This short story is an entry in the 2002 Soc.Sexuality.Spanking Summer Short Story Contest and is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice. The author would appreciate your comments
Category: Adult
Her Dry Eyes
By
She really is such as child.
Don't get me wrong, she seems like an adult. Being the teacher she is, she can give an extemporaneous, though thorough and incisive history of the Arab-Israeli conflict, a critique of nationalism in light of postmodernism, or a trenchant theological treatise on the importance of unity within the Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church. She can discuss music from Beethoven to Yo-Yo Ma, Miles Davis to John Lee Hooker, the Chieftains to 'Amr Diab. And she cooks like a European grandmother (no, the produce must be fresh - from the garden, or at least the farmer's market).
But as a graduate student, she excels at tardiness, procrastination, and work that, while fine, is far below her potential. Her stereo will, as often as not, be playing one of those hideous rock bands like Green Day or the Beastie Boys or even, God helps us, the South Park soundtrack. And it's not unheard of for me to find out she's had ice cream for breakfast.
She's not naughty...just...willful. Rambunctious. Bratty. She knows all the right buttons to push - and jams them often. Though I remind her that there are certain physical limitations in this world - time and gravity being but a few - she seems oblivious. An attitude she never grew out of - she still brags about how, when she broke her ankle at age ten, she continued playing kickball in her walking cast.
And now that she's sick, it's all I can do to get her to settle down long enough to rest. To pay attention to her symptoms. To take her medicine regularly. To do the exercises the doctor gave her to do. "But, they're not fun like hiking, or swimming. I don't feel anything when I do them." So, I gave her something to feel.
Yes, I spanked her. Long and hard. With a wooden hairbrush, her baby fine hair mingling with the boar bristles. I laid her over my lap. Made her suffer the indignity of my pulling her panties down around her knees. And through it all she whimpered. Curled her toes. Squirmed. Put her face in her hands and sobbed. Or seemed to. When I let her up, her eyes were dry.
She's laying on her bed now. Her tummy on the quilt. I sense her sadness. Her contrition. Her scalding discomfort. Her ache to cry and let all those feelings out. But that grown up - that sophisticated adult who shut out the little girl long ago - won't let her. I wish I had seen her when she was that ten-year-old playing kickback, before a hard life came and dammed her tears.
But I know someday it will happen. She will be lying over my lap, panties bunched up around her knees. And I will be using the hairbrush on that tender spot where the buttocks and the thighs become ambiguous. And a salty glaze will come over her earth green eyes. And then tears will finally accompany those vocal sobs.
The End
© Copyright Summer, 2002
Reviews
Tami <tamishy(at)webtv(dot)net>
Talk about imagery, this story is jam-packed. It's kinda sad, I sensed a loneliness in her world, something she keeps hidden. I may be way off-base here, but I think there's more to this story than the author wants to admit. Very complex and interesting. Nice Job.
Margaret <wessyLA(at)aol(dot)com>
This was a very nice word portrait that conveyed many emotions within a short span. I especially liked this line: " So, I gave her something to feel." It sums up the dichotomy very nicely. Thank you for sending this along.
MollyB <mollyb(at)newsguy(dot)com>
This narrator sure knows what he or she is talking about, and I like the matter-of-fact tone. The story pushes my "being taken care of" buttons without being overly sentimental. Just one question: what's wrong with ice cream for breakfast?
Frank <sswitcher(at)yahoo(dot)com>
At first sight, spanking someone who is ill seems a bit mean, but in this case it is obviously for the young lady's own good. She is lucky to have someone who has her best interests at heart. Although release through tears is not really my thing, there is a great deal else to relate to, packed into this well-written piece. I'm sure we are all guilty of mismanaging our time and resources to some degree.