Shades of Yesteryear

by the Crimson Kid

(All rights reserved. This story’s setting is mid-July of 2010 in a small town in the northeastern U.S.A. 2010 SSC Entry)

The distant houses hadn’t been there fifty years ago, nor had the concrete surface, but Percival Randolph believed that the semicircular climbing ladder was the same one he’d played on during his childhood—it’s dull metallic surface had been painted red, which was rather apropos considering his primary memory of it.

It was the same kind of dreary, drizzling day that had frequently drawn Percival and his cousin Martha to the playground, partially enclosed by two wings of the then brand-spanking-new school building, a half-century earlier.

Those were the times for what Martha had dubbed “serious spanking,” when her Nordic-looking cousin had wriggled halfway through the opening between the second and third rungs of the ladder and bent forward; he’d then felt her girlish hands pulling his pants and underpants down below his insistently-bared buttocks, followed by numerous stinging smacks applied to his defenseless derriere via her ping-pong paddle.

The wallopings had grown longer and harder as their childhood years passed, eventually his beautiful Mediterranean-dark chastiser had switched to a sturdy wooden racquetball paddle while Percival, too big to fit between the rungs, grasped the ladder’s sides while leaning forward and pushing his boyish bare behind backward to be plastered by the solidly-whacking hardwood.

There had been the thrilling risk of being observed, although restricting their spanking activity to threatening weather times had severely reduced the likelihood of other children entering the semi-enclosed area and catching Percival red-bottomed and wailing from Martha’s energetic efforts wielding her paddle.

Once they had been spotted, but fortunately by pert, redheaded Jennifer, a year younger than her next-door girlfriend.

“So you spank Percy too,” she’d giggled, “Real stingers, not those ruler pats when we’re playing school.”

“You’re bending over next,” Martha had informed her, “After that you can see how much fun it is paddywhacking Percy’s bare buns.”

Thereupon their cousinly spanking play had often included Jennifer, who gave Percival pants-down paddlings much more intensive than the ones she herself received from Martha—but still less emphatic than his bare-bottom blisterings from his delighted cousin. Those sessions had invariably left the two girls grinning devilishly with their twice-tanned victim teary-eyed and blubbering—much to his subconscious satisfaction.

Reaching adolescence had ultimately ended those “serious spanking” sessions, but recalling them as a late-middle-aged man induced a wave of nostalgia.

“Reminiscing, Percy?” asked a voice from behind him.

Turning, he found himself face-to-face with his past.

“Martha!” He was flustered. “How’d you get behind me?”

She chuckled. “From the building, silly, I heard you were back in town.”

Percival nodded, noting his cousin’s lasting beauty. “For good, I’m retired and returned… Isn’t school closed for the summer?”

“Not to the principal,” she explained. “Come into my office, we’ll resurrect our childhood tradition with my Spencer paddle.”

He gulped. “Yes, ma’am… On the bare?”

“Always.” Martha chortled. “We’ll have to risk my assistant principal stopping in.” She didn’t mention that Jennifer was the A.P. “I’ll sting you truly good and proper.”

Percival felt lightheaded. “Thomas Wolfe wasn’t necessarily correct…”

{The End}