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Standing Is Better! 

Our experiences and gripes about why we like to stand up much of the time, and good stuff too that happens to us. Most is written by Eddie Taylor, while some is written by Kees de Vries. Kees will identify himself early in any post he writes. Others can be safely assumed to be written by Eddie (unless someone else is credited). All are signed at the end by the poster, in case any doubts remain.

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Saturday, August 02, 2003


Eddie and Kees on Holiday in the USA

Hi to everyone, both friends and otherwise. Many of you already know that Kees and I have been on holiday in the USA (after a brief side-trip first). We left the Netherlands Monday 21 July and have been on the road (in the air?) since then, with minimal ability to use the internet. For the past few days, we have been staying near Washington, DC in an interesting place called Falls Church, Virginia. We have been playing tourist mostly in Washington, seeing museums like the Smithsonian group, Arlington National Cemetery, and just people-watching. Lots of restaurant food: I could learn to like this! I had a chance to interpret for a group of Americans, and earned $40 for about 45 minutes of translating at a museum exhibit that had some, but not all, of the Dutch-language display in English.

It has been a very good trip (mostly) until yesterday afternoon, which is the reason for this particular on-topic post.

Kees and I met a nice American girl at our hotel while we were swimming. She had overheard our conversations and wondered what language we were speaking. We told her that it was Dutch. We were very surprised that she had no idea where in the world Dutch was spoken, and didn’t know that it was a real language. We thought she was joking and was trying to have some fun at the expense of a couple of tourists. We began to chat about languages and the countries they were spoken in. She was from California and knew a little bit of Spanish from her school classes. She now knows that Dutch is (or was) spoken in Indonesia (from colonial times), South Africa (where it has changed somewhat and is now called Afrikaans), currently in Suriname and several Caribbean islands, Belgium and the Netherlands, its home. She seemed to be quite intelligent while not too knowledgable about geography or language, but she was quite curious and friendly. We hit it off quite well, and invited her to our room after she and we had had a chance to change from swimming into casual clothes.

About an hour later, she knocked on our door. She had changed clothes and even dried her hair. We had some drinks with cheese and fruit. Because of the silly laws in Virginia, no wine for us that time. We talked more about customs in the USA and in the Netherlands, and where we had been. She had never been outside of the USA in her life, and this trip was the farthest she had ever been away from her home. We had a chance to show off a little, and talked about some of the countries we had been to before, and about the people who live there. We told her that we might visit California this trip, but we don’t know for sure yet, and that we were going north to New York and New England in a couple of days. We introduced her to Pest who briefly came inside, saw we were busy, and soon left. Altogether, a pleasant visit: not a date! One friendly kiss apiece.

Later that afternoon, Dad came back after a business meeting nearby. He had made plans for a late dinner, to which all three of us were invited also. It was to be with a friend of Dad’s from years ago when he was in the US Navy. This man was a retired naval officer like Dad, higher in rank at his retirement than Dad we found out. He is married with four kids, three of whom were also coming to dinner. He had recommended to Dad a restaurant that had great fish, lobster and steaks, with huge portions. We were excited on hearing about these plans, and looked forward to dinner, even if it was to be later than we preferred. We could wait with the aid of some bread and cheese. Pest mentioned to Dad about the nice girl we were talking to and Dad looked preoccupied, not paying much attention to his chatter. He then told Dad that we introduced him to her when he ran in from the pool.

Dad then began to pay attention. He was startled that we had invited a girl up to our room that afternoon. He asked us both several questions about her and our visit. We were surprised at his reaction. He seemed rather worried. A lecture began with several points:
  • Did we know her before we met her yesterday?
  • Could we not have gone to her room instead, where her parents were, instead of going to our empty room?
  • Did we not know that in America, a girl can claim she was assaulted and we would automatically be guilty?
  • Did we trust a stranger around his (Dad’s) unguarded specialised electronic equipment?

We agreed that we had not considered these things, but remembered that Dad had warned us about the differences in customs in the USA compared to home. Dad was relieved that nothing (thus far) had gone wrong, but was very disappointed in our behaviour nonetheless.

We could smell a spanking coming up, but were relieved that there was no paddle packed in the luggage. Dad had threatened to, but relented after seeing how much other stuff was necessary. And how much could his hand really hurt? Dad had another idea. He suggested, after giving me his pocket knife, that Kees and I go into the small woods by the back garden of the hotel, and there cut a couple of switches. That did not sound very good to either of us, but Pest looked pleased that he quite innocently got us into trouble, without any meanness on his part at all. (He’s getting much better at not being mean or petty, we both agree.) Kees and I discussed the correct sizes of the switches we needed to cut. Too small, and Dad would be angry and go cut some himself, or too big, and we couldn’t sit for a few days. We did want to sit for dinner that evening! Our solution was to cut several more than necessary, and let Dad make his choice. We were sure he didn’t want to spoil dinner for us or for him and his friend’s family. We finally cut about six slim ones, all of them about the length of my arm (75cm or 30 inches approximately) of different thicknesses. I stripped them of bark and twigs, hoping none would ask what I was doing, and thinking up some excuses if anyone did. None did.

We brought them back to the room, and found that Dad had sent Pest on some errand or other that might last about 15 or 20 minutes: no longer. We had a strong incentive to get it over with quickly: both so that we were mostly recovered before Pest got back, and to be able to sit again for dinner later that night. Now, we were both grateful that the dinner was scheduled so late! Dad suggested that we both lie down on the bed and bury our faces into a pillow so no noise would escape the walls of the room. I chose to stand anyway, sure I wouldn’t yell. Dad asked for a volunteer to go first. Kees and I looked at each other, and I decided to go first. I dropped my trousers and underpants, pulled up my T-shirt and put my hands on my knees. I heard the swish of the switch through the air, different from the rotan I was used to. The sting was worse: the switch was still wet inside with sap and weighed more than the old dry rotan did, and was longer, and wrapped around too. I nearly yelled. I asked Dad to wait a minute while I lay down on our bed as he had recommended at first, with pillow covering my mouth. It was necessary. Nine more strokes, each worse than the first one. I got up after lying on my pillow for over a minute, after I could control my noises, and made room for Kees. I looked at my butt and saw no blood, just thin red welts. It hurt more than it looked like it did afterward.

Kees, after seeing what happened to me, intelligently decided he would lie on our bed and bury his face into the pillow as I did after the first stroke. I saw why the switch hurt so much: Dad had picked the next to the largest switch we had cut for my butt. Kees took down his shorts and underpants as I had done, and lay on the bed. He has always chosen to be paddled before, so this springy switch would be wholly different than what he was used to getting. I watched Dad switch Kees's butt carefully and very firmly. Kees was obviously crying, but like me, no blood, just welts and redness. Every stroke landed on the part of the butt mostly covered by our Speedos, so no-one would be aware of what had happened unless he looked closely. Kees got only eight strokes, not ten as I did. After he stopped crying, he asked Dad why he only got eight. Dad asked if he needed more, and Kees declined, and even started to smile a little. Dad explained that I got ten because I knew more about the USA than did Kees, and had been here more, and should have remembered better. Kees was spanked because he should have known better, and could have reminded me. We agreed that it was fair and that it wouldn’t happen again.

After lying face down and watching some TV from the bed, and getting online for a short time, about an hour later we felt much better and got dressed to go outside for a walk before dinner. We would like to blame America for this holiday spanking, but Dad was right: I should have known better and thought more. We still hope to meet that girl again before we leave, and maybe exchange telephone numbers or addresses. I don’t think we will discuss our spanking with her, and neither will we show her this website. The dinner was wonderful, and we were both able to sit reasonably comfortably. I’m not yet allowed to say much about the other family we ate with, but perhaps more later, after we are home. They were very interesting, and we got along well with their kids. All in all, a good evening and early afternoon, if the mid-afternoon wasn’t so uncomfortable, it would have been a very nice day. Even today, Saturday morning, I can still feel that rather severe switching, and the marks will be visible for a couple of days yet. Kees agrees wholeheartedly.

Friday, June 20, 2003


Rob’s Story

Here is the long-awaited (well, for about two weeks!) story by Rob. He wrote it in German, and I translated it into English, trying to preserve his style. For those of you who can read German, I have interleaved my translation with his original story.

For those who care about translation, I have erred on the side of faithfulness to Rob’s original German text, rather than toward proper English style. Yet I have tried to avoid a woodenness inherent in a word-for-word transliteration. German is much different from English in its use of tenses and adverbs. Rob likes exclamation points!!! I mentioned this to him in a recent chat on-line. I tried my best to copy his style rather than mine, and he liked the first half which I already showed him via Yahoo Messenger. Since he told me to go ahead and publish without clearing it with him, I wrote him that it was published right when I published it today. If he or anyone else finds translation errors, I shall correct them silently as soon as I’m informed of such. Any additions of mine are in [square brackets] like this.

Hi an alle, die das lesen!

Hi to all who read this!

Erst mal, wer ich bin: Ich bin Robert, aber die meisten Leute nennen mich Rob. Ich bin 15 Jahre alt und lebe in einem kleinen Dorf in Brandenburg in Deutschland. Ich bin Einzelkind. Mein Vater ist Ingenieur und arbeitet in einem großen Werk in Berlin. Meine Mutter ist Hausfrau. Dann sind da noch Anton, mein Hund, und vor allem ist da Oliver, mein bester Freund (und ein bißchen mehr). Ich mag Fußball, Jazz, Opern, aber am liebsten bin ich zusammen mit Oliver (und Anton!).

Firstly, who I am: I am Robert, but most people call me Rob. I am 15 years old and live in a small village in Brandenburg in Germany. I am an only child. My father is an engineer and works for a large business in Berlin. My mother is a housewife. There are still Anton, my dog, and above all there is Oliver, my best friend (and a bit more). I like football [soccer], jazz, and operas, but my most favourite thing is being together with Oliver (and Anton)!

Es war Eddies Vorschlag, daß ich hier etwas schreibe. Eddie wird es dann ins Englische übersetzen. Ich will etwas darüber erzählen, wie ich erzogen worden bin und noch werde! Ich weiß nicht, ob Euch das wirklich interessiert, aber vielleicht ist es ganz gut für mich, das aufzuschreiben.

It was Eddie’s suggestion that I write something here. Eddie will then translate it into English. I will tell something about how I have been educated and still will be! I don’t know whether that really interests you, but perhaps it’s entirely good for me to write it down.

Ich muß eines vorausschicken: Ich will mich nicht beklagen! Ich liebe meine Eltern! Auch meinen Vater! Trotzdem glaube ich, daß er mit mir einige Sachen falsch gemacht hat!

I must say one thing in advance: I do not want to belittle myself! I love my parents! Also my father! Nevertheless I believe that he did a few things wrong with regard to me!

Als ich klein war, war alles prima! Ich durfte spielen, und mein Vater hat sich viel Zeit genommen, um mit mir zu spielen! Meine Mutter natürlich auch! Aber ich hatte von Anfang an ziemlich strikte Regeln. Frechheiten durfte ich mir nie leisten. Ich weiß noch, da war ich, glaube ich, 5 Jahre alt, da hat mir meine Mutter etwas verboten und ich sagte zu ihr: „Du böse Mama!“. Das habe ich aber auch wirklich nur einmal in meinem Leben gesagt! Natürlich durfte ich auch keine „schlimmen“ Wörter benutzen! Wenn etwas passierte, dann zog mir meine Mutter die Hosen herunter (später „durfte“ ich das selbst machen), und ich wurde über das Knie gelegt. Als ich klein war, waren es nur ein paar Klapse, als ich größer wurde, konnte es auch schon mal eine richtige Tracht Prügel sein. Aber es kam eigentlich nicht sehr oft vor.

When I was small, everything was fine! I was able to play and my father took lots of time to play with me. My mother naturally did the same! But I had from the beginning rather strict rules. Insolence [being fresh] I was never allowed to commit. I still remember: there was I, five years old (I believe), where my mother forbade me something and I said to her, “You bad mommy!” I said that really also only once in my life! Naturally I was never allowed to use any “bad” words! If something like that happened, then my mother pulled my trousers down (later I “was allowed” to do that myself), and I was laid over the knee. When I was small, there were only a few flips [over the knee], but when I became larger, it could already again be a righteous flogging. But it didn’t actually occur very often.

Als ich 10 Jahre alt wurde, hat mein Vater die Erziehung übernommen. Er war viel strenger als meine Mutter! Sein Motto war: „Der Junge muß Disziplin lernen!“ Das hieß (und heißt) für mich: Ganz strenge Vorschriften (ok, mittlerweile etwas lockerer)! Wann ich zu Hause sein muß, wann ich ins Bett muß, Hausaufgaben immer in Schönschrift, das Zimmer immer schön aufgeräumt, und so weiter! Irgendwie ist mein Papa auf die Idee gekommen, daß er mir nur richtig „Disziplin“ beibringen kann, wenn er mich mindestens einmal pro Woche verhaut! Das heißt, er hat nach Gründen für eine Bestrafung gesucht! Und er hat immer etwas gefunden! Mal war ihm das Zimmer nicht ordentlich genug, mal waren es meine Hausaufgaben, mal war ich 5 Minuten zu spät—irgendwas hat er immer gefunden, und das hieß dann für mich regelmäßig, „Robert, geh auf Dein Zimmer“! Dort musste ich dann warten bis Papa kam, dann meine Hosen herunterlassen und dann hat er mich über das Knie gelegt und versohlt! Danach mußte ich mich immer in die Ecke stellen, mit den Händen auf dem Kopf. Er hat immer gesagt, daß das gut für mich ist! Daß mir das helfen wird! Ich habe da so meine Zweifel! Aber eines war gut und ist gut: Wenn es vorbei ist, dann ist es auch wirklich vorbei und er nimmt mich in den Arm und sagt, daß er mich liebt! Ich glaube ihm das! Ich liebe ihn ja auch!

When I became 10 years old, my father took over my education. He was much stricter than my mother! His motto was “The boy must learn discipline!” That meant (and remains) for me: totally strict regulations (okay, sometimes somewhat more loosely)! When I must be at home, when I must be in bed, homework always fair-copied, my room always perfectly clean, and so on! My dad somehow arrived at the idea that he can only teach “discipline” correctly to me if he strikes me at least weekly! That is, he looked for reasons for punishment! And he always found something! Many times the room was not properly clean enough, many times it was my homework, many times I was five minutes too late—he always found something, and then he called for me regularly, “Robert, go to your room!” There I had to wait then for dad for come, then to lower my trousers, and then he put me over his knee to slipper me! Afterwards I always had to stand in the corner, with my hands on my head. He always said that that is good for me! That that will help me! I have my doubts about that! But one thing was and is good: If it is over, then is it really over indeed and he takes me into his arms and says that he loves me! I believe that about him! I love him also indeed!

Und dann kam ein Tag letztes Jahr! Ich hatte mir mit ein paar Freunden ein paar Büchsen Bier besorgt und wir waren in den Wald gegangen, um sie dort zu trinken. Ich kann mich genau an den Tag erinnern! Die Sonne schien, es war angenehm warm, wir saßen herum und tranken Bier und bauten Scheiß (we were fooling around). Eigentlich ein perfekter Tag! Wir hatten sogar Pfefferminz dabei, für den Atem! Aber irgendjemand muß uns gesehen haben! Ich weiß bis heute nicht, wer. Nur, es ist so, wir leben in einem kleinen Dorf, wo jeder jeden kennt, und, um es kurz zu machen, als ich nach Hause kam, wußte mein Vater schon Bescheid und war tierisch wütend! So sauer hatte ich ihn überhaupt noch nie gesehen! Er verpasste mir erst einmal ein paar Ohrfeigen und schickte mich auf mein Zimmer. Irgendwann kam er und hielt mir eine Rede, wie enttäuscht er von mir sei, und daß jetzt andere Saiten aufgezogen werden! Oh Mann! Das war die Geburtsstunde des Gürtels in meinem Leben! Oder, besser, auf meinem Hintern!

And then one day came last year! I had got myself a few friends, a few cans of beer, and we had also gone into the forest, in order to drink them there. I can remember it exactly to the day! The sun shone, it was pleasantly warm, we sat around and drank beer and did shit [mucked around] (we were fooling around). Actually a perfect day! We even had peppermints ready for our breath! But somebody must have seen us! I do not know who even up to today. Only, it is like that, we live in a small village, where everyone knows everyone, and, in order to make it short, when I came home, my father knew already and was bestially furious! I had not seen him so sour at all ever! At once, he gave me just a few slaps to my ears and sent me to my room. He came after a while and gave a speech about how he was disappointed in me, and that different rules are drawn up now! Oh man! That was the birth of the belt in my life! Or, better, on my backside!

Aber es kam noch schlimmer! Irgendwie kam mein Vater auf die Idee, mich in der „Windel-position“ zu schlagen! Ich mußte mich also nackt ausziehen, auf dem Bett auf den Rücken legen und die Beine hochhalten. Die hat mein Vater dann nach hinten (in Richtung Kopf) gedrückt. So konnte er buchstäblich ALLES von mir sehen und hat dann mit dem Gürtel zugeschlagen! Es war so erniedrigend und beschämend! Das war so schrecklich und grausam! Das gönne ich meinem ärgsten Feind nicht! Das war eine Zeit, in der ich ihn wirklich gehasst habe! Und das werde ich ihm auch nie vergessen!

But then it got worse! My father somehow came upon the idea to spank me in the “diaper position”! Therefore I had to strip naked, lie on the bed on my back and hold my legs up high. My father pressed them then to the rear (towards my head). Thus he could literally see EVERYTHING of me and then he struck me with the belt! It was so degrading and shaming! That was so terrible and cruel! I wouldn’t wish that upon my worst enemy! That was a time when I really hated him! And that I will also never forget what he did!

Auf jeden Fall dachte ich, ich brauche einen Plan! Mein Plan war, mich in den Sommerferien extrem gut zu benehmen, und dann, wenn die Zeit reif ist, mit meinem Vater über die „Windelposition“ zu verhandeln. Hat auch geklappt. Wir waren in Italien. Das Hotel war gut, das Wetter war gut, das Meer war warm, und ich war so folgsam wie ich nur konnte! Also hatte mein Papa gute Laune, und eines Tages bin ich dann zu ihm hin und habe ihn gefragt, ob wir nicht mal über die „Windelposition“ reden können. Und er sagte, ja, können wir. Ok, um es kurz zu machen, wir haben einen „Vertrag“ aufgesetzt. Schriftlich sogar! Darin steht, daß er auf die „Windelposition“ verzichtet. Dafür mußte ich akzeptieren: 25 Schläge mit dem Gürtel als Minimum, nackt, auf meinem Bett mit einem Kissen unter mir, so dass mein Hintern herausgestreckt ist. Danach 30 Minuten in der Ecke. Wenn ich während der Schläge zu sehr herumzappele oder zu laut schreie, dann noch mal 15 Schläge mehr, wenn die Eckestehzeit vorbei ist. Ich habe das unterschrieben und akzeptiert. Ich hätte alles akzeptiert, nur um diese „Windelposition“ los zu werden!!!

In any case, I thought that I needed a plan! My plan was to behave extremely well during the summer holidays. Then to negotiate when the time was ripe with my father about the “diaper position”. This also worked out. We were in Italy. The hotel was good, the weather was good, the sea was warm, and I was as obedient as I could be! Thus my dad was in a good mood, and one day I came to him and then asked him whether we could not talk somewhat about the “diaper position.” And he said, “Yes we can.” In order to make it short, we made a “contract”. In writing even! It says in it that he no longer requires the “diaper position”. But I had to accept 25 strokes with the belt as a minimum, naked, on my bed with a cushion under me, so that my backside is outstretched. Afterwards, there’d be 30 minutes in the corner. If I fidget around too much during the spanking or cry too loudly, then there will be still 15 more strokes after the standing in the corner time is past. I signed and accepted it. I would have accepted anything just in order to avoid this “diaper position.”

Danach habe ich es oft gekriegt! Eine Woche war es wirklich schlimm! Ich bekam eine Tracht Prügel am Dienstag, und noch eine am Donnerstag! Und weil mir mein Hintern noch vom Dienstag so weh tat, konnte ich am Donnerstag nicht stilliegen, und bekam deshalb auch noch zusätzlich die 15! Also 65 Hiebe in einer Woche! Und mein Vater kann hart schlagen! (Das war aber das einzige mal, daß das passiert ist!)

Afterwards I often got it! One week it was really bad! I got a righteous flogging on Tuesday, and still one on Thursday! And because my backside still hurt in such a way from Tuesday, I could not lie still on Thursday, and therefore got also yet an additional fifteen! Thus, 65 blows in one week! And my father can strike hard! (That was however the only time that that happened!)

Seit ich 15 bin, ist es irgendwie anders geworden! Mein Vater droht zwar noch oft mit dem Gürtel, aber bekommen habe ich ihn schon lange nicht mehr! Seit meinem Geburtstag im Dezember erst zwei mal, das letzte mal Ende Februar. Aber ich mache mir keine Illusionen, irgendwann bin ich wieder reif!

Since I turned 15, somehow it became different! Still, my father often threatens me with the belt, but for a long time I haven’t got it any longer! Since my birthday in December only two times, the last time at the end of February. But I do not fool myself: sometime I’ll again be ripe for one!

Jetzt werden manche sagen, das ist Kindesmißhandlung. Ja, ist es vielleicht, oder war es zumindest. Aber, trotzdem, ich liebe meinen Vater! Weil, er kann auf der anderen Seite so freundlich und nett und verständnisvoll sein! Er hat mir zum 15. Geburtstag Anton geschenkt, meinen Hund! Das war das schönste Geburtstagsgeschenk, das ich je bekommen habe!!! Er sorgt für mich, und wenn er gute Laune hat, dann können wir auch richtig Spaß zusammen haben!

Now some will say that this is child abuse. Yes, it is perhaps, or it was at least. But nevertheless I love my father! Because, he can be on the other hand so friendly and nice and understanding! He has been so to me since I became 15. He gave me Anton, my dog, for a birthday present! That was the most beautiful birthday gift which I have ever got!!! He provides for me, and if he is in a good mood, then we can also have good fun together!

Aber das Wichtigste ist, wie er auf mein „coming out“ reagiert hat! Ich hatte große Angst es ihm zu sagen, daß ich schwul bin, aber ich wußte, ich muß es ihm sagen, also habe ich es ihm gestanden, und er hat so fantastisch reagiert! Er hat mich in den Arm genommen und gesagt, „ob Du schwul bist oder nicht, wir lieben Dich!“ Und das sind die Momente, in denen ich denke, ich habe den besten Papa der Welt!!!

But the most important thing is how he reacted to my “coming out”! I was really afraid to tell him that I was gay, but I knew I must tell him, therefore I confessed it to him, and he reacted so fantastically! He took me into his arms said, “Whether you’re gay or not, we love you!” And those are the moments in which I think I have the best dad in the world!!!

Das war meine Geschichte! Vielleicht hat es irgendjemanden interessiert! Danke auf jeden Fall an Eddie, der das nicht nur ins Laufen gebracht hat, sondern auch den ganzen Text übersetzen mußte!

That was my history! Perhaps it has interested somebody! Thanks in any case to Eddie, who has not only brought this into the running [into being], but also had to translate the entire text.

Macht´s gut, Ihr alle! Schöne Zeit!

Be good, everyone! Have a beautiful time!


PS: Man sollte sich nie zu sicher fühlen! Vor ein paar Tagen hat mir meine Mutter einen 100-Euro Schein mitgegeben, um damit einzukaufen. Ich hab den Schein verloren! Ich habe stundenlang nach ihm gesucht, aber er war weg. Und mein Vater war tierisch sauer, weil 100 Euro sind eine Menge Geld! Also hat er mir sich vorgenommen und das war kein Spaß!

PS: One should feel never too safe about oneself! A few days ago, my mother gave me a 100-Euro note, in order to buy something with it. I lost the money! I looked for hours for it, but it was lost. And my father was beastly sour, because €100 is a great deal of money! [About US $118] Thus he punished me and that was no fun!

Thursday, March 13, 2003


The Sinterklaas Spanking

I, Kees de Vries, need to tell the story of my last spanking. I want to do it, and it’s part of the punishment too. The hard part is what to include and what not to. Lots is important, but much needs to remain private to my mother. Some is rather embarrassing, but that I don’t mind. I want to tell the story so others can understand it, and my part in it, yet not violate the privacy of my mother or my sisters who know nothing about what I write on Eddie’s web site. Eddie is helping me with advice and the translation, but the original words are mine. I understand the entire English translation, and agree with all of it. We worked together for over six weeks to get it right. I am now happy with it, and it accurately reflects my words.

Some history is needed. My mother and father never married. My father fell in love with my mother a long time ago, and I was the result of their love. I have an older sister, and a younger. But then Dad fell in love with another, and he mostly moved out of our lives. I see him nearly every year. He is a university professor, and is currently teaching at the university in Aachen, Germany, close to the Dutch border. I can see him when I wish, with only about a two-hour train ride. He sends money for me to buy a train ticket with whenever I ask him. Sometimes he sends for me. I like that. He’s a good man, and I love him. He is good to me.

My mother is different. She lives close by, and teaches primary school here. She doesn’t have my father’s degrees, but she is a fully-qualified primary school teacher. Since my father left, she has been rather depressed on and off. When she is feeling better, she teaches full-time at the local primary (elementary for Americans) school. When she doesn’t, she is a substitute teacher, but stays home most of the time. She also does after-school private teaching with older students who need extra help.

My older sister likes the fact that I live with Eddie’s family. She is happy about that, and gets to run my mother’s family. Mother doesn’t like to make difficult decisions. She lets my big sister make most of the necessary decisions so she needn’t bother with them. I don’t agree with many, but let her do what she likes most of the time. Since I don’t live at their house, most don’t affect me much. Mother drinks too much in my opinion, and is rather depressed much of the time, so I cannot really argue with her. I think my older sister is selfish, and considers her welfare and pleasure ahead of the family welfare when decisions need to be made. I’m not there, so I cannot make much of a difference, even though I want to.

I foolishly tried to change things by acting the part of a selfish and immature son. I complained to my sister, and tried to change things by being argumentative and childish. She didn’t fall for that. She is not dumb, even though I don’t like much of what she does. I got worse, and tried to sabotage some of her decisions. Every time I tried to ask Mother to help, she had an excuse and went to bed, closing the door. I was frustrated. Instead of finding out what Mother wanted to have accomplished, I did what I wanted to. I tried to make life miserable for my older sister with lots of success. My younger sister just cried lots. She didn’t understand at all, and now I realise that I didn’t understand much more than she.

Many times I went home to Eddie’s family. Instead of leaving my own troubles at home, I brought them with me. I was rude to Eddie’s Dad which I never was before. I know intellectually that he loves me and cares for me, and treats me as a son born to him. I know that now, and also before now. I’ve always known that. But I let the difficulties of life at my mother’s home contaminate Eddie’s family’s home. I knew I was being immature and wrong when I was surly and cross. I should have known that at Eddie’s I should have left my personal troubles behind me. I could have discussed them with Eddie, or better with Eddie’s Dad, and begun to have solved them. Instead, I let the disagreements fester in my mind and heart, and I became rather a rotten guy for some weeks.

I found myself yelling at Eddie’s Dad, and at Eddie, and wanting to be left alone afterwards. Pest tried to cheer me up with a joke, and I slapped him on the cheek. I cried right away, and Pest hugged me, but the others saw what happened. I felt terribly awkward. Pest forgave me, and went to bed so Dad wouldn’t notice the redness. Eddie was rather sad, and I think he cried about this. There were some nights when we had little to say to one another. Both of us were sad about this, but didn’t know what to do about it. I tried to tell Eddie it was his fault, but I knew I was lying. He laughed at me, and I knew why. I felt stupid, and angry at myself. I knew it was my fault, but I didn’t know what to do about it to fix things.

I had a long talk in private with Eddie’s Dad. I won’t write much about what he said. This is about Eddie and me, not about Eddie’s Dad. Eddie’s Dad prefers the website to be this way. We discussed my responsibility to my original family, and the relation between my father and my mother. He clarified what I must do in regard to my sisters, and more especially, my mother. I told him that I had been acting like a fool for many weeks now. I didn’t know what to do to stop acting as I have been in Eddie’s family. I was ashamed, but didn’t know how to stop.

Eddie’s Dad left it up to me, and told me that I needed to change my behaviour. The feelings I was feeling couldn’t be changed he said, but my behaviour toward others I cared about could be. He said that that was an act of the will, and I was in charge of what I decided to do. This was about the worst thing he could have said to me. I would rather he have disciplined me right then, but he wouldn’t. He just looked rather sad, more sad than I had ever seen him in relation to anything Eddie or I had done. I needed to decide for myself, instead of leaving it up to him.

I started to work on a paddle. We have wood-working tools, and some scrap wood in our shed. My paddle, the one Eddie’s Dad has used on my butt up to now, has been up until November a scrap left over from making a set of shelves bought at IKEA. It was just a scrap left over, about 12mm x 7cm x 30cm (1/2″ x 3″ x 1′ US) of soft pine. I decided that I needed a good spanking but that the paddle Dad had been using wasn’t enough. So I got a bigger scrap of wood at school, and made a new paddle for me (and perhaps Eddie, if he ever gives up the stick!) It was much more substantial. An inch thick, over 18 inches long and 5 inches wide, and a handle. Sort of like a small cricket bat. [25mm x 50cm x 13cm], with the same curves. It’s of Swedish pine. I made it smooth, and varnished it. No holes though. Eddie and I tested it. It hurts! Makes a good noise, too.

Shortly before Sinterklaas (St-Nicholas’s Day), I told Eddie’s Dad what I had decided. I needed to be spanked. I had rarely asked for a spanking before, leaving such things up to Eddie’s Dad. He caught us when necessary, we had earlier decided, and didn’t need our help. This was different. I had realised that I had screwed up, without help of any others. Everyone was sad. It was clearly my fault. So everyone was waiting on me, to see my decision. I agreed, long before I came to this decision. This was necessary, even though not what I would like. I agreed that it was just. The number of swats was the only thing still unknown, and I’d leave that to Eddie’s Dad. I trusted him.

I gave the paddle to Eddie’s Dad as a St-Nicholas present. I thought that when others who saw it that morning would make it have more of an impression on me, and make it unnecessary to use more than once. They (those present not in the immediate family) thought it a joke. We knew better! Especially Eddie, who knew it probably would be used on him before he left the family. There is a certain comfort in the present known, such as his small stick. The new paddle would be an unknown, and probably worse for him. I hope he forgives me for my making of that paddle!

Dad agreed that this was a good idea, so the next day was a good day for the paddling. 6 December was the Saint’s day, so on Saturday I was ready for the paddling. I dreaded it, but also wished it in a way I cannot explain easily. I wanted it to be over well before Christmas. If you know old Dutch customs, you will recognise the irony of a kid requesting a spanking on Sinterklaasdag.

Shortly before bedtime on Saturday, Dad asked whether I was ready, and intended to be spanked as I had requested. I told him I was. I went upstairs, showered, brushed my teeth, and got ready for bed. I told Dad I was ready for his attentions, and he came up with the new paddle. It was scary, but I actually was thoroughly ready. I knew I needed this, even though I didn’t want it. I had really been an arsehole, and I wanted to make it up to Eddie’s Dad, and also to the rest of the family.

I knew I couldn’t stand up for this new much heavier paddle, so I lay down on our bed. I had earlier asked Eddie to be with me, and he was. He looked rather sad. He sat in a chair nearby.

I wasn’t wearing any clothes, so there was nothing to adjust. Dad told me I would get twelve strokes, and asked if that was all right. That was as much as I had ever got before, so after a second or so I said Yes. I spread my legs a bit, pointed my toes together so as not to clench my butt muscles and said Okay.

The new paddle was about as painful as I guessed. Each stoke hurt badly. I didn’t start crying until the fourth stroke. Dad doesn’t ask us to count, but I did in my mind. He waited about five seconds between each stoke, so it only took a minute. That was slower than normal, because I think he wanted me to remember this one specially.

He waited by me, sitting on our bed, until I was done crying. He said nothing until I was composed. We discussed how rotten I had been, and what I might say to my mother. He didn’t want to talk right then about how bad I had been to him or Pest or Eddie. I decided what to say to my mother, and how to try to behave in the future. Then we discussed how bad I had been toward Eddie and toward Pest. He still left himself out of the discussion.

Eddie, who had been listening to everything, immediately told Dad and me that it was all okay, and he had forgiven it all, and couldn’t really remember anything too bad anyway. Pest wasn’t present, but wouldn’t have agreed at all. Eddie is much kinder than Pest. I felt like an idiot and a fool in all ways. I started to cry again, even though the pain in my butt wasn’t nearly as bad any longer. So did Eddie. Dad looked disturbed, and that bothered me. We discussed what now should happen. We agreed on a plan for me to talk with my mother, and that it should be done well before Christmas.

I still felt badly about Eddie, Pest and Dad. My behaviour had been really intolerable, yet they tolerated me and loved me. This was both embarrassing and made me realise how good Eddie’s Dad was towards me after all. I asked him to spank me again, but he refused. He said he would if I still felt like it tomorrow (Sunday morning, 8 December) before church. That was cruel. I was all ready for it now, but not if I had to wait eight hours or so, thinking about it. Dad wanted to give me time to change my mind, if this was just a spur-of-the-moment decision, and wasn’t what I really wanted.

Eddie and I discussed this for over an hour before we went to sleep that night. I decided to ask for a spanking in the morning, but hoped that it not be too hard. I wanted Pest to be there too, to see it, unlike Saturday night, when only Eddie was there. I wanted him to know that I regretted my nasty behaviour toward him for the last several weeks. Eddie already knew, but I hadn’t talked much to Pest about this. We (Eddie and I) both often take him for granted, but we are trying to change as he grows up. Eddie rubbed my back and butt and legs until I went to sleep that night. He is kind.

In the morning, after we had awakened and talked a bit, I affirmed my decision of the previous night, and decided to ask Dad for another spanking because of my immature behaviour. I had no bruises from the previous night, but my butt was still sore. Eddie agreed. Eddie prepared breakfast as usual on Sunday morning, and during our meal I told Dad what I had decided. He wanted to know if I was sure, and I assured him I was, and that it was the only way to feel better after my rotten behaviour during the previous weeks. Pest was happy, and I nearly changed my mind. I realised part of the reason I agreed to this was because of my terrible behaviour toward Pest, in addition to the others. I needed to forgive him because he is still young. Dad spoke to Pest, and reminded him that this was my decision alone. He pretended (I think) to agree. I hope he really did, but I have no way to know.

After breakfast, before getting dressed for church, Dad, Eddie, Pest and I went up to Eddie’s and my bedroom for my spanking. Terribly embarrassing, because of Pest’s presence. Dad gave us all a lecture about what was needed in our family to get along and be a family, and stuff like that. He prayed too. It’s important, and I agree with most of it, but it’s not something I can easily put into such a report as this. Eddie volunteered to take part of my spanking, and I was astounded. Dad agreed, since (Dad solemnly told us) if I knew that Eddie would be punished, I myself would be less likely to misbehave in the future. I asked Eddie not to, and told him that he was being stupid, but he insisted. Dad decided on twelve more strokes, in addition to the twelve strokes of last night. Eddie volunteered for the first three. I got the last nine. Eddie took the three without a yell, but his eyes got wet. I started to yell on the first stroke, either because Eddie’s generosity upset me or because my butt was still tender from last night. We both took them on the bare butt, lying on our bed. It’s a heavy paddle. Dad swings it hard, too.

That was the first time Eddie ever got spanked by Dad with a paddle, and it wasn’t his fault at all. No marks, but I think it hurts much worse than a stick. I made the paddle for me, and not for Eddie. My butt’s tougher than his, I think. It was for me to learn a lesson, not for him to. Now, as a result, we have more in common, and perhaps a different relationship with Dad. We’ll see. We both made excuses to stand all the time in church that morning. We had no trouble sitting down for lunch: Dad’s treat at the Chinese/Indonesian restaurant in Hoofddorp. No need this time for Eddie to be spanked with chop-sticks!

Tuesday, February 11, 2003


Iraq and the Coming Conflict

I have posted several nice pictures Dad has found of some interesting Iraqi sites. The title of this set of pictures probably should be Iraq, the Way It Used to Be or The Former Iraq. These all come from non-classified commercial satellites, mostly from the Landsat series of satellites. These are sites of military interest, not tourist. If you are interested in seeing them, I have put them here. If the coming conflict doesn’t interest you, probably you don’t need to look at them. They are large, and will load slowly if you only have a dial-up connection. My text should load quickly, however. This link is to the text, and in it are links to the various satellite photographs. As usual, responses are requested and read with great interest.

Monday, January 20, 2003

I’ve made a very few technical changes to this page. If you notice what they are, please comment, both in favour and opposed. If you don’t notice them, don’t worry about them. Content isn’t affected. If you have an old browser (such as Netscape 4.xx), you’ll notice this more. An upgrade to IE 5.xx or higher, Opera 5, 6 or 7 (my choice), Netscape 6.xx, or any recent Mozilla release will fix (I think) any appearance problems. I have no idea about AOL stuff, since I don’t use any of their services. I’d appreciate comments from any users of their proprietary browsers.

Friday, December 27, 2002


Christmas Dinner Update

I got a very nice long letter from Tim Bradley with questions and comments about my menu. Thanks to him, I'm going to add an item or three I left out. He also suggested including roast potatoes next year. A good idea, and rather English in my opinion. I'm still waiting to hear from more of you.

Just for fun, I put in some links to recipes and pictures of many of the items listed. I hope you enjoy them.

Thursday, December 26, 2002

I hope everyone had as good a Christmas as we did in our family this year. We had many relatives visit us for Christmas dinner, which Kees and I prepared. I set the menu, while Dad made the wine selection. This was the biggest single meal I have ever cooked. Kees did much of the preparation on the 24th, and we both cooked for most of Christmas morning. Thanks to a good friend with a diplomatic passport from the USA, we had a large fat beef rib roast to enjoy. And thanks to a relative who shot more black grouse in Wales than he could eat, we had game birds too. A Dutch farmer provided the goose, but he wanted money for it.

Christmas Dinner 2002

Starters (and snacks for the entire afternoon):
Dinner wines and waters:
Soup and salad course:

  • Wild mushroom and shallot cream soup
  • Cucumber and parsley salad in crème fraîche, lemon and black pepper
  • Mixed greens with apples, sweet red peppers, walnuts and goat cheese in red wine vinaigrette and a garlic croûton

Main course (meat and poultry):

  • Roast young goose with apricot, ginger and honey glaze; apple-onion stuffing
  • Black grouse from Wales, roasted with apple, juniper berry and Jenever stuffing
  • Prime beef ribs, roasted with garlic and cracked peppercorns, served au jus with horseradish sauce

Main course (hot vegetable dishes):
Desserts: a variety from the Dutch baker

After dinner:

Wednesday, December 18, 2002


More bad news

This month, several groups I was a member of now don’t exist. Gene’s group was terminated by Yahoo early this month as was Ricky’s, Rob’s group was ended this week, and just today, Corbo’s group was ended. No explanation. Gene started up a new group, but thus far I’m not allowed to be a member. He’s looking into this. And the group started four months ago by Kyle and Justin is soon to be shut down by its owners because of lack of interest. Pity. (It’s now gone, as of mid-January.)

As both an experiment into Yahoo’s rules, and as a convenience for several people in various groups who wanted pictures from me, I set up a Yahoo group with only two permanent members, Kees and me. In it is made only a single post once a month to keep it active, and hundreds of pictures. Many are nudes, most are with Speedo’s, and all are of kids. I have had this group open for eight months without any problems. Whoever wanted pictures in a quantity too great to mail easily, I added them to the group, one at a time. That way, they could download the pictures they wanted, and I didn’t have to mail them. When they were finished, I removed them as agreed. (None of my pictures is pornographic whatever, but probably many are not suitable for Yahoo groups open to all ages.)

If you have any thoughts on this, please comment in the message board. I have no explanations, other than that some member isn’t who he or she claims to be, and is deliberately asking Yahoo to take them down. Just a guess, and without evidence. But what else could it be? Yahoo permits groups with much racier content without problems. One Dutch-language group I am a member of is probably not even legal in the US because of subject matter, yet it has no problems.

Tuesday, December 10, 2002


Bad news

As of 30 November 2002, my membership has been removed by the owner or by one of the moderators of the Yahoo group Hands…. I don't know by whom, since I wasn't told about this. Instead, that Saturday morning, when I tried to log into it, I found that I was no longer a member. I reapplied, but several days later my application was rejected. I wrote the owner, but have not as of today received any reply as to why. If any of you knows why or wants to discuss it with me or others, please post something about it on my message board. I'd appreciate your thoughts about this. I miss hearing from all those of you who post on Hands and post nowhere else where I read regularly. I am forbidden both to post and even to read any post there, including my own. Thanks to all who have written me privately about this. (You know who you are!) Yahoo IM and email will still reach me as always.

I have tried to guess at some of the reasons. I have been told several times by a post in the group, or by an editing change to one of my posts by the owner, that I am too argumentative. That's probably right: I do like to argue. But to me, it's more of a sport, and not a fight where someone gets his feelings hurt. I tried never to criticise a group member, but I often did severely criticise a news article someone found and posted. I liked to read what everyone posts, but I never believed that every post reflected the character and opinions of the poster.

Here's a good example of one of my more critical posts. It was rejected by one of the moderators and never appeared, so far as I know. I don't have the original article I criticised, but it ought to be still in the group archives. I believe it appeared shortly before (or on) 14 August 2002 since that's the date on my copy of my reply. As I recall, the original news article, found and posted by Sean, was some sort of kiddie science article about the nature of fire and flames. It was wrong in so many places that at times I thought it a parody, but upon reflection, I think that the author (whose name I haven't got, and not a group member) really believed this junk. If he or she is actually a teacher, he or she ought to be sent back to school over stuff like this. I think it's terrible that an educator or kiddie science writer for some newspaper should spread manure like this around, where kids might believe it to be correct. This is a better than normal example, since in it I quote the actual erroneous statements from the original.

Anyway, here's what I wrote as a criticism of the factual inaccuracies in the article. I invite responses, pro and con, as always.

Hi Sean,

Interesting article. Where did it come from? It has some very bad science in it, and not just minor details: much is completely backwards and wrong as to facts. I hope you put it here as a joke, and not as a serious science article. If so, please allow me to correct the many glaring faults in it. If it's just a joke, I don't get it: why not say that fire's cold, and it sucks cold out of the air, or something else like that? To the various points then:

Colour of the bright part of the flame isn't due to 'heating of unburned carbon particles'. Rather, the hot carbon particles are luminous, and emit visible light. Heating the particles is not what causes the light to be formed. That's backwards.

The 'strong orange color' is easy to test: if you have a gas burner or cook-top available, put some salt into the blue flame and check the colour. Or, some cities use low-pressure sodium vapour lamps to light the roadways at night. The colour (from the closely-spaced D-lines in sodium's spectrum) are bright yellow to my eyesight, not orange. (Wavelengths for you science guys: 5896Å and 5890Å, which are clearly yellow.) The varying colours of flames from burning of anything that contains reduced carbon is partly due to the temperature of the hot gases in which the luminous carbon particles occur. They approximate black body radiators in some respects, and emit a continuous spectrum of light that is temperature dependent.

The colour (other than of light emitted from incandescent carbon) is not due to the 'temperature of the fire and the material being burned'. Rather, it's what emits the light that determines the colour. Ionised air emits bluish light. So do most gases. Neon is an obvious exception: red. To make other colours, as in fireworks, various metallic salts are used, each with its own group of colours, which adds to the light when they are ionised in the heat of the combustion. Whether hotter or cooler, a particular transition of electrons between energy levels in an ion or atom is what determines the colour of the light emitted: definitely not temperature!

Next false statement: 'The temperature of wood flames is lower than that of candle flames, which colors the wood flames orange, not yellow.' This type of general statement is meaningless. The actual temperature of various parts of either a candle flame or a wood fire varies from room temperature to well over 2000°F in the bluish parts. This kind of statement is rather like talking about an average phone number, or better, the 'average body part weight'. Which part? fingernail? head? torso? a hair?

Next false statement: 'The product of the burnt carbon, when it has cooled, is black soot.' No, the product of burnt carbon is either carbon dioxide (when burnt completely) or carbon monoxide (when burning is incomplete). There are no other possible products. When carbon remains unburnt, it is still carbon. Soot is small flakes of carbon contaminated with some other by-products of combustion, such as tars.

Next false statement, and actually the funniest in its errors: 'Since fire needs oxygen to burn, and since the bottom of a candle flame does not get much oxygen, it is the hottest spot in the flame and is blue in color'. The bottom is where the oxygen enters the flame in the highest concentration. The convection currents around the flame (remember, hot air rises?) cause air to enter at the bottom, and hot air and combustion products leave in a hot stream straight up. The blue colour is ionised air. It doesn't glow bright yellow because there are not many incandescent carbon particles present. The oxygen concentration is actually lowest above the wick, in the upper center of the flame. If you look closely, you can see a darker streak there. Since when does oxygen restriction result in a hotter flame? In oxyacetylene welding, oxygen is deliberately added in high concentration to a hydrocarbon flame to make it as hot as possible, hot enough to make steel flow like water.

Next one: 'The flame cools and changes color as it moves away from the source of the flame, because it is exposed to more oxygen'. No, if you increased the oxygen concentration around the flame, it would actually become hotter, and the candle would burn faster. It cools because there is less burning material to create heat, and heat is constantly being lost to the surroundings, regardless of oxygen concentration. The colour is again due not to temperature but to which electronic transitions are occurring in which atom or ion, and the brightness is due to how many per second per volume occur.

I hope the author of this isn't involved in any way whatever in teaching science. He obviously knows none, at least so far as combustion and flames are concerned, and if kids believe what he or she is writing, they will become confused as to the true nature of how things work in our world. So much misinformation in one article is rare. Yet, this doesn't seem to me to be an attempt at humour. Is it?

Eddie Taylor

Wednesday, November 13, 2002


Blonde Jokes

I have put up a very long page of hundreds of blonde jokes for everyone's amusement. Lots of them were new to me. They are permanently linked at the left side under 'Fun Stuff' also. (In case you didn't know, blond refers to males and blonde to females.) Enjoy!

Friday, October 25, 2002

The service I use to publish my home pages, Blogger, was hacked today. It has been restored from backup, but I'm not sure everything works yet. If you see a problem, I'd appreciate an email or IM about it. Thanks!

Thursday, October 10, 2002

I just posted a list of Bart Simpson's blackboard introductions, complete with links to the show(s) they were from. Since it's too long for this page, it's here and on the left panel, under Fun Stuff. I hope you enjoy it. Take some time and also sign my guestbook or post something in the Forum.

Monday, September 23, 2002


The History of Dutch Drug Policy

I have tried to post things like this many different times to a Yahoo group run by a good guy who is sensitive about offending others. Many of my posts about drugs have been deleted or never posted as a result. In fairness to that moderator, I have decided to make all of my drug-related postings to my own site. I am somewhat of a libertarian, and don't want to push my views onto others. I realise that Libertarianism is a view of a very small minority in most English-speaking countries. It's easy to be misunderstood on such a sensitive issue as drug policy. Sometimes I argue for a change in various country's drug laws. Never because I think that recreational use of heroin or cocaine is a good thing, but because I think that often the laws against such use do more harm than the use of many of the drugs themselves. As an extreme example, in Singapore and Malaysia there is a death penalty for possession of cannabis, if you have more than a certain minimum. (From memory, it's about 500 grammes, or about 18 ounces.) Death is much worse than even smoking that much dope, in my opinion.

I have written a report for school on the Dutch drug regulation history over the last 120 years or so, and hope that much of it might be of interest to readers here. I have written it here in English, but it's not polished yet. Also, the references are still incomplete, but they are all I have time for after working on them for over 5 hours today. I will gradually add more, to avoid charges of plagiarism, during the next few weeks. As usual, I invite criticism. But I don't want unthinking stuff of this kind: "Drugs are bad, and you shouldn't write about them!" Yes, I know. I am writing about ways that might work to limit the harm some drugs do. This paper is about Dutch history, and not fantasy. Please send me information that might be helpful in writing a more accurate paper, or a more understandable one. Propaganda isn't what I want, but facts. I know that some drug abuse kills and maims. What I need is material to make my writing more accurate. But as it is, I hope you enjoy it. Here's the link. If it proves popular, I might create a section for it and other writing of this nature on the left column. Please send me your remarks.

Tuesday, September 10, 2002

I have posted here a duplicate of a post I made about three weeks ago to Hands … about some of my family's history. It is the story of why we no longer have a mother. Not a happy story, but it might help explain some other things I write about. It's also in the new section on the left called "Personal Stuff". Let me know what you think. I like responses to what I write here.

Sunday, September 08, 2002

Several have asked me at various times how I did my research or found things out quickly. Where I needed to look something up, I have rather extensive bookmarks on the computers I use. Some comes from my head. But so no-one thinks I am making things up, I like to have backup available, so I try to provide one or more links to information when I think it might be helpful. I have written the largest single all-text page ever for publication on this site, other than this home page, which is written paragraph by paragraph and published in pieces. A link to it is near the top of the left column labelled 'News Sources' and is also here. As usual, I welcome comments, corrections of errors, and additions. I hope you enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed putting it together.

Monday, September 02, 2002

My new on-line friend from Russia, Tom, has a story to tell. He's twelve years old and lives in the Kaliningrad region. The Kaliningrad Oblast is a Russian exclave by the Baltic Sea bordered by Lithuania, Poland and the Baltic Sea. The capital, Kaliningrad, has about 200,000 inhabitants. The nearest distance to the rest of Russia is about 150 km [92 miles]. Here's a map. The Kaliningrad region is the small red area in the upper right portion of this map, trapped between Poland (the large green country) and Lithuania (the small blue country in the extreme upper right). The city itself is the dot on the harbour on the Baltic coast.

He sent me the following story about himself that happened last spring. At his request, I'm rewriting it in English for him.

I was fighting with my friend after school. He knocked me down, but I stood up, took up a large stone, and threw it at him. I tried to target his legs, but I accidentally hit his head instead. It caused a bloody wound. I was frightened, so I ran home leaving him there. I was scared that his mother would call my own mother on the telephone and tell her about the fight and the stone throwing. I didn't know whether I had killed him, or whether he had been taken to a hospital because of his injuries. So before his mother could call, I asked my mother to spank me. She wanted to know why, so I confessed what I had done to my mother. I told her everything. She then called my friend's mother, out of my hearing, so I didn't know what was said. After she got off the telephone, she sent me outside to cut some birch branches to use to spank me with. I took the knife and told her that I would rather stab myself in the heart, since it was better to die. I couldn't do it: I failed in my attempt. I went outside and cut three large branches because I felt so bad. I stripped them of their leaves, and prepared to be spanked. I got a very big spanking that time, on bare skin. I was eleven at the time. I later found out my friend was okay, and only was bleeding from the stone. I hadn't broken his skull or killed him. I was glad of that!

Wednesday, August 28, 2002

A collection of nearly 80 unusual German wine labels is now part of this site. They are mostly from the Moselle vineyard Kröver Nacktarsch which is German for Bare Arse in the village called Kröv. This village is variously spelt Croev and Kroev also. The Nacktarsch labels all feature one or more boys getting spanked that way. I've had some of that wine: not at all bad for a medium dry white Qualitätswein. It went well with a veal sausage and cheese sandwich lunch. One label is from a different vineyard in the same town, and is called Böse Buben [Bad Boys]. It's here only because the label is similar, but instead of a spanking, two mischevious boys are shooting a nude cherub flying above the wine barrels in his butt using slingshots. You can find the new wine label collection here and also in the left column under Other Interesting Links.

Wednesday, August 21, 2002

I've added a Guest Book to this site. There's a link to it near the top of the left column, and also here. Try it. Let me know how it works. I've also modified our email addresses in the left column, so you can now click on them, and your browser should bring up an email client with the address field and subject lines filled in for you. We both appreciate email about this site, along with any pictures that are on-topic (particularly main-stream movie stills and captures).

Tuesday, August 13, 2002

Posted on Hands… a while back was an interesting examination given in a Kansas public school at eighth grade graduation. Most people today would have some problems with it, I think. I have posted this test here as well as on the left under "Quizzes". Have fun! Since I'm not an expert on 19th century Kansas, please send me any corrections needed to my answers, or kindly provide me with one where I have left one out due to lack of knowledge. Using the new message board is one way, as well as directly in email.

Tuesday, August 06, 2002

I found something interesting to post under the heading Fun Stuff in the left column: the entire text of a pamphlet published by the Flat Earth Society. From time to time, as I find such garbage that is nevertheless fun to read, I shall mark it up and post it for everyone's amusement. I like to make fun of pseudo-science, and this is one of the best I've seen recently, and every bit of it is in their own misspelled and ungrammatical words. Of course, the pamphlet begs you to send money. I don't recommend it. Instead, see what you think about their made-up 'facts' and lack of logic. They even misquote Jesus and the Bible, and explain why all of science is wrong and they are right.


Another New Feature: A Quick Poll!

In the column on the left, below the heading Polls, I have added a one-question poll that I will change monthly. I'll use it to get information about how you like and use my site. It collects no names, so it's entirely anonymous. As soon as you press the Vote button, you are taken to a page that shows the current results. To comment on the poll itself, or on any other part of my site, please email Kees or me. Our addresses are near the top on the left.

Friday, August 02, 2002

I put up a new set of 45 movie stills from the 1987 Danish movie Pelle the Conqueror. You can find the link on the left at the bottom of the other movie links.

Thursday, August 01, 2002


New Feature: A Message Board!

I have created a place where anyone can now add threaded messages, in much the same way as Yahoo groups work. It's not moderated by anyone in advance, so you can see your posting immediately. If I don't think it appropriate, I might delete it. Please use good judgment! All parts are optional, of course. If you like, you can leave a message with:

  • your name
  • a subject (by which it will be indexed)
  • your email address
  • a link
  • the link's title
  • a link to a picture

It is separately stored from the main pages Kees and I write. Let me know what you think. I am still working out the bugs, so its appearance will probably change. A permanent link to it is on the left, near the top, and here, also. Write something so I know you are reading it!

Wednesday, July 31, 2002

I posted a new item under Fun Stuff called International Traffic Signs. This is a chart of commonly-seen signs used everywhere in the world except for the USA with some alternate meanings suggested by the symbols on the signs.

Tuesday, July 30, 2002

The Miscellaneous Pictures and the Foreigner's Guide on the left column of links have temporarily disappeared from the server. I checked the server they're on and it returns an error that it is full. The log files cannot be written to either. It's a Linux system running Apache as a web server. As soon as the technicians fix the problem, I'll put them back up.

UPDATE: Miscellaneous Pictures is back, with two new pictures added to it, but not the Foreigner's Guide. The server is still having out-of-space problems.

2nd UPDATE: Both Miscellaneous Pictures and the Foreigner's Guide are both back to normal. The out-of-space problems seem now to be over.

Monday, July 29, 2002

I have added a short RealMedia movie clip (20 seconds long) to the page for the movie Lord of the Flies. Here's a link directly to the page. It's still posted in the left column under the blue heading Pictures from Movies.

Wednesday, July 24, 2002


Eddie and the Bees Go to School

While chatting with Brad two months ago, we were discussing pranks at school some guys we both know have pulled. I mentioned to him that I had done something like that a few years ago, and he didn't want to believe me. After urging me to write about it, he told me that many of you who might read this think I am very serious, and unlikely to do something in school like that. I assured him that, even though I am very serious about learning and thinking, that doesn't stop me from enjoying a good prank. I do try to think about the consequences beforehand, however. I do my best not to cause anyone to be hurt as a result of my trying to be funny. Most of the time I succeed.

To begin with, let's all look at a picture of honeybees, so you can see what I'm writing about. (It'll open in a new window, so you won't lose this page.) In this, you'll see three honeybees, about twice life-sized, depending on the settings of your monitor and its size. These adult bees come in three varieties: queens, workers and drones. While similar in appearance, there are yet significant differences, and understanding this is critical for the proper understanding of my story. Note that the queen is the largest, the worker bees are the smallest and the commonest, and the drones are fatter and sized between a worker and a queen bee. There is normally only one queen in a bee hive at any one time. If there's more than one ready to hatch, the first-hatched queen stings to death any other queen she can find. She only leaves the hive once, early in her life, to mate with up to a dozen and a half drones. This mating flight will be her last one, as she stores enough sperm for a lifetime of laying fertile eggs. A queen will also leave her hive with some of the bees when they form a Honey bee swarm upon apricot tree branch with green leaves and ripe fruit. swarm to begin a new hive elsewhere. Unless you keep bees, or see a demonstration hive through glass at an exhibition, you are unlikely ever to see a living queen bee. The workers are sterile females and are the ones you see most of the time, going from flower to flower gathering pollen and nectar. The drones, which are males, gather no food and do no work other than mate with the queen on her mating flight. Other than that, they are worthless to the economy of the hive. In climates like ours, they are excluded from the hive in the autumn when nectar becomes scarce and die.

Among the differences between these three kinds are several useful adaptations. The workers, being sterile, have no need of a working ovipositor, unlike the queen. In the workers, this structure is modified into a barbed sting. This weapon kills the bee shortly after use, since it remains in the victim along with a significant portion of the bee's abdomen. The queen's sting is not barbed, and is similar to a wasp's sting in that it can be used repeatedly. The drone has no sting. Drones have much bigger eyes than have workers or queens, an adaptation useful for spotting the high-flying queen on her mating flight. They are very fast fliers, and are noisier in flight than are workers. Since they gather no pollen, they have no structures on their rear pair of legs called pollen baskets into which the workers stuff pollen as they work in the fields. The markings (stripes) on the dorsal side of their abdomens are more irregular than the markings on the workers, but this is variable and depends on the local bee variety. They also tend to be somewhat hairier than worker bees, but this is hard to see while the bees are flying.

As a result of these differences, which most people who don't pay lots of attention to bees don't know (but now you do), Kees and I were able one warm Sunday afternoon to gather about a hundred drones to play with. We put most of them into a large pocket-sized bottle with a metal screw cap, into which I had punched some small holes to enable the bees inside to breathe. A bottle of dead bees isn't as much fun to play with as live bees are. The bottle was noisy, as you might imagine, with the hum and buzz of many bees. We were careful to release any worker bees we accidentally picked up. When you hold them (not pinching them) carefully on the palm of your hand, it's easy to examine them carefully, making sure we had captured no workers.

With Super-Glue, you can carefully attach a light thread to the front dorsal surface of the drone's thorax (the middle section) and fly him like a model aeroplane. You can attach two bees together with a thread and watch how they decide which way to fly. They are strong enough to lift thin slices of wine-bottle corks and fly with them through the air. When a bird finds one and tries to eat it, the cork bits are stuck for a while to the confused bird's beak. Crows and ravens, we discovered, eat the cork bits too. You can shake them in a bottle with powdered paint pigment and make silver, copper or gold coloured bees, or bright red, blue, green, purple and yellow bees. They're fun to hide in unusual places at people's houses, such as in a covered dust bin or a cigar box. When the unsuspecting person opens the box to get himself a cigar, the bees fly out and often the person dances or runs or otherwise behaves out of character. We have both found this rather funny. Since at our house (as you might have guessed by now) we have bee hives, this doesn't scare anyone who lives here.

Monday morning, there were still nearly a hundred active bees in the bottle, but it was time to go to school. Lunches packed, we bicycled off to school with the bee bottle and bees in my jacket pocket. We hung up the jackets and left our lunches, but I put the bee bottle into my trouser pocket. Kees and I in primary school were in different classes then, so I had the bees to myself all morning, but there wasn't a good chance to play with them. We ate our lunches together and discussed what might be done with the bees. They could have been an interesting exhibit in science, or in a discussion of farming and how bees pollinate many crops. No such luck. During the afternoon, during a boring class where the teacher wasn't talking and most students were either reading or writing, I remembered the bees in my pocket. I put my hand into my pocket and began to mess around with the lid. I was alternately tightening and loosening the lid, and the bees were active due to the warm day, the heat inside my trouser pocket, and the heat naturally generated by the bees. I was watching an occasional fly or bee enter the room through an opened window, and fly out after exploring our room for a while.

An idea formed. I thought it might be funny if the bees sort of accidentally escaped and joined the other insects buzzing by the window. So I helped them escape by fully loosening and removing the screw top of the bee bottle. They all swarmed out of my pocket and flew toward the window side of the room. Since most of the windows were closed or were unable to open, the bees hit the glass and buzzed louder, trying to find a way to fly. The other students and the teacher noticed the bees within a few seconds of their escape, but had no idea where they came from. Some of the bees were hit by kids' hands or got tangled in long hair. A general panic occurred. The teacher, a very kind 50-ish woman, was genuinely frightened, and began to run around a table in the room, going nowhere. She was slapping at the air and her face with both hands, even though there were no bees around her. She couldn't talk, but one of the bigger students (not me, but the son of one of our farming neighbours who didn't easily scare) told everyone to go outside and wait for the bees to leave. We did so, along with the teacher, and waited about half an hour for the last bee to find an open window and fly away to our hives. We finished the school day, with no injuries, but I don't think much schoolwork was done. The 'bee attack' had to be discussed, and the teacher spent the rest of the day in the teacher's lounge or went home. I don't remember which, or even if I knew at the time. We were babysat by the head teacher until time to go home for the day. No-one found out that I had brought the bees, nor that they had flown out of my pocket. I imagine some guessed that I might have had something to do with the bees, since many knew that we had bee hives in our garden.

Dad never found out about the bees at school. People at school never knew other than Kees. Those in my classroom thought that the bees just happened to find their way into the room, and likewise found their way out. I think the only damage caused was to my fellow students' scientific knowledge about bee behaviour. I hope not too many during the years since answered natural history questions incorrectly because of what was observed that day in our primary school classroom. No, bees do not swarm into rooms with 25 or so humans in them. Yes, ordinary bees sting when swatted with hands or pinched. No, ordinary bees don't buzz so loudly. And no, Eddie normally doesn't sit still in class, trying with only partial success to suppress laughter. I was lucky in not having been caught. For then I would have had an even more interesting story for you to read.

Sunday, July 14, 2002

I posted a new set of 18 pictures from the TV this time. The BBC Scotland produced a series called The Mother Tongue, in which was included a drama called Docherty. The pictures are of a scene where a boy has his hands whipped with a leather strap called a tawse. Since they are from a television broadcast, they are not of as high a quality as captures from DVDs or even videotapes. You can go to them by clicking here, or from the left side column under Pictures from Movies.

Saturday, July 06, 2002

David sent me this poem to post.

My Thoughts

These thoughts are for the One who has my heart,
And I wish I was with, and not apart.
Who with one single word can give a Rise,
Whom I Love to gaze upon with my eyes,
And who has always given me delights,
Throughout my days and through my lonely nights.
I Love you Dave for being there for me,
So with these thoughts I give my Love to thee.

      —By David, to his close friend Dave

Sassy Boy sent me some pictures to post here several weeks ago. I have finally put them together on their own page. If anyone else wants to send me on-topic pictures and drawings for posting, email them to me. This is not Yahoo, but any pictures still have to pass Dad's inspection before posting.

Friday, July 05, 2002

It's been a month since I have had time to add to this. Examinations are over, and now Kees and I are enjoying the summer holidays. Dr Jeff has been kind enough to send me a few of his recipes to try on my family. I have done so, and they were enjoyed by all (mostly). Pest liked the pancakes, but found that the shrimp was too spicy. The aioli he enjoyed on a kroket (a traditional Dutch snack: sort of a breaded deep-fat fried thick meat gravy, or ragoût). Here's a link so you can try them for yourself. I tried to put in equivalent measures for non-Americans, but the American units are the originals. Smakelijk eten!

Tuesday, June 04, 2002

I have stolen an anonymous 'quiz' circulating by email and turned it into a poll. It is a parody of American anti-terrorism efforts in their attempts not to single out any particular ethnic or religious group for scrutiny. Enjoy!

Thursday, May 30, 2002

I have adapted a very funny guide for use by tourists when they visit Holland. In it is almost everything a foreigner needs to know when he or she visits my country. Check out the new section on the left under "Fun Stuff" where it's the only item. Or here's a link to it. Let me know what you think of it. It's called "How to Treat the Dutch" and I am open to adding new items, if any of you have some experiences to write me about after visiting here.

Sunday, May 26, 2002

Brad has written a clever poem about Kees and me. Any complaints go to him. We thank him for the poem and the sentiments. And we fully agree with the sentiments. But only a lawyer would use an English world like 'delict' in a poem.

Eddie and Kees

I think the time has come, already,
To tell you of a boy called Eddie.
To visit him would take a sailor
Because my good friend Eddie Taylor,
Although he means the world to me,
Lives many miles across the sea.
(Although he lives in Holland, yet
The Holland Tunnel won't take me there, I bet.)

Ed has a friend called Kees de Vries.
(That name, it rhymes with "case of cheese.")
Kees' friendship, Ed says, is the best.
(He likes less little brother "Pest.")
They both work hard, but like to play
Together each and every day;
I'm certain that I wish I'd been
As happy as they are, while a teen.

Now Eddie's Dad is kind, but strict,
For each bad grade, or rude delict,
When younger, Dad would use his hands
To spank his son's bared Nether Lands!
Now naughty Eddie gets the stick;
If that no longer does the trick,
The paddle too will burn him bad
When Eddie is in Dutch with Dad!

Yes, these two boys, for pulling pranks,
Are subject to bare-bottom spanks,
As when Kees landed in the soup
For puerile play with puppy poop!
And I wish that I had been there
When Ed's uncovered derrière
Inside a Chinese eating spot,
Just like the food, was cooked red hot.

I'm sorry that I took your time
And made you read this silly rhyme,
But now you know my two good friends,
With keen intellects—and sore rear ends.

Wednesday, May 22, 2002

There is a new movie scene posted on the left. Check out "Dead Poets Society". I have added a new section, Quizzes. From time to time, as I find interesting ones, I will post them here. This first one is a general knowledge quiz that was given to people about to graduate from Arizona (USA) public universities. Most did not do too well. Try and see how well you measure up. It includes the answers and sources. I tried to spell it in American, since it is designed for Americans.

Tuesday, May 21, 2002

Sorry everyone. There was a problem on the server, so most users (not just I) temporarily lost their pages. I am republishing to fix it. Everything should now be back to normal.

Friday, May 10, 2002

Finally, there is something new on this site. Three things. I have created a new section on the left side, entitled "Reader Contributions" for stuff you guys send me to publish that isn't a normal story to put here. In it is a very funny story about a scouting merit badge that Tim Bradley from Capetown, South Africa got, with lots of help from his cat, and another section where his prize-winning recipes are listed. Try them, if you have any talent in the kitchen. If you haven't, show them to someone who does, and enjoy the results. There are three new pictures in the "Miscellaneous Pictures" section. And I have added a short movie clip to the "Miscellaneous Pictures" section. It is the spanking scene from the movie "Joe the King" where he gets spanked bare-bottomed over the knees of his teacher in front of his class at school. I am presently making up some new pages of pictures to add, so keep looking.

Monday, May 06, 2002


Eddie's Most Embarrassing Spanking

We were eating at a Chinese/Indonesian restaurant in the biggest city in our area (the Haarlemmer­meer), called Hoofddorp (it is a Gemeente, a self-governing city, unlike my village and Kees's town, and thus quite large: 150,000 people or so). Here is a map of the Haarlemmer­meer which has reasonable detail. One problem with this map is that the main city, Hoofddorp, is called Haarlemmer­meer on the map. That is the name of the entire polder, and is not the name of the largest city in it. Also, there is no compass star: north is up. On this map, you can see the southwest edge of Amsterdam (top right corner), Schiphol Airport (Dutch Luchthaven), and the closest lake for sailing my boat in, the West­einder­plassen (at the bottom). In Hoofddorp are many restaurants, including the one I put a picture link to on this page, the Dik Trom. From the detailed map, you can see several named towns, where most of the people live, such as Heemstede, Bad Hoevedorp, Aalsmeer, Hoofddorp and Nieuw-Vennep. I live in a very small village outside any of these towns, which is unnamed on this map. The large white areas are rural, and are either farm fields or pastures for animals. In them are some greyish roads outside of any towns, and we live on one of these. (I'm not allowed to say which one it is, but our road is pictured on this map!)

We had gone there to enjoy an early dinner as a large group: our family (Dad, Pest and me), Kees of course, and a woman friend of my Dad's with her 3 kids, one boy and two girls. I was 12½ at the time (summer of 1999) and Kees was 11. The other three kids were all approximately our age, between 10 and 13. We had been eating an Indonesian meal called a rijstafel where there are lots of different kinds of foods, more than you could possibly eat at one meal, many on a large central plate and some others on their own plates, lots of rice and a kind of noodle dish with pieces of scrambled egg and stir-fried meat called bami. After we were mostly through, Dad and his friend were talking and drinking wine, and we 5 kids were talking and eating bits of the left-overs, waiting for ice cream, coffee, more tea and cookies to come.

It was a bit boring waiting, so I started to show off by balancing tea cups, chop-sticks and glass tumblers until Dad warned me to be careful. We began to be more careful, but I continued to balance things and make them move like a mobile sculpture. We were blowing at it and helping improve the balance by pouring small amounts of tea into some of the cups and tumblers, and using leftover pieces of food like peanuts and broken kroepoek. One of us made a mistake, and most of it fell down onto the table, stopping the adults' conversation. I grabbed for what was rolling off the table onto the floor, but didn't catch everything, and some pieces fell onto the floor and broke. One waiter quickly came to clean up, and I knew by the look in Dad's eyes that I was done for. The woman scolded her kids, and slapped the hands of the youngest, the boy. Dad told me to get over his lap, and began to spank me with his hand. It didn't hurt much, and I unwisely said so to show off and impress the two girls.

Dad stopped the spanking and began to lecture me, thanking the waiter profusely (I thought at the time), and I thought that I could take this. I said I was sorry, and it wouldn't happen again and stuff like that. What I didn't know then was that the waiter had gone back into the kitchen and had returned with a pair of cooking chop-sticks, about half a meter long [20 inches] and made of solid bamboo. He gave them to Dad (I didn't see this then) and Dad pulled down my short trousers and underpants. I was wearing short trousers since it was summer and warm, and our dinner was early. No belt, just elastic stuff at the waist to hold them on. I shouted NO! not expecting my butt to be exposed to his woman friend and her kids, but that made some other people look at us to see what was happening. All conversation in the restaurant was suddenly stopped.

He began to spank me quickly with one of the giant chop-sticks across my bare butt, so I then began to cry and yell. This really hurt now, unlike the hand spanking through two layers of cloth. After it was over, I stood and pulled up my shorts quickly, hoping that no-one was looking. Everyone that I could see was looking. Some laughed. It wasn't the most painful spanking I had ever got up to then, but one of them. The worst part was that it was in a public place, and two or three other family or business groups saw me get it. The only people I knew were at our table, but that was bad enough. Two were girls that we played with sometimes, and their mother! It was terrible. I thought about going outside to sit and sulk, but then I would get no ice cream. Kees would gladly eat my portion. It was my choice. I decided to stay, and deal with the looks, the sympathy and the giggles. And pretend it didn't bother me as much as it did.

It hasn't happened again. Dad explained afterward to me how the waiter knew to bring him something to spank me with: I found out that Dad knew lots of Mandarin, and much more than just "Please" and "Thank you". Showing off is still great fun, but I can now choose more carefully how. (One way is by using my chop-sticks correctly to eat with, and especially not as a toy on a restaurant table, and most certainly not to get spanked with. Almost no-one here who has not lived in Asia can.) And in front of whom. Many times since, our family has eaten at this same restaurant. Sometimes one of the waiters waves his chop-sticks at me, and winks. I grab my butt and grin. He means no harm, and by now, this is only a joke. We still see this other family, but my experience is now no longer a topic of conversation among us kids. It certainly was for a while!

Friday, May 03, 2002


The Slingshot and the Bucket of Poop

To understand this story best, you need to have a picture of the front of our house. It should show the front garden, the meter-high fence, the bicycle path, the rosebushes in a single row on a narrow grassy strip between the bicycle path and the road, the two-lane road that is busy every workday morning and evening with lots of traffic, the sloten (small canals around polder fields to carry away excess water), and the farmer's field across the sloot on which he grows sugar beets or onions. Our house is of three storeys and an attic. It is very tall: the tallest house in our village. The top storey is one vast room, Kees's and my bedroom. In it is a sink with a cold water tap and a large walk-in closet. On all sides are windows which can open wide: one double dormer window of white wood and clear glass in the centre of each wall, that all open through the dark blue roof tiles. The house is clearly visible from all directions, and is sort of a local landmark. From our windows we can watch aeroplanes landing and taking off at Schiphol airport. If they are opened, you can hear them too. With binoculars you can see from the west windows the high dunes at the seacoast, and in the opposite direction you can see a late mediaeval town with church spires and 17th century windmill, and in the distance, clouds over Germany. To the south you can spot landmarks in several towns and cities of Zuid-Holland. To the north you can see red and ochre brick buildings, small farms, and rich green fields with lots of dingy sheep. Over them, you can see a few of the tallest buildings in Amsterdam. Because our house is so tall, our bedroom windows overlook the local dikes which allows us to see lots further than most of our neighbours can.

The second thing to have in mind in understanding this story is much simpler. We have a large dog, a German shepherd, who eats lots of food, and poops all over the back garden wherever and whenever he likes to. I cannot train him only to use one place, which would make gathering and disposing of the poop much simpler. One of my weekly chores is to find all the dog poop and dump it into the trash container for agricultural and green waste, for eventual composting and recycling. To do this, I use a 6 liter bucket [a bit over 1-1/2 gallons] and a big gardening trowel, and search all over our back garden for it. When I have got most of it, the chore is over for that week. It is hard to find all of it, because there are many shrubs and flowers to look among, but I get most of it. If I can keep the amount of poop in our garden to a minimum, we have fewer flies to pester us. (If only we could get the sheep and chickens nearby to co-operate!)

On a beautifully calm, slightly warm day last year during the autumn school holiday, I had gathered about half a bucketful of dog droppings in various states of dryness late in the afternoon, when Kees called to me from our bedroom window to come up and see something. I climbed up quickly to see what he had found with the binoculars: a hot-air balloon with 6 people riding in its basket. Because of how close we are to the airport, hot-air ballooning is not permitted in our neighbourhood, nor in any other nearby. We watched the balloon for a while, until it landed in a field close to us. The national police, who are also the airport police, got there to write somebody a ticket or worse. (They were lucky not to have caused an aeroplane accident. Then this would have been on news programmes around the world, and Kees and I would not have had this story to tell.)   Only an idiot would have come this close with a balloon to Schiphol, and there is no way they could have told the police (and have been believed) that they didn't know this was near an airport. A large jet airliner was landing about every 2 minutes or so, and the weather was totally clear. We guessed that they were probably drunk, or having quite a party in their balloon. The police called a truck to the field to carry away the collapsed balloon, and took the people to the police station. None was left in the field to walk away that we could see, but of course we couldn't hear what was said, so we are guessing at this point.

After the excitement was over, Kees and I noticed that I had brought the half-full bucket with me to our room, instead of dumping it first into the waste container outside the house. It didn't smell too bad, and some of the droppings had dried on the ground before I had gathered them. Kees had a great idea. Wouldn't shooting them out of the window into the water be fun? So Kees got out his slingshot, which stays here most of the time (they are illegal in our country, but tolerated in rural areas, and his mother is fussy about such things) and we took turns shooting pieces of dog poop out of the window. The distance isn't too great, but the challenge is to make a good splash, which means the dropping couldn't break apart during its flight, and you had to hit near the centre of the water. The water level in the autumn, before the weather gets rainy, is quite low and mostly hidden by the banks, so it is hard to hit. The horizontal distance is about 30 meters [100 feet] and our bedroom windows are a little over 7 meters [23 feet] above the ground, so you don't need to stretch the rubbers very far, but good aim is required. A hard pull makes a bigger splash, obviously. We were careful not to hit cars and lorries [trucks] on the road, and waited between big lorries and vans, because they totally blocked the water when they were on the far side of the road, and interfered with our view on either side. Bicyclists don't block the view, but we were careful not to hit them or shoot too close to them. Some drivers were watching us, and rolled up their car windows thinking we were some crazy delinquents that would shoot at them. They could not have known with what ammunition we were shooting, or at what we were shooting, but we were being careful. We never shot at cars, nor tried to hit people: we only were aiming at the water, and trying to scare a duck or two with the splash. Some drivers blew their horns or waved, and we waved back, and then kept on shooting.

Dad had come home from work while we were shooting, but he didn't pay attention to us or to what we were doing. We didn't know he had arrived. He was reading his mail on the ground floor when he heard car horns blowing several times. He went outside in front to see what was wrong, and was looking toward the road and the noisy cars. He must have seen dog poop flying over his head, or else a driver pointed to our window and he saw what was happening. He quietly came up the stairs to investigate. He entered our room while I was searching in the bucket for a couple of nice pieces for me, and Kees was caught in the act of shooting a piece out of the window. We had shot about half of what I brought up, which was most of the good dry pieces, so I was searching among the sloppy ones to find any remaining good ammunition. Kees remarked to me about his last shot, that he might have splashed or hit a duck, and turned around, to see Dad looking him rather sternly. After about half a minute, with no words being exchanged, Kees figured out what was going to happen to him. He unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his trousers, and shoved them down past his knees with his undershorts. He knew he was caught, and had no possible explanation at hand. Dad shook his head and went back downstairs to get Kees's paddle, and maybe my stick too. During the minute or less that that required, Kees began to roll up the hem of his shirt so that his middle was clear of clothes and asked me, "How many do you think it'll be this time?" I shrugged, and sweated, and wondered whether it would be a good idea for me also to take down my trousers and roll up my shirt, rather than having Dad ask me to do so when he came back. It would be in fact a confession of guilt to take down my trousers for a spanking unasked. I decided to wait. Kees was done for, caught in the very act, but I was only busy with my chore of gathering dog poop and might be asked what it was doing in our bedroom instead of in its proper place: the trash container. I could handle that without lying. I could tell the truth, and tell Dad about the balloon, and that I was so excited that I forgot what I had with me when I came up the stairs. And here was the trowel, for extra evidence.

Partly to brag, but this is the truth: Kees and I never lie to Dad. We learned not to, longer ago than we can remember, that Dad almost always finds out lies. He explained to us that since he doesn't lie, he can easily smell liars. They stink in many ways, and not just in one's nostrils. The punishment for lying is much worse than for anything else that we can think of today, and is in addition to whatever we did wrong that we were lying about. (We haven't yet tried murder, but the punishment for lying about murdering somebody would still probably be worse.) (And yes, before you think about asking, both of us have committed most other sins possible.) Dad is fair: we don't have to confess, and we are not allowed to tattle on anyone, not even on Pest. And clean-up duty is not punishment, so it is spread around some of the time. When one of us makes a mess or breaks something through thoughlessness and is punished for it, all of us who are around might be asked to help clean up the resulting mess. Not always, but it does happen that the clean-up is performed very quickly by those not punished. It is much more pleasant to clean up a mess than to be spanked, and then clean up the mess. Doesn't hurt nearly as much!

We heard Dad's footsteps on the stairs, on his way back up. Kees placed his hands and elbows on the window sill for support, so he wouldn't stagger forward or fall when he was spanked, and put his feet about half a meter [20 inches] apart, as is usual for him and for me. (We both stand bent over a bit when we are spanked normally, ever since we have been 12 and 13.) Kees waited, with only the number of blows unknown. I waited, wondering whether I was to be spanked with Kees. Kees and I both started to clench and unclench our butts, knowing what was about to happen, but the main difference was that Dad and I could see Kees do so. I still had my trousers up. Dad began to explain to Kees and me that shooting dog poop into the water was a very fine thing to do, and it looked like fun, and it was a creative way to dispose of it. No flies, and the ducks and fish might enjoy it. But to shoot over people during the afternoon rush hour when many cars were around, and to worry their drivers, might have caused an accident or worse: someone could have been injured by our thoughtlessness. Some of the dog poop might have broken apart during its flight, and gone into windows, distracting drivers or getting into their eyes, which could even more likely cause accidents and injuries. Lecture over, Dad asked Kees if he were ready to be spanked. Kees said he was, so he spanked Kees across his bare butt about 8 times with the paddle, and turned to me when he was done with Kees. After Kees stopped yelling and was only sniffling, Dad explained to me that probably I was equally guilty, but since he hadn't seen me shooting, he wasn't going to punish me this time. If Kees thought this unfair, then we could work it out between us as we saw fit. But before we talked it over, could I please take that bucket outside and dispose of the contents? And then, begin to prepare supper? With well-washed hands? I quickly that I would, and ran down the stairs with the bucket of dog poop before Dad had finished talking softly with Kees.

I dumped out what remained in the bucket into the green trash container, washed the bucket and trowel, and went back up to our bedroom to check on Kees. He had lain on his bed, but had not pulled up his trousers yet since he was still sore. Bright red butt, but no purple bruising. Dad is careful not to injure us, but it surely feels like damage is being done while getting a spanking. I washed my hands and the slingshot, and suggested to Kees that he might wash his face and hands, and pull up his trousers. I needed to start making supper, and he could help me if he felt like it, and it is both easier and safer to cook without trousers fallen around one's ankles. We had a discussion about what had just happened, and I told Kees how lucky I felt because I had not been punished as he had. To be fair, I agreed to do all Kees's unpaid chores for the remainder of that week of holiday. We made our dinner (no extra flavours from our adventure) and had a mostly normal evening, and I gave Kees a backrub for over an hour that night after we had gone to bed. His butt had mostly recovered by then, which must have been about 5 or 6 hours after his spanking. It seems almost funny looking back on it after over 6 months, and we have both learned when not to shoot. But it wasn't my butt that was on fire that warm day. And we both still shoot from the window with Dad's blessing, annoying the ducks, but on Saturdays, Sundays, or during the middle of the day when there is not much traffic. Neither of us is stupid.

Wednesday, May 01, 2002


About Kees

Hi everyone. I am telling my story here in English which is not easy for me, and Eddie is helping with language difficulties, but not with actual content. This is my point-of-view. If I am unclear, please email me and I shall try to explain myself better. I am 14 and go to the same school as Eddie (please see what he wrote below) but I take different classes. I am one year behind him, and I am not as good in languages. I have had over 2 years of German and over 2 years of English. Eddie knows many more, and talks to his dad in English most of the time. I am average sized like Eddie, but weigh less and have lighter-coloured hair. Eddie says I am skinny. I eat lots. My favourite snack food is French fries with sauce. I weigh about 5 kilos [11 lbs] less than he, but am a bit taller. Eddie can lift more weight than I can, but I win when we wrestle most of the time. I am quicker. I am teaching Eddie how to skate with in-line skates. I get high marks like Eddie in our school. We play chess and argue for fun. I like to act in plays. I enjoy movies from all years: old black-and-white up to modern ones. I even watch movies in languages I cannot understand, turn off the sound on the TV set, and both Eddie and I make up dialogue for the actors. We often start laughing at ourselves and cannot continue with the movies. (Maybe someone should hire us to dub voices for foreign movies, when we can control our laughing. We could improve them! We do love stories best, and turn them into black comedy.) Football [soccer] is fun and I follow Ajax. I go to matches when I can, and I like to play it with my friends. I enjoy gardening for Eddie's dad. I do most of it.

About My Family

My mother has a nice row-house in a town close to Eddie's village. It has 3 floors, with kitchen and living room on the ground floor, 3 bedrooms and a bathroom on the first, and an attic for the washing machine, clothes dryer and clotheslines. There are also many cupboards and storage closets where we keep stuff, and a table, 2 chairs, and an ironing board. This is where I study when I am here. I have an older sister and a younger. My older sister, who is full-grown, runs the house, because my mother lets her do so. My younger sister and I share a bedroom, while my mother and my older sister each have their own. My mother is a teacher in the primary school nearby, but lately hasn't taught much. She feels sad and very depressed, and sees a doctor about it, but stays home most of the time to watch TV. My father lives in Aken [Aachen] in Germany and is a teacher at the university there. He comes to visit us here about 4 times a year, but he and my mother argue a lot. I don't like to listen to them. My father has a new girlfriend in Aken. She is pregnant, so I shall soon have another brother or sister. I am studying German hard so I can talk with them. My father's girlfriend cannot speak any Dutch or much English, only German is she comfortable in. She is much younger than my mother, more like my older sister: about 22 I think. She is very pretty, but seems dumb. Probably just because I cannot talk much to her, and that is not her fault. She is shy, and loves my father lots. He talks to her and she laughs a lot. I understand most of the words, but I don't get the jokes.

About Eddie's Dad and Me

I need to write something about Eddie's dad and me, since this is much different than it is in most families. I am not allowed to say who Eddie's dad really is, because he has an important job working for many different governments and their militaries. I will call him Eddie's dad, because he says that that is his most important job. Eddie's dad used to be an officer in the US military. I have seen him wearing his old uniform, and it looks sharp, with lots of bright coloured ribbons and gold stuff. Different from the Dutch army or marine, and more like a movie. I stay most of the time with Eddie at his house when I am not in school. I visit my mother, but don't live with her and my sisters most of the time: just enough to make the town registrar happy. Eddie's dad is like a second father to me for many years. He and my real father are sort of friends and have known one another for about 10 years or more. My father has a job and a flat in Germany, and used to come here most weekends until I was 11 or 12. Now his girlfriend needs him to be there more, and I cannot go to school there. So we decided that I should stay with my mother, but I don't like it much. Eddie and his father have invited me to spend lots of time with them, but I have to live by the same rules Eddie does. I also have to do my share of chores around the house, just like Eddie and Pest, to keep the house running smoothly. This is okay with me, even though the rules are somewhat different than my mother's and my sister's. I can follow them (most of the time) and Eddie's dad fixes it when I don't.

Yes, he spanks me (and Eddie too) when he thinks we need to be spanked, and his spankings are vigorous: bare butt with a paddle. I chose the paddle after Eddie's dad used Eddie's stick on me once about a year ago, and the marks could be seen the next day at the beach. They showed on the sides of my butt below my swimming trunks. The paddle really hurts, but leaves no marks after an hour or so. Eddie and I agree that the paddle hurts worse than the stick. Eddie's dad might use my paddle on Eddie some day, and keep the stick only for Pest's butt. My mother says that spanking is okay, but she doesn't believe in doing it herself. Her mother and father believed in it, she told me, but did it too much. So she says she was afraid to spank my sisters when they needed it. (They need to spend time with Eddie's dad, as I do. And I would give back to Eddie's dad an entire month's pay to watch him give my older sister a spanking: that would cure her attitude toward me!) Our agreement is that I must obey the same rules as Eddie so far as behaviour is concerned, unless I am with my mother. Then I am her problem, and must follow her rules, and deal with her discipline only. But when I am with Eddie and at his house or with his family, then I must obey their rules as strictly as Eddie: no more but no less, even though I am a year younger. No breaks, such as Pest gets, at all. If I don't like it, I can leave any time and go home to my mother. My mother believes in house-arrest, so I can stay in my bedroom and rot for a few weeks or a month or so. I much prefer Eddie's family rules and Eddie's dad, even if I get a sore butt out of it. It heals fast, and no hard feelings result, and no endless talking about it either. Eddie's dad is cool and funny, and trusts us not to get into too much trouble, and minds his own business, and lets us mind ours. He pays me well for working for him, so I have more pocket change than most of my friends, and lots more than Eddie. (Eddie isn't lazy but studies languages and works on the computer while I work outside.) I can give some to my mother to help her too.

About Food and Drink

I eat well at Eddie's house, and I am learning to cook well myself. There is always lots of good stuff to eat and drink. There is a wine cellar full of wine from France, Spain, Italy, South Africa and other countries. Mostly dry red types and champagnes to suit Eddie's dad, but there are also a few other kinds to suit guests. For everyday use, there are large bottles of Italian merlot. (That is the only kind we are allowed to drink without special permission, as Eddie found out one day when he opened a bottle of something older than him and expensive.) There is a second refrigerator full of soft drinks, juices, mineral waters and beer. Eddie's dad is from the US and likes his beer very cold. I have learned that kids in the US aren't allowed beer and wine until they are 21, which is stupid. Here you have to be 16 to buy it, but any age can drink it. We are not allowed strong drink like gin and whiskey except at special occasions, and Eddie's dad has to pour. That is okay with me, and I like beer better anyway. Even Pest is allowed beer and wine, but he prefers Coca-cola or other sweet soft drinks, and almost never has beer. Eddie's dad caught him mixing Coca-cola in his table wine once, and said that he couldn't have wine any more, until he learned to enjoy it properly. So now he sometimes has a half glassful, but I don't think he really likes it. Eddie's dad has taught me most of what I know about wine. It is very interesting, and I want to travel some day to many places where it is made, and taste hundreds of kinds there. Eddie teaches me about food, but he is fussy about how to cook stuff, and won't let me make things my way. His way tastes better most of the time, so I don't argue with him too much about cooking. I make the best French fries, and Eddie agrees. Eddie makes fancy and foreign food, and it tastes better than in the foreign restaurant, but I can make ordinary Dutch food and everyone likes it. Eddie's dad almost never cooks so we make most of it ourselves. Eddie told me that his dad used to make sandwiches for every meal when he and Pest were little, and Eddie's dad said that was mostly true: sandwiches, eggs, salads, fruits and custards. But Eddie's story about his dad burning the water for tea wasn't true. Eddie's dad makes good tea and coffee, but Eddie makes most of the other stuff we eat, and I help. Together we have made dinners for 8 people at a time from Eddie's dad's work, plus us (12 people in total), and everyone was pleased, every time. Since we are the chefs de cuisine we don't have to leave when the guests enjoy their after-dinner drinks, so we can share drinks with them and ignore most of the boring conversation, except when they praise the meal. Life is sweet and good altogether here!

About the Flying Dog Poop

I promised Eddie that I would write about it, but I think I shall ask him to let me out of my promise without a penalty, since his writing is funnier and it is a very good story, even though I am the loser. Enjoy it when he writes it. We will talk it over, and Eddie will write about it while I watch. Almost every word is true, I promise faithfully.

About School

Our school is as Eddie described it, but I checked on the ages of the students. The youngest is 11, but the oldest is 20. She (the 20 year old) is from Africa originally, and gets even higher marks than Eddie. She should graduate this year, and then Eddie will have less competition in languages. She can speak, read and write 8 or more. But she doesn't study computer science, chemistry or old Greek. Only modern languages, maths and physics, along with the usual studies. She is shy, keeps to herself and is hard to get to know. Her French is better than almost anyone's, and she speaks Dutch, German and English perfectly well. She has only been here about 4 years though, and has a refugee citizenship. Her parents are either dead or in prison, and she doesn't know which. She is safe here, and can have a worthwhile life. Eddie's little brother Pest will probably go to school here next year, if his test scores are high enough. He is currently finishing his last year of primary school, so he has to go somewhere else soon.


All About Eddie

Hi. My name is Eddie, and I own this web page. My friend Kees will also write some of it, and much of it we shall do together. I like computers and learning about them, so this is an experiment in publishing stuff that others want to read, and not just school-related projects. What I test here will be put to use for school credit, but on another server with a different topic. My birthday is on St Valentine's day, and I am now 15. I am of average height and weight, and since some of you reading this are Americans and don't know SI units, I shall put the US equivalent in [square brackets] like this, when I think of it. I am 160 cm tall [5ft 3in] and weigh about 50 kg [110 lbs]. I have brown hair and blue eyes, and an IQ higher than some of you can count. I like to make jokes in other languages, but sometimes they don't work well. So if you think you have been insulted, either my joke didn't work, you misunderstood me, or I am in fact insulting you. Remember, no-one is making you read this.

Our School

We go to school in the Netherlands, in the part known historically as Holland. Our school is called a Lyceum, and the course of study is designed to prepare students to go to a university. It is difficult, but interesting. I specialise in language studies, but I also do sciences and advanced mathematics. I like music, but shall never be a professional performer. I have tried drama, but am not good at it. Sports are not too interesting for me. Our school has both boys and girls as students, and most classes are mixed. It is a public school, in that the Dutch government pays for it and sets the standards, and is also Christian. This doesn't happen in the US from what I have read, but is common here. Both protestant and Roman catholic kids attend, but the school is mostly protestant. The youngest kids are about 13, but there might be a few 12 year olds. I don't really know. I started when I was 12, but I was one of the youngest then. Most kids graduate when they are 17 or 18, but some continue on until they are 19, if they take longer to qualify for graduation. Most classes are conducted in Dutch, but some are in English. I am doing a whole year in English now.

My Recreation

We both like to bicycle, and sometimes go all day on long trips with friends. The country is very flat, and ideal for bicycling. Often we go camping either with a car or on bicycles. Swimming is fun, either in an indoor swimming pool or at beaches on the North Sea. (To answer here what some people have asked me in emails or on IM, swimming in canals or rivers isn't done. Too dirty. Accidental swimming, when you fall in, happens though.) I am learning to skate in-line. I can skate on a skate-board, but cannot do tricks without falling a lot. I along with everyone else can ice-skate. I enjoy walking anywhere. We live close to Amsterdam, which has over a million people in it, and it is fun to walk around there. Lots of people and entertainment free of charge everywhere on nice days. We enjoy riding the trains which go almost everywhere, and don't cost much. I can sail, and own a small sail boat about 3 meters long [10 feet]. I use it on the canals which are everywhere here, but mostly on a lake that is nearby (about 3 km, or 2 miles). Sailing is more fun when you have room to manoeuvre. Because of heavy boat traffic on the canals, I often have to row: too much work!

My House

We live in a house built early in the 1900's on a polder. Our polder used to be a shallow lake, but was drained around 1850 and turned into farmland and towns. The shallow lake was called the Haarlemmermeer (Haarlem's Lake), since it was the lake by Haarlem, the capital city of Noord-Holland. Part of our polder is now Schiphol Airport, the busiest airport in the Netherlands. Our house is close by the airport, in a very small village. We know everyone in our village, and all know us. It is the biggest house in our village, not counting barns for animals. It was used as officer's quarters during the second World War for the occupying Nazi army, and then it became a whore-house. When I was very young, Dad bought it and turned it into a respectable family house and large garden. The bullet holes from the war are still visible in the bricks of our house. It is very large by Dutch standards (about 300 sq m) [3225 sq ft], on 1000 sq m of land [1/4 acre]. It has three main floors, ground, first and second [1st, 2nd and 3rd US] with a wine-cellar and an attic extra. We are on a road with lots of traffic, and there is a separate bicycle path parallel to the road also. Across the road is a drainage ditch for the farmer's field. These surround all fields in our polder, since the soil is so wet that means have to be made to drain the land continually. Otherwise, the crops would drown in the mud. We are about 4-1/2 meters [15 feet] below sea level. On the ground floor are the living room, the dining room, the kitchens (3 rooms), an entry hall, a toilet, an office area and a bicycle garage. On the first floor are three bedrooms (my younger brother's, my dad's, and a guest's), a toilet and a bathroom. There is a deck outside the bathroom with a low fence around it for sun-bathing during warm weather. It is a good place for drinks and snacks, too. There is a good view of our neighbourhood from it, and you can watch planes landing and taking off at Schiphol. On the second (top) floor is Kees's and my bedroom and a walk-in closet. There is a hatchway into the attic above my bedroom, and a stairway into the wine-cellar from the entry hallway on the ground floor. There are two separate doors into the back garden: one double one from the dining room and a single one from the back kitchen. The back garden (yard in the US) has a terrazzo tile-paved terrace with bright electric lights for use at night on two levels, and a large area for growing trees, shrubs and flowers. This is also our dog's playground. There is a servant's doorway into the second kitchen from the driveway beside the house. We have no servants, except for a woman who helps with cleaning once a week. My brother has a regular babysitter, but he goes to her house, so she needn't come to our house.

My Family

Our family is now made of Dad, me, my younger brother and Kees, my best friend. Our mother died a long time ago, but Dad has not remarried anyone. Dad is a retired military officer from the USA. He is now a businessman with his own company here. He has to travel all over western Europe among the Nato countries for business reasons, and occasionally to the USA. I am now old enough to be left in charge of our house when he is gone, so Kees and I are often alone here. I cannot give my little brother a name for reasons of his privacy, and because when he is older, he can have revenge, so I will call him Pest in my writings. That has about the same meaning in English and Dutch, with the extra Dutch meaning of pestilence or plague. Kees and I can write freely about each other, since we talk about it first, and agree about what is written. We have different points-of-view sometimes, but never any serious disagreement over what should be written for the public. Kees will write his own story on these pages, so I won't write much about him here. He officially lives in a town close by with his mother and two sisters, but spends most of his time with us for reasons he will explain. I enjoy that he chooses to spend most of his time with us. He is like a brother to me.

Tuesday, April 30, 2002

Soon to come: the story of Kees, me and the bucket of dog poop in our bedroom. And check out the new pictures, also coming on 1 May.

Tuesday, April 16, 2002

Testje. Werkt het toch?

Saturday, April 13, 2002

Hi Eddie,
I made it. Thanks for your invite. Good luck with your new site. I'll write more later.

Wednesday, April 10, 2002

Hey Eddie,

So far the new page looks great. How are you and Kees doing? I hope all is well there. Why is your dad thinking about a paddle for you? Have you been acting up? Man! If he does get one it's going to burn real bad, I know. Well, just to let you know, I got it on Saturday morning with the strap for running away from my step-mom's mother's house. I was supposed to sleep over there but I didn't want to stay there, so I left there and went home. I took the bus home. It took me 3 hours to get back home. Everyone freaked out about it. The funny part was that I told them I was going to do it. I guess they didn't believe me. Anyway, I got home and my uncle was waiting there. He said for me to go to my room. Then my dad called and said that he would be there later that night. When he showed up, we talked about it and in the morning we talked some more. Then he punished me for scaring everyone. I had to lie on the bed with my pants and underwear off and he used a thin strap to spank me and man did it hurt a lot. I cried for an hour after he was done and he yelled at me most of the time. I have been having a lot of problems with my step-mom, and I told her that she has no right to touch me and that she is nothing to me.

Well, if you can use this, go and put it on your new site.

Love you, Tommy

-----------------------1st reply-------------------

Hi, Tommy!

Thanks for letting me post this, and for letting me try out my new computer tools on it. About the paddle, Dad thinks that the stick doesn't hurt enough, and that if he used it harder, I might get injured. (Thanks, Dad!) Already it leaves marks but they go away after a day or two. A friend of his who teaches at the American school south of here recommended a paddle, so he is thinking about it. Kees gets the paddle by his own choice, and it leaves him with a red butt but no marks. His skin is lighter than mine, and he burns in the sun quicker than me, but there is no way to compare the sting of the stick and the sting of the paddle except by words and looking at each other's wounds. Neither of us gets it as hard as some of you do, if I can believe everything I read. I mean, we can sit down soon afterward, and we can both stop yelling and crying in a few minutes when it stops.

See the new pictures. I am adding more as quickly as I can write the code needed, since this site isn't automatic.

Eddie (with Kees looking and acting weird)

Tuesday, April 09, 2002


Sorry i am writing this to all y'all on one email. but i wanted to tell the story before someone else did. you kinda know whats coming huh?

This weekend it rained like hell here. thunderstorms and strong winds and hail. The wind damaged the school roof and its being fixed today so there is no school. anyhow i never learn. Tyler remember when i got spanked for being on the computer with you like a week ago? well, it happened again.

This time i was on with a kid named derek who i just met. (HI DEREK!!) anyhow, we got back early from the lake because the roads was flooding and dad wanted to get home. i got soaked loading the car cuz we dont got a garage at teh lake. anyhow when we got home i showered and put on clean boxers and mom and dad told em to take the towels and sheets put them in the washer and dryer while they was gone food shopping. I was told "DO NOT GO ON THE COMPUTER" LOL what a joke y'all know i didnt listen. so as soon as they left i flew up to my room to check my emails. i was over BJ's and seen a webcam site and it was kewl. this kid (13 yrs) has a webcam site and he was live and showing his boxers and the crack of his ass and stuff. well i went to the site and found a chat in progress so i got on it. thats where I met Derek. (HI DEREK) So him and me was talking about stuff and we swtiched on to msn to talk. He is kewl and we talked a long time. suddenly i heard mom coming up the stairs, she opened the door and found me at the computer. DUH? she wasnt happy to see me. She freaked when she found out i didnt do the chores and the wash for her and i was at teh computer when i was told not to be there. I quick signed off and she kept trying to see who i was talking to but didnt. then she yanked me outta my chair, put me over her knee and yanked my boxers down and spanked my ass while she was yelling at me. She usually dont spank me standing up like that but i guess she was so mad she couldnt wait to sit and put me over her lap and get teh hair brush. Just as she finished dad walked in and he was yelling too about nt listening and disobeying and stuff. before i could pull my boxers back up he grabbed my arm and dragged me into his room and i seen him reach for the paddle.

(GULP) mom had already done a job on my ass. I started to cry and plead no not that please and stuff like that but before I could say much he sat on his bed and i was over his lap and the paddle was put into action. This first spank on my already sore ass madde me lose my breath it stung so bad. (yeah, y'all was right it stings like 1 million bees all stinging my ass at teh same time) he spanked me maybe 15 times but i didnt count i was in shock and screaming and crying to count. When it was done i coldnt get it to stop stinging. i was hopping around and crying and rubbing it. tehn he made me pull my boxers back up and go down stairs and put the towels in teh wash then while they dried i had to wash the sheets then help put the food away while they was washing. all this with a burning ass. it sucked big time. not only that but yesterday my ass was still sore and i had to go to school adn sit on them hard wood chairs and it sucked big time. I didt tell no one about it til now.

I am sitting on a pillow doing this cuz its still a little tender. man i dont ever want dad to use that on my ass again. I dont know how y'all take it. this was my first and in know most of y'all got it a lot more times than me.

SO, i am officially a member of the paddle club. i hope everyone is happy now.


Hi guys. This is the beginning of my new site. I will be taking time to learn how to use it, and will let everyone post soon. For now, email stuff to me and I will post it for you. – Eddie

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