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RG AND ME
“Hey RG.”
“Hey.”
“Nice interpretation.”
“Thanks. Most people miss the key. They passs over the fact that the guy was cheating on his wife, but the whole denoument is based on that. You've got to have a good moral sense to pick up on it. If you think infidelity's normal, you'd never know what was going on.”
“Yes, I can see that. Hey, I'd like to talk longer. Why don't you come over to my place for dinner tonight? It's Friday -- You could stay over -- I have double beds.”
“Really? Okay, sure. I don't get many dinner invitations. You cook, then?”
“Some. I get by. Here's my address.” I jotted it onto a scrap of paper. “Come over anytime.”
“Okay -- thanks. See you tonight.”
I had a beef stew already to cook when RG showed up. “What's this? You brought wine?”
“Yeah. Least I could do. I think you'll like it.”
“St. Emelion White Burgundy. I thought St. Emelion was in Bordeaux.”
“It is. They call it that because the wine’s like burgundy.”
“Interesting. I’ll get this stew on as soon as I sear the meat.” I dumped the beef into the hot, greased frying pan and sealed the juices in.
“How long's that take to cook?”
“Just seventeen minutes.”
“That's all?”
“Yep.”
“You have a corkscrew?”
“Second drawer from the sink.”
“Nice place you have here.”
“Yeah. Reasonable, and no one’s really noisy.”
The wine was really, really good. We were finishing the second fifth by the time we'd eaten the stew. I sent RG into the bedroom while I cleaned up, and told him to turn on the TV. It was Wagon Train. I brought out a bottle of Remy Martin brandy, pouring four ounces into each glass. At the end of the episode the wagonmaster spanked a fully grown older youth at a campfire, over his knees. He got up rubbing his butt, and said to his girlfriend, “What are you laughing at?”
“Think kids can get it that old?” RG asked me.
“Heck yeah. I can still get it.”
“Really? From who?”
“These days, only from myself. But I keep a paddle on hand in case someone shows up that I’d take one from, if he wanted to.”
“What kind of someone would that be? I'm curious.”
“Same ethnicity, not older, yinner than I am, and either be’s a good boy better than I do or has a better attitude.”
“Can I see the paddle? I’m interested.” I went and got the sawed-off fraternity paddle and handed it to him. He took it and tried it on his palm. “This is a nice one,” he said. He patted his thigh. “Let me try it on your buns.”
“Oh. Alright,” I said, though I’d not anticipated this. We were both a little drunk. I undid my belt, zipped down the fly, and went naturally and gracefully across his knees. (I'm really light -- under 130. RG’s like 5-10, and about 150.) He pulled my dungarees down and began spanking me firmly, with authority, right on the sweet spot, both sides at once. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! As the paddling continued, (Owwww!) I begin to fervently want to be a good, obedient boy.
“Now are you going to be a good boy?” he asked finally.
“Yes, sir,” I replied. I meant it. Then he spanked me firmly with the palm of his hand a half a dozen times. “And do you agree to get over it again the next time I tell you to?”
I thought for a moment. He smacked me painfully with the paddle. “Yes, sir,” I said.
“That’s a good boy,” he said. He slapped me again with his hand and then pulled me up from his knees. “If you disobey me -- punishment!” he told me. “And dont even think about falling into sex.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Put this back where it belongs,” he told me, and handed me the paddle. I went and put it away.
We both went to bed in my room, which has double beds. At about one o'clock in the morning he woke me up, sitting on my bed.
“Hah? What.”
“Get up.”
I sat up. He sat down behind me and pulled me over his knees (oh no!) and began spanking me very hard with his hand. SLAP!.....SLAP!.......SLAP........ SLAP! The skin of my already-toasted buns was beginning to break down. I am really, really going to be a good boy from now on. At about three o'clock he woke me again, and did it once more. He did it hard, with emphasis. “You better be a good, obedient, passive boy,” he says.
“Yes sir,” I said.
The next morning he acted as though nothing had happened. As we ate breakfast I actually wondered whether he remembered it. Soon it was time for him to go. “Thank you very much for having me,” he said. “I really had a good time. The stew was excellent.”
“Yeah, that's the best thing I cook,” I said. “I learned it in the boy scouts.”
“You must come to dinner at my place. We’ll have a cheese and pepper omelet.”
“Okay.”
My behavior improved. Years later I was still finding pieces of him in me.
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