This short story is an entry in the 2003 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: Period
August in Arkansas
By
Everything was heavy, hot and wet; the sky, the air, the bayou, my hair, my head, my arms, my legs, my mind, I wanted to scream.
August in Arkansas weighed down my spirit. I hated it. School did not start for three more weeks. We were home too much and often subjected to father's rage. My father was ruggedly good-looking, but a bit too charming for a poor cotton farmer. The summer of 1925 found him the father of three girls and a pregnant wife, Mary. Fran, Jo, and myself, Anne, were known as the Brown girls.
This sweating afternoon Fran was up a tree reading as I sat beneath her with my toes in the Bayou, watching out for snakes. Jo, well, she was in the kitchen corner. Father had whipped her bare bottom after one to many tantrums.
"Fran why won't Jo ever say she's sorry?"
Jo was stubborn. Father would take his belt to anyone of our bare bottoms. No one but Jo ever felt more than ten licks, at a time though. That was because she would never say sorry.
I would be saying sorry before the belt was even swung, Fran, too. Father could whip Jo all day, I bet, before she would say it. Fran and I would beg her just say it! too no avail.
"I think she likes it." Fran answered over her book. "That's why she won't say it."
"How could she?"
Fran shrugged.
I remembered last spring during a rainstorm us girls had headed for school. School was a four-mile or better walk on dirty roads that turned to sticky mud. By the time we arrived we were half past late.
Mrs. Brewsher made us stand at the front of the one room schoolhouse, while the class sang: "A diller, a dollar, a ten o'clock scholar. What made you come so soon? You used to come at ten o'clock and now you come at noon."
Then each of us bent over her knee, in turn and took stingers on our panties with her pointer stick. Fran and I said our sorries, Jo would not! She told Mr. Brewsher, "You should be glad we came at all." Jo's spanking was much longer and harder than Fran and mine that day.
"You know Fran, maybe she does."
I took up a stick and carelessly stirred the muddy bayou. I pictured Jo's red-hot stripped bottom on display in the kitchen corner and wondered.
The End
© Copyright Peachesicu, 27 June 2003
Reviews
Jon <mrheadmstr(at)aol(dot)com>
The author has tried to evoke the ambiance of the same time period as To Kill A Mockingbird, albeit in another state. I think he has succeeded. This story isn't about the spankings, though they are there and nicely done too; it is to induce a feeling in the reader of the ennui, the heavy atmosphere, the differentness of Jo. I felt it.
Warm Hand Jack>
This is not a strong spanking story as such; but it's very good at being what it is. It's a vignette that captures, without sensationalism or voyeurism, the point of view of people who don't themselves have or understand the desire.
I've admired some of this year's entries for their use of dialogue to forward the plot; conversely, this one benefits immensely from having so little direct speech -- seven short sentences in all (not counting the song) -- every word of which is meaningful. I particularly like the sparse, almost throw-away, exchange in which the older sister suggests the possibility but can't explain it: «"I think she likes it." Fran answered over her book. "That's why she won't say it." / "How could she?" / ran shrugged.»
I would find it more convincing, in terms of guessing the origin of Jo's feelings, if she were the oldest girl; however, I don't know this family. In any case, the writer did well not to hint at any cause.
Place and time are nicely evoked, and contribute to the plot in various ways. The locale's August weather provides an oppressively heavy, humid setting that fits the mood and accounts for the lethargy of the girls' activities and talk. Arkansas (although I found myself thinking Alabama at times) also allows for a poor cotton farmer father, a terse but freighted description. (The significance of his being a bit too charming is lost on me.) The period is highly functional: both the father's and the teacher's corporal punishment are taken as normal; only because of the one-room schoolhouse of the time have her sisters been able to see that Jo's reaction to discipline at school is the same as at home; and it's more credible at that time than in the present for teens or pre-teens, especially rural ones, never to have heard of masochism. (Whether it's true to the period or not, I love the expression, «half past late».)
A few things want a bit more care. I don't think the farmer was meant to be «the father of three girls and a pregnant wife.» The excellent opening sentence is weakened by the closing principal clause being set off by only a comma («...my arms, my legs, my mind, I wanted to scream»). Being really picky, «... too no avail.» is all too easy to miss, but should be caught in a story that's being submitted for judging.
The closing sentence holds a priceless image: Anne, unaware of the connection, idly handling a stick as she pictures her sister's stripes.
The official word count is 409. The writer was wise not to add more description or story when s/he found out there was room available; this works best as a spare, understated work -- exactly as it is written.
Brad <b_radleym(at)yahoo(dot)com(dot)au>
I liked this story because for the period it is supposedly set, the idea of volunteering for a spanking is considered unusual yet. I liked the writing style on how this view was presented. The characterization of the three girls is so vibrant, one can't help but fall in love with the lovely scamps.