Deputy Jeavons whups two bad boys
by John Lambert

Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 08 Sep 2007


My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might explode, I knew the youth was close. I could feel my chest labouring for my next breath. I listened, and I could hear the panting of an exhausted youngster. He was hiding very near by.
I pushed back the branches of a bougainvillea plant. The youngster had curled himself up in a tight little ball. I noted that he had a pretty round ass, then laughed mockingly and savagely.
'Up you get, you need your ass shined.' I announced in a voice dripping with coldness.
I had been in the Negro part of town to issue a subpoena, as the only black Policeman in the Parish it was a familiar job. My wandering took me down a back alley. I noticed two boys kneeling behind the rickety fence of a house where a 'traditional built' old lady was hanging out washing. I observed the grim trend of mischief in their sternly composed faces, but before I had time to call out, they fired their catapults. One shot, obviously a mud pellet, splattered an extravagant dirty stain across the pristine white sheet that the women had just placed on the washing line. The second shot, a stone, slammed into her rump as she bent to her washing basket to retrieve the next laundered item to hang up. As I raced past the end of her garden to apprehend the fleeing boys, I heard her shrieking like a chicken pursued by a fox and rubbing her wobbling behind. She was cussing the boys.
My captive stood up reluctantly. I gave him a 'no-nonsense' stare. He carried a sullen expression on his face. Fine, I thought, 'a tough guy', I had dealt with this type before.
'Where is your pal, and who is he?' I asked firmly. The boy avoided eye contact by staring stonily down the alleyway.
'I don't know,' his voice was dismissive, 'never met him before.' He added with shifty eyes. My tolerance waned; the boy was being dangerously obstinate for a boy I thought had every chance of presenting his bare ass to me for whupping in the very near future.
'You think you might get some idea who he was by the time we reach that lady's garden? Or do think you might need all the time it takes to ride in my car to the Police Station?'
A shadow-filled crease formed across his brow, his palms opened and closed at his side, his eyes went wide with fear, and his lips trembled.
'Maybe.' He shrugged, making a move back towards the 'scene of his crime'. A look of frightened despair had crept into his eyes.
'Son, you can start calling me 'Sir' if you decide you might want to sit down at anytime in the next week.' The steam went out of him; he was in a tight corner and he knew it.
'Yes, Sir.' He said meekly, the error of having defied me now showed in his features.
He was a boy of about fourteen, slender and rather tall. He wore denim jeans, a red checked shirt, and worn sneakers. All his clothes appeared faded, but they looked freshly laundered. The boy's catapult rested casually in his back pocket, but it did not spoil the shape of his rump. My prisoner's jeans swelled and stretched elegantly over a pair of fine, young masculine globes.
I watched as the disheartened young man shambled long on rubbery legs trying to look as if he was sauntering casually. A gang of loafers, ragged children, and hard working women had gathered at the garden of the old lady.
As soon as my prisoner came within sight of the onlookers, he received an outcry of scandalised upbraiding.
'Ashley Defoe, you little rascal.' bellowed the large lady. The women still rubbed her big behind gingerly and grimaced. A group of neighbours looked on the women sympathetically and consoled her.
'Where's that Jermaine Campbell? He as bad, worse, but you never caught him?'
'Ashley, would that be the boy you have never seen before?' I asked into my prisoner's ear gently, as I placed my heavy, square hand on his shoulder.
Ashley turned his head, his lips moved nervously. I smiled at him and he tried to smile back, but his heart was not in it.
'Mam, are you all right?' I asked noticing that she had taken down her mud-stained sheet.
'I got a sore ass.' She announced empathetically as she renewed her rubbing of the enormous rump beneath her bright flowery sundress. Several neighbours stopped looking consolingly at her and stared 'daggers drawn' at Ashley, who, I observed kept out of the range of any possible slap the women might consider administering to him.
'Well, I think we need at least one more sore ass around here.' Ashley took the opportunity to examine his sneakers. Ashley continued to receive hostile looks from the neighbours and the number of loiterers increased progressively.
'Mam, do you mind if we cut a switch from that apple tree.'
'No, Mr. Jeavons, I'll get the secateurs.' She soon returned with the perfect device for pruning trees. I handed the tool to Ashley, he stood for a while trying to swallow the lump in his throat.
'He gotta cut a switch' I heard an excited voice hissing amongst the crowd, a swift reaction of heightened attentive interest became apparent throughout the onlookers. Ashley's surprise was overdone; the world of corporal punishment would not have been an unheeded and unexplored region to the mischievous youth. Our community had no silly attitudes to corporal punishment. Bad boys, like Ashley, got their tails whipped, and whipped hard and often.
'Better cut a good one, if I ain't satisfied I'll cut two and wear them both out stripping skin off your bad behind.' Ashley was still so surprised he had yet to close his mouth.
Eventually, Ashley went to the tree. It was rich with branches and offshoots that would make an excellent switch for improving the youth's behaviour. The crowd continued to swell. I caught them stealing glances through the rickety fence, they studied both Ashley and I intently. Quiet murmured conversations brought late comers up-to-date with developments.
Ashley had selected two switches. Cutting the switch that is going to whip your bare ass when watched by a largely unsympathetic group of onlookers had to be the most humiliating procedure imaginable, but Ashley, zombie like, completed the process. Ashley dropped the pruning tool to the ground. He held one rod in each hand; he flicked each in turn to see which the best choice to offer me was. He wagged his head from side to side assessing the switches for pliability and effectiveness. Ashley chewed his lip like a pupil trying to solve an algebra problem. Finally, Ashley dropped the switch in his left hand, he looked up sharply, his eyes narrowed, and his lips became two thin, anxious horizontal lines. I felt my insides tighten.
'I think this one is best, Sir.' He said in a gloomy voice, giving it a final swish.
I accepted the switch, sliced it through the air, and said 'Thanks.' I did not pass an opinion, but the corners of my mouth re-arranged themselves in a smile.
'Trousers and shorts down and bend yourself over where I can get at your behind.'
I grinned into his face with a look in my eyes that made him swallow, not return my smile. Ashley's face looked hot and oily.
'Sir, bare ass?' he asked in a wobbly voice.
I then remembered the possible sensitivities of the onlookers. 'Ladies, this boy is going to get a bare ass whupping, if you mind the sight of this boy's naked behind, please leave.' They did not mind. The only movement I discerned was a broadening of smiles, and the nodding of heads in an 'about-time-too' manner.
Ashley gave every indication of minding dreadfully, he quaked.
'We could still go to the Station.' I whispered into the stubbornly immobile Ashley's ear. I knew that Ashley, like any local youth, would rather remove his own eyeballs with a rusty spoon, than visit the Police Station. Ashley, with an entire absence of enthusiasm began to unbutton his fly buttons.
He bent over; his two pretty, little orbs of coal black colored tight muscle offered themselves for a thorough thrashing. I felt my heart leap into my throat as I placed the switch over Ashley's bottom. I drew the stick back and thrashed it across his rump. Air rushed from Ashley's lungs in one long uncontrollable wheeze.
'Wow.' He sighed deeply.
A thick grey stripe simmered over Ashley's bottom. The boy had selected an excellent switch. I flogged it against his behind for a second time. Ashley made a sound like air slowly escaping from a balloon. The loafers, the crowd was now substantial, gawped in awed silence. Grey impact lines of brilliant intensity faded rapidly and I whacked Ashley's rump for a third time. He yelped a loud 'ouch', which provoked some tittering, but the boy did not move. I whacked his behind again, he 'yelped' once more.
'Two more, Ashley, you've behaved disgracefully.'
'I know, Sir.' He sniffed his remorseful reply and shuffled his feet.
'You better remember this.' I warned and then thrashed him again. He jumped up and squawked. Ashley's hands rushed to his rump and both palms grabbed a bundle of sore buttock. Mirthful chuckling from the crowd at the undignified spectacle added to his misery. He rubbed hard, but then realised that he was showing the spectators more than he wanted of his personal bits and pieces. He then bent again. I whacked him once more and he groaned the groan of a very well flogged youngster.
'Deputy Jeavons, would you like a coffee?'
'Yes, Mam, I sure would.' I replied.
Ashley stood up and replaced his shorts and trousers in a flash.
'Ashley I'm going to be here for ten minutes, you betta go find Jermaine.' His dark beetling eyebrows drew together in a frown. The relief at the completion of his hiding disappeared fast; he was shaking. I continued, 'If I need to find him, and I will, he'll be the sorriest boy in Christendom, and I'll think you haven't tried too hard, and then I'll find you again.' I allowed a pause while Ashley's eyes became very large, and then added, 'I'm not sure you've had enough whupping.'
'Yes, Sir.' Ashley called out over his shoulder. He made good speed out of the garden for a boy with a well-whipped rump.
Jermaine arrived before my coffee was cool enough to drink. A boy like Jermaine is neither easily overlooked nor quickly forgotten. He smiled all the time, was full of self- confidence, and never seemed to let misfortune get him down. He even smiled even when he announced.
'Mr. Jeavons, Sir, I come for my whuppin'' He grinned good-naturedly and shrugged off the lady's attempts to cuff him around the head. He had a combination of roguishness and grace that enchanted everyone, even the victim smiled as she landed the blow on his handsome head that made him 'ouch'.
Go cut yourself a switch, Jermaine.' I commanded.
'Yes, Sir' he stated ducking out the door, before adding, in a resentful voice when he reached the sanctuary of the garden, 'she ain't supposed to do that!'
I finished my coffee, and stepped outside. Ashley loitered about, no doubt keen that I 'sign-off' on his 'find Jermaine' mission. The smallest of grins tugged at the corners of Jermaine's mouth as he handed me his switch. It was another good selection. I felt my heart beating against my ribs as I slashed it through the air. Jermaine grimaced at the sibilant noise.
'Trousers and shorts down, and then bend over' I hissed, trying not to sound too excited.
'Yes, Sir, Mr. Jeavons.' He began to unbutton is fly.
He turned round and bent deeply. The crowd, obviously knowing that a second act to the drama would occur, was again present. Perhaps the audience was of even larger numbers than for Ashley. The public bad boy whupping drew many from the neighborhood, and some from outside it came to witness the hullabaloo.
I flicked Jermaine's shirt away from his ass. The sight dried out my stomach and caused my scalp to tighten against my skull. I could neither approve of anything boy so mischievous nor disapprove of anything as beautiful as his ass. I gave the firm, dark bottom a look loaded with admiration. I thrashed a first stroke across his glorious buttocks. He did not respond. I consider that I have a singular gift for beating youths. So, therefore was disappointed when my second stroke of stunning speed and vigour failed to generate any response. I simply tried harder and after my third stroke, Jermaine at last muttered an 'ouch'. It was very quiet, but it was a start. My fourth stroke intermingled with previous welts and the 'ouch' I earned was encouragingly louder.
After thoughtful consideration, Jermaine even added a 'Wow' and gulped wetly.
His bottom stayed still, humbly offered for more strokes as the wheals boiled across it. I struck again, using all the ferocity I could muster. Jermaine released an impassioned 'squeak' sound and did a little shuffle. I whacked his delinquent ass for the last time. He yelped, but stayed still, perhaps he thought he might get more, perhaps he knew he deserved more.
'Up you get.' I said wistfully and with some regret.
Jermaine rubbed his bottom, he grimaced, but even then, his face remained attractive.
'We'll be good from now on, Mr. Jeavons, no mistake, Sir.' Jermaine smiled broadly, the boy could have charmed a cobra into a knot.
'Anything bad happens in this neighborhood,' I announced threateningly, 'I'll be looking for your two bottoms. You understand.' The brightness in his face flickered away.
'I understand Mr. Jeavons, Sir.' He nodded his head sagely in confirmation.
I walked back to my car, content that I had contributed to the betterment of the district, but aware that I much, much more to do.