While in her boyfriend’s bedroom many years ago, the author was about to learn why this bad boy and his brother’s were so polite to elders.
You are welcome to contact the author JemStar.
I was twelve, just two weeks shy of my thirteenth birthday when I met “Andrew Wilson”. He was almost fifteen, and he had been kicked out of school twice so he was held back. When he started school again at my middle school he was in my grade. He was a bad boy, not even a joke. He had been suspended so many times two schools expelled him for fighting, drugs, sex on campus, and bringing weapons to school. I had a bad reputation for a short fuse and a smart mouth. So naturally, we clicked and started dating. In hindsight, my mom or dad should have put a stop to that, especially the part where Andrew was allowed to drive me around in a car without a license. But they were known for being quite lenient. I have never been disciplined, just let go to do my thing.
Now, what you have to understand is that Andrew and his family were from West Virginia, he was one of seven brothers, and his parents were amazing. The Waltons they were not, his father made moonshine, was a truck driver and owned a trucking company. They lived in North Carolina when I met them, on a farm, kinda rural. I started hanging around pretty regularly and they accepted me as part of the family. I was there a lot, I was even allowed to sleep over if we slept in the living room. I had always known the boys were uber respectful and always said yes sir and yes ma’am when spoken to by their parents, and I did the same because well, when in Rome….Also, as much of a smart mouth as I was, I was genuinely respectful to elders that earned it. On one fateful night I learned why the boys were so polite.
Andrew and I were in his room one Saturday night. Not doing anything mind you, maybe making out and heavy petting. We didn’t go any further. I assumed that his parents knew I was there, I mean his mom was right there when I came in. Andrew’s room was in the attic because his father had seven boys and four still lived at home. We were watching TV in his bed when we heard a truck pull up. Sitting up, he looked out the small attic window through the blind. His face told me something wasn’t right, so I sat up in his bed Indian style.
“What is it?”
He closed the blind and looked at me. “Dustin is here.” I raised an eyebrow and wondered why that was so special. He literally lived here. Andrew looked at me gravely. “Dusty took Daddy’s truck out last night and he is just now getting home. Daddy is going to beat his ass!”
I was so shocked I gasped. I liked Dusty and this sounded ominous. “What?! We have to go down!”
I attempted to stand but Andrew covered my mouth and pushed me back down on the bed. “Fuck no. If he finds out you are here, I’ll get a whoopin’ too.”
Now I was really concerned. I had never been spanked but I wasn’t stupid. I had seen plenty; some southern parents aren’t shy, you see. For some reason I had never applied the knowledge of how common spankings were to my friends. I am in my mid-thirties and I just found out my best friend from elementary till now was spanked. I must be dense. I felt cold nerves running up my spine and I felt like I might be about to blush or vomit. Who knew.
Blinking rapidly, my bad habit when I am thinking too hard, I leaned closer. “Your dad…beats you?”
He looked almost offended. “No! But he will tear our butts up if we get out of line. There is a difference, you know.”
I couldn’t bring myself to say the word spank. And my heart was fluttering inside my chest as I pondered the situation. Dustin was sixteen, about five foot five, slight but muscular build. He had
inherited a good bit of his parent’s Native American heritage and he was always tanned with handsome sharp features that were dulled by the Scottish blood that also ran in his veins. Of course, this described nearly all the Wilson boys and their father, they were all gorgeous mountain men.
“Well, what do we do?” My voice sounded annoyingly squeaky, was I scared or turned on? “Stay here,” he shrugged. He looked helpless and a bit nervous. “There is no way I am going out there….”
The silence of the house was broken by his father coming up the stairs yelling at Dustin, “Don’t give me that bullshit, Dustin. Your grandpa strapped my bare ass when I was sixteen and I got
married three months later. Where did you think your oldest brother came from?”
“Dad, comeon. I wasn’t doing anything like that, I just drank too much and….”
“You were drinking?” Mister Wilson’s voice vibrated the floor.
“Like you don’t?” We heard the reply just second before a loud slap that made Andrew wince.
“Don’t sass me, boy. You are sixteen and you are too damned young to be drinking! You take my truck, you come home the next night, admit you been drinking, worry your momma and I to death!” Mister Wilson was running down a laundry list of things that seemed to have amassed over the past two weeks to earn him this punishment.
The next sound I heard was a sharp crack of leather on bare skin. I jumped. Andrew winced and blushed slightly. I realized it was because it had dawned on him that I knew he was subjected to
such punishment. I recalled an incident last weekend where Andrew had lost track of time watching movies at my house and didn’t make it home until three in the morning. His change of
plans for the next day made sense.
In the three seconds it took me to process the events, the room below us became full of sharp sounds that sounded like small firearm shots. My emotions were high; was I crying? Was I horny? Scared? Confused? A bit of all that. I had never witnessed such a thing. Silence fell after a minute that felt like an hour. We heard the bedroom door below us slam, then we both let out a breath we didn’t realize we were holding.
Andrew, who had been sitting in front of me, scooted closer to sit beside me. He picked at a stray thread on his comforter. “He uses his belt. Sometimes the paddle in the kitchen, Momma favors a switch but we are getting too big for her to handle like that. You… aren’t gonna mention it are you?”
I shook my head ‘no’. I couldn’t even think about it without blushing. I didn’t see Dustin until the next day, and for a week we didn’t make eye contact, though when I did see him again all I could think of was that whole ordeal and if he was still sore. I had never seen the aftermath of a good strapping, but I could imagine. We never talked about it. And that wasn’t the last time I was privy to a spanking in that household.
You are welcome to contact the author JemStar.