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“Have you noticed, some of the boys have been acting awful funny this afternoon.” Debbie offered as we exited Geometry class. “And that would be different how?” I answered with a chortle.
We walked to the last class of the day. Talking about Basketball practice and how annoyed the coach was becoming. “Can’t blame him I suppose.” Heather chimed in.. “We’ve really been terrible the last few days.” I shook my head in agreement. She was right, we just didn’t seem to becoming together as a team. We all knew the Coach was ticked and expected the hammer to drop soon.
The class let out and as we approached the gym for practice several of the girls were headed back towards us away from the gym. Jenny told us what was up. “The wood work shop?, why the wood shop?” I asked. “Don’t know, he just said we were all to report to the wood work shop.” Jenny offered with a shrug.
The twelve of us walked the halls headed for the shop area. This was not normally a place we visited as it, the Metal shop and mechanics shops were set apart from the rest of the school in a wing of their own. I had never been there in the few months since moving to Frost Prairie.
We entered the old doors and set foot in the shop. It was messy beyond my wildest imagination, that is if I had ever in my life wasted a second wondering what a wood shop would be like. And I hadn’t. Mr. Wilson the wood shop teacher was behind a huge old desk, he sat there with a smirk on his face that gave me cause to wonder once again, what might be up.
“Come on in girls.” Mr. Wilson offered. “Come on in.” He repeated. Slowly as if he might leap up and bite us, we moved gingerly forward. His desk was covered with a white sheet that had a large bulge in the middle.
I jumped as the door behind us closed with a loud thud. We all turned and faced the Coach who had just entered. With out so much as a hello or good afternoon, He said in his usual deep voice. “Each of you will take this note home to your parents.” He was holding up some letters that appeared to be on school stationary.
“Daria, Please come forward and read this to the team.” The Coach instructed. I pushed my way forward and looking at him, and then my teammates, I took the paper from him and began to read aloud. I had to will myself to make it through the entire form.
To: Parent / Guardian
From: Coach Worden
Subject: Girl’s basketball team
As we discussed at the last parent’s team meeting, discipline is important.
Your Daughter has been instructed to read you this memo to you and you are requested to follow it’s instructions tonight. Your Daughter has agreed to the contents of this letter and to follow closely it’s instructions and cooperate with the expectations that are placed upon you.
It is necessary that the girls be aware that as the team coach I have your full support in these matters.
Your Daughter has not devoted herself with the dedication and effort she promised at the beginning of the season. Because life’s habits are formed early and not applying ones self at this age may form bad habits that are hard to break later, I am asking your assistance in curbing this problem.
Your daughter has been issued a paddle that was made especially for her. I expect you to apply it to her bottom tonight, exactly as we all agreed at our meeting. I expect every girl to return this note signed by you tomorrow morning along with the paddle she has been issued. If you feel you can not provide the guidance your Daughter deserves, please feel free to contact me and I will come over tonight and render my services.
I looked up and read astonishment on the faces of eleven other girls. I’m sure my face rendered the same expression.
“Girls, you may have your presents now.” Mr. Wilson announced breaking the silence. We turned and saw that the sheet had been removed and there on his desk were a pile of identical paddles. Each one was almost a foot long and about four inches wide, and maybe a quarter inch thick. They had been sanded and were a shinny brown color. “Boys did a nice job, don’t you think?” None of us chose to answer, I certainly didn’t trust my voice to work properly at that moment. He held up one of the paddles for us to view. “See, if you look here each Boy put his name on the end of the handle in real small print and your name in nice block letters on the business end. I looked down at the stack and sure enough there was a paddle with ‘Jenny’ on it. I knew that somewhere in that stack was a paddle with my name. I wondered which of the boys had made my paddle. I found myself hoping that it was one of several and also hoping it wasn’t a one of a few of the boys that popped to mind. Oh, the embarrassment.
“Go on, take your paddle.” We heard the coach say. Mr. Wilson picked up the paddles and began handing them out to the reluctant recipients. “Time to go home, there won’t be a practice today.”
I tucked my paddle in-between two books in the hope I could hide it, no such luck. It stood out like a flashing neon sign. Carol, Sally and I walked home together. We each tried to be cool and hide our paddles, but we were anything but cool, we were worried.
Carol spoke first asking. “What meeting did our parents attend?”
“I don’t know, must have been quite a meeting, look at this part.” I replied reading from the letter. “I expect you to apply it to her bottom tonight, exactly as we all agreed at our meeting” I shook my head in amazement.
“Sounds like they talked about us getting paddled.” Sally offered. “Oh, geeze , no kidding and what was your first clue?” Carol sputtered. Carol and I looked at Sally and shook our heads, sometimes she was so slow on the uptake. Wishing each other luck we parted ways at the corner and made for our houses and the dubious events ahead.
Later that night after my sister and brother had gone to bed and I knew I couldn’t wait any longer I went into the living room where Mom and Dad were watching TV. “Honey, I think it’s about your bed time.” Mom said looking up from the TV guide. I gulped and said in a trembling voice. “Uh, I need to read you something from school.” Dad picked up the remote and turned down the sound sensing from the tone of my voice something was up. I sat down next to Mom on the sofa, opened the paper and read it out loud. I dared not look up as I read it. I could feel my face flush with embarrassment and shame. When I finished reading I handed the paper to Mom, with my eyes still down cast.
After a few seconds of awkward silence. “Where’s the paddle?” Daddy asked. “In my room.” I answered softly. “Get it, and get dressed” He ordered. I got up quietly without protest and walked to my room. I changed into my pajamas. When we kids get punished it’s usually just before bed and we’re expected to report for our punishment in our pajamas. We also know this means no underwear. I returned with the shinny paddle and stood in front of him as I have had to do so many times in my life when I’ve been disobedient. He put out his hand and I handed him the paddle, my eyes clouded with tears of anxiety.
He nodded and I placed my self across his lap. I felt him pull down my PJs to just below my bottom cheeks. The tug of the elastic against the lower part of my fanny reminded me that my bare bottom was on display for the paddle and what was soon to come. I sensed rather than saw the paddle being picked up. I could feel myself tense with anticipation.
The first, SMACK brought a yelp from me. Dad pulled me close against him and placed his left hand firmly on my back holding me down. SMACK, SMACK, WHAP.
The sounds of the paddle slapping against my bare bottom filled the room. I could feel the blood pounding in my ears as one burning SWAT after another meet my bottom.
I yelped, cried and pleaded. It was no use Dad had me in his grasp, as always I was going no where until he decided the punishment was over.
SMACK, SWAT, SLAP One blistering swat after another, they seemed to come impossibly fast and hard. SWAT, SLAP, SMACK
Then with a quick flurry it was over. I lay limp across his knee bubbling like I was three years old. My modesty and sense of being an adult had been washed away in less than five minutes. I lay there over his lap a small chastened child.
I wondered how my teammates had fared, as I lay in bed rubbing my sore bottom. I gingerly got up and made my way to the bathroom. I closed the door quietly. I turned my back to the mirror and pulled down my pj bottoms. My backside was red and splotched from the tops of my cheeks to where my pj bottoms had been. I rubbed some lotion onto the redness, enjoying the cool feeling and trying not to reactivate the sting. Pulling my bottoms up over my overly lubricated tail, I went back to bed. I slept on my tummy that evening.
That morning at breakfast I sat down on a posterior that reminded me of the previous night’s activities when ever I moved sideways. My Brother and Sister didn’t let on that they were aware of my getting paddled the night before, though they must have heard. Dad nodded over at the counter and said. “Don’t forget to take your paddle to school today.” I blushed furiously and shook my head indicating I understood. A few minutes later I picked up the paddle and noticed it had changed from the previous night when I had handed it to Dad. There was a small hole drilled in one corner of the end farthest from the handle.
As I was walking to school the next morning I saw Jerri and waved her to wait for me. Once we were close she asked. “ Did you get it last night ?” I rolled my eyes. “Did I ever, Dad paddled my butt raw.” I looked at her as a pained look came across her face. “Me too.” She patted her fanny.” It’s still sore, I’m not sure I’ll be able to sit down in class.” We both giggled at the thought of having to explain to our teachers why we needed to stand up in class.
We were made to carry the paddles with us all the time for a week. We had to carry it to each class and even during lunch you could see the girls of the basketball team carrying a lunch tray to their tables with a paddle tucked under one arm. At first it was really quite embarrassing. The other kids snickered and made fun. It had one of the effects that the Coach intended though it was hard to see it at the time. The shared experience brought us closer as a team. Weeks later when we talked about it, it seemed funny. The rite of passage almost became a cliquish thing, that set us apart and we became proud of it and the acknowledgment of our commitment by the other kids. But that was later, at the time there wasn’t a thing funny about it to us.
Two days later Sarah, Jerri and I reported to the wood shop, having been excused from our third period study hall for this mission. We stood in front of Mr. Wilson and I spoke for the three of us. “Mr. Wilson, will you show us how to use that machine over there that makes holes?” He smiled as if enjoying a joke. “You means the drill, is that what you mean to say?” I nodded. “Yes sir, If that’s what it’s called, that’s what I mean.” He smiled wider this time and I noticed several of the boys had stopped talking and were trying to listen from across the room to this interesting conversation. “And why do you need a drill if I may ask?” “Damnit” I thought, he knew full well why we needed a drill, he was looking right at the paddles in our hands.
I suppose that by then everyone in the school knew. The Coach had decided that every time we got paddled we would have a hole drilled in our paddle. The purpose as it was explained to the team was double fold. One it would be a constant reminder of our earned punishments. Two, was that the more trouble we got in the more holes would be drilled and the more the paddle with holes would sting. Talk about your classic lose / lose situation. To make matters worse we had to report to the wood shop ourselves to have the drilling done. Finally after having one of the boys help us, we got the hang of drilling holes and we were on our way with our freshly drilled paddles. I was discovering there is no way to carry a paddle in public and look cool. I finally held it with one hand at my side and carried it along side my leg.
Two afternoons later at practice the Coach once again had our undivided attention. We were reviewing our play books. Unfortunately for her, Carol had left hers in her locker. “Ms. Tracy.” The Coach said using her last name,. “Please go get your book and stop by the shop and have another hole drilled before you return.” She returned fifteen minutes later as we were in the middle of a half court drill, looking concerned. I noticed that she now had two holes in her paddle.
The practices were closed, she had to knock to be let in. Coach opened the door and she entered. As she did he took the paddle from her and taking her by the shoulder led her to a corner of the gym. She was made to face the wall and lower her shorts and panties to her knees. He made her bend over and soon her cries and the sounds of the paddle popping filled the gym. We kept practicing, knowing full well that stopping to watch would be met with an invitation to join her. We all managed a glance from time to time and could see the redness on her bottom even from a distance. When it was over she was made to immediately join the practice, while still blubbering and wiping tears from her eyes. No one made a comment, we’d all been there before.
Within a week, some of us had three holes in our paddle and what seemed like permanently sore bottoms. We were looking forward to the week ending and not having to carry our paddles with us all the time. Then something changed in the mood of the school and how we were viewed. I first noticed it on Friday. Samantha who was acknowledged to be one of the cooler kids in school, leaned over and asked me a question just before homeroom started. “Is it too late to join the team?” I nodded at my paddle laying across my desk with it’s three drilled holes and responded. “Why in the world would you want to join the team? ” Then, half joking I went on. “You can have my place.” “OK” “My goodness.” I thought, She’s serious. I almost became defensive and fully realized for the first time how much being on the team really meant to me.
We won our first game against a pretty good team that evening. I can’t say we were a superstitious bunch, but then considering what we decided maybe we were. It was only a bit stranger than carrying a luck rabbit’s foot, and not nearly so hard on the bunnies.
“It brought us good luck, you know.” Announced Joy happily, after the game while we were still in the locker room. Most of were still in the shower and had to ask Joy to talk louder over the sounds of the water. ( I should tell you dear reader, that Joy’s only demeanor is total happiness, non stop all the time. Hence her nick name. Her real name is Roxie.) Jerri laughed. “What in the world are you talking about Girl?” “The paddles, carrying the paddles, brought us good luck, no doubt about it.” She looked about the room. “We won didn’t we?” No one could argue with that we had indeed won. From there it was a leap of logic to the decision, we would continue to carry the paddles with us as long as we kept winning.
I was told the next day that Christy’s Mom found this very convenient. Christy had been a bit too flip with some of her comments at home and her Mom picked the paddle off of her school books and applied it. “My bad luck.” Christy told me the next day. “I was wearing a dress, Mom pulled me over her knee, flipped up my dress and down came my panties, she blistered me good, there wasn’t anything I could do but bawl.” Christy had a point there wasn’t anything she could do. If her Mom had wanted to, all she had to do was call the Coach and Christy would have gotten it much worse at practice.
Two afternoons later I had my own experience. I had been talking too long and was late for Geometry class again. Only three minutes late, but Mr. Nelson noticed. As I slid into my seat he spoke to me in a voice all could hear. “You’re late again Daria, Your choice, the principals office or after class.” I answered softly. “After class.” He had given me a choice I could go to the Principals and no doubt get a paddling or I could get it from him after class. Since it was known he usually paddled on the panties and the Principal’s paddlings were usually bare bottom and a lot, lot harder I made the easy choice.
Mr. Nelson walked to my desk and picked up my paddle, he turned and went back to his desk where he deposited it, until it would be needed in about forty five minutes. I almost couldn’t take my eyes off of it as it sat there waiting patiently for me and my fanny. The minutes crept by and at the same time flew. I reflected on stories of Mr. Nelson and his reputation. It was said that last year one girl had tried to get away during one of his paddlings, the result was he started over on her bare bottom, with her across his lap. I resolved to take mine with out resistance.
The bell announcing the end of class jolted me back to reality from my day dream. Soon the room was empty except for Mr. Nelson and me. “Daria, please close and lock the door.” I did as I was bidden and soon stood in front of his desk. I wasn’t the first girl to have been paddled by Mr. Nelson. He was reputed to be a hard paddler who delivered quick swats that soon had you on your toes.
He stood up, picking up my paddle as he did. He walked to my side and then behind me. “Drop your jeans.” I fumbled with my belt and peeled my tight jeans down. I tugged and pulled and almost lost my panties in the process. I quickly snagged them back up and stood up straight with my jeans now keeping my knocking knees warm. “Hands on the desk.”
Taking a deep breath for courage, I bent over his desk and placed my hands down on the edge of the desk. The swats came hard and fast. It seemed to me that he never brought the paddle back very far, preferring to rely on quick crisp swats that soon had my fanny on fire. They landed with a suddenness that had me leaning forward, there was simply no time to recover between swats.
I yelped and did a small dance, not daring to move more than one foot up or down at a time, for fear of that being taken as an effort to get away. Fifteen swats landed before he spoke.
“Going to be late for my class again, young lady?”
“Nooooo Siiiirrrr” I squalled.
SMACK, WHAP, SPANK, WHACK, SLAP.
“I ppprrroomiiissee” I bawled.
SMACK, SWAT, SLAP
“Pull up your jeans and see that you’re on time in the future.”
Fifteen minutes later I was shame faced as I carried my paddle into the wood shop for it’s fourth hole. I was the team leader in getting paddled. It was going to be a long season.