22 November 2017:
Brad Stevens and My 'Battle Scar'

In the 1980s and early 1990s, when I was in my late 30s and early 40s, I had a somewhat older CP friend from Buffalo, NY named Jim L (one of at least 6 CP guys I know named Jim). He came to Washington every 4 or 5 weeks, spent a couple of nights with me, and gave me paddle- and strap-whippings. He was a sweet guy, always bringing gifts and sending cards. Jim was good at burning butt and we spent numerous weekends together. He travelled all over the northeast and Ontario and had numerous CP contacts. He gave me some really nice toys including a couple of large frat paddles and an authentic Lochgelly XH 3-tail John J Dick tawse, which I still have. Jim L was originally from my home state of Kentucky and grew up about 40 miles from where I grew up. He had a high school teacher who happened to be a close friend of my dad, who was a school principal.

A year or two after I met Jim L, he introduced me to another top called Brad Stevens. Brad was into American school-style paddling and was located in Columbus, Ohio. He advertised in Paddle Pals, Control-T or one of the other M/M spanking pubs of that time. Jim L was attending a conference somewhere and invited both Brad and me to join him and stay in his hotel room. During that weekend Jim paddled both Brad and me, and Brad paddled me. Brad was a hot guy and gave a good butt whipping. He was really into CP and had "business" cards that described himself as a disciplinarian. Brad had at one time worked for a boys' vocational school and, though not an assistant principal, had the opportunity to paddle numerous boys. I also learned Brad was divorced and had a son. His former wife relied on Brad to discipline their son, which would happen at times when Brad had custody of the boy. A couple of the paddles Brad used on his gay "badboy" playmates were also used on his son.

A few months after we first met, Brad and I arranged to get together on our own for a session. I was traveling from DC to Kentucky to visit family and adjusted my itinerary to include a night in Columbus. I arrived, checked into the hotel, and spent the night, and Brad came to my room the next morning. He brought a bag of paddles of different types. He looked delicious in tan khaki shirt and tight Levis, and I was hard with excitement for him to paddle my butt.

Our session started out nicely with him giving me instructions and picking out a "board" to paddle me with. I was in tight jeans and he had me spread my legs, bend over, grab my knees, and stick out my butt. He had a frat paddle and rubbed my butt with it. "Look straight down at the floor. ... Count out 5 boy." He was warming me up. This was followed by a set of 10 harder licks with a different paddle, then another set of 10. Then a set of 25 licks that were harder and burned really nicely. Like the consummate disciplinarian, his licks were delivered perfectly, balanced on the two butt cheeks, and on the lower half of the ass.

After those sets, he told me to get down on my knees and suck his dick. It was perfect size and the head glistened with precum.

After I'd gone at it for a while, he suddenly grabbed my hair, jerked my head back, and slapped me hard like my dad did a few times when I was a teenager. That startled me and gave me a rush of humiliation I hadn't experienced in a "recreational" CP session before; it took the wind out of my sails. "You can do a better job than that, boy. I'm gonna have to beat your ass some more. Teach you a good lesson, boy." He pointed to the bed and said, "Get up there, boy. Face down, spreadeagled." I complied with his orders and he barked, "Now stick that butt up there real nice." (I was still in my jeans.)

Then, suddenly, there was a loud CRACK! And I had a jolt of a different kind of pain. The paddle had broken and splintered, and splinters had gone right through my jeans and underpants and into my butt. God damn! All I could think was that this had led to a premature end to an excellent butt beating session.

Brad cleaned up the wound and went to a drug store and got antiseptic and oversize adhesive bandages. He bandaged it up. An hour later I went on my way, driving down interstate highways to Kentucky.

While I was staying with my parents I had to clean and dress the wounds on my butt. I was picking little bits of wood out days later.

And that's how I got the scar on my butt that my dermatologist asked about last week. My battle scar - or paddle scar!

And that was also how I figured out why my dad (the principal) had tape around his paddles at school: so that if they should break the splinters wouldn't go flying or go into some boy's ass.

And, to this day, I regret that we had to cut our session short and I never got the full butt whipping Brad had intended to give me that day so many years ago.

Sequel: Brad experienced a series of misfortunes and is no longer alive. Prior to the illness that led to his death, Brad's son discovered his "extracurricular" paddling activities, and it significantly damaged their relationship and led to his wife obtaining full custody.

More pics of Brad. He was so fuckin' hot, looking poured into his jeans.