2026: The Friday Night Lottery
In the not too distant future the hysteria about violence and abuse is even more extreme than now. All violence, but especially the corporal punishment of children, is ruthlessly suppressed. The cycle must be broken. Our young hero Timothy who is spanked once by his father is sent to the Rightway Recovery Ranch as treatment for his trauma. In the oppressively non violent environment of the Ranch boys develop their own secret rites with their Friday Night Lottery.
Americans indeed have much to celebrate as their nation approaches the quarter millennium since the Declaration of Independence in 1776. With prosperity, and America's global dominance again assured after a difficult period, the attention of the nation is turning inward towards helping their own less fortunate citizens, especially children. This new mood, this new determination blossoms with the election of Madeleine Makewright, as the first woman president. The new president is a kindly yet wise mother with three young children who campaigned boldly on a program to end all forms of child abuse. Her charisma and blemishless personal example united the nation giving her an unprecedented victory in the elections of 2024. The handsome First Man, Albert Makewright Smith was appointed to create a special agency to coordinate the new programs to protect children. The attack on the shame of child abuse was vigorously renewed. Violence against children was the cause of youth violence and violent crime. Legislatures took cognizance of this scientific fact. All depictions of violence were banned and sweeping laws, with severe penalties prohibiting all forms corporal punishment were quickly passed by both houses of Congress. Local anti "vioporn" ordinances proliferated and environmental laws were relaxed to permit public burnings of immense piles of so-called "action" videos. Even the fundamentalist Christians and Muslims went along after shocking cases of what had been termed "discipline" in their schools were exposed. Zero tolerance for physical abuse was proclaimed. Some states allowed the death penalty for particularly savage child beatings where bruises lasted for more than three days but observers generally agreed it was likely to be applied sparingly.
* * *
At their home in Albany in upstate New York Mona Preston and her twelve year old son Timothy are watching television. The father, Derrick is outside repairing the gutters. A special all networks television program announcing plans for the coming quarter millennium celebrations is just starting. With the dome of the Capitol in the background anchorperson Blan Dithers introduces the First Man. Timothy sort of likes the First Man, in fact he's remarkably popular with boys in America, an unprecedented phenomena that baffles the experts. When he was "Big Al" Smith of the Green Bay Packers he made the last legal tackle in the NFL before they were banned. The first part of his speech is pretty boring, talking about children this and children that, and a lot of that abuse stuff but Timothy knows they have to say this because they always do. Then the First Man pauses, looks straight at the viewers and says, "I am inviting American families to join me in Washington on the glorious Fourth of July as we celebrate a quarter millennium of nationhood, and perhaps more significantly the tenth anniversary of the MEDIA CONTROL ACT and the subsequent amendment to the First Amendment to protect children from harm. My wife and I want to see a MILLION FAMILY MARCH AGAINST VIOLENCE in support of ending for all time the physical and sexual abuse of children in America." A huge monument commemorating all America's victims of child abuse is to unveiled by the President in front of the Capitol as a permanent reminder to the nation. A woman comes on and gave the details on how to participate in the march.
"Timmy, I think we should go, don't you?" Mona is bubbling. "We've seen Boston and New York often enough, and we're not going to Florida again, that's for sure. I've always wanted to see the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument, and the Clinton Monument is even bigger." Timothy's keen on the idea. "I think I can convince your father." Timothy doubts if his dad is all that interested but he knows he'll go along. "It's quite something you know, when you think of all the violence there used to be. I would never have believed that ten years without a murder on TV was possible. And not even any fights." But then she sees Timothy with a smirk and she laughs. They did see one punch on TV, and it was the First Man's. This Frenchman tried to kiss his wife, the President of the United States of America, and "Big Al" let him have it. Timothy saw it live, it was the first time he'd ever seen anyone get hit on regular television. The network immediately apologized to its viewers for publishing violence.
In the days that followed the First Man made a tearful public apology on national television and did six weeks in an offenders re-orientation school. Some thought he got off very lightly but over all the effect was dramatic, even the feminists hailed him, and millions of men publicly vowed to never strike another human again. Therapists were swamped with people wanting to be treated. The stock of peoplecare corporations soared. The First Man became more popular than ever. Timothy was secretly very glad that he saw it. The First Man knocked that diplomat guy cold, one punch and he collapsed! But it was violence, it was a violent act. He just didn't know they kissed like that in France, just like sixty three percent of all Americans didn't know. Like the French are pretty sick, which is why French movies and TV have been banned as part of the cultural blockade. Timothy sometimes fantasizes he's punching some guy. He looks at boys around him, studies those about his size and wonders if he could take them on. Not his friends though, but actual fighting, Like what's that like, like really doing it?
However resentment festered, the enemies of the President, the soft on violence librocrats bribed a pretty, naive young salad chef on the White House kitchen staff to make outrageous libels about our illustrious First Family. The young Filipina, long after the food preparation area had been closed for the night somehow found herself trying to get back in claiming she'd forgotten something. Just outside the butchery she claimed to have clearly heard, she was absolutely sure as she knew the voices, the First Man beating the President, whipping her savagely. She said she could hear the blows land, "sort of a splatty sound", and she could hear the President convulse and squeal. She was so patently truthful and self assured that many were convinced of the fact. The Washington Post and The National Enquirer had identical headlines, and both featured sinister scenarios backed by prominent psychologists who speculated on lascivious details. An unprecedented scandal appeared imminent but then the President audaciously offered to examined by a physician appointed by the Senate Minority Leader. With their bluff called the slander collapsed, the CIA was purged and the President's approval ratings soared over eighty percent. The girl stubbornly claimed she never got a cent from anybody and had a nervous breakdown.
"You know Timmy, your father and I are very proud that we never once spanked you when you were a little boy. And you were certainly a difficult child at times. Once I believe your father was sorely tempted, remember when you peed in his briefcase and he almost got fired? But to his eternal credit he put the wooden spoon back in the drawer." Timothy is glad he was never spanked, the idea is yucky and it really must hurt, but he sometimes wonders what it would be like. All his parents ever did was shout at him a few times but he never reported it to his school counselor like he was supposed to. Anyway it was supposed to be repeated shouting and he didn't think once a year was enough. "The only time we had a problem," his mother continues, "was when you had that rash and told the nurse that your bummy was sore. She thought you'd been beaten, she even said your father was the type. If our doctor hadn't testified that you'd an allergic reaction they were going to get a court order so they could take down your shorts. D'you remember that?" Timothy nods but he's really thinking about what it would be like to hit another person, to smash his fist into somebody's face like the First Man did. Sometimes he fantasizes beating up someone, pounding him down to the ground and kicking him until he passes out. Like it would be really cool to be violent . But then he remembers he's still small. He fantasizes fights like he's only seen in underground videos made up of clips from pre 2016 movies that some of his friends have. Like in this clip from 'Caligula' they cut a guy's cock off, they could have shown it a lot better. And there's this really ancient one, just black and white, where this cubey chickbroad gets it in the shower and you see all this blood. And there's lots of neat stuff like in that 'Best of Shakespeare' video where three guys stab this Caesar CEO type. Lots of blood and there he is bleeding and babbling. And they have some great torture scenes in that underground 'Golden Age of Violence' series of Twentieth Century classics. Timothy once saw a complete John Wayne movie. Compared to sex videos they're hard to get and guys can get ten years in federal rehab if caught with them. Mona interprets her son's distant gaze for profound agreement. "Your mommy and daddy both love you very much and would never want you to get hurt."
Timothy smiles sweetly up at his mother from his slouch on the sofa, "I love you too Mom." Mona bends over and kisses his forehead. She notices his cutoffs are scrunched up his leg. "You're showing quite a bit of thigh." she teases and Timothy laughs but tugs the fabric down. "You are getting modest. Why in your own home you can even go around stark naked." "I know Mom, but they're so strict at school about the navel to the knees rule, they even stop tennis games if your shirt gets untucked and they can see your button."
The navel to knees rule was mandated back in 2007 when it was discovered that pedophiles quite legally were collecting and exchanging pictures of boys in speedos and briefs. Within months Congress redefined child pornography to include such images, and most states quickly followed suit. The new law specified that any image exposing a child's body between the navel and the knees, and for girls over three years from lower than two inches above their nipples, was obscene for the purposes of child pornography. Images exposing a child's buttocks, which might incite fantasies of violence or spanking, could net the possessor a minimum of twenty years. A last minute amendment exempted images already in the public domain with strict controls regarding display and copying. In galleries and museums such images and even nudes by great masters could only be displayed in the adult sections. While images in personal and family collections could be kept the owners had to register each picture and agree to never reproduce it.
It was heralded as a significant advance in the protection of children. Estimates of the number of lives saved soared into the tens of thousands. However it took two years before children themselves, 'living kiddieporn' as feminists lamented, were required to cover up. These new regulations did not apply to adults over eighteen although most also complied to set a good example. In fact few local ordinances specified less for those over eighteen.
Then an obscene craze broke out, younger children and the shy began fingering each other's navels as an expression of intimacy less threatening than kissing. An animated TV character from the early Two Thousands TV was blamed, The practice has proven very difficult to eliminate despite costly therapies and awareness programs. Amongst adolescents "showing thigh" became an obscene gesture used to express contempt. Even visiting heads of state have been "thighed". The contagion periodically swamps the resources of the police and correctional services. Federal funding for decency instruction is the latest weapon in the war.
Originally the navel to knees law exempted babies under six months for educational purposes. It was based on the based on the idea that children should have some idea what the other sex looks like down there. But because of this "legal kiddieporn" it was postulated that pedophiles would become fixated on the very young endangering the most vulnerable children of all. The loophole was quickly plugged. There was even a movement to raise the age of puberty financed by a pharmaceuticals company but it was abandoned as impractical despite the obvious protection it would afford children. Even the President never supported the idea.
* * *
The Prestons leave in their old Plymouth-Isuzu before noon on July 3rd but due to the clogged freeways and turnpikes they are still in Pennsylvania at 10:PM. Mona and Timothy manage to get some sleep during the stop and go traffic but Derrick has to stay awake. He's a practical man and is not sure if this is the best time to go to Washington. He was a neo-gandhiist in Twenty Teens and took part in the successful student boycotts against Singapore and Malaysia which forced them to ban judicial caning. But he doesn't think this march is really worth all the trouble. He is exhausted by the time they arrive at one of the designated assembly areas at 6:AM.
They are supposed to start at ten but it's almost noon before the March begins to move, and then only intermittently. Mona remains cheerfully expectant throughout but Derrick's tired and irritable from the long drive and Timothy feels betrayed by his patriotism. He begins to think the whole thing is stupid. We came all this way just to wait in a crowd on a sweltering day? Million Family March Against Violence? someone should beat on whoever thought that up. There's lots of things he'd like to see or do in Washington but not this. He can't remember being so bored, frustrated, bored and very bored.
Timothy begins to look around for something interesting. There's lots of kids his own age but every time he wanders off to hang out with them his dad comes after him. He is told his mother worries. He tries hard to be patient but after half an hour when they've barely moved he notices a lot of kids heading over to a small plaza beside the broad avenue. There must hundreds of them! Fuck it, the sun is too much. He goes to see what's going on. When he realizes how many boys there are and feels their excitement he knows what it is, it's a mash mosh! 'Wowee!' In the center of the swarm boys have vicious often bloody fights. Some get broken ribs or their teeth kicked out. Timothy would like to see that. A few have died. The media condemns them as 'rage raves', virulent outbreaks of adolescent male violence possibly caused by unknown industrial pollutants, genetically engineered foods or sinister pro-violence underground zines. He's seen a few zines with pictures guys getting beat up. Some blame El Nino. Major global corporations have donated ten billion dollars for research on how to prevent mash moshes. The search for a specific male violence gene continues.
Timothy has dreamt of being in a mash mosh ever since he first heard about them in his anti-violence classes in school. They didn't say exactly what they were but he soon figured things out. He knew you needed hundreds of kids, and they're never planned, they just happen. The police have theories and speak of critical masses. Mash moshes are of course illegal with penalties far heavier than for theft or drugs. Timothy's also heard second hand stories from postpunkers and neoneo skins, and seen a few things on the Undernet. He is thrilled and eagerly works his way deeper into the swarming flow. It is a manic, almost joyful throng. One end of the plaza has been taken over by the milling boys. Inside the swarm he feels an intense electric tension. He's going to see real violence with people getting hurt, it's like he's horny for violence. Strutting boys are looking for some action, others wait for a challenge, while most just watch hoping something will happen. If you stare at another boy you are challenging him and if he gazes back, looks you in the eye, you can attack him. It's up to you. If you don't, he can. Timothy starts glancing at the other boys guessing whom he'd fight. Then he sees two boys a couple of years older than himself glaring at each other. A few seconds of verbal exchange are followed by a flurry of punches, knees and elbows, screams and shouts. Timothy's electrified. Pushing, shoving boys quickly crowd around to see the sport. In the congested situation one boy quickly loses advantage and is pummeled to the ground and kicked repeatedly. Then within seconds things are back to normal and the police find nothing. The crowd of boys swirls on and forms a new vortex beside a church. One after another Timothy sees three boys, one no more than ten get punched, beaten and stomped on as the ever dispersing and reforming mass forms brief arenas for free violence. One boy is kicked repeatedly until he coughs up blood. Another gets stomped on his balls as he shrieks. Timothy is thrilled and can't wait to tell his friends back in Albany. He feels super alert, primed and ready. He would love to fight, to smash his fist into a face, to kick someone in the gut and stomp their head or whatever, but he doesn't want to lose.
Then this Latino kid comes along, nudges him and blocks his way. Around them boys hush and intently watch. Timothy studies the other boy out of the corner of his eye. The kid's no bigger than himself. The Latino demands, "What are you staring at lummox? You staring at me?" Adrenaline floods his system and he stares back at the kid. "What's the matter lummox, you chicken to fight?" Timothy notices the sweat along the kid's fuzz topped lips and his blazing brown eyes. The boys surrounding them start egging them on with calls of, "Fight, fight, fight." Timothy has never fought before despite all his dreams and fantasies. He taunts back, "Fuck you asshole." The kid spits at him. Timothy takes a calculated swing at him. His heart and honor and untested skills are behind the punch, and actually it's quite good for his first ever punch, but it doesn't have much impact beyond enraging the other. The kid begins pounding Timothy's gut and ribs, two...three...four good jarring blows. Desperate, calling on all his strength Timothy rams his knee into the kid's groin. The Latino collapses clutching his balls while Timothy, surprised at what he's done, proudly indulges his triumph. He experiences beautiful rushes of power as he kicks the boy writhing on the ground again and again.
At that moment his father Derrick pushes his way through the cordon of boys, grabs Timothy and screams, "How could you do that?" Timothy breaks away and when his father grabs him again he taunts him sarcastically and knees him in the nuts too. Derrick's usually formidable patience fails him, he unwisely grabs his son with one hand and gives him two hard smacks across the ass with the other. Timothy is astonished. Nothing like this has ever happened to him before.
Immediately three women and two men tackle poor Derrick pinning him to the ground until the police arrive. Two burly social workers promptly appear and take Timothy to the local Child Protection and Abuse Prevention Center and lock him in a single occupancy juvenile protection unit.
Over the next few days at the CPAP center Timothy is questioned by police, prosecutors, psychologists, various social and mental health workers and insurance specialists. He just wants to go home. Timothy is diagnosed as in denial. It takes two weeks of intensive counseling, no video games or his favourite TV, and no contact with other boys before he is finally able to build up the 'courage' to admit to years of brutal physical, sexual and emotional abuse at the hands of his parents. He starts needing pills to sleep. He is told that if he gives the right answers in his closed circuit testimony he won't have to go through any more questioning and he'll be allowed to mix with the other kids. It will be better for all concerned if he does. Weeks later his mother, who has not been very cooperative and was ordered to take counseling, is allowed to see Timothy once briefly before he begins long term treatment. He also finds out that his father will be in jail for many years. Timothy is shocked and becomes very depressed doing poorly on his next psychological evaluation tests. Sometimes he wishes he were dead.
The chief psychiatrist at the CPAP center, Dr. Hilary Endabuz is hopeful that with proper therapy Timothy will recover within two years although she notes that his most recent tests indicate the boy is more seriously traumatized than they had realized at first. "Our aim is to give you the chance to lead a normal, violence free childhood so that healing can take place and you can become a productive, nonviolent citizen." Timothy tries to listen. "And we have some good news Mr. Preston, you'll be glad to hear that we have been able to find a suitable placement for you at the pioneering Rightway Recovery Ranch run by KIDCARE CORPORATION. You've probably seen their ads on TV, it's the leading firm in America's fast growing peoplecare industry." Timothy has seen their yucky ads where children dance in a circle singing, Aren't you glad that KIDCARE cares. "They just won the President's Award of Excellence for the second year in a row." He is informed that the ranch located in northern Idaho has a wide range of recreational facilities and a full academic program. Timothy is glad he's getting away from the center and will be able to resume his schooling. He also misses his family but for his own sake he is told he must avoid further contact with his parents. At the end of the interview Dr. Endabuz takes Timothy aside, even putting a hand on the boy's shoulder, "You will never have to live in fear of physical punishment or emotional or sexual abuse again. You will be free! Won't that be nice Timothy? The ranch complies with all federal zero tolerance guidelines and has an excellent record in dealing with victims like yourself. At the most you might suffer some restrictions of minor privileges but only as part of an overall therapeutic program." Timothy wants to go.
Leaving the airport in Lewiston, Idaho the Rightway Ranch shuttle bus heads east ending up on a long, narrow, private gravel road leading to the gates of The Rightway Recovery Ranch at the entrance to a pretty side valley in the Bitteroot Mountains. Irrigated bottom lands on both sides of a creek give way to ponderosa pine and sagebrush on the lower slopes. A cluster of rustic, Seventies Revival style buildings blend harmoniously into their natural surroundings. The driver points out the Multipurpose Recreation Facility that the boys call the 'Hall' off to one side by the creek, the large Instruction Center with classrooms and labs, the Counseling and Therapy Lodge and the Executive House where they park. A dozen cottages each housing eight to ten boys are picturesquely sited behind the main structures. Timothy thinks it looks rather nice and feels hopeful inside.
He is taken to the homelike office of the Ranch's Chief Executive Officer and introduced to a small, cheerful balding man, Dr. Wilfred K. Cheung. He gets up from his knotty pine desk and shakes Timothy's hand. "On behalf of KIDCARE CORPORATION and Rightway Recovery Ranch Ltd. I want to say we're happy to have you here Mr. Preston. Please take a seat. Now I may be the CEO but you can call me Wilfred, it's like we're all boys here. You won't find us using terms like 'principal' or 'pupil' here. They're reminders of an unhappy past when children were savagely beaten.' He stops and smiles understandingly. "Just last week I was telling the Board of Business Administration in Boise that we here in KIDSAVE pride ourselves on being a pioneer in adolescent treatment. We could see the need, the market was there. In fact we had this facility operating over a year before President Makewright was elected. You may be interested to know that our stock has quadrupled since then." Timothy tries to look interested. "As part of our program to help young people such as yourself we provide each client with five interest bearing junior shares so they can participate in our corporate success." He hands Timothy a long envelope. "You're not just a client, but a shareholder."
"We also pride ourselves on running a zero tolerance institution. We proudly comply with all federal guidelines. Zero tolerance for emotional abuse, zero tolerance for sexual abuse, and especially zero tolerance for physical abuse. We know the trauma you boys have been through. I'm sure you have some sordid tales you could tell about the abuse you have suffered. But we must rise above our pasts, and we're here to help you by providing a totally non violent environment. Once you learn the rules I'm sure you'll have few problems. Very few boys do." The CEO pauses to allow his words to sink in.
"And another thing Timothy, every morning before breakfast we do fifteen minutes of tai chi exercises on the Executive House lawn. It helps you face the day without stress and with peace in your mind. After all, you can't just eliminate violence from young peoples' lives without replacing it with a nonviolent alternative. I think of it as communing with oneself. It's strictly voluntary of course but few refuse."
"I have someone I'd like you to meet, a boy who was one of our charter clients, an outstanding lad whose exemplary behaviour and natural leadership capabilities have been vital to the success of the ranch. I didn't want to lose him when he graduated so I created the position of Exemplar and hired him." The CEO leans forward and lowers his voice. "We know it helps you younger boys to have the guidance of a mature role model near their own age. The Chairperson of the Board of KIDSAVE CORPORATION is keenly interested in my innovation." He buzzes his receptionist and a tall, poised, black youth enters. "This is Paul. And Paul, this is our newest client, Timothy Clinton Preston." The boys shake hands. "I was telling Mr. Preston about how in the difficult early days here at the ranch you inspired the other boys and helped get an awkward situation under control. On one occasion I believe you produced an anti violence skit which apparently had more impact on the boys than some of our courses, isn't that right?" Paul nods. "That's the kind of thing I mean." Wilfred begins a long monologue on his philosophy of nonviolent pedagogy adapted from his upcoming speech for the World Conference on Corporate Peoplecare.
As soon as Paul can politely arrange to leave, some twenty minutes later, he turns to Timothy and casually asks, "Well, what did you think of that?" Timothy doesn't know what to say, he thinks it might be a trick question. He mumbles uncertain platitudes. "Just curious. You didn't seem very interested."
"I try, I was only ever in one fight, but it's hard to always think nonviolently like he says." Paul laughs affirmatively and asks, "D'you think fights wrong?" "Of course, it's violent, I'm not some neoneo if that's what you think." Paul looks at him questioningly. "And besides, the other kid sort of started it and I got him good, and then..." Paul shrugs and they head over to the Instructional Center to pick up Timothy's supplies.
He gets three sets of RRR T-shirts and voluminous knee length gym shorts, a satchel of school books and a carry bag of personal supplies including a large envelope with a warning, ONLY TO BE OPENED IN THE PRIVACY OF YOUR ROOM. "That's for when you've got nothing better to do." Paul smirks. After decafs and bagels from a STARBUCKS machine Paul takes him to meet Benny, a bushy haired boy his own age who's to take him to his cottage and explain the Rules of the Ranch. Timothy thinks Benny looks a bit funny with his thick glasses and the scrunched up expression on his face but he's glad to be with other kids again. As soon as they leave Benny tells him that there's lots of rules to learn. "When they say zero tolerance they mean it, especially when it's violence or sex. Fighting's a no no. If they find anyone with a black eye or bruises, or even scraped knuckles, there's a big investigation. The one they figure's the offender gets six weeks anger management therapy and the victim gets the same in assertiveness training. I don't know which is worse. Sometimes kids are in both at the same time. Also they have random bruise inspections and you have to take off your shirt. The only place that's safe to have any marks is what is covered up by your regulation navel to knees gym shorts, or what we call the no no zone. They're not allowed to check there. If you really get frustrated there's a punching bag in the Hall you can use but you have to pull the curtain so no one else can see you. And if you get in any serious trouble go see Paul."
"You gotta be careful about sex too, it's OK to jack off but that's it. There's a picture of a naked lady in that envelope they gave you. This year it's a Latino girl. Everybody gets the same picture so there's no trading. You're supposed to use it when you masturbate and don't let them catch you with anything else, or anybody. If you touch anybody in the no no zone, that's sexual assault. Last year they caught me and another boy fooling around down by the creek. Since he was more than one year older he was the abuser and got sent over the mountain to Truepath Trails, Kidsave's ranch for offenders in the next valley. And I got sentenced to six weeks counseling with old Ms. Dugudski, and I had to keep a record of all the things I thought about while I was masturbating. At least a hundred words each time. It sure slowed me down. They watch you all the time, they got surveillance cameras and mikes in all the classrooms and instructors' offices so they can't molest you and in the common areas of the cottages so we don't abuse each other. But you got privacy in your room, that's in the Ranch's BOYS' BILL OF RIGHTS, but you can't shut your door if you got visitors inside, and that's only in the daytime. Like around here your cock is private but your head ain't. You gotta be real careful to have any fun."
"The only time we have any real freedom is Friday nights. That's because the admin staff all leave early to spend the weekends with their families, and the relief staff doesn't arrive here until about midnight when the shuttle bus comes back. In the meantime the caretaker is supposed to keep a close eye on us but we always give him and his old lady a big bottle of Jack Daniels and he leaves us alone. He tells admin that they show us reruns of old sitcoms. I'll tell you more later."
At the cottage Benny shows Timothy his room which has its own toilet and shower ensuite. "That's so guys don't fool around. You're not allowed to use anyone else's john or let anyone see you with less than your shorts on. And remember your no no zone, anything less is considered indecent exposure. And buttoning and showing thigh really freak them out. We figure they must have sensors that can tell when there's two in your room and if doors are open because if you do close it with someone else inside, even for a minute, they question you next day if they don't send a counselor to investigate. The cottage rules are posted by your door. And there's the list of prohibited items like cigarettes, drugs, alcohol, weapons, vioporn, sex porn and a lot of other things."
Benny whispers another warning about the cameras and microphones before introducing Timothy to the other boys in the cottage. They all seem very reserved and ask him polite questions about where he's from and things like that. They're not as friendly as he hoped and he soon finds things rather boring. The TV with a new Ultra "V" Chip 500 regulator isn't much better. Timothy is tired from traveling and is glad when the boys go to their separate rooms quite early.
Alone in his room Timothy opens the ONLY TO BE OPENED IN THE PRIVACY OF YOUR ROOM envelope. The golden, dark haired young woman in the photo is quite pretty he thinks. She has just a hint of a smile, rather nice boobs and her legs modestly crossed. When he turns the picture over he discovers:
INSTRUCTIONS - READ CAREFULLY BEFORE USING.
Note: In moderation masturbation is not harmful to your
health. However, if you feel your frequency is becoming
excessive, more than twice a week, consult your counselor.
- Make sure you are alone in your room and that your door is locked and the blinds closed;
- Assemble all materials that you may need. Petroleum based products are not advised;
- Remove photo from envelope and place it where it can be conveniently observed. Please, no thumbtacks in walls or furniture;
- Make yourself comfortable, you may put on some authorized music if you wish;
- Look at the photo - it is permissible to stare - and imagine she is your long term partner;
- Commence masturbation;
- Wash your hands and private parts;
- Return photo to envelope and place out of view.
With normal usage this photo should last a full school year.
Timothy decides to try it out. He's masturbated quite a few times before but never while looking at a photo of a naked woman. He checks his door, leans the photo against the headboard, pulls down his shorts and stares at the picture of the young Latino. He decides to call her Maria. He spits in his hand and rubs his cock but not much happens. He concentrates on the picture and notices Maria has a mole on her left shoulder and maybe one on the knee you can see. He drifts off, the next thing he remembers is waking up in the middle of night and putting things away.
Timothy wakes early next morning, dresses and has a snack from the fridge before the CEO's cheerful voice announces Communion. All the boys assemble informally on the Executive House lawn. Wilfred K. Cheung leads them in tai chi and whispers into his mike, "Experience your body.... learn it's harmonies.... and how to restore them.... Let peace and nonviolence enter." Timothy studying the others awkwardly tries to make the unfamiliar movements. Then he spreads his legs too wide and his shorts ride up. A boy beside him glares, "You don't show thigh around here." Others back him up with their glances. What a fucking bunch of wimps, Even girls do it back in Albany. He thinks about really showing them thigh, right up to his balls, But what's the point, they're all a bunch of nerds. "Feel your self functioning.... exalt in motion.... face the day"
After breakfast Timothy goes with Benny to the Cow Shed which is what the boys call the Counseling And Therapy Lodge, "C A T L, catt-le, you get it?" Benny explains. "And she's a cow." referring to Ms. Dugudski who makes the abuse examinations. The big fortyish women welcomes him effusively into her office sitting him in front of the hidden camera which Benny told him was in the light behind her desk. "Mr. Preston, Timothy Clinton Preston, I hope you're enjoying yourself here at Rightway." She explains the client counseling services available. "It may take you a while to adjust to our nonviolent environment but once you get used to it I'm sure you'll love it. We do however have to know where we're starting from. We need to make an examination, sort of an inventory. Now don't be embarrassed, but I would like you to remove your outer clothing." Timothy strips to his regulation long shorts. She stands beside him bent over and examines his skin closely, stopping frequently to make notes in a long questionnaire with all sorts of diagrams. She spends several minutes minutely inspecting his arms, chest, back, shoulders and neck sometimes lightly checking the elasticity of his skin with her fingertips. It's like Timothy can feel her gaze and he has to fight an unwanted hardon. Then she has him stand on a table to better look at his legs. She questions him about any perceptible marks she finds and except for a falling off his bike scar on his right shin he admits to evidence of abuse. Benny warned him about being diagnosed as in denial, something he already knew. "You're a survivor I can see. We're a tough breed." She then gives him a form which asks him to describe accurately the condition of his skin in his self reporting areas with particular reference to any scars or indications of physical abuse. He declines the offer of a cubicle with mirrors and writes, Numerous thin scars on buttocks and thighs as Benny had advised him. She looks at him sadly, places a hand on his shoulder and remarks sympathetically, "I could have guessed as much from reading your file. It seems to be the case with most of our boys." Timothy puts his shirt and jacket back on. "I trust you opened your envelope, Mr. Preston?" His bashful smile reassures her. "The envelopes were my idea, I had a hard time getting it through the board but I know you boys appreciate them." Timothy volunteers that he really likes the picture. "I'm so glad, I chose it... And if you like, you may call me Eleanor, Timothy."
The day is busy as Timothy attends his first classes, starting his school work and meeting instructors, counselors and other boys. Some classes have both an instructor and a counselor who mostly observes. He's happy to be back in school but he's surprised by how polite and nice everyone is, especially the other boys. It doesn't seem natural to him for boys to be so quiet. Only between classes do the boys become a bit relaxed and animated. A few times he hears them talking in hushed voices about The Lottery. It's not clear what it is and when he asks he's told he'll find out later. Even Benny won't explain. His curiosity grows. It's only after the admin staff have left for the weekend that Benny lets him know what the Friday Night Lottery is all about. Timothy thinks Benny is putting him on. "You're kidding, kids wouldn't do that, not drawing lots to be victims and abusers and beating each other. You must think I'm stupid or something."
"But it's true, and it's fun, it really is."
"Even when you get belted? Come on."
"Well you do take your chances, it's like gambling. You got about one chance in twenty five or thirty of being a victim, and even if you are it don't hurt bad for all that long. But it really hurts. And then you got an even better chance of being an abuser, and get to smack some guy. I've done it a couple of times, it's sorta neat."
"But what if it's a friend?"
"That can make it more fun." Timothy can't see how there could be any fun in guys whipping each other. Like his only spanking ever sure caused a lot of trouble. It sounds real stupid and he says so. "Just wait, you'll see. They'll let you just watch the first time without putting your ass on the line." Timothy's becoming more interested. "Like the Lottery makes up for the rest of the week. D'you think we'd put up with all this nonviolence bullshit, you've seen how well behaved everybody is, if we couldn't have some fun sometime. You don't know what it's like in here yet. We're not allowed action movies, not that they show much any more, not even some cartoons. Like they let us play tennis and volleyball but hockey and soccer are too violent. Like sometimes you just want to hit somebody, anybody, or just see some action. Like you can't fight, that's really rule number one. If somebody gets bruises where they show, like the face or chest all hell breaks loose. That's supposedly why the old cow inspected you, so they can tell if you get any new scars. But they never inspect beneath your shorts, that would be sexual abuse." He laughs, "The Lottery's all we got."
Back at the cottage there is a feeling of anticipation and excitement. The boys eat quick snacks instead of a regular dinner. Conversation is minimal as the boys don't feel free to talk about what they most want to because of the surveillance mikes. All the boys in the cottage unobtrusively leave for the Lottery except for Geo, a shy, pale, skinny boy of fourteen who is by far the smallest in the cottage. Benny explains that he was humongously beaten as a little kid and is totally freaked out by spankings. "He's got all these scars on his shoulders and back, and you should see his no no zone."
When they arrive the Hall, as the barn-like Multi Purpose Recreation Facility is called, it is busy with maybe eighty boys milling around impatiently. All are barefoot wearing only their long, dark blue regulation shorts and loose white shirts. The boys are almost manic in their excitement and anticipation. Timothy feels a rush as he gets caught up in the tension and energy of his fellows. It's like he felt when he was in the mash mosh swarm. Cheers erupt and turning around he sees Paul enter wearing a black tuxedo with a purple cummerbund and a pink carnation in his lapel. He waves and gestures to the enthusiastic crowd. As the master of ceremonies he runs the draws that select the victims and their abusers for the evening's entertainment. Paul raises his arms and the boys fall silent. "OK, we've got to find ourselves three victims, three lovely tender victims to satisfy our lust for mayhem, cruelty and hopefully a little blood." He surveys the excited faces, boys clown and point at each other, a few even pretend to volunteer. "OK, who's it gonna be, who're going to be the lucky ones? ...The Chosen Few?" He shuffles two decks of cards together. "Step right up folks, take a card, hopefully there's a spade waiting for you." Those who get spades, normally about a quarter, remain in the selection. Taking his time he deals one card face down to each boy there except Timothy. Anxiety builds up as the boys impatiently fidget. Then at a signal the boys turn them over, many giving a sigh of relief while a few become apprehensive.
Timothy sees that Benny drew a spade but his friend doesn't seem terribly concerned. "It's still only about one in six that I get thrashed but it's sure nerve wracking. Besides, if you figure the probabilities over a year, you're gonna get it a couple of times. But it's still worth it because you get to watch all the others. That's what makes it neat." Timothy is impressed by Benny's bravado and he picks up on the growing excitement as Paul starts the second deal.
Paul jokes, "It's a crying shame all of you can't get your asses whupped but rules is rules."
This time five boys draw spades including Benny who's getting anxious but keeps up his bravado. "Getting strapped's not all that bad because you have a pal to hang on to, but I wouldn't want to 'stand for the whip', that'd be real scary." A nearby boy explains that standing for the whip is where the abuser can whip you anywhere in the no no zone, back and front. There is much banter and teasing as Paul gets ready for the final selection. "Gonna get your ass decorated Benny?" a boy teases. "Couldn't happen to a nicer set of buns." another boy adds.
This time all depends on who draws the three highest cards. Paul fans a deck and each of the five finalists choose a card. The first, a tough looking wiry boy who might be only ten draws the seven of diamonds, a middling card. He looks around at his friends and crosses his fingers. The next is a husky, golden limbed lad about fourteen, maybe Filipino, who draws the ten of diamonds. He makes a forced grin and shrugs, he will probably be getting thrashed Benny figures. He is followed by a big, heavy, scared looking boy about twelve who draws the four of clubs. His eyes light up, he gives a big sigh of relief and smiles broadly. Next a striking, tall, aristocratic looking, red haired boy draws the jack of spades. He doesn't seem bothered and smiles at his friends. It's Benny's turn, he has to get under the seven of diamonds. He nervously picks his card and looks at it, he doesn't look pleased, it's the seven of hearts and he will be getting thrashed. Paul steps forward, "Our honored victims tonight are: Benjamin Bernstein whose rather angst ridden exhibition you may remember from last January; Jun "Pogi" Masaya who will be entertaining us for the first time; and Richard Burroughs who will have the privilege of standing for the whip, and who last performed here just over a month ago." The three victims link hands as the crowd claps and whistles. Timothy tries to console Benny. "It could be worse. At least I don't have to stand for the whip." A nearby boy comments, "Yeah, that would've been something after you freaking out last time." Benny looks away shamefaced. Timothy can't figure things out. How come? He's glad he's not getting thrashed.
Paul calls for quiet, "Now for the abusers draw, we need three, three bum bruising, smack 'em wack 'em abusers." Scattered cheers are heard. "The lucky winners get to deliberately inflict pain on a fellow human being. How would You like that?" "Yeah! Yeah!" a few boys shout. "OK, I want all you wannabe sadists to step right up." Most of the remaining boys eagerly line up to take a card, some enthusiastically rubbing their hands together and taunting their victim friends. Paul deals the cards out face down. There is much fidgeting as they impatiently wait for the signal to turn them over. An older, stocky lad with black curly hair and green eyes lets out a 'whooppee'. He has the ace of spades. A pretty blond boy about eleven excitedly holds up the ace of clubs and looks around anxiously. A small but tough looking Asian boy with a scar on his cheek, maybe fourteen, looks rather smug as he shows the ace of diamonds. The blond bounces up and down gleefully. The heart ace must still be in the deck. Paul introduces the abusers. "Mike O'Rourke," he announces as holds up the older boy's muscular arm. "will again be demonstrating his 'superb artistry' with the whip." Mike makes a perfunctory bow and a few boys cheer. Attention shifts to the pretty blond boy. "Jacky Pruit, I think this is Jacky's first time on the giving end although he's been a victim at least twice. Isn't that right?" The boy nods and beams, and does a little dance of joy. "And lastly, Nguyen 'Bing' Ng." The scar faced boy looks around fiercely and raises his fist. "Bing tells me that he's been looking forward to this ever since he came here. Well we know he can take it and now's his chance to dish it out." As the boys disperse Paul announces, "The thrashings will begin in exactly twenty minutes, starting with Mr. Bernstein... And you abusers, I'd like you to get in a little practice and warm up your flogging arms in the meantime."
Timothy follows Benny outside. His buddy confides, "I was a bit of a wimp the time I got it. When I first came to the ranch I was so scared I didn't come down here for over a month. Like I got to be an abuser first and that was weird but then I sort freaked out when I got thrashed. I think my problem is that I never even got smacked before I got sent here. I was a victim of emotional violence because my mom used to shout at me." Down by the creek they join some other boys huddled in the shadows of the cottonwoods. A couple of joints are being passed around and Timothy has a toke which leaves him coughing. A slightly older friend of Benny's puts an arm around the victim to be's shoulder and shares his beer with him. It's Truepath homebrew he's told. Benny introduces Petey who is going to be his hugger. "He's gonna hold me while I get belted, it's easier that way." And he tells Timothy, "You can hold one of my legs if you want, I'd really like you to, and you'll get an excellent view as my ass gets trashed." He's trying to appear confident.
A fancy, tooled cowhide covered, gymnastics horse almost three feet high and maybe four feet long is dragged into the middle of the Hall by five grinning and laughing little boys. Paul announces that the ceremonies are about to begin. All eagerly crowd around as Benny lies face down along the horse, his bare ass stuck out and his feet not quite touching the ground. Petey kneels in front of him, hugging him around the neck and shoulders and whispers reassuringly in his ear. Timothy sits at his side and wraps his arms around his left ankle while another boy does the same on the other side. When Petey signals they're ready Paul calls out, "Let the abuse begin." One of the little boys makes his way forward and hands Jacky a wooden handled leather strap over a foot long. The blond ferociously waves it about in ecstatic anticipation. Paul motions the boys back so Jacky will have room to swing the strap. "Will it be six, nine or twelve this time?" Paul asks Benny. "Twelve, twelve, twelve!" some boys chant and Benny, not sounding too sure of himself, agrees. Cheers erupt. A skinny bright blue eyed boy nearby confides, "It's helps your rep if you take the max." Timothy looks up, Benny's pale lean bum is just over a foot away from his eyes and Jacky looking determined and with his legs braced apart is winding up behind him. SMACK It's real loud, Timothy feels his friend's leg jerk and watches as a two inch wide stripe blossoms bright pink across his ass. An appreciative murmur ripples through the crowd of boys. "Pretty good for a little kid." the skinny boy comments. Jacky, beaming, scans the crowd. Ten seconds later there's another loud smack followed by another. Timothy notices that the boys are becoming quiet and still, many with a hand inside their regulation shorts playing with themselves. He notices that he too is becoming aroused as the thrashing continues. Benny's starting to sweat, his breathing becomes heavy, and his friend Petey hugs him tightly kissing him on the cheek and neck as the blows continue to land. Timothy holds his lips to his friend's ankle and kisses too. He can feel Benny jiggle from the blow. "That was a real doozer." the skinny boy is impressed. At the end Benny's ass is ridged and purpling but he stands up without difficulty and accepts the respects of the crowd which is bubbling with excitement. Jacky looks closely at his handiwork and seems pleased with the results. Paul announces a ten minute intermission before the second act.
The boys chatter loudly, jostling each other. A few start their own spanking games. Timothy watches as a handsome Asian boy pulls down his shorts and has a buddy smack him with a willow switch begging him to hit harder. Others take turns hand slapping each others bums until they're bright pink. Timothy's fascinated but can't understand. He turns to the skinny blue eyed boy his own age beside him, "It's like they like being spanked."
"Well, it's better than nothing. When you get worked up you gotta do something, It's like when you just have to jack off." The boy introduces himself as Allan.
After Allan shares his Coke with him they join the boys eagerly crowding around to watch Pogi's turn. Timothy finds a good spot just in front of the horse. This time the abuser is Bing. He looks eager and he is handed a somewhat longer and heavier teenagers' strap which is split at the end. Pogi compromises pain and honor by agreeing to nine strokes of the tawse. Timothy stares, looking along Pogi's remarkably clear golden body to his firm narrow buttocks. He's never consciously realized before how beautiful other boys can be. He also likes the boy's pretty, snub nosed face framed by wavy black locks. Another Filipino boy, Ninoy about the same age kneels in front of Pogi and embraces him. Timothy can't quite see the blows land but he can see them jar Pogi's golden flesh.
Again he notices that boys around him are playing with themselves and even each other. It seems to acceptable and he's feeling real horny himself. Then he becomes aware of someone feeling his bum and looking around sees Allan smiling at him. Timothy politely returns a smile and Allan slides his hand inside the waistband of his shorts, it's a scary thrill, and begins fondling his boner. Timothy's almost overwhelmed by the novel sensation of someone else touching him and soon finds it too much and takes Allan's hand away. He watches intently. As the hard blows slam into Pogi's ass he sees his face goes through a gamut of expressions and his beautiful big eyes blink, squint and gaze wide open. His arms clasp Ninoy to him. But he doesn't struggle or flinch. Timothy is thrilled, he wishes he, not Ninoy was hugging Pogi, and he can't take his eyes off Pogi, Pogi, Pogi!
After the last stroke Pogi quickly hops off the horse, wiggles his ass and comically fans his behind as the crowd whistles and shouts. He lets everyone have a good look, a couple of doozers are still oozing, before he saunters off to get dressed. Allan nudges Timothy but he's not interested. He ignores a couple of informal spankings and heads down to the cottonwoods where he finds Benny, Petey and Richard with several other boys. All seem in good spirits. He manages one toke without coughing and Benny gives him a hit off his homebrew. He confides, "I don't think I'd've made it if it weren't for Petey holding me." He hugs his friend and playfully jabs his shoulder. Petey says, "You put on a good show, the boys liked it." "I tried... I sort of had to." Benny confesses. He turns to Richard, "Fresh flesh for the mob?" Richard grins but says nothing and after a minute he goes and rests his forehead against a tree with his eyes closed, apparently meditating.
Back in the hall the horse has been removed and the five little laughing and grinning boys roll in a big log section which they flop over in the middle of the room. It makes a pedestal about a foot and a half high. Boys are sitting down around it with others standing behind them. Paul is waiting and lets some curious boys examine the light whip, a finely tapered black leather instrument about three feet long. Mike is beside him stretching and showing off his impressive physique for a fifteen year old. Richard enters, stops to remove his shorts and casually tosses them behind him. Paul ties a padded canvas girdle around his midriff and chest to prevent marks that might show. Richard mounts the log pedestal and stands straight and proud looking almost like a statue. "Now for our main event ladies and gentlemen, Richard Burroughs, as the innocent victim and Mike O'Rourke as the cruel abuser!" The crowd cheers. Two spot lights come on brilliantly illuminating the handsome redhead as the other lights dim leaving the crowd in relative darkness. Paul tells the victim he can choose from thirty to fifty strokes. Richard looks around pretending to ponder and calls out, "Give me seven times seven for forty nine."
Richard folds his hands over his head stretching his chest taut. The victim must keep his arms above his shoulders. A buzz goes through the intently watching crowd as Mike flicks the whip back in a graceful arc and sends it whistling across Richard's stomach leaving a thin reddening welt which curls around to his bum. Richard's flat rippled belly is soon expertly striped down to less than inch above his pert but not hard cock. The audience is entranced by the spectacle and the Hall is silent except for the lash of the whip. Mike patiently works his way down etching over a dozen brilliant stripes into the front of the boy's thighs. Richard gazes ahead calmly, occasionally giving a nod of recognition to some friend. It's a contest of sorts and everyone knows it. Timothy finds Allan beside him again and this time he reaches around him to fondle his hard little bone. They jack each other vigorously. All around other boys are doing the same. Timothy soon can't take much more, the tingling is becoming unbearable but he holds on. They are both panting when the other boy quivers and they stop. Mike has speeded up lashing Richard's buttocks and the backs of his thighs. The first blood appears and a murmur goes through the crowd. Richard's confidence is sagging and he grimaces when the whip's tip curls around nicking the soft folds of his groin. A few boys begin chanting his name and shouting out encouragement. At the end when Mike works over his front again more drops of blood appear. The crowd buzzes excitedly and begins clapping. Richard is a bit unsteady when he steps down from the pedestal but his poise soon returns as he is mobbed by his admirers. Timothy is awed and is still in a daze when Benny finds him minutes later. "Well, what d'you think of our Friday Night Lottery now?" Timothy is wildly enthusiastic. "You on for next week?" Timothy high fives his new friend.
That night alone in his bed Timothy can't get Pogi out of his mind. He starts playing with himself running his fingers over his belly, down his thighs, up the inside to his balls and then he rubs his eager hardon. He imagines Pogi next to him. The other times he's masturbated he's always lost interest after his first tingly little orgasm. They told him in school not to be scared by what was happening to his body and that occasional masturbation may even be healthy. Tonight, with the excitement of the Friday Night Lottery and the image of Pogi, cool, beautiful Pogi in his mind he has his most awesome orgasm ever and he keeps at it, climaxing again and again.
The next morning Timothy goes up to the stables, he'd just heard the night before that there were trail rides on Saturday. He knows a little bit about riding horses from staying with his aunty in Vermont. He finds he's too late to go on the morning ride but he's told to try again around two. Then he notices Paul, who's returning the whip that Mike had used on Richard. Timothy, curious about what he's seen, runs up to Paul and starts asking him about the Friday Night Lottery. "Like what's it like when you get whipped?"
"It hurts, it's a drag, like really. But it's neat, sort of a test, it's not like you're being punished or abused or anything."
"Yeah, I know. Like I didn't think I'd like it at all when Benny told me about it, it seemed so stupid. And then he got it. I just can't figure out guys really doing it, just letting somebody whip them like that."
"It can be hard to understand at first. If you'd been around when it started you'd know. It used to be Hell here. They could get you for just about everything, just being a bit nasty to somebody. Assault was whatever they wanted, a play shove or jab, and play sparring was really hard to explain. Hardly anyone still had TV privileges a month after the place opened. There were fights all the time. And even for little things, they had one called intellectual violence, they'd ground you and you couldn't go out in the bush. We had to watch anti-violence videos after dinner every day. They said they would help the digestion. But it was one of the conditions for government funding. It got so I felt I wanted to kill, or least hit something living, just even hear the thud. I thought of crueler and crueler things. I was going crazy."
"But then there was this funny old Englishman, Bushby Harrow. They needed him so they could claim an 'international faculty', and he taught creative nonviolence and history. We got the basic idea for Friday night from him." Timothy is anxious to hear more. "I was in grade six back then, me and my buddy Dowell. One day Old Bushby was going over the ranch's Boys' Bill of Rights and that zero tolerance stuff with us, all the instructors had to, and how teachers weren't allowed to even shout at us. Then he tells us that when he was a boy he was occasionally birched by the head master at his school. I hadn't been following too closely and couldn't figure out what he meant. I asked Dowell, he didn't have clue either, nobody did. We knew about these master and slave guys, and figured they must have head masters. I think they're mostly fags who wear funny black leather and whip each other and stick their fists up each others asses. They're also called S&Mers, but that didn't seem to be what he meant. Then there's that old Dungeon Masters game they banned when I was a little kid, and like S&Mers have dungeons too. But I didn't think they used to have them in schools. And 'birching' didn't make any sense at all. Anyway, a few days later me and Dowell corner Old Bushby after last class and asked him what a head master is, and if they have dungeons."
"Mr. Harrow, he didn't like us calling him Bushby, started to laugh. He said head masters had nothing whatsoever to do with fantasy games or any S&M scene they might have heard about, but then he sort of snickered to himself and said maybe they did. He was real hard to figure out sometimes. He said masters were teachers and head masters were like principals or CEOs. And then we asked him what birching was. He said it was beating someone, usually a kid, with a bundle of twigs. That seemed a strange way to go about things so I asked him why they didn't just smack them around like my old man did to me. He leaned back and glared at me as if I were stupid idiot, like in The Boys' Bill of Rights that's called dissing, a form of assault, but I didn't say anything. Old Bushby said birchings were nothing like that, the intention of birching was not to really hurt boys, just make them suffer a lot of pain. He said the old school thrashings were like ceremonies with lots of rituals and traditions. And the other kids got to watch it. 'They'd all come a running if they thought they'd get to see one of their own thrashed.' Old Bushby told us about all the different things they used to beat kids with like canes, switches, slippers, straps and whips. He sure knew a lot of history. But they never used chains, tire irons or baseball bats or anything like that on kids."
"My buddy Dowell couldn't figure how any kid would just let himself get beat on. Old Bushby smiled at us, 'Oh they had their reasons,' he said, 'it was all part of their ego games and status with each other.' Dowell said the boys must have been pretty stupid and more or less tells Old Bushby he's full of shit."
"Then the old fart says, 'You think so? What do you know about pain? You may have been beaten and hurt, and suffered painfully, but have you ever savored pain. Have you ever tasted it? Have you ever gotten beyond the heat into jalepeno subtleties? Reading the sensation instead of just reacting to it? Learning about it?' He already knew I liked Mexican food, we'd talked about peppers before, but I told him pain's not the same, it's so ugly. I'd been beaten up lots of times and I knew, you hurt for days and can't do much. It took a while for me to see anything more to it. The danger, he said, is in the damage, in injuries. 'Whips and canes are designed to cause a lot of pain without doing any serious damage. Maximum pain, minimum damage. Flogging is not like your shit beatings, after all slaves and pupils are valuable property.' We figured he was a real bent old fart."
"He said flogging required some skill, and was even considered an art by some masters. But then he said a lot of queer things. Dowell said he couldn't see how there could be much skill in beating kids with bundles of twigs or canes and told him we had to go, we both figured he was a weirdo. And then he slides this hassock into the middle of the room and crouches on it, pretending his ass is bare and moaning, and then he hops up, doubles up his belt and slams the hassock just below where his ass was. It was funny. And then he accidentally slips and falls on his ass banging his elbow. I go to help him up and Dowell, I figured he was a real asshole at the time, picks up the belt and starts smacking me on the ass while I'm bent over. He and the old fart both laugh their heads off. And the next thing that happens is I've got Dowell bent over the hassock and I'm belting his ass good. He lets it go on for a while and the next day he tells me he's got all these big red marks on his ass. And the neat thing was that he didn't have to worry about the bruises because they were all in his no no zone. This was all before they got the classroom cameras and mikes hooked up."
"Old Bushby got us thinking. One day me and Dowell snuck off and I got him to smack me with a belt. It was an experience but not one I was anxious to repeat. But we both got off on the idea of watching it or doing it to others. It was a rad idea, but we had to get more boys involved. We found a lot of boys had heard about old fashioned school strappings from their grandfathers and old books. And most were curious."
"Well Friday nights had sort of been a party night right from the beginning because admin wasn't around, you know. There'd be a little pot, maybe somebody would score some beer or home brew and we'd play loud music and maybe fool around. And there were fights, some awesome fights, that threatened our night of freedom, as we called it then. They were gonna lease another shuttle bus so there'd always be full staff here. We had to stop fighting. We tried to do things. One Friday me and Dowell and this little kid Brucy put on this birching skit from what we'd picked up from Old Bushby. We figured out some lines with old fart's help, practised our British accents and rehearsed a bit. I borrowed a black cape from the band, made a mortarboard out of an old pizza box and put on someone's glasses so I would look like an old fashioned school master. The skit was supposed to be about nonviolence, about the end of corporal punishment in tax supported schools. I was to 'birch' Brucy and then Dowell who was the good guy was supposed to come in, rescue Brucy and make a speech. We tell Brucy it won't hurt and we get him to pull down his shorts which was pretty daring back then, and I smack his bare ass with some wilted daffodils. They brought a whole bunch of them in for when this congressman came to visit. They were pretty wilted and I didn't think they'd hurt much. But soon Brucy's ass was bright pink and the guys watching were starting to get off on it, some even getting horny. Brucy indicated he wanted me to stop. I look over at Dowell and he just grins back at me. I signal him to come, but keep on beating Brucy so it will look better when he's rescued. Then I see Dowell just standing there diddling himself. Well I had to stop. Brucy was pissed off and I had to find him a jay to keep him off my case."
"Anyway, everybody thought it was great stuff to watch, real neat, but nobody wanted to be the one whipped. We even collected a few bucks for a volunteer but there were no takers. Then Dowell came up with the idea of a lottery. We didn't tell Old Bushby, and anyway he got transferred about then because some other school needed an international faculty too. After we got a few of the more eager ones into the draw the odds began looking better and it ended up that most boys made the pledge that they would accept the results of the lottery, and if selected willingly serve as a victim in the performance."
"We had a few problems at first, like we didn't beat the victims enough to turn the others on, and then one kid insisted on backing out. The others started getting upset so that time I had to take off my pants and let this big fourteen year old volunteer give me twenty smacks across the bare ass. The crowd seemed to like that and cheered. They liked the idea of getting into the act themselves so we started having an abuser lottery too. That's what really sold it. Then things really got going. Like we started putting put on better shows with two and then three victims. It shortened the odds, but I think most kids like it that way, it's a more exciting when there's lots of victims. Sooner or later almost every boy becomes a victim, most several times. And being an abuser is fun. Only a handful of boys don't enter each week's lottery, and there's hardly anyone who never comes. And it sure makes it a lot easier to get through the week without getting into trouble. I don't think anybody would want to see the end of the Friday Night Lottery. Fights are rare now and hardly any one gets their privileges suspended any more. Admin is so happy."
Timothy is ready to leave when Mike O'Rouke comes by. Paul tells him that he liked his craftsmanship with the whip. On reflection Timothy thinks it was good too, but he can't compare. "Well I been practising on a padded post. It's OK but I'd been itching to whip a real victim for a while, it's sure a lot nicer. I figure I got Burroughs about as good as I could. That light whip's neat, you don't have be so careful about how you use it. I figure it's great for the belly where the strap would be too much. I wanted to make him plead, even with his eyes. I wanted him to make him real scared. He just kept putting on like it was nothing. I was trying to break him, and at the end, I think I was starting to get to him. But he's tough, he's got class."
After listening to Paul and Mike's elaborate reminisces about the great thrashings they've seen, done or experienced, Timothy laments, "It's too bad we don't have slaves any more that you could whip anytime you wanted." Timothy remembers from a history of nonviolence book they had to read in school that hundreds of years ago they used to whip slaves in the South. "I bet it was fun though."
"Like if you were black?" Paul inquires. Timothy doesn't apologize and he doesn't want to think about slaves that way. They wouldn't be as thrilling as other boys.
"You like to try whipping?" Mike inquires. Timothy's cautiously interested, quavering, and then almost overeager. A hard fifteen minute hike up the rounded, rocky shoulder of a mountain brings them to a ledge overlooking the narrow valley below. "This is my ashram, I practise here. I only get to sneak away a couple of times a week for an hour or so. I don't bring many guys here, but you seemed real keen." Mike shows him a small aspen that he has made into a whipping post. The lower trunk is upholstered with crumpled plastic wrap covered with strips cut off old tires wired on to make a cylinder just over a foot in diameter, about the size of a torso. He removes a homemade whip from its stash in the hollow of an old ponderosa pine. "You want to try? I'll show you." He gives the aspen's padding several smart strokes which jiggle the tree and hands the tapered whip to Timothy. After experimenting for a few minutes Timothy gets the feel of things and happily lashes away.
"Hey, this is neat!" At first Timothy tries to imagine it's the head shrink or one of the therapists he's flogging but then it turns into a boy. Timothy pretends he's a Friday Night Lottery abuser and that he's whipping Jacky or maybe even Pogi. Magically he imagines whipping himself being both abuser and victim at once. It doesn't hurt.
"Do you want to try something different?" Mike asks. Timothy's curiosity is obvious. "Let me whip you, only it won't hurt much 'cause you'll be wearing a protective sheath." From another stash Mike retrieves a plastic wrapped package and takes out a crudely sewn tube made of several layers of Naugahyde. "I'll slip it over you but you should take off your outer clothes first so they don't get dirty." Timothy hesitates, he's a bit scared, but the thought of being whipped without getting hurt is too much. The sheath is over three feet long and fits snugly over Timothy who stands with his arms held at his sides. "You're helpless now." Mike teases. "Ready? I'll start fairly light." Timothy suddenly feels very vulnerable, and strangely excited. He braces himself as Mike swings the whip back. It doesn't hardly hurt but he imagines how it would without the sheath. Again and again he has the thrill of seeing the whip zing towards him and feeling its impact through the thick material. Mike gradually increases the force of his blows. Timothy's excitement builds up, he's afraid he'll have to pee, and the strokes are beginning to sting. After a few minutes the blows are really hurting, he has trouble keeping his balance and he feels unsteady. Mike stops, "How did you like that?"
"WOW, that was a rush!" Mike smiles and pulls the sheath off him. Timothy's drenched with sweat but aside from a lot of pinkish blurs he's OK.
"Don't worry about them, they'll be gone in an hour." Mike assures him. "D'you want to try one real one?" Timothy nods and is told to pull down his briefs and bend over hands on knees. Mike winds up and delivers a sizzler across his ass. SMACK
"Whew! That really hurt."
"It was supposed to." Mike teases and he laughs. Half an hour later Timothy is back in his cottage and he can barely see any of the marks except for the thin red welt across his bum. He admires it in the mirror for over a minute. Later he manages to get a horse and goes trail riding with a counselor and some boys.
The next day Benny suggests that they go on the Sunday hike so he can see some more of the country. He'd sooner go riding but Benny's ass is still sore. They find a dozen boys and the naturalist getting ready outside the Hall. They are welcome to join, for their own protection the Ranch discourages boys from going off on their own. Timothy sees Pogi there and becomes very keen on the idea. However when Benny finds that they are going on the Timberline Trail hike he changes his mind. It's too hard. Timothy as a new boy is invited to hike with the naturalist and be his 'assistant'. Timothy tries to talk with the naturalist but he's not very interested in nature. He keeps looking back at Pogi and not long after they set off he starts falling back so he can be with his idol. He likes just hiking beside him and a couple of times they playfully jostle. He wants Pogi for a friend and tries to think of something to talk about but can't. At last he blurts, "That was some spanking you got."
Pogi looks at him and shrugs, "Walang problema."
"Does it still hurt?"
"Not unless I rub it, but it still looks pretty bad."
"Can I see?" Timothy wants to see his whole no no zone.
Just then they halt. The steep part of the trail is just ahead and the naturalist stops to address the boys. "You will notice as we climb that the ponderosa pine and oregon fir will give way to englemann spruce and lodge pole pine. Higher still we will encounter..." Pogi motions him to join him behind a large stump where they'll be close but partly hidden. He pulls his shorts down to his knees and Timothy surreptitiously takes several quick glances at the purplish blotches on his buttocks and is invited to feel them too. "At this time of year we have a good chance of seeing some mountain sheep. And you will notice..." Timothy is thrilled when Pogi grabs his woodie. They play with each other until, "No more questions? Doesn't anyone have any questions?" and they begin their climb to the timberline. Timothy still can't think of anything to talk about but he's passionately in love.
It's over a week before they find that they are both into late Twentieth Century punk and heavy metal and both used to have big collections of underground music. Pogi even has a few original Russian made Class XXX prohibited CDs stashed away and knows a boy who's got some gangsta rap albums from the 90s. And they both play crib about equally well. And Pogi lets Timothy know it's OK for boys to fool around in their door open rooms, but never with cottage mates. He visits Pogi's cottage where they listen to music, play games and after a while fool around. It's not a problem, the door open room is respected. "You don't look into other's rooms, it's another taboo." Pogi tells him. Later Benny explains, "You get guys glomming on each other and then shit hits the fan you got problems. One guy has to move to another cottage. It's something like screwing your sister."
Timothy and Pogi become saliva brothers exchanging spit in a ceremony where they take turns drooling into each other's mouths, kiss deeply, suck each other's tongues and squish their blended spit back and forth before swallowing it. He learns the tastes of Pogi's mouth and gleams the flavours. Exchanging fluids are sacraments of trust and friendship. They sweatlick each other's bodies leisurely, tasting the salt and scents of the other. And often play with each and kiss deeply and passionately as they do. This becomes their favourite sex play and they tell each other that they can pretend the other is a girl, but neither do. Girls never get their cocks sucked. And they kiss just playing with themselves. Timothy's orgasms are getting better. Then they promise to be each other's hugger and exchange more flavourful saliva. Skinny blue eyed Allan visits Timothy regularly but only for sex, and lots of it. But they never kiss and they're barely friends. Timothy can't wait until he has hairs and can squirt like Pogi. Cum is the neatest fluid!
Timothy is curious and at times pesters Pogi about what it was like when he got belted. "You let it happen. You fight inside." Allan who'd stood for the whip his only time said he didn't think about it. "Paul told me I could do it." Everyone says it really hurts at the time and most are scared of it. Timothy like many other boys is fascinated by the Friday Night Lottery. It's exciting, you never know beforehand if you're going to get it. He worries how he'd handle it if he got selected. He's been surprised how bravely most boys take their thrashings. Boys he figured would be wimps take heavy beatings without complaining. It makes him respect them more. He hopes he'll be able to put on a 'good show', as they call it if... when he gets selected. You never know until. But then you know you will get it sometime, get thrashed. And everybody's watching. It's sort of like a play with drama and everything and sometimes a contest of wills. And watching boys getting spanked and whipped, and not screaming or bawling their heads off, gets him so horny, and more so than doing it would he thinks. The rare occasions when a boy does complain bring catcalls. Then Timothy realizes that the Friday Night Lottery determines who you are at the ranch. It defines you, it's the big deal. The thought of getting selected involves more than curiosity. He is still very scared of the pain.
Timothy knows the odds, about one in thirty each week, somewhat less for being an abuser as some boys don't want to. In eleven draws he's made the first spade selection twice, but that is all, and once he was dealt the ace of clubs but it wasn't good enough to be an abuser. This Friday night he and Pogi have managed to score three beers from Benny who gets it from his friend in Truepath. There's also some mediocre weed that someone grew in the bush.
Paul dressed as a magician amuses the crowd with a few card tricks before dealing out the decks. They both make the first spade selection, "Our lucky day!" Pogi teases. And then Timothy's in the finals with five others. Paul greets him with a smile and offers him first pick from the fanned deck. He picks the five of clubs which is low. The next two boys pick the king of diamonds, and the queen of hearts, both certain "winners" Timothy relaxes figuring he's safe, he really isn't the mood to be a victim. But the next boy picks the four of spades and the one after gets the four of hearts. Timothy holds his breath, then the last boy displays the two of clubs. He gets a sinking feeling and looks at Pogi who grins sweetly back at him. "At least you're not standing for the whip." he suggests cheerfully. Timothy's soon resigned to his fate. Ego, pride and whatever overcome his fears. He puts his hands inside his waistband and feels his own buttocks, they feel fine, now. Pogi feels them too. "Yeah, they'll do in a pinch." and he does so digging his thumbnail into Timothy's bum cheek. "Just warming them up for you." Timothy chugs down one of their beers but passes on a joint. The weed might make him feel it more.
Timothy will be victim number two. The two boys share a blanket watching the first event. A small wiry black kid vigorously pounds the strap into a husky crewcut blond well over a foot taller than him. It's only a chickenshit sixer and the little kid doesn't do much damage. Timothy claims it's one of the dullest thrashings he's seen. "Why, do you plan to dazzle us with your brilliant ass? " Pogi quips. Timothy is not amused. He must stay cool. Mike comes over to wish him well and points out his abuser, a handsome, body proud boy with short dirty blond hair called Ralph. He's in many of Timothy's classes and he once tried to befriend him and thinks he's a stuck up snob. And he's the guy who's gonna do it to me. Timothy's glad he doesn't know him better.
Timothy wants to make a good impression but he fears the pain which he can't really imagine. He stands beside the ornate horse, slips off his baggy shorts and glances around. All his buddies will be watching him. Paul makes a flamboyant introduction. "Our second event tonight features two talented newcomers. Our pitiful but willing victim wearing a bare white bottom is Timothy Preston!" A few supporters cheer. "And our amateur, but eager abuser wearing regulation darkbluerightwayranchgym shorts is Ralph Rednik! I understand both of them need practice in their new roles." It all seems so very easy as Timothy lies down on the horse. He can smell the leather and it still feels sticky from the first boy's sweat he thinks. Benny grasps one of his ankles and Petey holds the other. Pogi kneels in front of him. Paul raises his hand for quiet, bends over and inquires solicitously. "Mr. Preston, how many strokes do you wish to order for the pleasure of your lovely virgin ass? Six, nine or twelve?" Timothy's heard they get worse after six, like nine hurts twice as much. He considers taking twelve to show how tough he is, but modestly settles on nine, the same number Pogi had. They wrap their arms around each other's necks and Timothy looks into Pogi's bright cheerful face and big sparkling eyes just inches away. "Let the abuse begin!" WHAM Owww, it really hurts. More than he thought he thinks. Ralph is putting all his considerable strength and skill into his efforts and obviously enjoying it. He swings the strap back over his head and brings it down with both hands, spacing the blows for maximum effect like you're supposed to. Determination mainly carries Timothy through the first five blows but then he gets a sinking, sick feeling. He wants to quit, to scream, anything, but he doesn't want to be a wimp. Pogi seems to understand, whispers encouragement and hugs him tighter. Timothy squeezes back feeling his warm moist body against his own. The next blow's overwhelming, his face contorts. Pogi pulls him close, kisses him, full mouth open lips rubbing, tongue licking, arms encircling his neck, hands massaging. It's like they're melded and Pogi's sharing and lightening his pain. Ralph is slamming his victim with all he's got, half leaping up to add to the force. The awful blows continue but Timothy stays aware of Pogi's intimate presence and is suddenly, almost unbearably horny. Timothy climaxes as the last blow lands. He feels very shaky but OK. The crowd noisily shows its appreciation. A few look as if they may have climaxed with him. Pogi hugs him effusively. Paul shows his respect thumbs up. Mike shakes his hand and Benny, Petey and others crowd around to congratulate him. The worst pain fades quickly although his bum remains acutely tender. He and Pogi down their two remaining beers and return for the main event.
Timothy's hears about the blackouts, vaguely good things. Maybe twice a year due to accidents or extreme weather conditions the power goes down and it takes a couple of minutes for the ranch generators to come on. Everything goes down including the whole surveillance system, only the emergency battery lamps work. It's a Wednesday night, about ten, and most of the boys in the cottage are watching TV in the common area. It's an old pre 2016 movie about early Twentieth Century gangsters that has been revised to conform to the standards of the Media Control Act. It has all these freeze frames where a narrator comes on and explains what happens in the deleted parts. You find out who does what to whom, like murders, killings and fights, but you don't get much details except that they were stabbed or thrown out windows. Timothy usually closes his eyes and imagines there's lots of blood and eyes popping out. The one time he saw he saw the uncut original of a revised movie he was disappointed how little gore there actually was. Maybe it's better they don't show it.
Suddenly everything's black. There's a momentary hush and then delighted squeals as the boys start grabbing each other in a feeling, rubbing jacking frenzy. Timothy gets to feel up Benny, he thinks and play with Geo's stubby cock and hairy balls and one other boy's. At least four boys get to play with him but he's not sure who. One he thinks was sucking him. It's a wild groping orgy. The lights briefly flick, indicating that the generators are kicking in, and in just over a second the boys are sprawled around trying to appear bored. Timothy finds cum gobs on his shorts after and wonders whose it is. The blackout is never mentioned, it's like it never happened, and it's the only time he knows of any sex among his cottage mates.
About three months after Timothy's arrival heavy rains cause extensive flooding in northern Idaho and the Governor declares an emergency. Luckily the ranch is spared with only parts of the lower meadow under water. The early morning blackout provides no opportunity for fun. However the long road leading in to the ranch is blocked by slides in several places and won't be open until after the weekend. There's no problem with supplies but the staff won't be able to go home for the weekend as all helicopters are required for the emergency. The CEO is puzzled that the boys seem even more disappointed than the staff who will miss seeing their families.
Wilfred K. Cheung, always one to make the best of a situation, soon sees the approaching weekend as an opportunity. Perhaps it was fated. He is aware that despite all their programs and activities they don't spend that much quality time with the clients, he and the staff were kept busy with their duties and responsibilities. It should be a social weekend with everybody getting to know each other, he wouldn't schedule anything for the afternoons. He likes the idea of being able to do something extra for the boys, they deserve it. The CEO is genuinely proud of the ranch's success, outbursts of anger have become uncommon, seldom more than one or two a month, and the last fight was over eleven months ago. He's already mulling over plans to celebrate the ranch's first Violence Free Year, perhaps bringing in a 60s revival, love rock band from Spokane.
When he recalls the early days and how there'd be at least three, often bloody fights every week, he realizes that the boys have come a long way. He knows that most of the social instruction provided for the boys is platitudes and pabulum and not really adequate to enable them to deal with the still violence ridden society out there. Some have even called most social instruction an affront to the sensibilities of males entering puberty. Actually Wilfred Cheung believes it's a time when boys require great self control to develop in a fundamentally healthy nonviolent way. He will give them an opportunity to demonstrate their maturity. He has in mind something special, something they would not normally get to see: The classic saga of redemption put out by the AngerNon Corporation, "Jacky Chan Meets the Ghost of Rambo". The CEO happens to have a copy of the original movie which contains several visual depictions of mutual physical aggression in the early scenes. He acquired it as part of his research for an upcoming lecture at a local community college on "The Role of Film as an Instigator of Social Reform". The movie will, he believes, not only entertain the boys but provide them with a deeper meaning to the message of nonviolence.
There'll be no Friday Night Lottery this week and the boys are disappointed. Benny thinks it could mean trouble. Tables are set out near the entrance to the Hall with snacks and refreshments. A huge supply of fresh popcorn is turned out in the tiny kitchen. The counselors and some of the instructors circulate amongst the boys exchanging polite pleasantries. Wilfred K. Cheung in loose white tai chi robes takes his place behind the fancy, tooled leather horse which serves as a lectern. He looks around proud and smiling, and calls for quiet. "I think most of you have heard by now about the special film we're going to see. I know some of you will find certain scenes shocking but I believe you're mature enough to see them in perspective. This 2006 movie actually became a victim of its own success. It helped inspire the reforms culminating in the Media Control Act of 2016 and as a result can no longer be shown commercially in its uncut form. But you boys, our clients, and might I add shareholders, are I believe mature enough and sufficiently sophisticated to understand the film in its historical context. I feel I can trust you."
"If this showing proves popular we might arrange a regular Friday Night Theater. Think of that boys - uncut classics every week! I believe I could talk the board, our board of directors, we all have our shares, I belief I could talk them into leasing another shuttle bus to surmount the staffing problem. The CEO pauses, expecting some sign of enthusiasm for his Friday night theater proposal. He sees Jacky standing near the front with a perplexed expression and asks him what he thinks. Jacky wants to know why the money couldn't be spent on a games room instead of a bus. "They have video games in Texas." A murmur of support ripples through the assembled boys. A few cries of "Let's have a vote." are heard. Wifred Cheung looks thoughtful, "That may sound democratic, and of course we all believe in democracy, but these games while they may now appear to foster the values of nonviolence have a very violent background going way back into the Twentieth Century. They had names like Mortal Combat. We can't ignore that tradition. Their violent origins are still subliminally present in their present form and this can infect young minds. As violence is the principal enemy of democracy, democracies are justified in suppressing violence, even when they do it undemocratically. And as for Texas I would remind you that most states, including Idaho set an age of twenty one for any kind of video game." With that he signals for the movie to begin.
The boys watch as silver haired Jacky Chan sits meditating with a thoughtful smile. Behind his closed eyes brief flashbacks to his violent past roll through his mind. And then he relives his blinding conversion to the 'Path of Positive Pacifism'. The award winning special effects of the epiphany scene have seldom been equaled. Jacky Chan must set an example for the violent youth of America. He must Counter the Dragon. Elsewhere the unhappy ghost of Rambo prowls, embittered, angry and seeking revenge by smashing down victims, leaving a trail of destruction and infecting society with the virus of violence. Youth gangs and crime are spawned. America and all its values are threatened. The Ghost is actually played by the aging Sylvester Stallone who had to get down to 280 pounds for this last major role.
The boys become excited during the fight scenes, some even cheer the movie's combatants. Wilfred K. Cheung becomes concerned. Some start pounding on each other's shoulders. Could the violent depictions be triggering the real thing? But the boys appear in good spirits and no one's acting victimized. Maybe it's some cathartic substitute? He keeps his fingers crossed. At the climax Jacky Chan struggles energetically with the ghost which has taken over a youth gang and turned them into bomb planting terrorists. Mutual aggression takes place. It is only when Jacky Chan draws on his new powers of nonviolent energy is he able to overcome the virus of violence and liberate Rambo's soul so his ghost can find peace. The boys become calm and composed and Wilfred Cheung congratulates himself on his brilliant strategy.
Early Saturday Timothy finds Mike and asks if he can go up to his ashram. Another boy, Richard joins them and they make their way up the slippery trail. They take turns furiously flogging the whipping tree. All agree it's not as satisfying as even watching a real whipping. Mike suggests that they take turns spanking each other. They try but it's not the same as the lottery.
The following week, much to the CEO's shock and chagrin is a disaster. The boys are very much on edge and three vicious fights erupt on the following Monday. Timothy sees one start while walking back to his cottage after classes. He doesn't know how it started, maybe there was no real reason, but suddenly just in front of him Bing grabs Petey and smashes him in the face. In a quick exchange of blows both end up with blood all over them, mostly from Petey's nose and Bing may have a cracked rib from being repeatedly kneed. A counselor arrives hurriedly and calls for reinforcements on her cell phone while the growing crowd jeers her. The two belligerents are apprehended and taken away. The names of the others present are taken down and told they must report for debriefing. A disheartened CEO appears on all the monitors that evening and begs the clients to forgive him for showing the movie. He hadn't realized how dangerous it was. The Kidcare Corporation may use parts in its TV ads. However he feels it is necessary for the boys to be confined to their cottages after classes for the rest of the week. Special programs will replace the usual TV fare and emergency counselors will be flown in from KIDSAVE's regional head office in Seattle. As a positive step he announces that there will be one hour of compulsory tai chi before classes every morning in front of the Executive House.
Wilfred K. Cheung in his loose white robes leads sets an example as boys awkwardly and lethargically go through the tai chi motions on the lawn next morning. However on Wednesday the tai chi sessions collapse when a ghetto blaster hidden high in a ponderosa starts screeching out viopunk disco and the boys break out into riotous dancing. The CEO screams in frustration for a minute before retiring in tears to his office.
The emergency counselor assigned to Timothy's cottage, a fulsome brunette with a slight southern drawl, tries to organize group sessions. Timothy tries to join in but apparently doesn't say the right things. Like most of the others his mind is more focused on her figure than her words. One by one the boys excuse themselves and go to their rooms leaving only little Geo to keep her company. He removes the photo from its envelope and holds it between his knees. The Latina is particularly vivid this evening and provides double service.
By Thursday the emergency counselors have run out of willing clients and when two of them are discovered smoking marijuana in the stables the shuttle bus makes a special trip taking them all back to the Lewiston airport. The CEO wonders if he's up to the challenge, all he has striven for seems in danger. Is it possible that those few brief scenes in the Jacky Chan movie triggered a relapse? The boys didn't seem restless after. Desperate, he seeks out Paul for advice. The self assured youth tells him not to worry. He suggests with gestures and calm words that things will cool down if he leaves them alone. "Leave it to me." Paul says confidently. Against his professional judgment Wilfred K. Cheung decides to take the chance. "Another one of your skits?" he inquires half seriously. The youth smiles knowingly.
The Friday Night Lottery is on. Word quickly spreads and by noon Friday the CEO has noticed a palpable change in the boys, they've become relaxed and cooperative. Ms. Dugudski theorizes it may have been some collective catharsis which will ultimately prove beneficial. By the time the regular staff are boarding the shuttle bus few have any qualms about leaving the boys with Paul and the maintenance staff for a few hours.
By a unanimous voice vote it is decided that there will be six victims and six abusers this night. Paul is more flamboyant than usual as he emcees the show. It is the most glorious lottery ever. The crowd calls out the count and cheer each blow. The intermissions abound with spontaneous spankings scattered through the enthusiastic audience. Timothy momentarily almost regrets not being selected. He has a magnificent time, gets to fool around with several boys and sleeps very soundly. Things return to normal. The CEO is of course pleased, but also puzzled. Paul he is convinced, is a remarkable young man.
The Friday Night Lottery, the fun and pain games Timothy calls them, is the most popular entertainment at the ranch. None of the boys in his cottage, except little Geo would think of missing it. However one Friday in the woods behind the cottage all the boys get a little drunk on some Truepath Trails home brew that Benny had traded for some pot he grew. When the boys start leaving for the Lottery, Geo encouraged by the others and not wanting to be drunk alone tags along. He may just wait outside the Hall. But then he meets his best friend Jeff, a big chubby kid his own age. It's getting dark and cold outside and he didn't bring a blanket. With uncommon courage and long odds in his favour he is persuaded to go inside. He doesn't have to watch, but he does have to enter the draw. He is auspiciously welcomed and teased.
On the first deal Timothy draws a spade and feels a tingle of excitement. On the second deal he gets a diamond. He's glad to miss victim selection, maybe he'll finally get to be an abuser. Petey's been an abuser twice and both Pogi and Richard made it last week. He figures it's about time. Among the six finalists he notices Ralph the athletic, stuck up kid who flogged him two months ago. He'd just love to get him back. He fantasizes smashing a strap into his bare bum. Then he notices that little Geo is also one of the finalists. The poor kid is nervously pressing his hands between his knees his face wrinkled with worried fear. He's half a head shorter than any other boy and can't weigh more than seventy five pounds. On the last deal little Geo gets the king of hearts, the highest drawn, which means he'll have to stand for the whip. The boy's face pales and he starts trembling with fear. His buddy Jeff puts an arm around his shoulder to comfort him.
After a few minutes Paul announces the abusers' draw. Timothy joins the rush and is one of the first to get a card. Tension mounts as the rest of the cards are dealt out. At a signal they turn over their cards. The Ace of Spades! Timothy's momentarily ecstatic, then he realizes that he'll be whipping little Geo. He'd sooner whip a bigger boy, in fact he's not really sure if he wants to whip such a wimpy kid anyway. He wants to think about it and decides to talk to Mike.
Mike says, "You have to do it, maybe not as hard as you'd whip most boys, but hard enough to make it look good. Anyway Paul will probably let him choose a low minimum." Timothy is reassured and shares a joint with Pogi and Benny. Then he notices little Geo and his buddy Jeff huddled in a corner. Geo looks sad and with his untidy long hair hanging over his face it's hard to tell if he's crying or not. Timothy goes over to them, he wants to tell Geo that things will be OK. The little boy sobs, "I don't want to be whipped, not that way." Timothy tells him that he really doesn't want to whip him either. Geo starts sobbing louder and Timothy hugs him to his chest, his own eyes moist. Mike appears, he's been talking to Paul and little Geo doesn't have to go through with it but he has to leave. He won't be allowed to watch the Lottery. Geo seems momentarily relieved but then bursts into sobs again. Jeff hugs him tightly trying to get him to stop.
Mike takes Timothy aside and explains that Paul has persuaded the next boy in the draw, Ralph, to take Geo's place, something about him getting a special exemption in the future. Timothy is relieved and excited by the prospect. They go back into the Hall, he and Pogi sharing a big blanket while they wait for the ceremonies to begin. Timothy is serenely happy with Pogi caressing his woodie and with dreams of the main event caressing his mind. Pogi's not so sure if he'd really likes whipping others although the strapping he gave was sort of fun.
In the first event a tall, serious, impassive black boy is strapped by a comic younger bro, "I'm gonna whip yo sorry black nigga ass until I see the white of yo bones showin' through." He lays on twelve wicked strokes. Most boys laugh but a few complain that the jokes spoil their fun. Pogi doesn't even get hard. The next event is two boys about fourteen that they both know well, and are in fact special friends. Pogi finds this very interesting, leans over and asks, perhaps half in jest, "How would feel if you had to belt me?" Timothy quickly quips, "I was hoping you'd ask." They are both more than usually aroused and teasingly fondle each other under the blanket. The victim is the smaller, prettier one with big dark eyes and long straight hair. His friend, a husky athletic lad seems a bit embarrassed and apologetic. "Isn't that sweet." Pogi comments. The victim selects a minimal six to the 'boos' of the audience. However after a word from Paul the bigger boy starts slamming resounding blows into his friend's cute ass. The victim gasps and flinches as each blow slams into him but he's still got himself under control at the end. Timothy in his reverie is already thrashing Ralph bloody. My first victim. he gleefully anticipates. Both Timothy and Pogi climax well before it's over. The crowd is satisfied and cheer loudly as the abuser and victim embrace both in tears.
Then Mike comes over. "Geo's changed his mind, Jeff must've laid something heavy on him, he says he wants to through with it. Everyone wants him to. It seems he used to get hysterical every time his dad beat him. He wants to try and maybe prove something to himself." They see Paul coaching Geo, showing him what he must do and telling him that he can do it. Mike huddles with him, trying to give the little boy courage. Geo steps out of his shorts and steps up uncertainly on to the log pedestal. The spotlights come on and Geo looks so dainty and delicate, like a porcelain doll Timothy thinks. Then he notices faint ridges and scars all over Geo's backside, shoulders and thighs. Numerous thin scars on buttocks and thighs, he thinks. Paul announces the main event. "Geo Strachan and Timothy Preston. Let's give them a hand." The crowd cheers and whistles, the little boy has some sympathy and support. "Geo is perhaps the smallest boy ever to stand for the whip so I'm giving him a break. OK Geo, you may choose from ten to twenty strokes."
The boy hesitates, "Give me ah, ... ten, no fourteen, two times seven hits." A loud murmur goes through the crowd with some whistling their approval.
Timothy stands to Geo's side and lashes him across the ass. It and the next blow are pretty feeble and both Mike and Paul glare at him. The next is much harder and Geo flinches. After four or five across his bum the frail child looks like he's starting to whimper. Shouts of encouragement come from the crowd. Timothy wishes the kid were braver so he could enjoy it more. He moves around to Geo's front lashing his belly and seeing the desperation in his eyes. The boy looks back and they stare at each other as Timothy lashes his skinny thighs. As their gazes meld, it seems to Timothy that he can think directly into Geo's mind. The child seems to relax and suddenly it seems OK, Timothy puts all his strength into the next blows. Geo stares back transfixed, unflinching. The whip lands again and again curling around him until the count is complete. Jeff rushes over to him as he steps down, hugs and kisses him and pours beer over his mouth. Geo's had as much as he can take but manages a nod to the supportive crowd. Afterwards he says he's not so scared any more. Timothy who's horny again goes looking for Pogi so they can fool around some more some more before they go to their separate cottages.
One sunny Thursday morning in late spring when the boys are in class a convoy of several large sedans with tinted windows, three big Dodge vans and two trailervans arrives and stops down near the Hall. Several men with cell phones from one of the vans station themselves around the meadow across the creek. Almost simultaneously the CEO appears on the screens of the ranch's closed circuit television system and announces, "Students and instructors are requested to cooperate with the joint corporate/federal tactical exercise now in progress. No students, counselors or instructors are to leave any building until further notice. You are in no danger. Prepared lunches will be distributed later. Anyone violating this order will be subject to extraordinary discipline." Minutes later two large military type helicopters land in the meadow and the boys see perhaps forty casually but similarly dressed men and women disperse throughout the ranch.
The boys are very curious but they are given no explanation. "It's like they're a SWAT team except they don't have uniforms." One boy says. "But what're they doing here?" another wonders. "Maybe there's been a big breakout at Truepath, like it's full of abusers." another jokes. Truepath Ranch is the Kidcare Corporation abuser rehabilitation facility in the next valley over the timberline trail while Rightway is for adolescent sex and violence victims. Benny's six months older buddy is there for sexually assaulting him. Another boy suggests, "I bet we're being attacked, maybe the Chinese or Iraqis have invaded, or maybe the Canadians, they're a lot closer. Like the government's setting up a secret base here." The instructor thinks it very unlikely that the Canadians, or anyone else, would invade. "How about aliens? this is the kind of place they'd choose." "D'you think we'll get to see some fighting?" "That would be most excellent, especially if there's some killing." The instructor insists that they stop talking about violence. By lunchtime the boys are getting restless. They wouldn't have minded being inside so much if it hadn't have been the first warm day after two weeks of cold and rain in early May. Timothy had been thinking of playing pickup baseball with some friends after lunch.
In mid afternoon the helicopters take off and the sedans leave but the three windowless vans and the big trailer remain in a new high fenced compound in the far meadow. Inside the boys can just see what looks like a lot of TV equipment and some armed guards. The smaller trailer has been parked just past the stables at the other end of the ranch. The CEO appears on the monitors, "Clients and facilitators are now free to resume their regular activities but are advised to stay away from the meadow, not to interfere with our visitors and to behave normally. "I'll jack off to that." Benny jokes. "A media relations officer will be available to answer your questions. I also wish to apologize to all the facilitators who will be required to work through to late Saturday." Back at their cottage Timothy laments, "No Friday Night Lottery this week."
By breakfast a rumour is going around that an important visitor is coming to the ranch, maybe a senator or even the Governor. At ten the CEO appears on the ranch's monitors. "We are going to be honored today by a visit from a man to whom we all owe a great debt of gratitude. A man who loves children, a man who gave up the Senate in order to take care of his own children, a man who has championed the cause of child victims like yourselves. I mean none other than the First Man! Albert Makewright Smith. He'll be arriving soon, right here at Rightway Ranch, and you boys will all have the chance to meet him."
Jet fighters cross overhead and then a huge military helicopter arrives landing in the meadow near the fenced compound. Three network television crews capture the moment. The boys are allowed to watch it land from across the creek and see the First Man and his bodyguard companions run to the trailer. Then they are assembled in the Hall to meet the illustrious visitor. The CEO greets the First Man. "Welcome to our Violence Free Zone. Here at Rightway we strive to fulfill your vision of a kinder nonviolent America." The boys are encouraged to chat spontaneously with the First Man, "You can just call him Al, or Big Al like my own father did, or Mr. Smith, if you like. ...and don't be afraid to say what you think. Remember, we still have a lot of freedom of speech left." The First Man starts off by telling the boys a few racy, for them jokes, new ones, and the boys relax. He gets close, laughs and touches, some playful exuberant clips for the TV cameras. A couple of spontaneous events have to be retaken. The boys think the First Man's pretty cool. The hastily assembled ranch band plays as he makes his way around the Hall shaking hands and autographing souvenirs. He finishes with a brief, nationally televised speech condemning violence and child abuse.
Just after he leaves eight boys are selected, apparently at random, to accompany the First Man on a wilderness hike. He is an ardent nature lover. Timothy, Ninoy, Petey, Jacky, Richard and three boys that Timothy doesn't know all that well are chosen. They will be accompanied the naturalist, a senior counselor with a first aid kit and six companions of the First Man, all husky, well armed men. A TV crew will follow them as far as the first waterfall. The party sets off with Timothy at the First Man's side leading. The naturalist joins them, "Did you know Mr. Smith, that we've got some of the finest specimens of dwarf whitebark pine, pinus albicaulis, anywhere in the country up near the summit?" Albert in his youth climbed several of the tallest peaks in New Hampshire becoming fascinated with alpine botany. When they reach the top of the second waterfall they find snacks set out for them by two new secret service companions. This is as far as they are slated to go. However the First Man is really keen to see the stunted whitebark pines and after talking to the naturalist says there's enough time. The head companion, Edwin, tries to object but has to admit that it's not primarily a security question. "Only an hour each way." the naturalist cheerfully announces and the party sets off after clearing the change in plans with the external military escort. Richard now climbs alongside Al Smith as they lead the party around patches of snow protected by the shade.
Then just before the trail reaches the timberline one of the two companions who went ahead says they can't go any further. It's not clear why they cannot stay on the timberline trail through the magnificent alpine meadows where flowers are starting to bloom. Perhaps the route is too open and exposed. The First Man is visibly disappointed. Anyway the secret service companions insist that they stay in the forested area and with considerable difficulty they detour their way through a dense, young stand of lodgepole pine. In places they have to squeeze between the spindly trunks. "Why the fuck can't we go the easy way?" one boy demands. A counselor reminds him that swearing is a form of verbal violence. Others including some of the secret servicemen swear beneath their breath as their legs are scratched and their packs get caught in the tangled branches. The First Man puts on a good show never complaining even when one of his protectors releases a sprung sapling in his face.
After half an hour of struggling they emerge into a more open stand of mountain hemlock and spruce, and stop to rest. Then Ninoy notices a tiny spot on Petey's neck. "Hey, you got a bug on you." Petey tries to brush it off nonviolently but it's stuck. The naturalist comes over to look at it. He becomes alarmed. "It's a Rocky Mountain wood tick! Boys, these little insects can be dangerous. They carry a parasite, rickettsia ricketsii, that causes Rocky Mountain spotted fever which can lead to paralysis, even death. They must be very carefully removed so they withdraw their probes." Rubbing alcohol and even a cigarette, which are seldom seen any more, miraculously appear. The ticks are forced to withdraw their probes before they are gleefully crushed between thumbnails. The violence is ignored. Then the senior counselor, apologizing for the necessity, orders the boys to strip completely for a tick inspection. A few are reluctant to take off their briefs at first but the brazen teasing antics of others soon have them all enjoying their mutual nudity. Luckily none display any fresh marks. They examine all their clothing crushing any ticks they find and thoroughly inspect each other bodies. Some boys have over a dozen ticks on them. Then the secret service men start examining themselves and discover even more of the nasty little critters. Soon everybody almost is stripped to the buff.
"What about the First Man?" the naturalist worries. Albert Smith insists that he's OK, his inspection can wait until later. Edwin, the head companion interrupts, "Mr. First Man, I would suggest that this a security matter, not a political question." The First Man is reluctant to strip and insists he's fine. Edwin confronts Albert Smith, "My instructions from the President herself, are that in security matters I, not you Sir, am in charge. I respectfully order you to strip... Sir." The First Man protests but all the companions back up Edwin.
When the First Man comes to lower his briefs it seems odd to the boys that he turns to face them giving them a glimpse of his modest dink. Al tries to look cool, strikes a modest pose and grins sheepishly as his companions check him. The boys clap and whistle. All of them except Jacky who's gone off to take a dump. Standing up on the other side he sees the First Man's ass and stares mouth open. The purple blotches are worse than any he's seen from a Friday night strapping. "Hey Al, where'd you get those doozers?" he calls out. Suddenly from nearby bushes new boys rise up from their hiding places, "LOOK!" "WOW!" "Doozers man, doozers." It seems half the school is there as boys pour out of the bushes and crowd around the embarrassed First Man. The companions belatedly try to shield the First Man from view but it's too late, his well welted buttocks and thighs have been seen by almost everybody. The companions, surprised as anyone, don't know what to do. A couple pull out their guns menacingly but there is no immediate threat. Another urgently calls for emergency reinforcements on his phone. "Who gave you them doozers, Al?" one boy wants to know. "Paddlin" Madeleine?" another boy quips. The First Man is hurriedly dressed. Edwin still wearing only two holsters with sidearms tries to explain, "The First Man acquired some temporary abrasions in an accident." The boys obviously don't believe him. "That is what they are and that is what you saw."
The boys snicker and one interrupts, "We know doozers when we see them." "Yeah, you can't tell us they aren't doozers." another insists. Edwin glares at them. "Why don't you ask Al?" Jacky adds.
"Boys," Edwin begins earnestly, "I am speaking with the backing of our beloved President herself. I want you to know that you must never mention what you saw, not to anybody, not your best friend, not even to a counselor. Don't even talk about it among yourselves. Do you understand? Now everything else happened as it did. We simply stopped to inspect ourselves for ticks and remove them as we did. That was all. Do you understand?" Most boys become very serious. "I want you boys to prove your love for America."
"But I never got to see them." a small boy complains. Mike backs him up, "Aw come on Al, show us your ass again." The boys start having trouble keeping straight faces, and first the First Man and then Edwin realize that keeping the secret will not be easy. "The whole ranch will soon find out." a senior counselor opines. "Some may have gone back already to tell the others." Then one of the boys that Timothy doesn't know pipes up, "I bet the National Inquirer would pay a lot to know about the First Man's ass." "Yeah, I can see the headline:'Closet Kinks of the First Family'" "Hey, maybe he's in some S&Mers cult, and they infiltrated the White House." Petey suggests.
Then four counselors looking exhausted and a bit bedraggled begin arriving. They explain that an alternative hike was organized for those left out, and that the boys on a ruse managed to sneak off in the confusion. "We just wanted to surprise the First Man, that's all." a new boy explains."
Helicopters are heard overhead and through gaps in the forest they can see them landing on the ridge above the timberline. Squads of Special Forces personnel begin moving down. Others unseen are approaching from below. The First Man himself is the first to see the need for serious damage control. He doesn't want more people, especially anyone in the military, to know his secret. He personally takes over the cellular and radio communications and orders the Special Forces squads to halt and calls his wife, the President. She agrees that the boys must be reasoned with, persuaded, bribed, whatever - appeal to their patriotism, bring in hospitality girls. There's too many to eliminate, a few boys maybe in some unfortunate accident but a whole school is too risky. Edwin agrees, a cover up of such magnitude would be impossible.
Turning to the boys the First Man spins, "You must think me a very bad person because of what you saw. I know you must have been shocked, you've probably heard me condemn spanking in no uncertain terms, but I can explain. I'm not going to lie to you. I did allow myself to be spanked. I simply wanted to better understand what poor abused children like yourselves have been through. I apologize if I have offended anyone."
"Yeah, yeah." a boy snickers.
"Hell no, we're not offended." Richard speaks for the rest, "We think it's pretty cool for a guy like you." The First Man looks astonished. "Right on Big Al!" a boy shouts and others enthusiastically hoot their support. "Hey, those are great doozers you got. Like what did they use, a strap? and how many did you take?" Another wants to know, "Was it really the President, Mr. Smith?" Edwin answers for him, "There will be no further questions, do you understand?"
The First Man confers with Edwin and other senior agents. The counselors and other staff can be easily controlled, even eliminated if need be. They have family responsibilities and good jobs which could get better. And the mere mention of physical or sexual abuse could ruin any one of them for life. The boys however are another question. It is decided to talk privately with a few of them including Mike, Richard and Timothy.
While the First Man is relieved that the boys do not seem at all upset by what they've seen he's perplexed by their positive attitude towards his welts, "doozers", they call them. He remains apologetic, "I appreciate the understanding you have shown me. You must not think I condone violence by not fighting it, always. I feel I understand you. Victims must not be allowed to share the guilt." The boys are listening. "You understood my attempt to share your victimhood?" The boys shake their heads. "Is it because you've seen so much violence that you've become desensitized by exposure to it?" The boys stop to think about it but none of them seem to agree with the idea. They want to know about his famous last legal tackle in NFL and the time he punched out the French diplomat. The First Man has recounted these incidents many times and made them into something of a sermon which ends with the admonition, "Violence is violence! And violence is always wrong." Timothy doesn't agree and unthinkingly blurts, "Not always, like spanking doesn't have to be violent, it can be a fun game too." The First Man looks at the boy incredulously. "You should know that Big Al." the boy grins.
Reading the comments accurately the First Man soon discovers a great deal about the Friday Night Lottery. Specific details are missing but he knows the theory and feels empathy. He's an affectionado of certain spanking games himself. To encourage the boys' trust he decides to let them have another look at his ass, a real close one it turns out. One asks, "She did this with a paddle?" He tells the boys there's no reason for it to be a she. "How thick was the paddle?" "Was it made out of hickory?"
However the boys well understand the First Man's problem, he has a secret to keep, and so do they. They certainly don't want to lose their Friday night fun. After vigorous negotiations the First Man promises he will personally see that their Lottery can continue, he will even arrange for it have greater security. There will be no funding for a second shuttle bus or more staff. The boys note that it IS Friday and partly as a test ask him if he can arrange things so they can have a lottery that night. The negotiations get into the fine details. Five of the Secret Service companions, chosen by lot from twelve, will be the victims. The others will see that the ranch staff and others stay away from the Hall. All boys will be able to draw for the opportunity to be abusers. Big Al accepts the honor of being Paul's official whipbearer.
It's a glorious Friday Night Lottery. The Stars and Stripes are proudly displayed on the walls and the ranch band plays a boisterous rendition of God Bless America. The First Man graciously acknowledges the boys' screaming ovation. He stands beside Paul as the draw is made and shakes hands with the five lucky abusers, all eager to belt, bruise and bloody five of his companions who doubtlessly receive hefty bonuses for their fortitude. The First Man muses that he would like a spanking too but feels it might be too much. He has a delightful time confident that the whole thing is so preposterous and unbelievable that his enemies, even if they should hear tales of what really happened, would never dare bring it up.