End of original BOYABUSE Stories – charges also included an unfinished version of Stand By America.

Let This Be a Lesson

The sun is just setting over the fertile wheatlands to the west and twilight casts its glow over the typical small prairie town of Ashville as a lone boy makes his exit from the Memorial Centre Gymnasium, an Adidas bag over his shoulder. He runs past the old clock towered courthouse and up the gentle rise of the hill crowned by the gleaming white spire of the True Word Gospel Church. It is already eight thirty. Five minutes later, still jogging and out of breath he rounds a corner onto a street of immaculate lawns lined by tall elms arching overhead. At the end of the block he slows down, wipes the perspiration from his fine featured face and runs a comb through his unruly, longish blond hair. He crosses the neatly trimmed grass and bounds up the steps to the door of an elegant, older two storey house, and enters.

"Hi mom." the boy says brightly, "Sorry to be late, but the game didn't start until after seven and then it went into overtime."

The thin fortyish woman looks up and says coolly, "You father wants to see you Robbie."

"But mom, I'm only half an hour late."

I think your father has something else he wants to discuss, and I think you should see him right away."

Robbie obediently proceeds to the study where his father keeps the accounts for his insurance business. "Hi dad, you want to see me?"

"Shut the door son." The balding, greying man does not look up but reaches into the top desk drawer and pulls out a magazine, HOT ACTION.. "Your mother found this in your room."

Robbie fidgets and looks contritely at the floor. "I'm sorry dad. I know it's wrong, but it's only a magazine."

I know exactly what it is." dad says looking over his rimless spectacles, "It's FILTH, vile, unmitigated filth.... You remember what I said if I caught you so much as looking at a PLAYBOY magazine?"

"But dad, that was a year ago."

You're only fourteen, a most impressionable age. And not too old to learn from the strap."

"But dad?" Robbie pleads.

"Don't question my authority. Go to the basement. I won't be long."

The boy nervously obeys and nervously waits in the basement workshop, the scene of many whippings. His father follows after several minutes bringing the magazine and a long heavy leather strap. He silently removes his suit jacket, loosens his tie and roll his shirt sleeves up his thick hairy arms. Finally with a note of sarcasm he says, "If it's 'hot action' you want, you can start by taking off your pants.... and underwear."

"But dad...." Robbie's embarrassed.

"You seem to like looking at pictures of naked people, perhaps you should try it yourself.... Take off your shirt too. And don't expect to get off with six light taps."

Robbie fumbles with his runners, steps out of his jeans and removes his sweat moist T-shirt, holding it modestly in front of him. Goose pimples appear on his slender white thighs and arms.

"You won't be needing that." Dad snatches the T-shirt, tosses it on the floor and paces in front of Robbie. He stops in front of the boy, glowers down at him and shakes the magazine in his face. "First I want to know where you got this filth."

"A friend gave it to me." the boy meekly replies.

"A friend you say? Really? Some friend. Now tell me who.... Derek? Wally?.... one of the Haskin boys?.... WHO?"

"Just a friend."

"Come now boy, I don't want to have to beat it out of you, you're in bad enough trouble already. As it is you're grounded for two months - no sports, no friends, and no television. Now tell me who it was. The truth now, remember what I've always told you about telling the truth."

"I.... I can't tell you."

SMACK The man slaps his son across the face. "Now tell me."

"I'm sorry dad. I know I did wrong, but I can't tell you."

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK Robbie raises his arms to protect his face and backs away. The man grabs the youngster's hair and bends his head back painfully. "You're not getting away with that." he spits at the boy. "now stand against the wall. He Flings Robbie down on the hard concrete floor. The boy gets up awkwardly, gingerly touches his tender nose and does as he's told. The father takes his son's hands and ties them together with industrial strapping tape and then ties them over his head to a large nail in the wall. The boy stands there apprehensively, his pale slim body trembling and fear entrenched in his bright blue eyes. "I should make one thing absolutely clear, you ARE going to tell me where you got this filth if I have to beat the living daylights out of you. I'm going to make sure this rot is rooted out." Dad holds up the magazine. "I'm not going to have the young minds of this community corrupted with filth like," he opens the magazine and reads a caption, "'He rammed his thick throbbing cock into....' Well, I don't think I need to read this sick smut any further. What must your mother think finding you with filth like this that degrades and insults all womankind. How would you like it if Pastor McNeil found out? after you were such a good student in Sunday School. [In fact Robbie got the copy of HOT ACTION from the pastor's son Bill, which is why he can't tell.] "I think you're nothing but a little pervert wanting to read about 'hot throbbing cocks'. And I suppose you spend your spare time playing with this." He lightly slaps the lad's genitals with the strap. Robbie's penis involuntarily stiffens. Disgust crosses the father's face as he notices and his anger increases. "So hot throbbing cocks is what you like? Well I'll make it throb." He winds up and smacks the boy's penis, Robbie shrieks and twists, and on the much harder backhand the strap catches the tip with an audible snap, the boy yelps and struggles helplessly.

"Dad. Please...." Robbie begs.

"So you don't like hot throbbing cocks? Well...." Dad glances at the magazine again. "How about 'big bulbous boobs', you like that?" He flicks the strap back and gives the writhing boy four solid blows across the chest, leaving broad red welts and a cut through his left nipple. Robbie shrieks and contorts in agony. Dad stands back, his big hands on his broad hips, and leers at the boy who sobs uncontrollably. "I think it's time you told me who gave you this vile filth, you wilful child, and I want the truth."

"I.... I can't.... I.... I promised." Robbie sobs.

SMACK He slaps his son's face. "Don't give me that, you wilful child. I will not allow you to challenge my authority, and God's. Your will must be broken.... Now turn around, and remember you still have ten coming after you tell me."

"But dad?...." The strap lashes twice across the boy's belly before he turns to face the wall.

"Stick that ass out.... More."

Dad begins labouring his son's buttocks with long sweeping blows of the strap. Robbie grits his teeth and tries to block out the pain slamming into his ass. Perspiration forms on the older man's brow from his exertions and when younger slumps limp, he thinks he's faking it, but then he sees that his fine suit pants are speckled with blood.

Fortunately they are able to avoid taking the boy to emergency or bringing in a doctor. Mom was once a nurse. But dad feels inadequate in God's eyes because he failed to break his son's will, and also some genuine guilt when he has to concoct a lie to explain his son's absence from school. And Robbie also misses Pastor McNeil's sermon, "The Evils of Pornography."