From: gaetana@aol.com (Gaetana) Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking Subject: Wayne's World (7th grade story) Date: 4 Aug 1994 00:19:12 -0400 Message-ID: <31pq80$nlh@search01.news.aol.com> Yes, the same old southern town before it became Olde and fashionable: I never planned to kick Wayne Enoch in the behind, but I did and in spite of everything that happened, I'm still not sorry. Every school must have a bully; Wayne Enoch was ours. To begin with, he was big: bigger than the other 7th grade boys, since he'd flunked a couple of times, but even big for his age. He had cruel eyes that never smiled with his mouth, and a powerful frame to back up his bluster and threats at other boys, and knowing leers at the newly nubile girls (including me). Not that I minded attracting interested looks from the boys that were beginning to look at girls with new eyes that year, but Wayne...there was something n his looks that made me shudder. But his major interest wasn't in me - it was in my best friend Annabelle, two years older than I and a complete opposites: tall and willowy to my short and curvy, shy and sweet to my melodramatic and volatile, long blond straight hair to my dark and curly mop. But we were fast friends, sharing our secrets and fantasies all the way through grade school and high school. She'd caught Wayne's eye and, in his dim imagination, would be his girl or else. He frightened both of us, not to mention most of the school, since at that time there was no "middle school" in our town, and 7th graders were the top of the "food chain" in elementary school. Of course, his interest had to fit into his spare time, when he wasn't vandalizing public or private property, beating up boys foolhardy enough to stand up to his bullying, and shop-lifting petty items from the local stores. Somehow he always managed to pin the guilt on someone else and, mostly through intimidation, walk away unpunished, snickering when that someone came back to school burning from an unearned paddling and righteous indignation. But no one could confront him. He smoked in the boys' room and the playground. He hooked lunch money from younger kids. He lived a few blocks from me and Annabelle, with a hard-bitten father who worked in the nearby railroad yards, as did Annabelle's father, a haggard browbeaten mother and a few younger unkempt siblings. It was a blue-collar community, a mixture of railroad workers, small shopkeepers and a sprinkling of government workers like my dad. Wayne's tough family was not unique...but Wayne was. Wayne and his younger sibs got punished like the rest of us, corporally and royally. Garages and woodsheds (there really were still woodsheds behind those old houses) were put to nightly use somewhere in the neighborhood, but somehow Wayne seldom took his own punishment...he could usually browbeat a younger brother into taking his whipping with a threat of worse from him. I know because he got away with it at school too. Somehow I saw myself as martyred heroine (a favored role, right up there with consort to any famous outlaw) and was determined not to be intimidated by Wayne Enoch, even when he turned playground games like "Red Rover" into a dangerous contact sport. Secretly I was petrified, because Wayne was strong, dumb, mean and had a serious crush on my best friend. He'd pass notes, whisper in the hall, tell her what he was "going to do to her." Most of the guys our age were just beginning to pass around forbidden magazines and pretend to know a lot about sex - Wayne KNEW. We tried to ignore him. His other crimes and misdemeanors were common knowledge but no one was going to rat on Wayne. The local storekeepers didn't even want to confront him, truth be told. And none of us said a word to our parents. We were too scared of him for one thing; but it would also mean repeating his threats and admitting a knowledge of forbidden topics. I'd been paddled red-assed the summer before, after my Mom got angry phone calls from irate mothers whose innocent daughters had gotten their sex education from little me! Since puberty had arrived precociously early, I'd been given little pamphlets by the doctor, and thought the revelations so exciting I shared them with all the 6th grade girls. They listened disbelieving and...told their parents. The lecture about "talking dirty" to my little friends had been puncuated with blazing smacks on my bare bottom and I wasn't going to risk a repeat performance by repeating Wayne's sexual innuendos and threats to my friend. After all, we didn't KNOW about those things! But one day late in the spring semester, it finally happened. Annabelle and I were walking home from school. Wayne appeared from somewhere and began to follow us, making crude comments. We looked at each other and tried to ignore him. Wayne wasn't ignorable. We were on the busy main street in front of the school, but nobody was paying any attention. We passed the 5 & 10 where we all bought our school supplies and after-school junk food, and Annabelle and I ducked in for refuge. Didn't work - Wayne followed us in and, winking evilly, hooked some candy from the counter practically under the owner's nose. We fled and tried speeding up, Annabelle practically loping up the street, with me half jogging to keep up with her longer strides. Wayne easily passed me by and grabbed my friend's hair, then caught her by the arm. Annabelle started to cry and looked back at me. Wayne laughed and said, "Let's go over to the 'haunted house' " (a deserted neighborhood forbidden zone and another story) "We can do lots of stuff there. Get rid of your dumb friend!" That did it. "Dumb friend?! You let GO of her!" I yelled, rashly. "You better let go of her or...I'll.!" "You'll WHAT, stupid cunt!?" Wayne, at 13, knew all the 4-letter words; they were his core vocabulary. "I'll...I'll show you what!" I shrilled - and kicked him! Fearless with fury, I just hauled off and kicked him the butt as hard as I could. I was small but always running, climbing trees and in general being a tomboy; it was a hard kick. Wayne turned, face reddening with fury, on me. I knew I was in for it. The three of us were frozen in a tableau, as if time had stopped. My heart certainly had. Annabelle's hands were clasped over her mouth. Wayne was breathing hard, nearly pawing the ground. I was poised on tip-toe, ready for flight (fight was out of the question). And then time moved again, Wayne growled, sort of, and I spun and ran! I could run. That year, just before the inevitable broadening of hips and redistribution of body weight, I could outrun every kid in my grade. And terror was fueling my feet. I didn't know what direction I was running, just trying to stay ahead of the Terminator-like figure of doom behind me. Wayne was shouting, "I'm going to KILL you...when I catch you, I'm going to KILL you!!" And I believed him with all my heart! I suddenly realized I was nearly back to the school and, inspired by real fear for my life and outrage for my friend, I crashed through the door and down the hall to the principal's office. Where no kid in their right mind ever wanted to go and the one place I thought Wayne might not follow me. Mr. Denver, the assistant principal, was still in his office, but the office staff were gone and the office otherwise deserted. He stared up at me. I must have looked like a wild animal...but I wasn't concerned about appearances. I wailed, "Wayne Enoch scared my friend and I kicked him in the butt and he's going to kill me!!" Mr. Denver looked behind and around me...the alleged killer was nowhere in sight. "What's going on here, young lady?" he asked with some irony? "What are you talking about?" I looked behind me too...no Wayne, must have worked. But he'd be waiting, outside. Couldn't back out now. "Mr. Denver, he grabbed Annabelle! He said....dirty things. He always does. He steals things from the dime store. It was him wrote that stuff in the bathroom! He beats up the little kids! And he...he's GOING TO KILL ME!" I suddenly realized that Wayne now had more reason than ever to do just that. Mr. Denver looked at me a little more seriously and picked up the phone. "What's this about your friend Annabelle? Sit down and quiet down and tell me exactly what you're talking about. It sounds like I need to have a talk with Wayne's father." I began to breathe again; I sat down and began to tell Mr. Denver everything. It was nearly six when I got home. I assumed Annabelle had gotten home all right. I would sneak around to her house later and make sure. I was dirty, late for dinner, and disheveled. I began to have a feeling I was in trouble. An only child, there was no way I wouldn't be noticed when I came in. I really wanted to know about that phone call and more than anything I wondered if I could go back to school and stay alive the next day. I didn't dare tell what had happened. It even sounded incredible to me! My parents were waiting, not happy. I was to explain being two hours late from school. I was trying to decide what lie to tell: I had to stay after school (no good: why, what for, and immediate punishment for having incurred the penalty). I stopped to play (wrong: same outcome, swift and sure). The truth? Well, no other choices left - give it a try. "Daddy, Wayne Enoch was bothering my friend, and I...sort of...kicked him..and then he chased me, and then I ran back to school and told Mr. Denver...and..." I stopped because my dad's face was stormy and his belt was coming off! "DAD, No! It's true...he was going to...hurt Annabelle, you can ask HER, you can ask Mr. DENVER! DAD!" "You are two hours late and this is the most incredible tale you've ever dreamed up! And remember: this is what you get for lying!" "Dad...YOWW! Dad--dy!! No!! OWWW!" The phone rang just as the 5th smack landed on my leaping bottom. My mother took the phone and handed it to my father, who put down the stinging belt. It was Mr. Denver, and he talked to my dad a long time. I spent the conversation still dangling helplessly over my father's knee, afraid to remind him I was there. My bottom was burning and still felt extremely exposed and vulnerable. When they hung up, I was allowed up. "I guess your little story was true. Mr. Denver has Wayne and his father there in the office. Mr. Frank from the dime store is there too, for some reason. I'm sorry I paddled you, but you've been late too many times with these wild stories..." I couldn't say much to that...it was basically true and I guessed I had the spanking coming for earlier fibs. "Go wash your face and get back here for dinner. We'll talk about it later." Dinner was very quiet. I was trying to eat but my stomach was still in knots and my behind hurt enough to be distracting. I really wanted to know what was going to happen to Wayne. I figured he still wanted to kill me and now might have much better reasons. After dinner I breezily swept out the back door, innocently stating I wanted to see how Annabelle was. That part was true. I ran to her house and, saying Hi to her mother, whispered what had happened (conveniently leaving out my own spanking) and urged to come with me to Wayne's street. I wasn't sure what we were going to do there. We made excuses about going down for ice cream and fled, running the five blocks to Wayne's block and then stopping, sidling casually closer to the house. Windows were open and voices were raised. It wouldn't have been easy not to hear what was going on. Mr. Enoch's voice was roaring: "You get your ass out back, boy...I'm going to burn your butt off!" "Pa...PA! I ain't done nothing! They're lyin', Pa...Don't whip me, Pa! Please!" Wayne's voice was high and shaking. I never heard fear in the bully's voice before, but then I didn't think he'd had to face the world of retribution his father was threatening just now. All of a sudden, Wayne's bullying had caught up with him and he was about to be the taker instead of the giver. It wasn't pretty to hear, but we wanted to -- had to -- see as well. We crept around to the fence at the side of the house. "Ohh, Pa...I don' wanna whipping...Paa-a!" It was pathetic, really, now we could see in the window. Wayne, as big as he was, was being hauled out the back door to the garage, wailing like a chastened toddler. Quite understandable, since his father was carrying a razor strop and marching him along by the scruff of his T-shirt neck. Wayne was hustled unhappily through the garage doors, which his father didn't even bother to close. There was a brief interchange we couldn't hear, then: "GET THEM DOWN, I said!" Followed by a prolonged, curiously high-pitch whimper. Delicious. I was absently rubbing my own recently paddled behind which stung in pseudo-sympathy. Justice! There was a loud, snapping "CRACK" and Wayne roared. The unmistakable whack of a strap on bare buttocks. "Don't you DARE get up...bend OVER that bench!" "CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!" Owwww..PA! No...OWWW!" Wayne was getting blistered for the collective crimes of the last couple of years, all at once. For the bullied younger kids, and the playground intimidation and the dime-store shop-lifting...and most of all...for terrorizing my best friend. Revenge was sweet. The heavy strap continued to "CRACK" across Wayne's hapless ass; he was sobbing loudly and even I began to feel sorry for the big lunk. Mr. Enoch was punctuating the thwacks with warnings: "You EVER embarrass me again, I'll skin you alive, you hear? You EVER do anything to get me up to that school and I'll whip you wors'n this, right there in the principal's office, you HEAR? Maybe right in the cafeteria, in front of the whole dang SCHOOL!" "Ooohh PA!! Stop, PA!! No...never...I'll Be good!!!" We snuck off home before Wayne's punishment ended...before we missed our own curfew and put ourselves in danger of getting a dose ourselves. Wayne was out of school for days. He slunk back by the end of the week, chastened and walking very gingerly. I avoided him and he avoided us. The next year we all entered the world of high school and blessedly lost track of Wayne Enoch. I don't know what became of him but at least he left us alone. When I think back, I don't know why I was crazy enough to launch that kick but he never got away with bullying the whole school again. In a moment of misguided heroism, I'd sent Wayne's world of neighborhood terrorism tumbling like dominoes. I had my instant of martyred heroine and changed Wayne's world forever. Gaetana