It was Christmas Eve, and Josh Summers stood glaring down at the Santa hat his dad had just handed him. It hung limply fron his hand, the jingle bells tinkling delicately, as he turned and looked sullenly around the living room.

His little brothers, Jason and Ryan were giggling as they filled their arms with presents, and his mother was carrying some kind of casserole out the front door. They all wore the same stupid Santa hats that his father had just handed him.

He let his hat slip from his fingers, as he edged toward the coffee table, where his car keys lay. "Dad, I don't think I'll go to Grandma's tonight. I don't feel like it," he said moodily to his father, who was hanging candy canes on the tree.

He heard a deep chuckle. "All right, Josh, grab some presents, we're just about ready to go," he answered cheerfully, almost as if he hadn't heard a word that Josh had said.

"I said," Josh said more loudly as he rolled his eyes, "That I'm not going tonight. I don't feel like it and it's a stupid tradition anyway."

The room was completely quiet as his father turned to look at him, his thick eyesbrows knotting together in the middle. "A stupid tradition?" He repeated Josh's words back quietly.

Usually when Josh saw his father's eyebrows twisted together like that he backed down. He also knew that when his father's voice got that soft, that it was a danger signal. But he wasn't paying attention to the signals tonight. All he could think about was that he didn't feel like doing this Christmas crap, and that at nearly nineteen, he shouldn't have to do it if he didn't want to!

He looked back at his dad, his green eyes glittering with outrage. "Look, maybe I have something else to do tonight. Did you ever think of asking me if I'd like to go?" He began pacing as he talked, become more incensed by the second. "After all, I am a grown man and-"

"Better be careful, Josh, or Santa might not come to see you."

He whirled around and rolled his eyes at his seven-year-old brother. "There isn't any Santa Claus," he responded with impulsive cruelty.

At that moment his mother re-entered the house and her shocked gasp broke the stunned silence that his proclamation had caused.

Josh looked down at Ryan and saw his face crumple with disappointment. The little boy looked up at Josh, his innocent blue-eyes full of tears.

Josh opened his mouth to tell Ryan that there really was a Santa, when his Dad's purposeful stride caught his eye, making his heart skip a beat. The next thing he knew he was being grabbed by the upper arm and turned sharply. The swat that he felt his dad deliver to his butt was loud and Josh colored with embarrassment.

Before he could protest though, his father was propelling him down the hall. Josh heard Jason's high pitched giggle, from the living room, right before he was pushed into his bedroom.

Once inside with the door closed, Josh turned to his father--who stood a good three inches taller than him--and began ranting. "How could you do that to me? You didn't have to spank me in front of everyone, like I was some little kid or something! I'm eighteen years old, and you don't have a right to do that anymore!"

He flinched as his dad's hands came toward him, and grabbed him roughly by the shoulders. "How could you tell Ryan there wasn't a Santa, Josh? You've stolen something special away from him." His dad accentuated the words with a rough shake to Josh'd shoulders. "Tell me why you did that?" he demanded angrily.

Josh had rarely seen his father this angry, and it scared him. He knew he'd done the wrong thing by blurting out the thing about Santa, but the way his dad was jumping all over him about it, was making him feel stubborn and defensive.

"Look, I didn't mean to say that, OK? I was just mad because I'm being forced to go Grandma's stupid-"

"And that's another thing. If you didn't want to go tonight, why'd you wait 'til the last minute to say so? If you'd talked to us earlier we could've discussed it and made a decision."

"A decision?" Josh bristled while repeating the words. "Dad, I'm old enough to make my own decisions about things. I've made my decision, and I'm not going!" He flung the words at his father and would've turned and left in a huff, if his father's hands hadn't been clamped securely on his shoulders.

"You're acting like a spoiled brat, Josh, and I won't put up with it. I'm going to ask your mom and your brothers to go on without us. I don't want them to have to wait around while I punish you." His father released his hold on Josh and strode to the door. As his dad reached for the knob, he turned once more, and Josh shivered at the glare his father gave him. "You're going to get a good spanking, and then we're taking the other car to your grandma's."

Josh opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again as his father put his hand up in obvious warning. "And I better not hear another word out of you about being eighteen and too old, or you won't be able to sit down for a week!"

Josh sat down angrily on his bed, after his father left, and fumed. He could hear his father's deep voice rumbling to his mom in the living room, but he couldn't make out what he was saying. His heart pounded fiercely in his chest, as his dad's earlier words fully sank in, and his stomach started hurting. Part of him didn't believe that his dad was really going to spank him. His mom and dad rarely used spanking as punishment, and Josh hadn't been spanked since he was ten, and had accepted a ride from a stranger.

He shifted on his bed and then crossed his arms obstinately across his chest. Frowning as he heard the front door closing, he came to a decision. There was no way he was going to take a spanking. Absolutely no way!

He looked up, his green eyes steely and determined as his bedroom door opened. "You know you could knock, Dad. I should be able to have a little priv-" the words broke off as he spied what was in his father's right hand. It was his mom's large, wooden hairbrush, and he gulped when he saw it.

His arms unfolded from his chest as his eyes opened wide. "What are you doing with that?" he demanded, the cracking of his voice betraying him and making it obvious how scared he was.

Walking steadily toward his oldest son, his father held the brush out, apparantly so Josh could see it better. "I'm going to paddle your bottom with it," his dad said evenly, all traces of his former anger gone.

Josh shivered then. He'd thought his dad's earlier anger was scary, but the matter-of-fact tone and the look of calm determination was way scarier!

He watched warily as his father approached, and then sat down beside him on the bed.

He rubbed his sweaty palms on the knees of his jeans, as his mind raced. He could just get up and leave. He didn't have to put up with this. But where would he go? And on Christmas Eve--well, there was something really depressing about the thought of being out alone.

"I can't believe that you're going to spank me!" he burst out suddenly. "And on Christmas Eve! That's not right, Dad!"

"What you said to your brother was hurtful, Josh, and you really know that. You upset everyone in the family with the way you acted tonight, and I'm going to punish you for that. How would you feel if I was the one who had behaved like that, when you were looking forward to having a good time?" There was clear reproach in the older man's words.

Josh stared sullenly at his hiking boots, and didn't answer. Anger and contrition were warring within him now, and he tried desperately to hold on to the anger.

"Answer me! How would you feel, young man?"

"I wouldn't like it," Josh mumbled reluctantly.

"Pull down your jeans." The tone was crisp and no-nonsense.

Pink splotches bloomed on Josh's cheeks. "No! I won't do it, Dad. I'm too old for this." He balked at the order.

Before he knew it his father had flung the brush on the bed and was looming over him. "Either you do it, or I'll do it for you," he warned.

Josh, not wanting it done for him, slowly began to unclasp and unzip his jeans.

Seemingly appeased by Josh's obedience, the older man sat back down on the bed, and picked the brush up again. Josh watched with real fear as his father rubbed his large palm across the smooth back of the brush, and Josh's finger trembled as he unzipped his pants.

Without a word, he was pulled quickly across his father's lap. His hands flailed out involuntarily at the air trying to regain some balance. Humiliation washed over him as he felt his dad tugging at the waistband of his jeans, and then pulling them down to mid-thigh. Cool air rushed over the bare skin of his legs and he felt goose-bumps rising.

He tried to twist off of his dad's broad lap, but he wasn't strong enough to do it. His father's arm was wrapped around his waist in a vice-like grip and his struggles were absolutely useless.

At least he'd been allowed to keep his briefs on, he thought miserably as he lay pinned, feeling like a five year old kid.

And then the first smack of the brush landed on his upturned butt. "Ow!" he cried out and then sucked in a lungful of air. The sting was unbelievable, and he threw both hands back for protection.

"Get your hands away!" his father barked, and he quickly put them on the bed.

His dad delivered three stinging swats to his left cotton-covered cheek, and then three to the right. The sound of the brush cracking down seemed unbearably loud and echoed in his ears, as the burning sting radiated across his butt. He gasped and then kicked his feet up and down on the bed. "Oooh!" he groaned loudly.

There was a pause, and Josh thought maybe the spanking was finished, so he let out a sigh of relief.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!!

Three hard swats right on the undercurve of his bottom, and tears began to fill his eyes. "Dad, Stop now!" he yelled out. "You're hurting me!"

The burning swats of the hairbrush stopped, and Josh could hear his dad breathing raggedly above him. "It doesn't matter how old you are. if you misbehave I'm going to punish you. Do you understand me, Josh?"

Josh nodded, his face rubbing against the bedspread. "Yes, I understand," he responded tearfully, hoping that the punishment was finally over.

Then a hard fast flurry of swats, all over his already sore behind, made him howl in pain. All the anger and stubborness dissipated with that nearly endless barrage, and all he could think about was the pain and when--if ever--it would stop.

Finally,he heard his dad drop the brush on the bed, and Josh lay there, tears streaming down his flushed face, panting with exhaustion. After a few minutes, the sting and burn lessened, and he was able to think clearly again.

He could feel his dad patting his back gently and felt extremely embarrassed. He tried to push himself up and his father allowed it. As he pulled his jeans up and refastened them, he told himself he would never get over the shame of it--the shame of being turned across his dad's lap at eighteen. He couldn't even look at his father.

But later in the car--stupid Santa hat perched on his head--on the way to his grandma's house, he looked over at his dad who was singing softly along with a Christmas Carol on the radio. "Are you still mad at me, Dad?" he asked gruffly.

The older man reached over and gave Josh's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Nope, I was mad at you for a little while, but you're a good kid, and everyone has bad days. Are you mad at me?"

Josh thought about it for a minute. He knew he ought to be angry at being treated like a kid. Ought to be ultra-angry that his dad had caused him pain. But then the memory of Ryan's face after he'd said there was no Santa Claus came back to him and he felt ashamed.

"No, I guess not," he admitted. "I didn't mean to tell Ryan about Santa Claus. I wish I hadn't said that."

His father smiled at him. "I know you didn't mean it. I think if you tell him there really is a Santa Claus, that might help to fix things."

Josh resolved to do that, and as he shifted in his seat to find a more comfortable position for his sore butt, he didn't feel tense, or angry at all anymore. He sort of felt peaceful for some weird reason, and he started humming along with the Carols on the radio. He couldn't understand the change in his attitude, but if he was completely honest with himself, he'd have to admit--that maybe, just maybe--it had something do with his dad reining him in like he had, and maybe he still needed that sometimes.

'But, no!' he thought to himself. It couldn't be that, he was eighteen after all!

Copyright © Tris 2003