velocity of the impact, and it was the square of the velocity that really did the work. Thus, a paddle moving three times as fast as a slower paddle would impart nine times the impact force when it hits its intended target. He said that's why his paddle had holes in it; because the small loss of mass was more than made up by the increase in velocity that the holes allowed. Then he said that's also why his paddle was longer than most, because a long paddle allowed a greater tip speed, and well, when it comes to paddling, the speed of the paddle at the point of impact was EVERYTHING. I remember the last word distinctly, because, just as he said it, he slammed the paddle down right smack dab on the top of his desk, and it hit so _d_a_m_n_ hard and so _d_a_m_n_ fast that I, and about half the class watching, jumped a mile and a few people, me among them, actually gasped at it did so. Then he turned to Dillard and I, and said something that went like this:

"Well class, its seems Mr. Dillard and Mr. Meyer here have volunteered to demonstrate the affect of these formulas for you today. Mr. Dillard likes to play games, and Mr. Meyer likes to hit people. I can understand a game now and then, but I won't tolerate anyone that likes to hit people."

I could have died. Oh GOD. I looked away, outside actually, my face going red with shame, knowing my ass was screwed and there was no hope no hope no hope. I remember noting the windows were open, and I just KNEW the cracks from that paddle were going to carry outside. I looked down in humiliation, and OH GOD I just knew it was going to be bad and as I waited I was dying of shame inside. And _d_a_m_n_ that paddle was huge and long and heavy and I knew the heavy tip with its imbedded weights was going to give it lots of MASS and that MASS was gonna be gettin' accelerated and the holes were gonna let it reach warp speed when it happened. Yep, warp speed. God, what happens when you square the velocity of something with a lot of MASS moving warp speed and then slam it against a teenage ass like mine? God! I was shaking, literally, and as I looked out at my fellow classmates they were smiling, sittin' there with giant grins on their faces and waiting with eager anticipation for it all to begin. They didn't have long to wait either.

Suddenly, Mr. Novack told Dillard to "remove your wallet" and then "put your hands on the desk" and then "to spread your legs apart" and then he was saying that he was "not to move" and oh God he was in the position and he was standing there and he was exposed and his ass was perched up and out and he was waitin' and OH GOD I WAS NEXT!

Then, Mr. Novack brought the paddle against his ass, just kissed it, taking aim; then he started the swing--moving it back about four or five feet and then it was movin' forward and then it just CRACKKKED across his rear. I remember the hit, I remember the sound, and I remember Dillard's little grunt when the wood hit him. There is something unique about the sound of a paddle when it hits a teenage rear. It reverberates in the classroom, even when the paddle isn't moving all that fast. I remember it well, and I remember the impact, and I remember Dillard not moving, not moving not moving. But what I remember the most was that the paddle had been going a little slower than I had thought it was gonna be goin', and it really surprised me that Mr. Novack wasn't swingin' it like I had expected him to. I guess I had just figured he would be really zipping it, like a baseball bat or something, like when he hit his desk with it. But he hadn't. Then, that was it! I could hardly believe it--OH GOD YES! Mr. Novack had mercy in him, thats what it was I was a seein'. Dillard was told to "Go to your seat" and then he was goin' back, a big grin on his face, and he too was just soooo relieved and while I'm sure he had a good sting going, he nevertheless had been spared and he knew it! As for his ass, hell, it had been hit but it sure wasnt the kind of hit we had all been bracin' for and what we had all been expectin' after sittin' there listenin' to the science lecture that had preceeded it. Oh God there was hope I thought, oh yes oh yes oh yes and maybe, perhaps, this wasn't going to be quite as bad as I had feared. I then remember Mr. Novack explaining again the speed of the board was everything, and we should remember that as the velocity increases the impact force is increased by the square of the velocity. And then he said the words that dashed my hopes and my heart sank when I heard them: "Now Nathan here, who likes to punch out his classmates, will demonstrate how speed affects the force delivered." Oh God!

Suddenly, I was placing MY wallet on the edge of the desk. It was ME who was bending over the desk, placing MY shaking hands on its surface, spreading MY legs wide apart and in doing so perching MY ass up like it was eager to feel science in progress. I tried to look back, and I remember him telling me to look at my classmates, for it was their time I was wasting and it was to them I owed an apology. And so I stared out ahead of me, facing the class, and right in front of me was the most drop-dead gorgeous girl in the entire school. I still remember her, and her name was Jennifer. I don't recall her last name, and it doesn't matter anymore. But she was starin' at me, and her face was all smiles, and her tits were stickin' out and she was so happy looking. She was also less then ten feet in front of me. I also remember my dick stirrin'. Now don't get excited here, cause I don't think I actually got hard—hell I was too _d_a_m_n_ scared to get real hard. And so I don't think I did. Not rock hard at least. But I was sure affected by what was happening, and I remember my dick gettin' the feelin' that teenagers' dicks get sometimes cause I remember actually thinkin' that if I popped a bone I was dead meat---just absolutely dead meat. I don't know why I remember that, but I guess I do cause I remember everything that happened during that class and the memory is crystal clear. Anyway, suddenly, I felt the paddle, touching my pants. And it's funny, but even after all this time, I can remember my pants too. Tan. Cotton. Pressed. Not even as thick as jeans. With my white cotton briefs on underneath, and my wallet, sitting on the edge of the desk, so as not to interfere with the lesson I was supposed to be learnin'. Suddenly, the paddle was movin'--way back he reached, and then forward, toward me, accelerating the MASS to a speed that was way beyond anything the eye could track; it slammed into my teenage ass and I screamed "OH _f_u_c_k_KKKKKKK" and _d_a_m_n_ oh _d_a_m_n_ oh GOD IT BURNED and then I was suddenly grabbing my ass. I was without control, and without thought of where I was or who was there I just lost all self-respect and jumped up and down and kept cussin' and holdin' my ass and trying to somehow alleviate the most shocking thing I had ever felt in my life. I just simply could not believe what my ass was feeling. No way could it be this bad. The burn was penetrating immediately every layer of clothing, and spreading across both cheeks and radiatin' inside to such an extent I thought for a second I was going to pee my pants. God it hurt! I was just totally unprepared for anything that could hurt that much. I remember too Jennifer, a huge grin on her face, all lit up with the glee of watching me react to the onslaught of the paddle and the impression it had made on my teenage ass.

Mr. Novack was less than pleased, and he remarked "Mr. Meyer, you will NOT use obscenities in my classroom. Do you understand me?"

I tried to answer "Yes SIR" – I really did. My voice actually cracked, like a little kids, and all I could do was squeak out my reply, to the laughter of the classroom and a lot of smilin' faces as they watched and enjoyed my distress. Then he spoke again, "Get back into position. I will not count that because of your language young man, so prepare yourself for your punishment. This time, watch your language and don't you dare leave your position this time, otherwise we will do this again until we get it right."

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD. I slowly got back into position, my ass still burning like nothing on earth I had ever felt. My eyes were watering, and I fought to hold in the tears...fought with all I had to somehow some way hold it together and survive this with at least some dignity. I just didn't see how I could take another one, much less not move. I just didn't see anyway possible.

Then, Mr. Novack brought the paddle once again up to my ass, letting it rest there. I clinched my ass when I felt it kiss the seat of my pants—OH GOD it was THERE and OH GOD not again! Then, while he held it tight against the seat of my pants, he then started speaking to the class, explaining again how the increased velocity of the paddle was an increase in the force of what I was feeling. He remarked "If you will note, the increased speed of the paddle caused a much greater reaction in Mr. Meyer than in Mr. Dillard, which is appropriate for the increased level of his misbehavior."

With that, the paddle was movin' back again, and then forward, much faster this time if that was possible, and as it impacted my ass I screamed again.... "_s_h_i_t_TTTTTTTTTT!" My face had that look of total shock, partly from the feeling in my ass but also partly from what I realized I had just said. I freaked! I immediately started apologizing...I mean, I just didn't cuss at home, and it wasn't something I did generally around my friends either and oh God this one had to count had to count had to count! But God, that paddle hurt so _d_a_m_n_ bad, and my ass was burning and the fire was so _d_a_m_n_ intense and the class was so happy lookin' and everyone was smilin' and oh God oh _d_a_m_n_ oh no; PLEASE..... "I'm SORRRYYYY!!!!"

Mr. Novack was pissed; at least that's the way I remember it. My apology for my language didn't satisfy him either. I don't remember his exact words after all these years, but this is the just of what he said: "Mr. Meyer, this is the last time I'm going to tell you to keep your obscenities within you. If you insist on using them, I'll send you to the principal's office after I'm finished here with you and let him paddle you all over again. The discomfort you are feeling is well deserved, and if you don't like it I suggest you modify your aggressive behavior in the future. Now, I am not going to count that one either since you insist on using language inappropriate for my classroom. I suggest you watch your mouth and start taking your hits like a man if you want to have an ass left? Do you understand me mister?"

God! I didn't know if he was jokin' or not. Never did know either. But my eyes were watering so bad and I was fightin' so hard not to cry and all I could do was nod, as I got back into position for my paddling. My ass was really burnin', and I just didn't realize anything could burn that _d_a_m_n_ much. In fact, my entire ass was on fire, and I felt the burn and it kept increasing and increasing and increasing even as I fought to hold myself together. I still remember their faces, all watchin' me, all laughin' it seemed, and then, OH GOD THEN, I saw Dillard, laughin' most of all, smilin' as he watched me, a smirk on his face that lingers even to this day. He was a boy in glee, and he was lovin' every minute of my misery.

Then, again I felt the cherry wood resting against my rear. Again I was told to look forward, to look my "fellow classmates in the eye" and was reminded "not to move." And then, as fast or faster than before, the paddle was again whistling in the air, the air passing through the holes so fast that it made a distinct sound that is still imbedded into my memory. Then, slammin' into my ass a third time, driving my hips forward, almost into the desk, my eyes suddenly losin' control, and the tears then beginning to literally streak my face and I stared and wondered and sniffled, at the same time I tried so hard not to move. CRACKKKKKKKK!!! I didn't say anything the third time, just a loud grunt I think, a single grunt as the paddle drove itself right through me or so-it-seemed, and as it did so I remember someone in the class actually laughin' at the show I was givin' em.

I didn't move, willed myself not to move I think, and then I felt the burn increasin' even more, going beyond anything my teenage brain could have imagined, far more intense than anything on earth. Suddenly, nothin' else was there, just my ass, just the paddle, the paddle and my ass and the pain and my ass and the paddle and my ass. Oh GOD, and then, by GOD NO--it was movin' yet again....a blur one more time, and almost before I realized what was happening it impacted into me and again I grunted loudly, a scream almost, and I bit my lip to hold it in, my hips smashin' forward once again from the impact of the paddle, my ass absorbing all of the paddle's momentum, while the sweat soaked my armpits and my ass burned on fire like no fire on earth. I think I lost it totally then, just couldn't help myself in spite of knowing everyone was starin' at me. The tears were flowin' then, and while I'd like to think even now that I didn't just start bawlin' in front of everyone the memory doesn't have it that way. No-sir-ree it doesn't. Anyway, I do remember that I started to move, to stand and rub my rear in desperation and just KNOWING that HAD to be the end.

Mr. Novack's words cut me to the core: "Don't you dare move young man; fighting in this school will not be tolerated under any circumstances and I'm not done with you. You've only taken 2 hits with the paddle, and you've got another one coming."

My face was sobbing, tear streaked, and I was sniffling and sobbing and trying not to just bawl it all out like a little boy. I know I tried to hold it in, tried to will myself to stop, but I couldn't, and as I fought the tears and the burn in my ass I didn't think I could survive anymore. Yet, I do remember that somehow I got back into position. Then, he placed the paddle once again against my ass, resting it there, waitin', and OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD, time just stood still. I felt the flames roaring through my flesh, felt the wood restin' there, waitin' for yet another swing, and my eyes scanned around the classroom and every face I saw was a face of someone lookin' like they were watchin' the greatest show on earth, all eagerly anticipating the next CRACK on my ass with a glee that was unmistakable. It was their faces I remember the most--the smiles especially, some even laughing, and oh no oh no oh no! I remember too one particular kid, and his name was Phillip and he was off to my right, starin' at me. It's almost strange that I remember him so well, but I do, but what I remember about him was the smile on his face, the sparkle in his eyes, and the bone in his pants. If I close my eyes even today I can remember seein' his jeans all tented up, the outline of his hard prick visible through the fabric, and as he watched me my eyes dripped tears and the humiliation I felt was worse than anything I could ever have imagined.

Then Mr. Novack spoke again "Now Mr. Meyer, I think you need to apologize to Mr. Dillard here, and to the rest of the class." As he said it, he moved the paddle in a sawing motion, sorta rubbing it over my flaming ass, letting me know it was there, resting, waitin', my ass still perched and ready and almost like it was eagerly beggin' for more--and God it burned so bad! I felt like my skin was gone--my entire ass a caldron of raw meat and nothing I could do to stop any of it. Oh GOD!

And so, I apologized. I don't remember the words. But I remember the tears, and the snot, runnin' down my face. I remember wipin' my face as I talked, the sniffles as I tried to suck the snot back in, the tears flowin' anyway and the voice, my voice, not mine at all but rather the voice of some little kid who was doin' everything he could to just not start bawling like a baby. I also started beggin' him to not hit me again, that I couldn't take anymore and that I had learned my lesson. I begged without thought to the humiliation of doing it, my ass was hurtin' so bad so bad so bad I would have said anything to anyone if it had even a half-chance of savin' my ass from another hit. I was more humiliated just then than I had ever been in my life, and later, one of my friends in the room that had watched it all, said that my face was as red as a beet, and he couldn't believe I had cried like that and begged like that. He also pointed out later to me that my cheeks were actually flushed, bright flame-red as I spoke and my voice was crackin' like a twelve year olds. I assume lookin' back that they were flushed the way they get in a teenager who has just started shaving, and as the blood filled my face and displayed my humiliation, I know my ass continued to send me the message that can only be compared to a fire that has no end and no beginning. As I finished my apology, somehow squeaking out something through the sobs rackin' my body, Mr. Novack made some comment like "I just hope this paddle is teaching you not to use your fist to settle your problems" and then the paddle was in motion once again, and suddenly even as I was slobbering in my tears he hit me so hard I fell forward and into the desk, my ass taking in all of the boards momentum and turnin' it all into pain, as the CRACKKKKK of the paddle echoed off the classroom walls, and out the open windows and then from there Oh God I just could not imagine. I know I cried out something then: "AHHHHHHHHHH OH GODDDDDDDD"--and then "I'm SORRY I AM I AM I AM!" That might not be the exact phrase mind you, but my mind wasn't thinkin' real straight right at that moment. I also don't remember exactly what I did just then, but from what my friends later told me I was suddenly jumpin' up and down and rubbin' my rear. I do know that any teenage smugness I might have had was totally lost in the humiliation of my shame. My friends said I rubbed my ass, hoppin' up and down like a rabbit, my faced flushed crimson in my humiliation, the snot definitely drippin' from my nose. I do remember one thing--crystal clear. I remember as I was rubbin' my ass that the entire class burst out laughin' and the sound of it echoed in my ears from that day forward. Suddenly someone started clappin' as they laughed, and then the applause just started to grow and finally it seemed to be just thundering in my ears. Even today, as I'm writin' this story now, I remember that part very well.

My Novack made the class be quiet and then told me to "take my seat," and as I worked my way to my seat and sat my burning ass down at my desk I remember grimacing as my ass took my weight. _d_a_m_n_ it was sore! And every single student was staring right at me, giggling as they stared, their eyes burning through me as I sat at my desk and tried to compose myself and suck in my shame. And then, just when I wanted to hide, Mr. Novack walked down slowly to where I was sitting, every eye in the class watching everything, wondering what was next. He still held the paddle, and then, as everyone watched, he dropped it on my desk and said simply: "SIGN IT."

Oh GOD, I looked, saw the varnished wood, and it was literally warm from where it had smacked me again. Still slobbering tears down my face, I took his marker, and as my entire body sniffled in shame, I signed my name across its face, noticing as I did so that there were only three others on its surface, and only one of those names did I recognize. He was a senior now and it was obvious that I was the only one to have faced this paddle in the last three years! I could have died, and in some ways did die inside as I made my name a permanent part of that paddle. As I was signing I remember thinkin' that when the next parents' night happened my dad would surely find it, cause I knew it was one of the things he liked to check whenever he visited a classroom. As I glanced around the class, my classmates were watchin' me intently as I recorded my shame, and Jennifer was giggling and Dillard was even laughing, although he was trying to stifle it a little. When I finished, Mr. Novack returned the paddle to its hook, and then started repeatin' the importance of the formulas he had just used me to demonstrate. In fact, he talked about Momentum and Mass and Acceleration and Velocity and Kinetic Energy for the rest of the period, and like the paddle and the burn in my ass and the memory, they became a part of me and would be with me forevermore. The bell rang not too long after that, and I went on to gym and the embarrassment that that entailed. I couldn't hide my ass, and I couldn't hide my shame. I somehow got through that day. Later, when I got home I didn't say a thing, but my older sister had heard all about it and made sure it became a topic over dinner. I remember having to tell my dad how I had been paddled, right at the dinner table with everyone listening, and my sister's and my little brother's faces mirrored the faces that had watched me earlier in the day as I lived through the humiliation. He asked exactly what it was that I had done, and I told him about the butter and the locker and about Dillard and about hittin' him. Unlike many parents today, he sat quietly for a minute and then just said it sounded like I deserved it, and he hoped I learned from it, and then he told me if I ever hit anyone at school again I'd be dealing with him on top of the school. And with that, well, the memory was a part of me, burned into my brain just as assuredly as the paddle had burned itself into my teenage ass. One thing though I also remember--I remember later goin' to the bathroom and takin' a look at my ass--just figurin' that I wouldn't have much of an ass left to look at. Funny thing though--it looked normal! Don't know what that really means, even now, but I do remember that, and whose to say that perhaps the memory of the hittin' and the reality of the hittin' wasn't quite the same. Even today as hard as I remember the paddling I can't honestly say I didn't deserve at least part of it and since I wasn't marked how hard did he really hit me? God; a question I can't say I have an honest answer for anymore.

I do know this though, and I know it for CERTAIN. I never got in trouble at school again. Nope, never again. I don't think I even came close to doing anything at all that could have got me in trouble. No way with the paddles hanging there waitin'. No-sir-ree, just no way was I ever willing to take another chance again. Just the thought of having to face my classmates with a red face and tears flowing down my face as my ass was burning was almost more than I could fathom. Needless to say, I never hit anyone again either, not ever. Nope, never. We moved at the end of my sophomore year, and I remember being happy to leave, to get away from that paddle that was still hanging with my name on it. I'm sure it's hangin' still, probably in the home of a retired science teacher, a man who taught me some of life's most important lessons.

[Thanks for reading the story. I would appreciate hearing from anyone that enjoyed it, and I will answer anyone that writes—Nathan9001@yahoo. com]

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