Monday, July 24, 2006
Once Upon A Spanking, Part One
On these warm summer evenings, my mind will occasionally harken back to the adventures of my youth. If you’ve followed this blog of mine for any length of time, you undoubtedly have realized that, in my younger and dumber days, I had a knack of getting myself into rather odd situations. As was my luck, some of these situations even involved a spanking or two.
It was, I believe, at the beginning of my second senior year of college (I was on what is commonly referred to as “the five-year plan”). I had headed up to school as soon as the dorms opened because I had become bored sitting around my parents house. I figured that I could get moved in and then maybe find some friends and quaff a few ales. I was between girlfriends, so I didn’t have any romantic liaisons planned for the immediate future. After unpacking, buying my books, and checking in with some comrades, I felt the need to reacquaint myself with the campus and its surrounding environs.
It was a pleasant evening, and most of the moving activities had concluded for the day, so the campus was somewhat quiet. I wandered from end to end, then headed toward town to see whom I might bump in to. As I strolled, I chanced to encounter a particularly noisy house. Since it was still light out, I thought it unusual for the party to have started so soon, but this was, after all, a college town. I meandered past, and then stopped at the sound of unmistakably female voices squealing with delight. Being a typical college gentleman, I stopped to investigate.
I glanced at the house and thought I saw a handful of very pretty young ladies engaged in some sort of horseplay. As I studied the house further, it appeared that some of these young ladies were not entirely dressed, if you catch my drift. I continued to watch.
After a few more moments of viewing, I thought I spied the sight of one thing that makes all young college males sit up and take notice: a bared breast. I concentrated harder to be certain, but with the continuous movement of the wrestling ladies, I could not ascertain conclusively if what I’d glimpsed was, indeed, a luscious, topless female. I decided to take a closer look.
If you recall the first paragraph of this essay, you’ll note that I referred to my college days as “dumber.” This was certainly one of those dumb decisions. While I considered my approach of the house to be “investigation,” someone else might use a different term when one is looking into the windows of a strange house. The term “pervert” comes to mind. You are free to supply your own adjective.
In a weak attempt at stealth, I walked up the front walk of the house next door. About half-way up, I veered off and snuck toward the building that I was truly interested in. Its front room had a big picture window in the front and a smaller but still substantial window on one side of the house. I went to the side window, and unobtrusively peeked in.
What I saw was five fine young ladies engaged in what is commonly known as a “pillow fight.” They were in varying states of undress, ranging from short t-shirt and shorts to long t-shirt and no shorts. They were enthusiastically pummeling each other with a variety of pillows, cushions, and the occasional stuffed animal. At that point, I realized that my earlier discovery had indeed proven accurate: One of these lovely ladies had been wearing one of those torn sweatshirts that were in vogue at the time. The shirt had been pulled down past her shoulders and almost to her waist, showing off such a fine set of womanly curves as I had ever been fortunate to gaze upon.
To be continued............
It was, I believe, at the beginning of my second senior year of college (I was on what is commonly referred to as “the five-year plan”). I had headed up to school as soon as the dorms opened because I had become bored sitting around my parents house. I figured that I could get moved in and then maybe find some friends and quaff a few ales. I was between girlfriends, so I didn’t have any romantic liaisons planned for the immediate future. After unpacking, buying my books, and checking in with some comrades, I felt the need to reacquaint myself with the campus and its surrounding environs.
It was a pleasant evening, and most of the moving activities had concluded for the day, so the campus was somewhat quiet. I wandered from end to end, then headed toward town to see whom I might bump in to. As I strolled, I chanced to encounter a particularly noisy house. Since it was still light out, I thought it unusual for the party to have started so soon, but this was, after all, a college town. I meandered past, and then stopped at the sound of unmistakably female voices squealing with delight. Being a typical college gentleman, I stopped to investigate.
I glanced at the house and thought I saw a handful of very pretty young ladies engaged in some sort of horseplay. As I studied the house further, it appeared that some of these young ladies were not entirely dressed, if you catch my drift. I continued to watch.
After a few more moments of viewing, I thought I spied the sight of one thing that makes all young college males sit up and take notice: a bared breast. I concentrated harder to be certain, but with the continuous movement of the wrestling ladies, I could not ascertain conclusively if what I’d glimpsed was, indeed, a luscious, topless female. I decided to take a closer look.
If you recall the first paragraph of this essay, you’ll note that I referred to my college days as “dumber.” This was certainly one of those dumb decisions. While I considered my approach of the house to be “investigation,” someone else might use a different term when one is looking into the windows of a strange house. The term “pervert” comes to mind. You are free to supply your own adjective.
In a weak attempt at stealth, I walked up the front walk of the house next door. About half-way up, I veered off and snuck toward the building that I was truly interested in. Its front room had a big picture window in the front and a smaller but still substantial window on one side of the house. I went to the side window, and unobtrusively peeked in.
What I saw was five fine young ladies engaged in what is commonly known as a “pillow fight.” They were in varying states of undress, ranging from short t-shirt and shorts to long t-shirt and no shorts. They were enthusiastically pummeling each other with a variety of pillows, cushions, and the occasional stuffed animal. At that point, I realized that my earlier discovery had indeed proven accurate: One of these lovely ladies had been wearing one of those torn sweatshirts that were in vogue at the time. The shirt had been pulled down past her shoulders and almost to her waist, showing off such a fine set of womanly curves as I had ever been fortunate to gaze upon.
To be continued............
