In keeping with my usual practice I present for your Sunday reading pleasure another F/M tale. This one is about a young lad and his discipline minded aunt. The author is beatendaily65 an author I had not heard of before nor seen since, but this story is a cut above the usual fare and he should contact me if he is still out there somewhere.
When I was 15 my family sent me to live with my Aunt for the summer. I guess we were upper-middle class, with my father climbing the ladder of success. My dad had been busy building a new company in France and he thought it was a good opportunity for he and my mother to spend some time alone there while he was working. They also decided it would be a good time for me to get out of the burbs and into the country. I’d be away alone for the first time in my life. Not that it mattered much; my father spent almost all of his time working, and my mother was always experimenting with the “miracle diet of the month” and various medications to control her chronic depression. I practically raised myself without either of them, escaping into books and music.
I was basically a good kid...a bit introverted, thoughtful, honest, polite, and sensitive. Physically, I was small boned, and on the short side for my age. Never having had a role model to emulate, I had no experience with sports. So my body, while well proportioned, had a subtly frail appearance. Even though it would be late June when I arrived at Aunt Carol’s, my pale skin would illustrate the fact that I spent most of my time indoors.
After being sure I had everything packed, I loaded my stuff into the Oldsmobile sedan and climbed into the back seat for the long ride to Amberton, NH. The ride from our home in Arlington, MA would take about three and a half hours. I knew there would be no conversation of any substance; just long periods of silence punctuated by the occasional burst of country music when my father found a clear station on the Olds’ lousy radio. I braced myself for the drive.
I watched the scenery moving by the window, changing from big concrete office buildings to residential communities, and as the Boston skyline disappeared in the rear view mirror, the view became a collage of green.
I began thinking of Aunt Carol as we drove. Well, to be clear, she was not really my aunt. She and my mother had gone to Vassar together years ago, and my mom had always stayed in touch. After college, my mother and father got married, and Carol joined the Peace Corps., working to develop irrigation systems in Nigeria. It was apparently a pretty wild time, and she often became the center of negotiations with several factions within the country. All the major politicians there knew her by name. While in Africa, she met a British man named Ian Spence. They married shortly after and returning to live in the US when their stay in the Corps. was up. They settled in Northern NH, and bought a pretty little farm. After only a few years Ian developed liver cancer. Being from tough stock and never having been sick in his life, he was not in the habit of regular medical check-ups. The Cancer was pretty well established by the time he began feeling ill. Six months after the diagnosis, he was dead. At 32 Aunt Carol was widowed, alone in NH on her farm. The only fortunate thing was that she and Ian had purchased a fairly large life insurance policy which left her debt free, and with the equivalent of 5 or 6 years worth of income in her savings account. A good situation...but a horrible price to pay for it.
Aunt Carol never married again. I guess she threw her self into her work to deal with the grief of her loss. She became a part-time lecturer in the Political Science Dept. at Green Valley College and developed a sculpture and pottery business. Her barn was converted into a studio, and she spent hours refining her skill as a sculptress. Her work centered on techniques she observed in Africa. The little African style figurines and simple pottery she made became somewhat chic in the better shops in the region, and she soon had a cult following. Between teaching and sculpting, she earned a more than enough to live, and with some shrewd investing of the insurance money, she would be sure of financial security for the rest of her life.
Over the years Aunt Carol would come over for anniversaries, birthdays, and various holidays. We spent one Christmas at her house, but after driving through the snow for hours on the trip home, my father swore never to go there in the winter again. I enjoyed seeing Aunt Carol. She was the one adult that actually spoke to me as a human being. She always made a point of asking me real questions and worked to include me in conversations with the other adults. Although she had not played a very large part in my life, I always felt a special affection for her, and it seemed mutual.
Something had happened in the later years though. I don’t think it was any one thing, but we didn’t see Aunt Carol so much any more. I think she and my mom just grew apart. She had not seen me since I was 12 or 13. So when my parents suddenly told me I would be spending two and a half months with Aunt Carol, I was both surprised and elated.
As we pulled onto the road that led to the farm, I was struck by how green and lush the landscape was. Her house was almost as I had remembered; a simple white New England style farmhouse, with big bay windows, stained glass in the second floor, a barn, and the perfunctory half imploded equipment shed (it seemed, at least to my 16 y.o. mind, that every farm had at least one dilapidated shed that looked like it was about to fall down). The landscape trailed down across a green meadow to a stream which was too large to be called a brook, but too small to be called a river. The edges of the property lay somewhere in the areas of forest that flanked the house to the East, and just beyond the stream to the South.
We got out of the car and approached the house when Aunt Carol appeared through the door. She was wearing a pair of denim bib overalls, sneakers and a T-Shirt. Her hair was a thick mass of brown waves that were striped with gray as they cascaded aver her shoulder blades. Her face was stretched into a big grin that showed two rows of perfectly formed white teeth behind her full lips. It was only after she hugged my mother and turned to me that I remembered how wonderful her eyes were. They were a gray blue that could pierce right through your soul. The skin of her face was smooth and clear with just a hint of her 43 years showing in the fine lines of her forehead and at the corners of her eyes. When she hugged me I realized that I had grown some since I saw her last, but I still needed to grow some more to catch up to her 5'10" stature. As we embraced I melted into her soft body, her full breasts, and her firm grasp. Although I did not know it as such at the time, my little body was starved for that type of heartfelt affection that I never got at home.
The greetings were rushed because my father wanted to get back home to get a good night’s sleep before his early morning flight. So almost as soon as we arrived, my stuff was unloaded and I watched the back end of the big Olds winding away from us down the driveway. Aunt Carol helped me get my stuff into the house and showed my upstairs to my room. We then went down to the kitchen and she offered me some iced tea. I felt a bit nervous at first, but Aunt Carol’s warm demeanor soon put me at ease. After the tea was down she said I looked tired, and I was. She suggested I go take a nap before dinner, and we could talk more then.
After dinner we went out onto the porch. The house had one of those porch swings outside and we both settled in, me with some lemonade and she with a beer. We chatted for a while and finally she stood and walked to the edge of the porch facing me while leaning on the railing. “I have to be really honest with you,” she said looking away. “And I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, but I have mixed feelings about having you here.” I was silent. All that could be heard were the crickets and an occasional whisper of the light breeze in the trees. “It is not that I don’t like you. I like you very, very much. In fact I think of you as my real nephew. I always used to look forward to talking to you during the holidays we spent together.” I stared a blank stare as she continued. “Its just that....well, you know I’ve been living here a really long time alone, and I am used to being here alone. I am accustomed things being a certain way in my home. Do you know what I mean?” She paused still looking away. “When your mother called and asked if you could stay with me, I was hesitant to say yes. Then I remembered how much I enjoyed spending time with you, and I relented. Besides, your parents need this time together...probably more than you know.” She shifted on her feet, still looking off at some unknown object in the meadow. “It is important for you to know that I am glad that you are here. I am looking forward to becoming good friends this summer. But it is also important for you to realize that I am not your parent. There are things I expect of you while you are here. I am not going to ask much of you, but those things I request, I expect to be done.”
She turned to me for the first time in her monologue and looked at me straight in the eye. The expression I saw on her face was one that I had not seen before. It was the face not of the Aunt Carol I knew, but of the woman who was strong enough to negotiate with the Nigerian Government, to survive the loss of her husband and go on. It was the face of a woman who was focused, clear and determined. “Is it a deal?”
I paused for a moment, transfixed by her intense glance. “Aunt Carol,” I said, “I’m glad that you allowed me to come out here to stay with you. I’ll do whatever I can to be a good guest, and not be any trouble around here.” “OK then. It’s a deal,” she said as she approached me and took my hand in hers to shake on it. It was then that I noticed how big and firm her hands were. They were working hands. Hands callused from years of pottery work and sculpting. I looked up as we shook hands and saw that the familiar Aunt Carol had returned again and was smiling warmly down at me. She spent about an hour explaining the deal to me and when we were both tired, we turned in for the night.
I awoke in my room to the bright sunlight streaming into the window. The Farmhouse was situated with southern exposure, which gave my small room bright light all day long. As my head began to clear, I was recalling details of the “deal” Aunt Carol and I made. It was simple. She taught at the college in the morning. When she left for work, she would leave a list of chores for me to do while she was away. I was to do them in the morning and then I was free to do whatever I wanted for the rest of the day. I was also expected to be at dinner on time at 6 PM sharp. She was very specific about not wanting to come looking for me. She told me that the most important thing for her was honesty, and that she needed to know that she could trust me. Simple enough I thought, and began my Summer with Aunt Carol.
The first few weeks were like a storybook. Aunt Carol was usually gone by 7 am, and she would leave a list of my chores to be done that day on the table before she left. I would rise in the morning, have a quick breakfast, and knock off whatever chores were assigned. It was usually an easy task like sweeping out the barn, cleaning some old boxes out of the attic, or some simple landscaping. Since the weather had been so beautiful, I was actually enjoying the work and being outside in the mornings. I would generally be done with chores by 11 or so, and have a shower before Aunt Carol Arrived home just after noon. We’d have a leisurely lunch and then spend the rest of the day together. Sometimes we would go out shopping, but mostly we went down stream where the lake was and go swimming. Other days we’d just go on these long walks and talk about life, work, girls, and just about anything else that came up. Sometimes she would do her pottery. I’d sit and watch as the wheel spun, her strong, graceful hands molding, stretching, and shaping the moist, cool clay. She would tell me stories about her time spent in Nigeria, the crazy things that she and my mother did in college together, what it was like to fall in love, have a husband, and survive as a widow.
During these weeks I began to feel a closeness and safety with Aunt Carol in a way that I had never felt with another human being. I began to come out of my shell, taking the risk to share my fears, hopes, dreams and secrets with her. And like the clay on the potting wheel, she was mentoring, molding and guiding my growth and maturity. We spent almost every afternoon together.
One morning, I got up a little late. It was raining for the first time since I had arrived, and I realized that I had been relying on the sun to get me up each day. Since it was raining, Aunt Carol asked me to work in the barn. There were apparently some old metal and wood building materials that had been lying around since she bought the place. She wanted it sorted near the rear entrance to the barn so that the scrap yard could pick it up on Saturday. She also noted that they would be piled near where her pottery was stored, and to be very, very careful. She generally kept a small inventory of all of her figurines and pottery to allow her to respond quickly when orders came in. The supply represented about 6 weeks of work, and was kept on five shelves near the back door for easy loading into her little pick-up truck.
When I got into the barn, I turned the lights on and made my way over to the rusted pile of old metal and wood. It sure was a mess, and by this time it was almost 10 am ...I did not have much time to get the job done. Donning leather work gloves, I quickly began grabbing the scraps, and separating the metalwork from the wood. I made two piles and quickly made a major dent in the huge mass of junk. After about an hour of running back and forth between the various piles, I began to get tired and a bit sloppy. I started walking part way to the appropriate pile, and tossing the scraps across the barn the rest of the way. I was actually having fun playing “target practice.” This went on for a few minutes, when all of a sudden, a piece of scrap metal that I had just thrown, ricocheted off the crest of the scrap heap like a stone skipping on the surface of a calm pond. Thinking back, the Gods must have warped the laws of physics that morning, because the piece of metal I had thrown took a 45 degree turn to the left as it skimmed the top of the pile. I watched with horror as the scrap traveled clear across the top shelf of Aunt Carol’s storage area, neatly clearing off all of the figurines and a few bowls. My heart sank as I watched each piece crash to the floor and shatter into a multitude of colorful shards.
I walked over, got on my knees and surveyed the damage. Every piece of work that had been resting on the top shelf was destroyed...about one fifth of the total inventory. Well, I panicked and quickly swept up the debris, wrapped it and put it in the trash. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Aunt Carol’s face when she found out about the accident. Using every ounce of my 16 y.o. resources (which was not much to rely on) I figured out what I would do. I finished sorting the rest of the scrap...much more carefully this time. Then, I immediately took the remaining items in the inventory, and distributed them throughout all five shelves. The result was that all of the space had been used just as before the accident had occurred, but the items just had more space around them. “She’ll never notice,” I thought to myself, although deep inside I really didn’t believe it.
Aunt Carol returned about 15 minutes after I finished cleaning up. When I saw her the rush of guilt I felt was almost unbearable. She noticed and asked if I was OK. I told her I was, but that I had been feeling a bit under the weather...my stomach to be precise. It was a bit of a fib, but in actuality, I had no stomach for lying, and I did feel the weight of the guilt in my gut. She asked if I had done my chores. When I told her I had, she suggested I go take a nap, and that maybe I’d feel better. Just to get out of the room I took her up on the offer. After tossing around on the bed for an hour or so, I slipped into a deep sleep listening to the rain tapping on the window sill.
I awoke to the view of the setting Sun and some residual clouds that were clearing as the storm moved on. A familiar aroma of chicken soup was wafting up the stairs from the kitchen. I was feeling pretty grubby from all the dust in the barn so I thought I’d have a quick shower. The hot water felt good, and cleared my head. Unfortunately, as my head cleared I remembered the disaster in the barn, and felt that awful feeling of guilt in the pit of my stomach. Afterward, I dressed in a pair of white briefs, shorts, a polo shirt, and my sandals.
I went downstairs into the kitchen to find Aunt Carol stirring the pot with a large wooden spoon. When she heard me enter she turned around, smiling. “Feeling better?” she asked. “A little, I guess,” I replied tentatively. “Well I’ve made my famous chicken soup just for you. It always makes me feel better when I’m under the weather,” she added brightly. I smiled a half-hearted smile and said “Thanks.” I sat down at the kitchen table. Aunt Carol came around behind me and began rubbing my shoulders and the back of my head. Her hands felt good as they soothed the tension in my body. “Poor baby,” she said, “Let Aunt Carol take care of you.” She kissed me on the top of the head.
I felt like a piece of garbage. Here I was having just wrecked her inventory and she didn’t even know. Then I lied to her about feeling sick. So what does she do? She goes through all of the trouble to make me a special soup to help me feel better. I had never felt so ashamed and guilty in my life.
Before I knew it she was serving up the soup. It tasted great, and actually did make me feel better. After dinner, I usually do the dishes, but not tonight. Aunt Carol wouldn’t hear of it. While you are sick, I’m going to take care of this,” she said, “Why don’t you just watch some TV.” So I went into the den, turned on the set, and settled into the easy chair, trying to keep from feeling depressed. After about twenty minutes, the sounds of running water in the kitchen stopped, and Aunt Carol appeared in the doorway. It was dark in the den, and the lights from the kitchen gave her form a back-lit effect that allowed me to see only her silhouette in the entrance. “I’m going into town to get some groceries. Is there anything special I can get you?” she asked. “Yeah,” I thought, “You can get me out of this mess.” But I just told her not to worry about me, and that I’d see her when she got back. “OK, I’ll see you in a little while,” she said as she turned and went out of the house.
About ten minutes later, the front door opened again and I heard rushed footsteps coming toward the den. Before I could turn around, Aunt Carol stormed into the room and turned the light on. She then went to the TV and turned it off. When she turned toward me, I was immediately startled by the agitated look on her face. Her usually soft eyes had fire in them. Her normal, graceful gait and movements were replaced by a rigidity that seemed to seize her entire body. Here cheeks were flushed, and her hands were clenched into tight fists. The instant she spoke, I knew I was in trouble. Big trouble.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” she said almost shouting, but obviously struggling to control herself. Her voice was loud, strong and clear, with just hint of sibilance punctuating her syllables. I was struck dumb. I sat there like a deer in a car’s headlights, trying to figure out what to say. Before I could utter a word, she continued. “You don’t have to say a word,” she said angrily, “I know exactly what you did. You were so careless that you destroyed two weeks worth of my hard work and hundreds of dollars in materials. ” She began pacing back and forth as she spoke. “Then you tried to cover it up so I wouldn’t notice.” She paused looking at me with that intense glare. “Do you think I am so stupid that I wouldn’t notice something like this?” she asked. I didn’t think that she was stupid, but I also didn’t think she really expected me to answer, so I just continued to sit there.
Then she looked at me closer. “You’re not really sick, are you?” I tried to respond, ”Well, its that I was feeling so guilty....” She cut me off. “So you lied again! I can’t believe this,” she said pacing more quickly than before. “Here I am with my work trashed, and I’m waiting on the person responsible hand and foot, for nothing!.....” She trailed off to keep herself from swearing. There was a long pause, then she spoke a little more calmly. “I can get over the broken items. Those can be replaced. But to be tricked like this and played for a fool in my own home....”
I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was. That I wanted to tell her but I could not bear to disappoint her. That I respected her more than anyone else in the world. Christ, I thought, I loved her. “Aunt Carol, I can’t tell you how guilty I feel about this whole thing,” I said. But she cut me off. As she swiftly walked past me out of the room, she said, “I don’t want to hear any more of this crap. I’ll deal with you later.” She stormed out of the house. I heard her truck start, the wheels spin on the gravel driveway, and then watched the red tail lights glowing in the darkness as she drove away.
I was lying on my bed when she returned. I heard the front door slam, and I looked over at the digital clock in my room. The big LED numbers read 11:45. I heard rustling in the kitchen, cupboards slamming and then her footsteps as she ascended the long stairway to the second floor and went to her room. A few moments later, she knocked at my door. I was sitting up on the bed with a book in my hand. She opened the door and walked into the room. When she entered, I realized that she had changed into her pajamas. The pj’s were a dark blue satin two piece pants-suit type which were very flattering to her pretty figure.
“I’ve had some time to think and cool off,” she said. “A couple of beers at the Old Forge Tap is always good for that. But I am still plenty angry with you young man.” She paused looking at me. “While I was sitting there in the pub, it occurred to me that as angry as I am, you are probably feeling equally guilty. Why else would you have pulled such a silly stunt? Therefore, I have a solution that will alleviate my anger and purge you of your guilt. You deserve to be punished. And I will punish you tonight.”
“I don’t understand what you mean by punish,” I said meekly.
“For your carelessness and sneaky behavior, I am going to give you a sound, old-fashioned spanking,” she replied.
I sat bolt-upright. “Are you kidding me?” I said, astonished. “ I’m 16 years old. You can’t spank me. I won’t let you!”
She looked me square in the eye and in the most calm, deliberate voice she said, “No I am not kidding you. First of all, I don’t care how old you are. Your behavior has earned you this spanking and much more. Second, I am stronger than you are. If I decide to spank you, you won’t have a choice. Third, if you give me any more trouble, I’m going to put your little butt on the 6 am bus back to Boston tomorrow. And I don’t care if your parents have to charter the Concorde to get back to you. Is that clear?”
I sat there again not knowing what to say. She continued “I am going to be back here in 15 minutes. And you will take your spanking and do exactly as I say. Do you understand me young man?” All I could do was nod as she left the room. I couldn’t believe what I had heard. I had never been spanked before. Would it hurt? How would she do it? I was more nervous than I could ever remember. “How did I get myself into this mess?” I thought.
That was the longest fifteen minutes in history. But soon, my door swung open and Aunt Carol bounded into the room carrying a wooden ladder-back chair. “OK mister,” she said, “On your feet. NOW!” The tone of her voice startled me and I jumped up. She was serious! She put the chair down, sat on it, and told me to stand in front of her. I stood there as she stared at me. “The shorts won’t do. Take them down,” she said sternly. My embarrassment must have shown on my face and I paused for just a moment. “Did you hear me? I said NOW young man!” And she motioned as if to approach me. I immediately realized that my pants were going to come down whether I did it or not. So I started fumbling with the snap on my shorts. Seeing this, she settled back into the chair.
When my shorts were down around my ankles, she motioned me closer. I was then standing almost touching her knees when she began lecturing me on responsibility, honesty, and the value of keeping a promise. Once when I looked away, she raised her voice, and grabbed me by the chin. “You look at me when I am talking to you!” she said. She finished by telling me how disappointed she was in me, how I had let her down, and that she did not know if things would ever be the same between us. My face was all red from embarrassment and remorse. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” she asked.
“I’m really sorry all of this happened. I promise I’ll make it up to you. I never meant to hurt you and I under stand that you need to punish me. I deserve it,” I stammered in the softest most sincere tone I could muster. At this point I was heartbroken. All I wanted to do was please this woman and make her know how sorry I was.
“Very well then come here,” she said as she pulled me across her lap. As I bent over the room turned upside down. I was positioned with my feet barely touching the floor and my face just inches from the floor on the other side. Aunt Carol moved me around until my bottom was raised to just the right height and the crest was presented like two perfect ovals. I could feel the warmth of her sturdy, thighs through the thin silky material as her lap supported my slim frame. Aunt Carol then pulled my briefs up by the waistband to make sure the fabric was taught and would provide minimal protection to my vulnerable fanny.
Her strong right hand landed on the crown of my left cheek with a sharp “Slap!” A gasp involuntarily escaped my lips more out of surprise than out of pain. She was really going to let me have it. The following blows came slowly, maybe one slap per second. As she continued I could hear her muttering things to herself. She was getting wound up just thinking about what had happened. Her pace increased and she began scolding me and punctuating her points with sharp slaps. “You will never,” SLAP “ever,” SLAP “mislead me again!” Do you under stand me?!?” SLAP “Do,” SLAP “You?”
After a bout five minutes of this, I was yelping with genuine response to the impact of her strong hand. The heat in bottom was rising with each blow and I began kicking my legs and pleading. “Please Auntie,” I shouted. Please stop! I’m sorry. It hurts so much! Please!” She just kept on raining spanks to my cotton clad bottom, and I kicked so hard the shorts that had been around my ankles landed on the other side of us right in front of my face. But Aunt Carol’s strong arm had a firm grip on my middle. I wasn’t going anywhere. She covered the entire surface of my tush, from my waistband to the sensitive area where my bottom met my thigh. She even landed a few slaps to the tops of my thighs where there was no protection offered by the thin cotton briefs. A moment later, she stopped. I was gasping, just this side of tears. She was breathing heavily.
She let me stay there for a few moments and she collected herself while softly stroking my burning bottom. I began to relax, thinking it was over until she said, “You know we’re not done yet, don’t you? Stand up.” She spoke now more softly, but with equal intensity. I think we both knew now that I was going to comply with all of her requests. As soon as I was on my feet she was right behind be, marching me over to the mirror on the bureau. She turned me around so my bottom was facing the mirror. Before I could figure out what was happening, she slipped her thumbs into the waistband of my briefs, and pulled them to mid-thigh. She told me to turn around and look at myself. My bottom was a medium shade of pink, which grew just a bit darker at the crest of each cheek. She inspected me and rubbed the bare flesh with her hand. I felt a strange mixture of emotions. On one hand I was deeply humiliated by having been spanked like a child. I also felt a deep sense of security with this woman who cared so much about my upbringing. At the same time, I was deeply enjoying the intimacy of the moment; her firm hand gently stroking my naked, tender flesh was an incredibly intense experience. My body soaked up the contact, desperately trying to make up for all the years which were devoid of any physical contact.
“A nice start,” she said, “but there is much more work yet to do before you really learn your lesson.” Abruptly, she walked me over to the corner and made me stand there, briefs down with my spanked bottom on display. “Don’t you dare touch that tush of yours,” she said as she left the room, “And don’t move until I come back.” That determined, sharp tone was back in her voice again, and I knew it was best to obey.
Ten minutes later, I heard her come back into the room behind me. She sat down in the chair again and told me to approach her. Standing in front of her with my briefs down I was embarrassed that my private parts were in full view. I was fidgeting when she told me to put my hands at my sides and stop moving. When I was still, she spoke. “I’ve nearly worn out my hand on you and I don’t think we’re getting to the point. I am going to spank you again now, but this time you will let go and accept your punishment fully.” “I don’t know what you mean,” I said. “You will,” she replied. It was then that I saw it in her lap. At first I thought it was the big wooden spoon she was stirring the soup with earlier. But as I looked at it I realized it was another kitchen instrument. It was a small, wooden “shovel” used to take things out of the oven. It had a 5 inch handle, which led to a flat paddle-like area about 4 inches wide by seven inches long. It was hard to tell, but it looked like it was about 1/2 inch thick. My eyes widened with fear. She could tell I was afraid, and took my hand to guide me into position. “Come now,” she said in a soft tone.
This time she positioned me differently. With her seated in the same chair, she spread her legs as I approached, and pulled me between them. When I went over, I was now bent over only one of her legs. I was pushed much further forward this time, and my face and part of my chest were lying flat on the floor. She put her other leg over the back of my knees, locking me into place. She lectured me again, telling me that this was for my own good, and that she was determined to make me understand what honesty was all about.
Then it began. She started softly this time, but soon she was into the spirit of the moment and began berating me about my behavior while continuing the assault on my bare behind. The shovel made a much sharper sound than her hand had, and it stung much more. The first few swats had me shouting “ouch!,” “Please Auntie not so hard.” That only made her resolve grow stronger and she began really laying into my poor little tush. I tried to struggle but because of her leverage, I could not move from the middle of my torso to my knees. I began to panic, and a flood of emotions burst forth from me in uncontrollable sobs. I was no longer operating from my head as my feelings gushed out, but on some level I now understood that I had let go and was taking my punishment fully. It seemed that her voice was distant, but I could hear Aunt Carol shouting, “Am I getting through to you?!” CRACK! “You are going..” CRACK! “To learn to respect me!” CRACK! “You will never!” CRACK! “Ever!” SPLAT “Lie to me again!” CRACK! “Do you hear me?” SLAP!
I was awash in tears and was blubbering my pleas for her to stop. “Ouch, Aunt Carol Please! Stop!. I’m so sorry.” I knew what I was saying, but I doubt if she could understand a word through my tears. We went on like this for about five minutes. The intensity varied from slow to fast, hard to even harder, depending on her lecturing and points she wanted to emphasize. Then suddenly it was over. I was crying as hard as I ever had, and it took me several minutes lying over her lap to calm down. She was very gently stroking my battered bottom and my hair, while soothing me with soft words. She let me lay there for a few minutes more while I continued to sob.
Suddenly while I was still catching my breath, she said, ”OK up you go.” As I got to my feet, my legs were wobbly, and I struggled with my balance. She stood facing me and made me look into her eyes. She had a small bead of sweat on her brow from the exertion, and she was breathing almost as heavily as I was. I gazed into her beautiful eyes as she held my face in the palm of both her hands. The old Aunt Carol was back, looking at me with love, and tenderness. “Come over, lets see how we’ve done,” she said as she walked me in front of the mirror again. I gasped when I saw my behind. The entire area was an angry, deep, red, with slight purple hues in a few places. She stroked the area again, and I winced at the touch. After a few minutes, she had me lie face down on my bed, while she gently rubbed cold cream onto the skin. It was wonderful feeling her hands gently soothing the burning skin. I was so moved by the sudden tenderness, that I began sobbing anew. This time not out of pain but out of love, for my “Aunt.” When she realized I was crying again, she slid up along side me and gathered my to her soft, plush bosom. Planting little maternal kisses on my head, she stroked my hair saying, “There there. Auntie’s here for you. Shhh...little one.” Those were last words I heard as I drifted off to a peaceful sleep without a bit of guilt in my heart.