Dear ol’80sWe’d looked for each other for half an hour. Mostly because of me if I’m honest. The new
Dear ol’80sWe’d looked for each other for half an hour. Mostly because of me if I’m honest. The new video games section of the Galerie Lafayette had been way too teasing. Above all compared to the bloody boring chat between Mum and the perfume counter lady, about Granma’s future Christmas present. Mum was absolutely fuming and her eyes were throwing thunderbolts when we met at last. She grabbed my wrist, cobra speed, and turned me round in a dance step. She planted four resounding stingers to my trousers -all aimed at my crack-, who made me jump, some passers-by and a bark a chihuahua. Those unfortunately were the hors-d'œuvres only .I tried pleading all the way without getting any reply. Mum just tightened her grip and kept dragging me. She was on judge mode no more, she was on executionner mode. She could have yelled “police!” With the way she opened the ladies’ bathroom door and shoved me in with another thunderous hurry-up smack. My last steps to the scafold were witnessed by two ladies barely older than me, retouching their make-up. Both dumfounded by the scene, one of them held her eyelash brush comicly stuck in the air as she followed me with her gaze.Mum wasted no time and locked the cubicle. She locked the door, put her handbag on the sink, hang our coats and sat on the toilet. She hitched up her polka dot dress and pulled me towards her. My trousers were roughly tugged down to my ankles, the back of my pants lowered and my legs clamped between her sturdy nyloned thighs. Mum reached for her purse and produced an ominous looking wooden hairbrush. I’d been threatened of the brush once or twice but never got it. I suppose there is a start for everything. She bent me over her left leg by force, butt up in the air prefectly presented, so that my balance was kept by my left arm pushing on the floor while Mum arm locked the other one, also to prevent me from interfering with my imminent spanking.If my bottom knew by heart the geography of the sole of Mum’s slippers, the hairbrush was joining the martinet and the “ruler- become sword- become spanking stick” (long story…) in the club of my potential backside smackers. By the end of my paddling, I certainly hoped the brush would be a once like the others. The barrage of spanks she made rain upon my bottom paradoxically lightened the fires of hell. Two or three spanks fell every second and I soon cried and howled for mercy. I have no notion on how many whacks I got but I broke rather quickly. My bottom and top thighs were dark red, numb beyond soreness and probably contributing with the global warming. I laid perched over my mother left knee, limb like an old potatoes sack. My face was covered with a mix of fluids coming from my eyes, nose and mouth regurlarly provided by my uncontrolable sobbings. I was left with the mental capacity of a two years old baby boy. Mum stood me up vigourously and shamefully helped me to pull up my underwaist clothes. We got dressed again and she gave me three hand towels. She hadn’t uttered a single word since we had rejoined, saving them to announce desserts:- Compose yourself and clean up your face. From this instant until we’re home you are to be nicest son on this planet. Because one word or attitute too many and we’ll reenact this lively performance on one waiting bench of the main hall, before anyone passing by.. Do I make myself clear young man? Also, so you know, this little stunt you put up while I was leading you here will be adressed before you go to bed. Addressed across my knee with my slipper without the privilege of your pyjamas pants Uh-Uh! What’s the first thing I told you?… I did think so! Now finish, I’ll wait for you in the alley.Having dried my face I left the cubicle noticing with relief that budding Cindy Lauper And Gloria Estefan had gone. They were however replaced by a rather tall, very elegant and attractive dark skinned woman. She wore a tailor skirt with an unbutonned top red blouse unveiling an harmonious cleavage. She was combing her long dark sliky hairs near a washbasin and was staring at me with a discreet smile and one crooked brow. I picked some more hand towels to blow my nose and she was still fixing me with a more pronounced grin.- That is a good hairbrush your mother seems to own…And properly uses as well! How dared she! The saddistic, psycopath witch! My fists clenched and my teeth gritted. I made a step forward trying to look menacing but obviously lacked the aspect fitting along She made the same leaning forward and before I knew her nose was 5 inches from mine she wishpered:- And by the way, good slippering tonight… She said inclining her head, both brows now crooked an her smile widening showing her shiny teeth. She simply looked delighted. I felt the rage flowing,, my breathing and sniffing accelerating then achieved… to release a tear. Moment she chose for:- SCOUT!!She shouted as she smacked very loudly her own hairbrush against her palm. Time form me to dash out and catch Mum.Christmas-holidays-home-sweet-home-shit, my A$$! I should have stayed in University! Then, what is this card, with a phone number and three brown hairs, doing in my pocket? -- source link