    
 
 
 
                 UNINFORMED AND UNIFORMED 

                            by 

                         Joe Doe


BARBARA, A SUCCESSFUL PSYCHOLOGIST, AGREES TO TRY OUT HER HALLOWEEN 
COSTUME OVER THE WEEKEND TO WIN A BET WITH HER DAUGHTER, JENNY.  
LONG TIME READERS WON'T BE SURPRISED WHEN THE EXPERIMENT QUICKLY 
SPIRALS OUT OF CONTROL.



Part 1 

"I've said it before, but I'll say it again.  That new suit looks 
fantastic on you, Jenny."   

Barbara Wilson put down her tennis racket and smiled.  Although 
her 18-year-old daughter, Jenny, had been in college only two 
months, the changes in her personality and demeanor were stunning.  
The tastefully chic business wardrobe that Jenny had purchased for 
her after-school internship confirmed it.  Barbara's little girl 
was all grown up.   

Jenny straightened her blazer and smiled, basking in her mother's 
compliment.  "Yeah, the extra work of the internship is worth it 
just for the clothes," she said.  "It sure beats the heck out of 
those horrible uniforms we had to wear at St. Aggie." 

"Not the uniforms speech again," her mother sighed, rolling her 
eyes.  "I know you hated the uniforms, but it was the hard work 
you put in at St. Agnes that got you your college scholarship, 
your internship, and those clothes you're so fond of.  You really 
make too big of a deal out of it, if you ask me.  Clothes don't 
change the person you are inside." 

"But clothes do change the way others treat you, and that impacts 
how you feel about yourself," Jenny countered.  "I can't believe 
that a big time psychologist like you doesn't understand that.  
Did YOU ever actually WEAR a school uniform?  Or. could it be that, 
on this ONE subject, Mother dear, you are a tad uninformed?" 

"No, I never actually WORE a uniform," Barbara admitted.  "But 
sometimes I wish I had.  I think school uniforms are quite 
attractive.  They're inexpensive, convenient, and, as a 'big 
time psychologist,' I can tell you that they help alleviate 
peer pressure and class distinctions.  In fact, at the school 
board meetings for several months now, we've been discussing 
implementing a new uniform policy, so I'm not quite as clueless 
as you seem to think, young lady." 

"So, voting for someone else to do something makes you an expert 
in what it feels like to do it?" Jenny asked, sarcastically.  
"You should run for Congress, Mom." 

"My psychology practice pays better, dear," her mother replied, 
snidely.  "Besides, the women in Congress don't wear school 
uniforms either, so I don't think that would give me the 
experience you seem to think I require." 

Barbara poured herself a glass of water and sat down at the 
kitchen table opposite her daughter.  Although 38, Barbara was 
in excellent shape, but at 5'2" she was also considerably shorter 
than her latest tennis opponent, who had gleefully run her all 
over the court.  Barbara had won, of course, but her diminutive 
stature had made it quite a workout.  

Of course, there was another possibility.  Could it be that she  
was actually getting...old? 

Even at 38, she knew that she still looked youthful.  She was 
regularly carded at bars and liquor stores.  But was that simply 
because of her height?  Or (worse yet) were the bouncers simply 
humoring her? 

Barbara shuddered at the idea.  Then a new (and happier) thought 
replaced it. 

"There's a Halloween party your father and I have to go to next 
week, and I still haven't picked a costume," she said, thoughtfully.
"Maybe I could go as a uniformed school girl.  That would solve my 
party costume dilemma, and it would give me a chance to experience 
what it would be like to wear a uniform for a day." 

"Nice try, Mom, but wearing a uniform to a costume party doesn't 
give you the experience I was talking about.  If I dress up like 
Cleopatra, that doesn't mean that people will treat me like I'm 
Queen of the Nile.  I'd be treated like a woman at a costume party 
in a white dress and a plastic crown." 

"Actually I was thinking of something a bit more elaborate," 
Barbara said.  "We can drive up to that mall way up north and 
buy my school uniform there.  In those clothes you look like 
an adult...." 

"I AM an adult, Mother," Jenny replied, sharply. 

"Yes, well....  In any case, we can say that I'm a new student 
starting school.  Since it's a bit of a drive, and your father 
is out of town, we can even stay overnight at that hotel up by 
the mall.  That will give me a chance to interact with people a 
bit in my new uniform."   

Barbara paused and looked thoughtful.  "Do you really think...that 
anyone would believe...that I'm a teenager?" she asked her 
daughter, haltingly.  "I mean, to be honest, that's the part I'm 
really curious about.  You don't think I look...too old, do you?" 

"You look great for an 'older' lady," Jenny said, with a laugh.  
"If we get you out of those frumpy I-AM-A-DOCTOR clothes you'll 
look great.  But it's still a stupid idea.   As soon as you see 
how easy it is to pass as a teenager, you'll chicken out and change 
back into your adult clothes.  You won't experience any of the 
downsides, and then I'll have to listen to some 'I know what 
uniforms are like' speech for the rest of my life.  No thanks!" 

The word "chicken" immediately awoke Barbara's competitive nature.  
"Then let's make a little wager, daughter dear.  From now until 
the time your father returns home on Sunday, I'll be the daughter, 
and you can be my mom.  You'll be in charge, but you'll have all 
the responsibilities, too.  You'll drive me, and you can pay for 
my uniform -- AND our hotel stay." 

"And what do I get out of this?" Jenny asked.  "Other than the 
bill, of course?" 

"If I go the entire weekend without 'chickening out,' to use your 
phrase, then you'll come to my school board meeting next week and 
tell them how much you loved your school uniform," Barbara said.  
"And you'll cook dinners on Saturdays for a month." 

"I thought I asked what I get?" Jenny insisted. 

"If I DO chicken out, I'll pick up the whole tab for the weekend, 
and buy you that used sports car you've been pestering your father 
about," Barbara replied with a smile. 

Jenny pondered the offer.  "You want me to betray every single kid 
who ever attends school in order to get a second hand car?" she 
asked, slyly.   "And I'd have to spend date nights for a month 
slinging hash for you and Dad?" 

But then she smiled.  "Well, it is a convertible...."  She paused 
and rubbed her chin pensively.  "And I would be TOTALLY in charge, 
right?" 

"If you pay the bills, you call the shots," her mother said.  "Of 
course, as a teenager, I reserve the right to WHINE if you pick a 
hotel that is anything less than fabulous." 

"Deal," Jenny said, shaking her mother's hand.  "It's quite a 
drive, so we had better get started soon." 

"While I'm taking my shower, can you see if you can find a t-shirt 
or something that would make me look a bit younger?" Barbara said.  
"I don't think a business suit, silk blouse, and heels will cut it 
today." 

"Agreed," Jenny said.  "I think you're too short for the stuff in 
my closet...now, but I have some old stuff in the basement that 
should fit."  

She smiled and adopted a maternal tone.  "And hurry up with that 
shower, young lady.  I want to get there before midnight." 

"YES, Mother,"  Barbara used her best "you're-annoying-me-to-death" 
faux teenager voice. 

"And where do you think you're going, young lady?" Jenny asked. 

"Upstairs to shower," Barbara said, in confusion. 

"No way.  You always made me shower in the laundry room when I got 
home from soccer practice.  And that's where I want you to shower 
now." 

"You were filthy, Jenn-...I mean, 'Mother,'" Barbara replied. 

"Well, you're all hot and sweaty after your tennis game.  And isn't 
that a scrape on your knee?  I don't want you dripping blood all 
over my nice white bathroom."   

Jenny put one hand on her hip and pointed sternly towards the door. 
"Laundry Room.  Now.  March." 

Barbara gave her daughter an evil look before skulking into the 
laundry room.  The cement floor of the stark and utilitarian room 
was a far cry from the comfy upstairs bathroom, but it would get 
the job done.   

Besides, Barbara wasn't going to lose a bet that easily. 

The small laundry room didn't have a shower per se, just a shower 
nozzle and a floor drain.  The lack of a tub or a curtain had 
elicited endless complaints from Jenny over the years.   

Since Barbara used the laundry room only for laundry, she had 
ignored her daughter's griping.  And she had also neglected to 
fix the lock on the outside door, since the laundry room was 
securely separated from the rest of the house by a sturdy door 
with a lock that worked. 

The broken lock had caused Jenny a great deal of embarrassment 
a few weeks ago when their neighbor, old Mr. Peepers, had 
"accidentally" walked in on her while she was in the shower. 

Barbara read Mr. Peepers the riot act and told him in no uncertain 
terms that if he ever entered her house again without knocking, 
she would call the police.   

But, as a trained psychologist, Barbara decided that minimizing the 
incident would help Jenny reconcile with Mr. Peepers more quickly.  
Although she casually mentioned to Jenny that she had spoken with 
Mr. Peepers, she kept her tone purposefully indifferent.  She 
breezily dismissed the incident as a harmless accident.  She 
said that Jenny's accusations were "silly" and chided her for 
her "overwrought melodramatics." 

"He's got to be at least 80," Barbara had joked.  "I doubt he could 
even see you through those thick glasses that he wears.  Besides, I 
suspect that you don't have anything he hasn't seen," she chuckled. 

To say that Jenny had been furious with her mother's nonchalant 
response would be an understatement. 

Now, of course, it was Barbara who had to contend with the laundry 
room's shortcomings.  She tried to shower quickly, but adjusting 
the water temperature correctly with the two rusty old spigots was 
difficult.  She had barely gotten herself wet when her daughter 
returned.   

"When are you going to learn to put your clothes away properly?" 
Jenny said, as she made a beeline for the tennis outfit heaped on 
top of the dryer.  "I'm not your maid, you know." 

Barbara immediately turned her back.  "Jenny, I would like a little 
PRIVACY, please!" she shouted. 

"Don't take that tone of voice with me, Missy," Jenny shot back.  
"When I complained about the laundry room, you said I was being 
silly.  My fellow students weren't particularly happy the day you 
and the other moms marched into the locker room at St. Aggie when 
we were showering, but we didn't have much to say about it, did 
we?" 

She handed Barbara a bar of soap.  "The soap on the floor is kind 
of gross, so I brought you a fresh bar.  I'll be back with a towel 
and your clothes in a few minutes, so hurry up."  

She scooped up her mother's shoes and clothes and headed towards 
the door.  Barbara felt a tiny chill as Jenny opened the door to 
the house, and the air conditioning blew into the laundry room.  
"One other thing, dear.  I'd hurry up, if I were you.  That 
neighbor boy always tries to peep through the window whenever he 
sees steam.  And your old friend, Mr. Peepers, always seems to 
find some excuse to visit." 

Barbara swallowed as she looked up at the small laundry room 
window.  The house was a split level, and that wall backed onto 
a tree-lined walkway between the two houses.  Whenever Jenny 
complained, Barbara told her that the shrubs in front of the 
window made it too dark for anyone to see anything.  But, of 
course, that was the view looking OUT.  The bright fluorescent 
lighting in the laundry room meant that looking IN was another 
story altogether. 

Barbara suddenly became extremely conscious of the thick cloud of 
steam that had formed around her.  The laundry room window was open 
just a smidge.  But as Barbara watched the steam drift towards the 
window, she realized that a smidge would be all it took. 

She quickly rinsed the shampoo out of hair.  She had to get out 
there NOW. 

KNOCK!  KNOCK!  KNOCK!  Her heart skipped a beat as she heard a 
banging on the outside door. 

"Who is it?" Jennifer called out in a sing song voice.  Barbara 
watched in horror as her daughter, bath towel and clothes in hand, 
scurried back into the room and headed for the outside door....  

And opened it.  

Mr. Peepers looked at Jennifer with an expression of surprise and 
disappointment.  "Oh...I'm sorry...I thought you were in the 
show....  Uh...I mean, how are you?  Uh...your dad asked me for 
some finishing nails...well, a couple of years ago.  I was in the 
hardware store the other day, and I saw some, so I thought I'd 
bring them over.  I could put them in the toolbox over there in 
the corner...." 

Barbara gasped as she looked at the toolbox, which was sitting 
comfortably on a shelf less than 6 feet from the shower.    

She shrank back against the wall as Mr. Peepers attempted to 
peer around Jenny.  "But, if this is a bad time, I could come 
back later...." 

"Oh, don't be silly," Jenny said, brightly.  "Why don't you just 
put the nails on top of the toolbox?" 

Barbara's fingers curled and tried to dig into the concrete as she 
pressed her back tightly against the laundry room wall. 

Mr. Peepers broke into an enormous grin as soon as he spotted 
Barbara standing naked against the wall.  "Well, well, well," 
he said.  "So it was YOU taking the shower.  I guess my wife 
was right after all....  You ARE a natural blonde." 

His leering comment awoke Barbara to the fact that her hands were 
still pressed against the wall.  She quickly cupped her crotch 
with her right hand while shielding her breasts with her left.... 

As if Mr. Peepers hadn't already seen everything! 

"Get out of here, you old pervert!"  Barbara yelled.  "I'll have 
you arrested!  Get the fuck out of here!" 

"Now, now, now!" he retorted.  "I knocked before I entered.  And 
your daughter invited me in.  If there is anyone who should be 
arrested, it's you -- prancing around in front of me in your 
birthday suit when all I wanted to do was drop off some nails." 

"He does have a point, Mother," Jenny said, not even trying to 
hide her amusement at her mother's predicament. 

Barbara turned her face to the wall and shouted over her shoulder 
at her daughter.  "I want him out of here NOW, Jennifer!" 

"Geez, Mom, don't make such a big deal out of it."  Jennifer mocked 
her mother with her own words.  "I really think you're...well, 
overreacting.  It's not like you have something he hasn't seen." 

"Nice caboose, too," Mr. Peepers added, as he slowly ran his eyes 
over Barbara's exposed bottom.  "So what do you say, Jennifer?  
Should we call the police?  I have some buddies on the force who 
wouldn't even let her get dressed before they cuff her.  And 
registering her as a sex offender down at the station would 
probably take some time.  You could bring her clothes to the 
station tomorrow." 

"Show's over," Jennifer said, crisply.  "I think you've had 
enough fun for one day.  Why don't you just hand over the 
nails and leave?"    

He smiled and handed her the nails.  "Nice seeing you," he called 
out as he opened the door to the yard.  "It's obvious now where 
Jenny gets her good looks." 

Barbara started to yell as soon as he had closed the door, but 
Jennifer quickly cut her off.  "Dry yourself and put on your new 
clothes.  I'll be waiting in the car.  If you want to CHICKEN OUT, 
that would be just fine.  We can go to the car dealership instead 
of the mall.  But remember...I'm just treating you the way you 
treat me.  That was the bet, wasn't it?" 

The next few minutes alone in the laundry room gave Barbara a 
chance to cool off.  Although she was angry and humiliated, she 
had to admit that Jenny was basically right. 

Although she was not pleased with her daughter's choice of 
clothing, the thought of a return visit from Mr. Peepers compelled 
her to dress quickly.  The white training bra was an embarrassingly 
good fit, the panties were emblazoned with smiling bears, and the 
midriff-baring t-Shirt left her belly-button fully exposed.  She 
tried repeatedly to tug up her low-rise, cut-off denim shorts, but 
to no avail; although she didn't have a mirror, she was certain the 
slightest bend on her part would expose the waistband of her 
juvenile underpants to the world. 

The plain white ankle socks fit, but Jenny had replaced Barbara's 
stylish Nikes with a pair of beat-up old sneakers that she had last 
worn on a campout years before. 

Since there was no hair dryer in the laundry room, she used the 
band Jenny had provided to tie her hair into a ponytail.  It 
didn't really matter.  As soon as she got upstairs, she would 
change clothes and dry her hair properly. 

But when she tried to open the door to the house, she found it was 
locked.  Her keys were in her purse in the house, so she pounded 
on the door and shouted.  No one answered.  

She could use the front door; that was never locked.  That would 
mean she would have to go out into the yard.  But, although she 
absolutely despised the outfit her daughter had selected, she 
knew she really had no choice. 

As she walked out of the laundry room, she was surprised to see 
her 19-year-old neighbor, Jimmy, quickly walking out of her yard 
and back toward his house. 

"Can I help you, Jimmy?" she asked. 

"Uh...no," he replied, awkwardly.  "I was just doing some yard 
work.  When I saw your hedges needed trimming, too, I just thought 
I'd help out." 

Barbara's blinked nervously as she noticed the freshly trimmed 
hedge next to the laundry room window.  "What's that bottle in 
your pocket, Jimmy?" she asked, suspiciously. 

"Uh...nothing...just a bottle of window cleaner.  The laundry room 
window looked a little dirty, that's all." 

He tried to stuff the bottle deeper into his pocket, but it was too 
late.  "The label on that bottle says ANTI-FOG, Jimmy," Barbara 
observed. 

His reaction surprised her.  Although he was 19, he was also 
hopelessly geeky, and Barbara expected him to react with the 
same nervous stammer he always had whenever they talked. 

But instead, he simply looked at her and smiled.  The leering 
look on his face as his eyes slowly ran up her bare legs caused 
her mouth to go dry. 

The role reversal puzzled her.   Why was she standing pigeon-toed 
while this teenage boy brazenly looked HER up and down?  She had 
caught him practically red-handed committing a crime.  

But it was Barbara who stood there shifting her weight awkwardly 
from foot to foot as Jimmy boldly ogled her.  He normally couldn't 
even look her in the eye.  But now he was carefully examining her 
flat tummy and slender bare legs.  

The inspection was cut short by two quick bursts of a car horn, 
followed by Jenny's voice.  "Let's get a move on!  I want to get 
there TO-DAY!" she shouted. 

Barbara turned and obediently scampered towards the car.  As she 
ran towards the car, she heard Jimmy's voice behind her.  "Tell 
Jenny if she ever needs more finishing nails, I have plenty," he 
said, happily.  "And if you ever need that little hedge of YOURS 
trimmed...." 

Blushing, Barbara ran towards the car with a new appreciation for 
the power of clothing. 

		******************************	



 
                  UNINFORMED AND UNIFORMED 

                             by 

                          Joe Doe


THE POWER REVERSAL BET/EXPERIMENT CONTINUES, AND BARBIE'S 
APPRECIATION FOR THE POWER OF COSTUMING WILL GROW RICHER 
AND DEEPER DURING AN ENCOUNTER WITH A SHREWISH SALESCLERK.  
JENNY AND BARBIE HEAR OF PADDYWELL ACADEMY.



Part 2

When Barbara reached the car she looked behind her.  Sure enough, 
Jimmy was still leering at her.  No doubt he had enjoyed the rear 
view of Barbara running towards the car in her low-rise shorts. 

She had planned to simply ask for the house keys so that she could 
let herself back into the house to change.  But, when she saw Mr. 
Peepers ogling her from his front window, she quickly got into the 
car in order to end the free show. 

"Jenny, can I have the keys?" she said.  "These pants are indecent, 
and the bra is way too...too...."    

"Welcome to high school, little girl," Jenny chuckled.  "Like it or 
not, you have to wear what the other kids wear if you don't want to 
have the stuffings knocked out of you."   

She put the car into gear and began to back out of the driveway.  
"Imagine a big time psychologist not understanding peer pressure," 
she teased.  "Don't they teach you kids anything in school these 
days?" she added, clearly relishing the chance to mock her mother 
with her own words. 

"But my purse is in the house, Jenny," Barbara whined. 

"Just as well," Jenny said.  "I'm paying the bills, and you'll do 
things my way.  No money and no ID will keep you from wandering off 
when we're at the mall.  Besides, I don't want you wasting money on 
a lot of junk."   

The phrase "wasting money on a lot of junk" was one of Barbara's 
favorites, and it steamed her to hear her daughter use it on her.  
But the next phrase brought the argument to an end. 

"You know, since you called me 'Jenny,' I should win the bet by 
default," Jenny said, with a smile.  "Parents name their children, 
and call their children by their first names, not the other way 
around.  Maybe we should just go to the car dealership." 

"I'm sorry...Mom," Barbara replied.  Although she knew now that she 
was the victim of a wager gone awry, she would be damned if she was 
going to buy her smug daughter that car. 

"Okay, Barbie, we'll just let it go for now.  We WILL have to 
discuss the punishment for your flip attitude towards me and 
the disgraceful language you used in front of Mr. Peepers.  
But now we'll just concentrate on getting your school uniform. 

"'Barbie' is such a cute name, don't you think?" Jenny added, 
playfully.  "It's much cuter than 'Barbara.'  'Barbie' reminds 
me of the doll.  How would you like to be my great big Barbie 
doll, honey?  We'll take you out and get you a nice new school 
uniform, just like the Barbie dolls get every fall." 

"Whatever you say, Mother," Barbara replied, coolly.  She hated to 
be called "Barbie," and she hated Barbie dolls even more.  But she 
knew that she wouldn't win the bet unless she played along. 

As the drive continued, she began to wonder what her "punishment" 
might be.  She hadn't spanked Jenny for several years.  But that 
didn't keep her from threatening Jenny with the juvenile punishment 
from time to time.  "Don't ever think you're too old for a 
spanking," she had warned.  "That antique slipper on my dresser 
is still reserved for you.  You remember that slipper, don't 
you, Jenny?  Well, as long as I'm paying the bills, you'll do 
what I say!" 

Barbara's bottom cheeks flexed defensively as she recalled the 
extremely unfortunate choice of words.  Although she hadn't 
experienced it herself, she knew from her daughter's reaction 
that, though the slipper didn't do any actual damage, it stung 
like a fury.   

And to make matters even worse, she had always spanked Jenny 
bare-bottom. 

Barbara fidgeted in her seat as she contemplated her options.  
Although Jenny had inherited her mother's drive and determination, 
she had inherited her large frame from her father.  At 5'10", Jenny 
was a full 8 inches taller than her mother, and, although Barbara 
was in excellent shape, she knew that, if push came to shove, her 
muscular and athletic daughter could handle her easily. 

At the first stoplight, Jenny stopped to buckle Barbie's belt.  
The action was noticed by an old woman in the crosswalk who smiled 
approvingly. 

Barbara looked at her daughter closely.  Jenny had exchanged her 
contacts for her emergency wire rim glasses, doubtlessly to look 
older.  With her stylishly short hair, makeup, and power suit, 
she looked every bit the young professional. 

Barbara barely recognized the tiny girl with the pony tail whose 
reflection stared stupidly back at her.  Without makeup, she looked 
every bit as young as her clothes suggested.   

"You know, Barbie, if your new uniform is REALLY cute, maybe we can 
have you wear it to the next board meeting," Jenny chuckled.  "What 
better way to prove how darling they are then to model one for all 
your friends?" 

Jenny eventually tired of teasing her mother, and Barbara at last 
closed her eyes.  It had been a hard day on the tennis courts, and 
she was relieved that her daughter was driving. 

As her mind began to drift, she began to think about her school 
uniform.  She hoped it was plaid; she liked plaid.  A white blouse 
and a knee-length skirt would be nice.  If done correctly, she 
might even look like a stewardess.

But, as she drifted farther off, other images invaded her mind.  
Her flight attendant fantasy quickly devolved into a nightmare 
of curfews, homework, and school rules.  She was at the Board 
meeting now, and she was wearing the school uniform.  Mr. Peepers 
and Jimmy both had front row seats, and they grinned broadly as 
the superintendent of schools turned Barbie over his knee.  "As 
you can see, these uniforms make it easy to raise a girl's skirt 
and lower her underpants for a spanking," he said, pedantically.  
"Here...let me demonstrate...." 

The scene shifted suddenly and she felt dazed.  There was a hand 
on her shoulder, shaking her, and then her daughter's voice, "Wake 
up, Barbie!  We're here." 

Barbie wiped her eyes.  Although she hated the idea of marching 
through the mall in her skimpy outfit, she was nonetheless relieved 
to be rescued from her Halloween fright-mare. 

Little did she know that the real nightmare was just beginning. 

After less than a minute in the mall, Barbie realized that her 
daughter had been right about her clothing.  While the 
professionally attired Jenny earned nary a glance, Barbie's 
skimpy outfit made her a visual target.  Most men noticed her 
bare midriff before their eyes traveled down her legs.  A few 
took their time; others quickly dismissed her as tasty but deadly 
jail-bait.   

Sometimes they just gave her a quick leer; it was the men seated on 
the benches who seemed to make the most leisurely appraisals.  Most 
of them never even bothered to make eye contact although a few did 
take the time for a suggestive smile.   

Barbie liked the men who simply ogled her better than the men that 
ogled and then smiled.  The smiles weren't friendly or warm; to 
her, the smiles were knowing and sarcastic.  The smiles slyly 
suggested Barbie was a little bimbo unworthy of serious attention.   

It was a sign of contempt.  "You look nice today, you little 
tease," their smiles seemed to say.  "Do you know what I would 
like to do to you?" 

Most of the women didn't make eye contact either, but the few who 
did look her in the face, didn't bother to hide their loathing or 
disgust.  Barbie knew the look well; it was the same look that she 
routinely gave to Britney wannabes.   

Barbie wanted to stop the women and explain that she wasn't a 
little tramp.  She was one of them. 

But, deep down, she knew that it would do no good.  She was no 
longer one of them.  Now she was one of THEM. 

By the time their long march to the uniform store ended, Barbie 
felt totally defeated.  The perky tone of the old woman running 
the shop did little to help her spirits. 

The woman totally ignored Barbie and focused instead on Jenny.  
"What can I do for you today, ma'am?" the old woman asked, 
pleasantly.  "Let me guess...surgical scrubs?  A nurse's uniform, 
perhaps?" 

"No, it's not for me; it's for my daughter," Jennifer said.  "She's 
going to be giving a talk on school uniforms, and I wanted to see 
if we could find one for her to wear as sort of a demonstration." 

"Splendid," the clerk replied.  "We have uniforms from all of the 
local schools.  They're all along the back wall.  Was there 
something in particular you were interested in?" 

Barbie seized the opportunity.  "I wanted something that was 
plaid...not too uniformy, but kind of...." 

But Jenny had already moved to a rack in the back.  "What is this?" 
she asked, holding up a short gray blazer. 

"You have excellent taste," the clerk gushed.  "Those are the 
uniforms for Paddywell Academy."  

"Paddywell?" Jenny said, her curiosity piqued.  "I've never heard 
of it."   

"It's a private reformatory for young women aged 18 to 40.  The 
women are usually there for petty offenses -- library fines, 
parking violations, jaywalking, that sort of thing.  The 
headmaster, Dr. Leamus, says the structured boarding school 
environment turns even the most obnoxious hellion into a polite 
little girl." 

The clerk dropped her voice and whispered to Jenny.  "Of course, 
there WAS that scandal a few years ago, but that doesn't seem 
to have slowed the place down very much." 

"Scandal?" Barbie said.  "What sort of scandal?" 

The clerk blithely ignored Barbie and kept on talking to Jenny.  
"As you can see the blazer is 100% polyester.  It's stain-resistant 
and machine washable, so...." 

"Tell me about the scandal," Jenny said. 

"Well, a few years ago, one of the girls escaped.  Don't ask me 
how; the security there is like Alcatraz.  Anyway, she went to 
the police and claimed that the male professors watched the young 
women in the shower, and spanked them, and...um...used them."  The 
clerk dropped her voice and whispered in Jenny's ear, "That is, 
used them in...inappropriate ways." 

"I think I get the picture," Jenny said.  "What happened?"   

"Nothing, of course," the saleswoman shrugged.  "The Sheriff and 
the mayor are both on Paddywell's board.  Actually, if you want 
to visit, it's just a mile down the road.   It's a big Gothic 
building on top of a hill.  There's a huge stone wall around it 
and, about 100 yards beyond that, an electric fence.  It's so 
close that sometimes when I walk out to my car at night I can 
actually hear the guard dogs barking.  I think I have a business 
card somewhere...."   

"Guard dogs?" Barbie said.  "Electric fence?" 

The older woman looked over her glasses at Barbie.  "Your habit of 
interrupting adults suggests a visit to Paddywell might be just the 
thing you need," she said, slyly. 

Barbie swallowed.  She wasn't interrupting.  She was just asking a 
question.  It wasn't fair! 

After putting Barbie back in her place, the clerk immediately 
returned to her conversation with Jenny.  "I should warn you in 
advance that Dr. Leamus takes only students who are 18 years or 
older." 

Barbie's jaw dropped.  She had been worried that no one would 
believe that she was Jenny's daughter.  But obviously that was 
not a problem. 

The salesclerk handed Barbie the skirt and jacket combination.  
"This is your size, dear; why don't you go into the changing room 
and try it on?" 

"Do you sell regulation Academy underwear?" Jenny asked.   

"Of course.  But, if your daughter tries it on, you can't return 
it." 

"No problem.  I guarantee you are going to get a sale tonight." 

The clerk's mood brightened further.  "I'll get it right away, 
ma'am.  And a regulation blouse and tie, as well." 

Barbie looked at the outfit doubtfully.  It was a gray blazer 
with an ugly gold, red, and blue patch on the breast.  The words 
"PADDYWELL" was written out in Gothic script in a crescent curve 
at the top of the patch.  Below that was a picture of a paddle, 
a tawse, and a cane, crossed to form a sort of 6-pointed star.  
At the bottom of the patch was a Latin phrase: 

			Castigo Acerbe
			Castigo Nudos 

It was exactly what Barbie didn't want.  The absurd and brightly 
colored patch eliminated the slightest doubt that this was a school 
uniform.  And the image of the cane and strap would doubtlessly 
draw nervous laughter and knowing smiles from everyone who saw it. 

"I don't think a bra is really necessary in her case," the clerk 
said, coldly, once again referring to Barbie in the 3rd person.  
"Dr. Leamus prefers tight half-shirts for the underdeveloped 
girls." 

"I'm not a girl, and I'm not underdeveloped," Barbie shot back.  
"And you need glasses, you old biddy." 

"Barbie, I'm shocked...SHOCKED!" Jenny said in her best 
"hand-in-the-cookie-jar" voice.  "Here this nice woman is 
trying to help us, and you insult her.  We're going to have 
a lot to talk about tonight, young lady."   

Jenny took the other things from the clerk and tossed them to 
Barbie, who managed to catch them, awkwardly. 

"Changing room!" Jenny said.  "March!" 

Barbie couldn't decide what was the worst part of this experience.  
Was it the uniform?  The way her opinions were being ignored?  The 
ugly and ominous patch?  Her daughter's attitude? 

As she slouched off to the changing room, holding the uniform in 
one hand and the underwear in the other, feeling like a prisoner 
walking the last mile, Barbie decided that it was definitely the 
salesclerk's smug, superior smile. 

The one good thing about the skimpy outfit Jenny had given her to 
wear was that it didn't take long to remove.  Barbie ripped the 
cellophane off the panties and quickly put them on. 

The low-rise panties were snug and tight, with a very high leg cut. 
As she looked over her shoulder, she could see that the waistband 
left the top of her buttocks just barely visible.  In front, a few 
blonde pubic hairs peeked out enticingly. 

Although the underpants were plain, white, undecorated cotton they 
were unlike any school uniform panties she had ever seen.  These 
underpants were not designed for comfort or wear.  At a real 
reformatory these panties would make no sense.  But, as she 
recalled the salesclerk's whispered tales of "inappropriate" 
behavior, the puzzle came together. 

These panties were selected by a man. 

Barbie's realization was interrupted by a flood of light as the 
salesclerk casually ripped open the changing room curtain.   

"You see, I was right," the woman said, brightly.  "She doesn't 
need a bra at all." 

Barbie's arms flew over her chest to cover her tiny buds.   

"You hurry up and change, dear...quick like a bunny!" the clerk 
patronized.  "Your mother looks like a very sophisticated and 
successful woman, and I'm sure she has lots of important things 
to do." 

The salesclerk didn't even notice Barbie's infuriated scowl, not 
that it would have mattered if she had.  As the woman walked away, 
Barbie saw Jenny standing by, arms folded. 

Jenny's satisfied "I-told-you-so" grin spoke volumes.   

Barbie tried not to expose herself as she closed the curtain, but 
it was yet another battle that she lost.  And Jenny's smug laughter 
made her defeat all the more complete. 

Her daughter HAD told her so, but she wouldn't listen.  Barbie was 
too smart, too educated, too worldly to let a little thing like a 
change of clothes get the better of her. 

What a difference a few hours can make. 

She quickly pulled on her t-shirt.  As she had feared, the tight 
half-shirt left her flat as a board.  The starched blouse and 
dorky clip-on tie were awful, and the scratchy gray micro-skirt 
barely covered her underpants. 

When Barbie walked out into the main store in her new uniform, the 
salesclerk actually clapped her hands.  "How delightful!  How 
charming!  It's as cute as a bug." 

To her distress, Barbie noticed that another couple had entered the 
store.  The woman was looking at nurses' uniforms while her bored 
husband sat in a chair and stared blankly into space. 

But when the man saw Barbie leave the dressing room, he quickly 
changed chairs to that he could get a better view. 

"Why don't you walk back and forth, and turn a few times, so we can 
get a better look at it, dear," the clerk suggested, unhelpfully.  

Barbie looked at the grinning man nervously.  She hated the 
uniform, and she hated the way everyone was looking at her.  
But when her "Mother" nodded, she reluctantly began to "model" 
the clothes. 

She tried to tug the skirt down as she walked back and forth.  "I 
think you made a mistake with the skirt," she said anxiously.  
"This is WAY too short." 

"No, that's how it's supposed to be, dear," the clerk replied, 
condescendingly.  "The stricter the school, the shorter the skirt." 

The salesclerk once again redirected her conversation to the woman 
with the checkbook, Jenny.  "And, as you can see, Paddywell is as 
strict as they come.  Isn't it just ADORABLE?" 

"Just peachy!" Jenny replied.  "So M-...uh...Barbie, what do you 
think of school uniforms NOW?" 

"I hate it!  I look like a dork!  The tie is so nerdy, and the 
skirt barely covers my butt!"   

"Perfect!" Jenny said, enthusiastically.  "We'll take it." 

"But, MOM!" Barbie whined.  "I can't wear THIS!  If the wind 
blows...." 

The salesclerk lifted the front of Barbie's skirt and completed the 
sentence in a sing-song voice, "Everyone will see where the grass 
grows!"   

Barbie looked across the room at the grinning man, who was now 
staring directly at the curly blonde hairs at the top of her 
pubic mound.   

Crimson-faced, Barbie angrily yanked her skirt down.  She couldn't 
believe that the old woman had just lifted her skirt.  IN PUBLIC! 

"You know, Dr. Leamus usually keeps the girls shaved for just 
that reason," the clerk said, her voice once again dropping to 
a whisper.  "You really should consider that if she is going to 
be wearing this on a regular basis." 

"I'll certainly keep that in mind," Jenny said, thoughtfully.  
"What about shoes?" 

Barbie spent another 30 minutes parading around the store in the 
skimpy uniform, much to the amusement of the seated male customer.  
The poor man just wasn't able to find anything he liked his wife in 
for the longest time. 

First there were the black shoes, then the socks.  And the clerk 
spent more time fitting Barbie with the atrociously ugly school cap 
than she had fitting her with the uniform. 

"Should I wrap it...or will she just wear it home?" the clerk 
suggested, maliciously, as she swiped Jenny's credit card.  

(The old biddy!  She knew that Barbie hated that uniform, and 
now she wanted to make her parade around the mall in it.) 

"No, please wrap it up," Jenny said.  "I want to keep it nice.  
Jenny turned to Barbie.  "Go change back into your regular 
clothes, dear.  I saw another place I wanted to stop at on the 
way out." 

"Quick like a bunny!" the salesclerk added, merrily. 

For the first time the clerk had actually asked Barbie to do 
something she WANTED to do.  Jenny chuckled as she watched 
Barbie obediently scurry back to the changing room.

		******************************



 
                   UNINFORMED AND UNIFORMED 

                              by 

                           Joe Doe


BARBIE LEARNS THAT THE MALL'S DOC-IN-A-BOX CLINIC HAPPILY GIVES 
VERY THOROUGH SCHOOL SPORTS PHYSICALS.



Part 3

Barbie was naked save for the brief reformatory underpants when the 
salesclerk boldly ripped the changing curtain open.  Since Jenny 
and her credit card were not present, the clerk dispensed with her 
insincere smile.  "Your mother said I should start wrapping as soon 
you got undressed" she said.  "Hurry up, you little brat.  I don't 
have all night." 

Barbie felt her stomach knot.  Jenny had sent the clerk back into 
the dressing room.  Apparently her "Mother" was determined to show 
her what it was like to have no modesty whatsoever.  

And it was only Friday night.  How was she ever going to make it to 
Sunday? 

She had already stripped down to her panties.  The clerk folded her 
arms and grinned evilly as, clearly embarrassed, Barbie struggled 
to wiggle the tight garment off her hips.  

But the scowl returned as Barbie faced her to hand over her final 
shred of modesty.  Although Barbie was now stark naked, the gruff 
clerk didn't bother to close either the curtain to her changing 
room or the curtain that separated the changing area from the rest 
of the store. 

Barbie quickly closed the curtain and changed back into her street 
clothes.  Although she hated the idea of parading through the mall 
in her skimpy "teen tease" outfit, it was still infinitely 
preferable to the reformatory uniform. 

Much to her relief, the nurse and her voyeur husband were gone 
by the time she emerged from the changing room.  The clerk soon 
arrived from the back of the store and handed Jenny the neatly 
bagged clothes.  "While I was in the back, I took the liberty of 
calling Paddywell and telling them about your daughter.  Dr. Leamus 
wasn't there, but Prof. Lakewood said that, if you would like to 
take a tour, you can drop by any time this weekend.  He says that, 
if you like the establishment, you could even stay overnight, as 
his guest.  I think that would be much nicer than a hotel, don't 
you?" 

"Much less expensive, too," Jenny added, giving Barbie a knowing 
look. 

"The guest rooms are quite opulent, from what I've been told," the 
clerk continued.  "Of course, your daughter would have to sleep in 
the dormitory with the other girls, but, since she has a uniform, I 
don't think that would be a problem.  I do think they'd probably 
want to shave off her little blonde peach fuzz before they let her 
shower with the other girls, though." 

Barbie's hand flew to the front of her shorts in an involuntary 
defensive response.  Her mind was racing.  Didn't that scandal 
involve men supervising female students in the shower room? 

"I put the Paddywell business card in the bag and also threw in an 
extra set of underwear, free of charge, in case you decide to stay 
overnight," the clerk said.  "Once again, I'd really suggest that 
you try it.  I hear the food is quite wonderful....  Well, the food 
for the faculty and guests is quite wonderful, to be more precise," 
she said, once again giving Barbie a knowing smile. 

Barbie looked over her shoulder at the grinning woman as Jenny led 
her by the hand out of the store.  The clerk gave Barbie a playful 
wink and theatrically rubbed her bottom. 

Barbie was once again exposed to the leering glances of the mall's 
many patrons, but she didn't care.  At least she was out of that 
awful shop. 

She was surprised when Jenny stopped and opened the door to a tiny 
"Doc-in-a-Box" medical center that occupied a corner in the Mall.  
"Why are we stopping here?" she asked.  "Aren't you feeling well?" 

Jenny smiled.  "Can't you guess?  Remember, you're my daughter 
now." 

Barbie looked at Jenny blankly.  She hadn't a clue. 

But it all came back instantly when Jenny began speaking to the 
receptionist.  "My daughter is going out for the soccer team this 
year.  I was wondering if she could get a quick physical?" 

"Well, I have the forms for the Monroe High School Sports Physical 
right here," the receptionist said.  "But we were going to close 
in a few minutes, and the nurse has already gone home."   

"That's not a problem," Jenny replied.  "I can stay in the room." 

Barbie was stunned.  Jenny had complained that the large "group 
physicals" at St. Agnes were humiliating, especially since Barbara 
and the other mothers usually stayed in the room and munched on 
doughnuts while the girls were put through their paces. 

Barbara had always dismissed Jenny's concerns as "silly."  But, as 
she watched the receptionist pull down a fresh piece of paper to 
cover the exam table, her perspective instantly changed. 

"You win the bet," she said to Jenny.  "I'll get you the car.  
I was totally, completely, 100% wrong, and you were absolutely 
right.  Let's go home." 

Jenny leaned back in her chair and smiled triumphantly.  After a 
long pause, she said, "I'm sure you don't mean that, dear.  You're 
just nervous about your exam.  But that's normal for girls your 
age.  Don't worry...I'll be right here, watching everything." 

Barbie gritted her teeth as once again her daughter mocked her with 
her own words.  "No, I was wrong," Barbie said.  "I was more than 
wrong; I was stupid.  You tried to explain the uniform thing to me, 
and I just wouldn't listen.  Well, I've learned my lesson, and we 
can go home now.  I'll pay you back for the uniform, and the hotel, 
and everything else when we get home."   

"It's not quite that simple, Barbie.  I didn't drive all this way 
just to have you chicken out.  And remember, no one here knows you, 
and you have no money and no ID.  If you make a scene or try to run 
away, you might very well end up in Paddywell without me."  

Jenny crossed her legs at the ankle and smiled as she leaned 
farther back in her chair.  "This whole thing is about power, 
and you're not in a position to bargain.  This ends when I say 
it ends." 

Barbie knew her daughter was right, although she was surprised that 
Jenny had put the matter to her so boldly.  Barbie was still trying 
to muster a response when Jenny relented.   

"However, I do think that you have learned your lesson, albeit 
not totally, and not to my complete and personal satisfaction.  
So I am willing to accept your forfeit offer, with the additional 
condition that you continue to play along with me until tomorrow 
night, instead of Sunday.  That means you get off 24 hours early.  
And I want a NEW Mustang, not a used one.  That's the deal."   

"Jenny, a new Mustang costs...." 

"I wonder if they'll have those little perfumed soaps in my room 
at Paddywell? Jenny mused.  "Of course, YOU'LL probably be washing 
in some big gang shower room with green industrial soap." 

"Deal," Barbie said, extending her hand.   

Mother and daughter quickly shook hands, and the new agreement was 
struck.  Barbie hated the thought of another morning under Jenny's 
thumb, but she knew her daughter was right.  She really had no 
choice. 

The door opened, and the doctor entered.  "I see here that we need 
a sports physical for Monroe High," he said.  "Sounds simple 
enough.  If you can just strip down to your underwear, we can 
get started...." 

He looked up from his clipboard long enough to glance at Barbie 
and then at Jenny.  He blinked.  "Mrs. Wilson, is that YOU?" 

"Um...yes, it is, Billy" Barbie said.  "How are you?" 

He looked at his chart, then back at Barbie, and then finally at 
Jenny.  "Uh...what's going on?  This paper here says you need a 
school physical....  Why are you two dressed that way?"

Barbie couldn't believe the level of disaster.  They were more than 
200 miles from home, and they stopped at a random Doc-in-a-Box, and 
they ran into someone they knew.  Billy grew up three blocks from 
them and used to baby sit for Jenny when he was in high school. 

But Jenny was more than up to the occasion.  She quickly explained 
the bet and recounted the events thus far.  Barbie squirmed on the 
white paper as Billy chuckled merrily at Jenny's "humorous" and 
articulate narrative. 

"And now I'd like her to see what it's like to get a physical when 
someone else is watching," Jenny finally said.  "Can you help us 
out?" 

"Yeah, I suppose so," Billy said.  "Actually, it might be fun.  I 
kind of had a crush on your mom when I was in high school."   

Billy turned to Barbie and gave his first order.  "Why don't you 
just strip down to your underwear, Barbie, so we can get started? 
This shouldn't take long." 

Barbie bit her lip nervously.  When Billy had recognized her, she 
had thought her ordeal was over.  But now the little geek who used 
to baby sit for pocket change was actually going to EXAMINE her. 

She stared at him dumbly. 

"If you want to go back on our deal, I'm sure I can probably 
arrange to have you examined at Paddywell instead," Jenny observed. 

Barbie hurriedly pulled her t-shirt over her head as Dr. Billy ran 
down the physical check list. 

"Do you have any allergies, muscle pain, back pain, fevers, or 
sores?  

"Fainting spells? 

"Are you in good physical health?  Have you been hospitalized for 
anything in the last 10 years? 

"Do you have any illness or infirmity that would prevent you from 
participating fully in an after-school sport?  Has anyone in your 
immediate family ever suffered from such an illness of infirmity?" 

Dr. Billy looked up from his clipboard and smiled.  All was the 
same as before, except now his patient was sitting on the edge 
of the examination table wearing nothing but her training bra and 
childish panties. 

Jenny smiled too.  She knew her mom had gone to a female doctor for 
years, and it was high time that she had a chance to experience 
what it was like to be examined by a man.  Although Billy was 
outwardly professional (as all male doctors always pretended to 
be), it was obvious to everyone in the room that his interest in 
Barbie was not entirely scientific. 

Barbie's embarrassment eased somewhat as Billy took her temperature 
with an ear thermometer before taking her blood pressure and 
listening to her heart.  She felt a bit less comfortable when he 
ordered her onto the scale, particularly when he noted to Jenny, 
after measuring Barbie's height that she was "a bit small for her 
age." 

But she didn't begin to feel really uncomfortable until he ordered 
her to lie on her "tummy."  She tensed as he examined her foot and 
then slowly began massaging her calf.   

The thumping and squeezing were professional, but that was no 
consolation to her.  She was now lying on a table while a young 
man who looked scarcely older than her daughter slowly massaged 
and tapped her calves...her thighs...her bare back....  The fact 
that her daughter was watching the whole thing with a huge grin 
on her face only made matters worse. 

When Dr. Billy ordered her to roll over so he could do her front, 
Barbie squeezed her thighs closely together, in the hope that her 
arousal wouldn't show. 

She lay helplessly as he massaged, poked, and probed her legs, 
hips, and stomach.  She was relieved when he told her she could 
sit up.  She kept her thighs clenched together as she swung her 
legs around, attempting to hide the wet stain on the front of 
her panties. 

"You can get dressed now," Dr. Billy said.  "That's it." 

Barbie was already reaching for her jeans when Jenny spoke up.  
"Could you give her a breast exam, Doctor?  I know it seems silly, 
but I'd really like to be sure." 

"Well, that isn't really part of the school physical," Dr. Billy 
replied.  He paused and slowly looked Barbie up and down.  "But 
of course, seeing as how you're an old friend, I'd be happy to 
throw it in," he said with a smile. 

"Just slip off your training bra, Barbie, and the doctor will give 
you a nice exam," Jenny said, sweetly.  "Anything we do today we 
won't have to do at Paddywell." 

The lightly veiled threat worked, and Barbie obediently shed her 
bra. 

She flushed beet red as Dr. Billy slowly and methodically squeezed 
her tiny breasts.  Jenny smiled.  As she had hoped, Billy was doing 
a VERY thorough job. 

He smiled as Barbie's nipples became erect.  "Are you sexually 
active, Barbie?" 

"Um...yes," she answered.  

"Yes...what?"

"Yes...um...um...s-sir." 

"And do you use birth control?" 

"Yes, sir, a diaphragm and jelly." 

"That's not totally reliable.  How often do you have sex?" 

"Well, I've been married so long...only a few times a month; I 
mostly use a vibrator...s-sir...." 

Barbie had forgotten momentarily that Jenny was present.  Her voice 
trailed off, and she glanced at the girl sheepishly.  Jenny was now 
grinning from ear to ear. 

"Do you suppose you could give her a quick internal exam, Doctor?" 
Jenny asked. 

"Sure...no extra charge," he replied, brightly.  "I don't about 
'quick,' though.  These things really shouldn't be rushed...."

"Well, you ARE the doctor, Doctor."

Barbie felt dizzy as she watched the smiling young doctor slowly 
unfold the stirrups and snap them into place.  He spread them 
wide -- wider than she had ever seen foot stirrups placed. 

She had hoped to keep her arousal a secret.  But now that would be 
impossible. 

She stood up, looking first at Billy and then at her grinning 
daughter.  After taking a deep breath, she slowly eased her 
panties down to her knees.... 

		****************************** 

By the time they reached the hotel, Barbie's 14-karat embarrassed 
submissiveness had faded and was beginning to be replaced by 
outright annoyance.  In fact, the recollection of what her darling 
daughter had just done to her left her more than a little pissed. 

"Geez...what a dump," she said as they entered the lobby.  "Does 
this place have a pool?" 

"Yes, a small one, in back," Fred Dobbs, the manager, said.  "But 
it's closed now."   

"THAT figures," Barbie said, sulking.

"You don't have a suit anyway, dear," Jenny noted. 

"Who needs a stupid old suit!" Barbie said, in a huff.  "I can just 
skinny-dip."  Impulsively, she gave Fred a playful wink.   

Jenny shot her an angry look, well aware that her mother didn't 
know how to swim, and that she was, in fact, terrified of the 
water.  Clearly Barbie was simply using swimming as a way to jerk 
Jenny's chain. 

"Don't worry, Mom," Barbie said.  "If we get kicked out of this 
fleabag you can just drive us home tonight.  It's a long drive, 
but I can sleep in the backseat." 

"We're not going to be kicked out," Jenny said, tightly.  "And this 
is not a fleabag."   

"Do you have any movies?" Barbie said to the manager.  "I wanna 
movie."   

"We don't need movies," Jenny snapped.  She handed him her credit 
card.  "And I'd watch my mouth, young lady.  Remember that I 
promised you a discussion about your behavior...later?  Well, 
this is later.  You still have a good spanking coming." 

Fred smiled, and Barbie immediately fell silent.  She had 
forgotten about Jenny's promise to punish her for swearing at 
Mr. Peepers.  She tried to tell herself that it was a bluff.  
After all, no matter how she was dressed, Barbara was still 38 
years old.  She was too old for a spanking. 

Wasn't she? 

Too old or not, the threat did its job, and Barbie remained silent 
for the rest of the check-in.  The smiling manager seemed to be 
tickled by the idea that the young woman who had insulted his hotel 
was about to be spanked.  "This room is at the end of the hall," he 
said, handing Jenny the key.  "There is no one else in that end of 
the hotel, so noise won't be a problem."   

He dropped his voice and whispered to Jenny in a conspiratorial 
manner, "If you want my opinion, when it comes to discipline, I 
think a THOROUGH approach is best."   

Barbie shot him an evil glare and stuck out her tongue as she 
followed Jenny to the elevator. 

As soon as they reached their large but bland and characterless 
room, Jenny went into the bathroom and unwrapped a bar of soap, 
which she placed on a small table, next to the TV.   

Then she reached into her purse and extracted an old Turkish 
slipper -- THE slipper...the one she herself had always been 
spanked with.   

Barbie swallowed as soon as the slipper came into view.   

"Your sudden interest in swimming gave me an idea," Jenny said.  
"I'm going to leave you here for a few minutes.  I want you to 
do nothing until I get back.  That means no phone calls, no TV, 
and, above all, no leaving the room.  When I return, I'm going 
to use this soap to wash your mouth out, for the language you 
used in front of Mr. Peepers.  Then I'm going punish you for 
being rude to that nice old lady in the store, for being rude 
to the hotel manager, and for being rude to me.  The punishment 
is going to be with my hand and with this slipper, and it is 
going to be on your bare bottom.  Afterwards you will stand in 
the corner until I decide that you've had enough.  Questions?" 

Barbie said nothing, but simply stared at her shoes. 

"Good," Jenny said, as she headed for the door.  "I'll be back 
soon.  I want you to spend the time thinking about your offenses." 
 
As soon as Jenny slammed the door, Barbie crossed over to the table 
and picked up the slipper.  She had gotten it as a decorator item 
years ago -- cheap, because there was only one.  Later, it had 
come in handy as an instrument of correction.  She knew that it 
certainly elicited tearful contrition from her daughter, but 
she had never bothered to find out exactly why.

But she was about to learn.   

It seemed heavier than she remembered.   

She tried to bend it, but the smooth sole wasn't very flexible.  
Camel hide, she imagined, or maybe goat.  The top was somewhat 
faded, but still ornate, embroidered with silk thread and gold in  
elaborate, floral arabesques.  It was at least a century old and 
would still be in good shape a hundred years into the future.     

"Damned old world craftsmanship," she thought, ruefully, as she 
tapped the slipper against her palm. 

She experimentally swung the slipper through the air and brought it 
down sharply on her palm.  

WHAP! 

"OWW!" she winced.  She dropped the slipper and immediately put her 
scalded palm under her arm.  That HURT!  Really HURT! 

She put the slipper back on the table and picked up the soap.  She 
pondered how Jenny would do it.  Would she stick the whole bar in 
her mouth?  Would she use a washcloth to create a lather?  Would 
she scrape it and put the flakes in her mouth? 

Barbie used her fingernail to scrape a bit of the soap off the bar 
and put it on her tongue.  But she tasted nothing. 

She put her finger on her tongue and rubbed it back and forth until 
her finger began to glide easily back and forth over her tongue's 
rough surface.  The gag reflex followed almost immediately, and 
soon she was on her knees attempting to spit the lather out into 
the trash can. 

As she rinsed her mouth out in the bathroom, she envisioned herself 
over Jenny's knee with a bar of soap in her mouth, gagging as her 
daughter tanned her bottom with the slipper.  

One thing was for sure.  However Jenny decided to use the soap, it 
wasn't going to taste very good. 

Barbie picked the bar of soap up off the rug and put it back on 
the table.  "This is just what she wants me to do," she thought.  
"That's why she left the soap and the slipper out.  She wants me 
to stare at them, and imagine the punishment, and drive myself 
crazy until she gets back.  She's trying to torture me, and I'm 
letting her." 

Barbie decided her time would be better spent trying to figure out 
an exit strategy.  The first step was to understand her situation 
and find any weaknesses in her enemies.  Knowledge was her friend.  

She took the school uniform blazer out of the bag.  It was, without 
doubt, the scariest Halloween costume she had ever seen, but she 
tried to look at it objectively. 

She examined the crest on the jacket: 

                        Castigo Acerbe

                        Castigo Nudos 

What did it mean?  She looked at the TV...and then at the PC across 
the room.  Jenny had told her not to watch TV, but she didn't say 
not to look stuff up on the Internet.  She found a keyboard in the 
desk drawer and quickly logged onto the system. 

It took her only a minute to find a Latin-English dictionary.  The 
translation, while insightful, did little to ease her already 
troubled mind: 

			Castigo:  Chastise

			Acerbe:   Harshly

			Nudos:    Naked 

So the school's motto was depressingly clear.  

She was about to do a search on Paddywell Academy when the hotel 
room door opened. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jenny said.  "I told you 
no TV!" 

"I wasn't watching TV," Barbie said.  "I was on the Internet." 

"You KNOW what I meant!" Jenny shouted.  "I told you to do nothing 
until I returned, and when I come back you're on the Internet.  How 
much did that cost, anyway?” 

"Um...$9...."  

"After I tan your fanny, I'm going to march you down to see the 
hotel manager," Jenny said.  You're going to explain to him that 
you used the Internet without permission, and you're going to tell 
him exactly -- and I mean EXACTLY -- how I punished you.  And then 
you're going to ask him to take this charge off my bill." 

"I'll pay for it," Barbie said, weakly. 

"You certainly will, young lady," Jenny said, as she picked up the 
slipper.   

She pulled the chair away from the table and beckoned Barbie 
forward.  "Since you're so interested in swimming, young lady, 
you'll be pleased to know that there is a YWCA across the street."   

"I...um...don't know how to swim," Barbie admitted. 

"That's why I arranged a swimming lesson for you tomorrow morning." 

"But I don't have a suit."   

"You won't need one.  There is a women-only pool where suits are 
optional.  Of course, we will have to shave off your peach fuzz.  
That way you'll fit in with the other little girls who are learning 
to swim." 

"I don't want to go in the water!" Barbie cried, desperately. 

"Since this is your first lesson, you'll mostly just stand by the 
pool and practice arm and leg movements.  Don't worry -- there is 
a special glassed-in lounge area where I can sit with the other 
moms and drink Starbucks while I watch you do your exercises."   

Barbie swallowed.  The thought of prancing around the pool shaved 
and naked for Jenny's amusement was not a pleasant one.   

She stared nervously at the slipper as Jenny undid the snap of her 
shorts and began pulling down the zipper.  The YWCA would be awful, 
but, right now, Barbie had bigger problems. 



Edited by C. Lakewood 

