It was a Monday night and I'd been up later than usual. At about 1:30am, I walked outside to take one last gander over the city before going to sleep. Here in Dealville, we have a little five-plex next door that I bought way back in the day. My tenants occasionally challenge my patience with late night parties, noise and all the things that go along with college students. While I was on the porch, I heard a loud bang from next door - which sounded like a 22 or a rock hitting the tin roof. There were voices too and it was such a provocative sound I couldn't let it pass. I pulled on a pair of pants, stuck my pistol in my pocket and walked next door.
As I round the bend of the driveway, I saw a group of about ten guys standing in the headlights of a parked car near where Chris parks his truck. It looked like there was some sort of commotion. I just knew they were up to no good and that I was going to have to yell at them and run them off, for certainly they didn't live there. Well as I got closer, I recognized Matt Martin - my favorite tenant and his roommate John among the group. OK - so I couldn't be pissed because they were my favorites. I'm standing on the road looking down on these guys and three or four of them are leading Matt. Well he's been drinking I thought - after all, he's graduating this month and only today had his last class and turned in his last 30 page paper.
But wait - Matt pulls down his pants - his lilly white and wolly Viking ass shining in the truck headlights. He bends over slightly, being supported by his three of four friends. And then from below the wall, I see this other kid wielding a four foot wood paddle - making practice swings for Matt's ass. Ahhhh I said to myself - their all trading swats. Matt looked briefly over his left shoulder and said to his paddler - "Now don't hit my nutt sack". With one last practice swing - I could hear the whisper of the wind singing from the paddle as it sailed through the air - a dangerous and ominous looking slat of wood. BAM! - it rang out at hitting Matt's ass. I'll be darned if it didn't sound just like a 22 rifle. Matt paused for a moment - stood up and slowly pulled up his pants never once flinching - a distinct pink whelp angled perfectly across his ass cheeks. I couldn't keep my mouth shut and had to laugh, calling down to Matt how happy I was to have witnessed that moment. And without missing a step - this group of fraternal lads continued to exchange swats for another 30 minutes. I put the last of the trash sitting next to the dumpster up for the night and walked on home and climbed back in bed - then chuckled at every crack I heard from the five-plex below until I fell asleep.
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