textfiles/sex/EROTICA/S/streaker.txt

The Streaker

Seventeen-year-old Jerry Steiner thought he ought to liven up the
Friday night pep rally at Bullis Vanderslice Dunston High. What
he did will live in the memory of everyone there, plus their
children and grandchildren and their progeny. It was even more
memorable for Jerry and his sometimes sweetheart Carolee Gordon.

Just as the bonfire reached its apex, the lone long-haired
splinter of a track star silhouetted himself at the corner of the
track to the right of the bleachers. He was stark naked and
running a very deliberate, triumphant 440. His slow white Bronco
flopped in front of him in the breeze.

The crowd went wild, and so did Principal Oscar Webster, who
before the moon rose telephoned Jerry's house and left a tape
recorded message that he was suspended for at least two week. By
Monday morning, Webster -- after getting quite a few phone calls
himself, not the least of which was from a newspaper reporter --
informed young Mr.Steiner that he was expelled and would have
spend the rest of his rapturous senior year at a school 20 miles
across the semi-rural county.

Normally a hotbed of social rest, the community stood up for
Jerry, phoning Mr. Webster incessantly and burning the grapevine
with the injustice of it all. Here was Jerry Steiner, a popular,
if not always sensible, student being yanked out of his milieu
just for a stupid stunt.

Among those coming to his defense was Dan Gordon, Carolee's
father, who in an impromptu sidewalk debate with the principal
made an impassioned plea for the youngster.

"For God's sakes, Oscar. This WAS a stupid thing to do. He told
you that. He's willing to take a two-week suspension, even though
it will go on his PERMANENT RECORD. This is not a capital
offense! Think about what you're doing. He lives alone with his
dad, who's been out looking for work, and he would either have to
live with an invalid aunt or be driven 40 miles a day to go to
school. Do you want him to drop out? This boy has a future."

"Maybe he doesn't have a future," answered the angry principal.
Spray paint and toilet paper were acceptable, although punishable,
pranks he was used to. "This behavior is outrageous. I know kids
do stupid things, but lets face it -- "Everybody knows you don't
take your clothes off in front of everybody. This is not a
situational ethics thing. This is not subject to differing
political or religious viewpoints. It was intolerable. And a
transfer is not a capital penalty either. We do it about 20 times
a year in this county, and he should have known better before he
stripped and made a fool out of himself."

After the tempers had died down, Oscar Webster approached Dan
Gordon and explained more calmly: "Now it's in the papers, and
even if I wanted to cut some slack, we have a school board I
report to and, even more important, the parents of four girls
have raised holy hell. So my hands are tied, and even so, I,
myself, am ready to make an example here. Our kids are out of
control, and if he stays, he'll be a hero."

Hard to argue, thought Dan Gordon. It was a stupid peccadillo.

As each day went by, the furor swelled. Students walked out of
class and picketed on behalf of Jerry. By Thursday, Mr. Webster
called a meeting with Mr. Gordon -- Jerry and Carolee as
witnesses -- in his office.

"I may have a way out of this," the principal began, addressing
Mr. Gordon. "You said it was not a capital crime. You're right.
It isn't. But it sure sounds like a corporal crime. We might work
ourselves out of this situation but I have to be satisfied."

He paused for reaction, but got none. Everyone was confused. Mr.
Webster continued. "I have to be satisfied, the girls' parents
have to be satisfied, and I can talk the school board into being
satisfied -- IF you, Jerry, accept what I propose."

Six pairs of eyes searched Mr. Webster's brow line for
explanation, and Jerry began smirking the smirk of the victor in
a tough negotiation. But not for long.

Mr. Webster pronounced his settlement, and sent young Mr. Steiner
shooting straight up in his chair. "You will accept corporal
punishment for your corporal crime. You will be given a whipping
right here and now, just like the kind we used to get in Kentucky
when I was a kid. And you will remember it until the yearbook
with that disgusting photo of you turns to dust."

"Gggggullllpppp" was all that emanated from Jerry's throat.
Carolee gasped. Mr. Gordon pondered. Jerry winced so hard his
eyeballs turned from brown to blue as Mr. Webster strode to the
far wall and unhooked from its perch his inch-thick Omicron Tau
Kappa fraternity paddle from the wall. Jerry's eyes opened up,
but not before Mr. Webster surreptitiously flipped a hidden
switch, opening up the school's PA system. Everybody who saw
Jerry last Friday night would now hear him. And he would not seem
so heroic.

"Mr. Steiner, you will bend over my desk with your trousers at
your ankles, including your underpants!"

"Whaddaya mean!" he protested. "She's here!" he pointed at
Carolee."

Replied a smug Mr. Webster: "You didn't mind running naked in
front of 1,200 of your fellow students, did you?" There was no
answer, because, of course, none was expected. 

"This is different," Jerry started whining."

"Not at all," the principal lied respectably. "You're lucky this
is happening in relative privacy. Carolee, turn your face to the
wall." The blonde, blue-eyed skinny stick of trouble did so.

Jerry, a smart enough kid to know he ought to comply, slowly
undid his jeans. "You're fancy Calvin Kleins, too," Mr. Webster
commanded. "DO IT NOW OR YOU WILL NEVER SET FOOT IN THIS SCHOOL
AGAIN!" Then he teased out loud: "Hmmmm, that sprint was about a
440. How many, how many?" Jerry nervously cleared his throat, not
knowing whether to beg or make out a verbal will. "No, young man,
not 440. I think 20 is more like it -- 20 strokes will be
sufficient."

Jerry was reluctantly bending across the principal's desk (and
noticing a drawer slightly ajar revealing a photo of the home ec
teacher in a maid's uniform). Mr. Webster approached from the
rear and took a step to his left.

wwwwwhhhhAAAPPPP. The first one burned and Jerry emitted a sound
like tape recorded flatulence being played backwards. There was a
decent pause before the second one landed -- ssssssWWWAAAATTTT!!!
Jerry's reaction sounded like Donald Duck on Prozac. He was
determined to take his punishment with dignity and silence.
SSSSZZZWHHOPPPPP!! The third one hurt even worse, and Jerry
whispered a yell, "oooooooooh."

That was the warmup as far as Oscar Webster was concerned. Now
the paddling resumed in a more rapid rhythm, and a lot harder.
TTTHWAACCKKK TTTTHWHHHAPPP TTTTHHHHWWWWIIIIPPPP PPPPOPPPPP.

By the seventh stroke, Jerry's Job-like suffering could no longer
be silent. The naked apple-shaped head of his young manhood, so
earlier aroused by the sight of Carolee, was now nothing if not
microsoft. He let out a piercing shriek that opened electric
gates throughout the mansion-lined neighborhood. After number
eight, he was blubbering and muttering gibberish. All studying and
classroom discussion had been at a dead halt for
five minutes now.

 "She made me, she made me!" he whimpered.

"What do you mean?" Messrs. Webster and Gordon asked in unison.
"Did not, did not," protested Carolee from the far wall.

"She said (WWWHHHAPPP) if I did it," Jerry cried, "OWWWWW!!! She
said if I did it she'd let met get to third base later on."
Jerry was turning coat! Mr. Gordon was turning white. Carolee was
turning crimson.

"Is that true, young lady," her father growled. She remained
tight lipped. "We can arrange a transfer for you, too, Miss
Gordon," the principal said, adding yet another stinging lick to
her boyfriend's already laser-hot beam. Carolee nodded just
slightly enough to reveal the truth to her father.

The paddle whipping continued until number 20, by which time
every other part of young Jerry was limp. The ceremony was over;
justice had been served. But not quite.

Mr. Webster had neglected on purpose to turn off the PA system,
and everyone from janitor to stultified art teacher was about to
listen to an extra dollop of walloping.

While Jerry slumped mournfully over the desk, Mr. Gordon had
moved toward the back wall, from which Carolee was heading toward
the door. As the two passed, Mr. Gordon, without warning, grabbed
her around the back with his left hand, pulled up her oversize
Pearl Jam tee-shirt and with his right hand jerked down her
leggings so hard that her panties tangled inside them and exposed
her pale never-before-spanked backside.

Little Miss Instigator screamed and spluttered as her father
started spanking her bottom with his hand. She slipped his grasp
and crumpled to the floor, giving her father just enough time to
unloosen his belt. He picked her up as she crawled toward the
massive desk, bent her over next to where Jerry was crying and
gave her an All-Met strapping.

"EEEEIIIII!! Daaaaaddddddy!!!! OWWWWWWW Noooooooo!
AAAAARGGGGGH!!! Waaaa WAAAAHHHAAAA," Carolee hollered. "I'm
sorrrrrrrrrry, daaaaaddddddy!!!! How can you DO this?
AAAAWAAAAHHAA," she sobbed and cried and spit and gurgled. She
got more than Jerry's 20. The boy was still numb from his own
ordeal so he couldn't remember that this was a chance to get a
view of his girlfriend's dark-haired pussy in light of day as she
tried to tango away from daddy's strap.

And it mattered not that he had been brave, for the most part, in
enduring his punishment. It mattered not that he had agreed to a
just and lasting solution. For the rest of his life he was to
emulate Moses, the god of his fathers, because never in his whole
lifespan would he get to visit her promised land.