Thursday, July 12, 2007
My Buns Are Hot Enough
It’s been a rather quiet summer here at Fantastic Spanking. Spankings have been a rare occurrence at the Spanko household, although there is a perfectly good reason for that.
It has been hot. Really, really hot.
And, at least for dumpy, middle-aged like me, it is hard to be interested in getting a hot butt when the sheer warmth of the atmosphere has already made my butt, as well as the rest of my anatomy, quite hot enough. It has been so hot (ahh, I caught you saying “How hot was it?”) that, if I were to have my tushie swatted, I believe that I would not feel it.
As a result, I have allowed my thoughts to wander to different aspects of our collective favorite pastime. The following item that I am about to relate was inspired by several fellow chroniclers who have opined on women whom they feel deserve a spanking. Most of these have discussed the misadventures of some of our young, female celebrities, such as Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie, and Brittany Spears. My story involves an encounter with a young lady at a local retail establishment.
This occurred last weekend. I had wandered off to our local Lord and Taylors store, an upscale department store-type establishment of some repute known primarily for their trendy, expensive clothing. I am, by nature and by heredity, a cheapskate when it comes to clothing. Fortunately, about this time of the year, Lord and Taylors lowers the price of summer sports shirts to practically nothing so they can make room for their winter lines, which will come out next week, when the temperatures will still probably be in the nineties. As I was trying on a pair of short pants, which were also priced quite low, I noticed a young boy of perhaps three or four sitting quietly by the next set of changing rooms, which were in the ladies clothing department. The youngster was busying himself perusing a book of pictures.
As I was checking out, I again chanced upon said young man, accompanied by his mother. The mother was slender, blonde, shapely, and nicely tanned. She was, in a word, extremely gorgeous. Okay, that was two words. She was purchasing several articles of clothing by choice designers, none of which were on sale. None of her purchases were for the boy. She was continuously telling the boy to stop falling behind her, even though the poor fellow was close to a trot trying to keep up.
We both concluded our transactions at about the same time. The lady and her son reached the exit a few steps before me. The lady hurried through the door first, followed by the boy. As the boy crossed the threshold, he glanced back and saw me. To my delight, he stopped and held the door open for me.
So pleased was I that I made it a point to thank him profusely for being so polite and thoughtful, and I reciprocated as we reached the second set of doors. He then thanked me most graciously. What a fine person this was, I thought. He must be well raised.
As we reached the sidewalk, the boy’s mother, who was well ahead of us by this point, turned back to check on her son. When she saw him a few steps behind, she became most frustrated. “Hurry up,” she said to him. “I’m getting tired of always waiting for you.”
I normally do not intercede in affairs between parents and children. It can be dangerous to disturb a family dynamic. However, this time I felt that I must defend the poor child.
“My dear,” I began, “The fault is mine. You see, this fine, young gentleman was kind enough to hold the door open for me as I was leaving the store. I was so impressed by his impeccable manners that I felt obliged to return the favor.”
I was hoping that the woman would be pleased with my compliment of her boy, especially since they were sincere and quite accurate. Instead, the lady gave me a look of disgust, like I had just tried to present her with a handful of steaming, runny, stinky dung. Not sure what I had said wrong, I tried to diffuse the situation.
I smiled and said, “This boy must have a fine mother.”
“Ew!” was how this woman responded. Just like that. Not drawn out, or spat out. Just simply stated. I checked my hand to make sure that it did not contain the afore-mentioned dung. It did not.
The woman grabbed the boy’s hand, spun around with just the right amount of hair toss, and strode off without saying another word, leaving me wondering what I had done to cause that particular response.
When I got to my vehicle and climbed inside, before heading off I checked in the mirror to make sure that I didn’t have anything gross adhering to my teeth or smeared on my face. I saw nothing. When I got home, I asked Angela if anything was amiss in my appearance. She indicated that I looked fine.
I was left to conclude only one thing.
That poor lady was definitely in need of a spanking.
That’s okay. Come to think of it, so am I. Perhaps when the weather breaks.
It has been hot. Really, really hot.
And, at least for dumpy, middle-aged like me, it is hard to be interested in getting a hot butt when the sheer warmth of the atmosphere has already made my butt, as well as the rest of my anatomy, quite hot enough. It has been so hot (ahh, I caught you saying “How hot was it?”) that, if I were to have my tushie swatted, I believe that I would not feel it.
As a result, I have allowed my thoughts to wander to different aspects of our collective favorite pastime. The following item that I am about to relate was inspired by several fellow chroniclers who have opined on women whom they feel deserve a spanking. Most of these have discussed the misadventures of some of our young, female celebrities, such as Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie, and Brittany Spears. My story involves an encounter with a young lady at a local retail establishment.
This occurred last weekend. I had wandered off to our local Lord and Taylors store, an upscale department store-type establishment of some repute known primarily for their trendy, expensive clothing. I am, by nature and by heredity, a cheapskate when it comes to clothing. Fortunately, about this time of the year, Lord and Taylors lowers the price of summer sports shirts to practically nothing so they can make room for their winter lines, which will come out next week, when the temperatures will still probably be in the nineties. As I was trying on a pair of short pants, which were also priced quite low, I noticed a young boy of perhaps three or four sitting quietly by the next set of changing rooms, which were in the ladies clothing department. The youngster was busying himself perusing a book of pictures.
As I was checking out, I again chanced upon said young man, accompanied by his mother. The mother was slender, blonde, shapely, and nicely tanned. She was, in a word, extremely gorgeous. Okay, that was two words. She was purchasing several articles of clothing by choice designers, none of which were on sale. None of her purchases were for the boy. She was continuously telling the boy to stop falling behind her, even though the poor fellow was close to a trot trying to keep up.
We both concluded our transactions at about the same time. The lady and her son reached the exit a few steps before me. The lady hurried through the door first, followed by the boy. As the boy crossed the threshold, he glanced back and saw me. To my delight, he stopped and held the door open for me.
So pleased was I that I made it a point to thank him profusely for being so polite and thoughtful, and I reciprocated as we reached the second set of doors. He then thanked me most graciously. What a fine person this was, I thought. He must be well raised.
As we reached the sidewalk, the boy’s mother, who was well ahead of us by this point, turned back to check on her son. When she saw him a few steps behind, she became most frustrated. “Hurry up,” she said to him. “I’m getting tired of always waiting for you.”
I normally do not intercede in affairs between parents and children. It can be dangerous to disturb a family dynamic. However, this time I felt that I must defend the poor child.
“My dear,” I began, “The fault is mine. You see, this fine, young gentleman was kind enough to hold the door open for me as I was leaving the store. I was so impressed by his impeccable manners that I felt obliged to return the favor.”
I was hoping that the woman would be pleased with my compliment of her boy, especially since they were sincere and quite accurate. Instead, the lady gave me a look of disgust, like I had just tried to present her with a handful of steaming, runny, stinky dung. Not sure what I had said wrong, I tried to diffuse the situation.
I smiled and said, “This boy must have a fine mother.”
“Ew!” was how this woman responded. Just like that. Not drawn out, or spat out. Just simply stated. I checked my hand to make sure that it did not contain the afore-mentioned dung. It did not.
The woman grabbed the boy’s hand, spun around with just the right amount of hair toss, and strode off without saying another word, leaving me wondering what I had done to cause that particular response.
When I got to my vehicle and climbed inside, before heading off I checked in the mirror to make sure that I didn’t have anything gross adhering to my teeth or smeared on my face. I saw nothing. When I got home, I asked Angela if anything was amiss in my appearance. She indicated that I looked fine.
I was left to conclude only one thing.
That poor lady was definitely in need of a spanking.
That’s okay. Come to think of it, so am I. Perhaps when the weather breaks.
