A Bit of Holiday Froth

'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS reinterpreted by Roberta Barnes

'Twas the night before Christmas and Cindy was beat,
Her holiday chores knocked her quite off her feet.
She'd shopped all down Main Street, bought presents galore,
Cut holly, hung tinsel, baked cookies by the score.

Put a bird in the oven, took a cup of eggnog,
Sank into her armchair, fell into a fog;
Visions of single men swam in her head
As she dozed by the fire that glowed orange and red.

Then all of a sudden from her nap she awoke,
Some guy on her sofa was having a smoke!
It was Santa! He puffed on his pipe and looked sad
As he checked his long list of those good and those bad.

"Oh, Santa, what is it?" cried Cindy, afraid
It wasn't the list of good girls she'd made.
"Well, there's Nice," said Santa, "that's one of the two--
"And then there is Naughty, which brings us to you."

And slowly he searched in the bag by his feet,
And pulled out a paddle so handy and neat;
With a wink of an eye and a touch on his nose,
Cindy was helpless as up her skirt rose!

And then at a nod of that grizzled old head,
She found herself over those knees clad in red;
"Oh, Santa!" cried Cindy in shame and alarm,
As she snuggled down into that lap soft and warm!

But it wasn't so cozy when the paddle came down,
"This geezer is strong!" she thought with a frown;
The strokes started coming so lively and quick,
This guy was no slacker, we're talking St. Nick!

Those cute little buns he turned into toast,
He knew how to do it, he spanked coast to coast!
She squirmed and she struggled, her movements did quicken,
She couldn't take Moore, it hurt like the Dickens!

"Oh, Santa, I'm sorry!" he heard her to say,
"I don't want to be naughty, I try to obey;
I try to be good, but you know what I fear?
I won't learn to be good from one spanking a year!

"Send me a guy, I know you can do it--
When I need a sound spanking, just let HIM see to it!"
"Ho, ho, ho!" laughed Santa, "that's a really good plan,
By Kris Kringle, I'll do it, I'll send you a man!"

And so he relented, put her skirt where it was,
She planted a kiss on his lips through the fuzz--
Then out of her hand fell the cup with a clatter,
She jumped! "What a dream, what a curious matter!"

She thought as she reached for the cup on the floor,
"It's just that I wonder why my bottom's so sore."
When what to her wandering eye should gleam,
But eight flashing messages on her answering machine!

From David, and Daniel, and Parker, and Benson,
From Conrad, and Kirby, and Donald, and Vincent!
With eight men to choose from, she'd keep one for her self,
One real man was better than any old elf!

"Thanks,Santa," she whispered, and smiled with delight,
"Merry Christmas to you, and to all a good night!"

A Bit of Holiday Froth

I know, it's trite, but Roberta really did write it: a "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" send-up with a spanking theme. Forgive her, she adored Christmas, but I guess she couldn't resist. I think it has a youthful brashness and cheer about it, although she wrote it in her middle years. Think of it as a piece effortlessy tossed off by a master of the craft at the height of her powers!

Off to London

Roberta set "Spanking Pamela" in London, as a lark, I think. She did enjoy the English novel--weekends at the manor, pink gins in the drawing room, adulterous bishops, etc., and so she thought she'd try her hand at something like it. It's also one of the very few stories Roberta chose to write from the male point of view. It's not that she didn't like men. She was married to Ray Barnes--who cheats at cards--for 44 years! It's more that she thought that not a lot happened, for the most part, in the male psyche. At least not until a woman came along, and focused his mind for him.

Unfortunately, as you can see, our story is posted backwards. It looks a little funny there on the screen, but it's not a problem, really, now that the nights are chillier. Print the story out (on nice paper), make yourself a cup of hot chocolate, get in your jammies, get under the covers, and enjoy!

Spanking Pamela (part II)

"Thanks ever so much for dinner, Ian, but you needn't have, really. I invited you, after all."

He had picked up the check. Pam's protestations, he felt, had been half-hearted.

"What would you like to drink?"

He requested coffee, and looked about Pam's fashionable flat. She thought it necessary, "for business reasons," to maintain a posh address. He thought it a frivolous expense, but they'd had that argument before, so he kept his silence.

"You look fabulous, Pam. Smashing 'do and-- new suit?"

She had on a cream-coloured blouse with a navy wool suit rich and elegant enough for evening wear. It had been chosen with care for the occasion and set off with a showy silver pin.

"Thanks. Yes, from Harrod's."

"Not on the credit card, I hope."

It was none of his business, really, but he felt he had a right. Just three months ago he had lent her a tidy sum, and now here she was buying new and obviously expensive clothes again.

She took it ill.

"Don't lecture me, Ian," she snapped. "I can manage."

She was as headstrong as ever. But also very defensive. Knowing Pam's history with credit cards, he was suspicious.

"You can't be doing that well from the Duncannon contract. He's a notorious tightwad."

"Ian, please, I didn't invite you up here to ask for a loan."

"Well, I'm surprised," he stated, suddenly very angry, "since that's the usual reason."

"How dare you, Ian! I thought you were concerned about me."

"I am, Pamela. I want you to get on your feet financially. But this has been going on for too long."

"Finances? Do you think that's all I care about?"

"Well, yes, isn't that what we're discussing?"

"Ian, you're impossible!"

Pam turned to stalk from the room but he was in no mood for a display of temper. Before he knew what was happening he had her by the arm.

"You've got the rent for this fancy joint on your credit card again, don't you?"

"Ian, that's none of your business."

"It's true, then. You pretentious little snip!"

"Let go of me, you...you... dusty, loveless old bachelor!"

He couldn't remember exactly how he had gotten her over his knee so quickly, nor why he felt it necessary to raise her skirt; only that it had done his heart good to crush and rumple that sumptuous fabric as he bunched it above her waist. Good it would be, too, to worry the sheer silk of those panties.

"I'll show you what love is about, young lady."

"Ian, let me up!"

Of course, being Pamela, she would not cooperate, and Ian was hard put at first to keep her in position. But he was determined to see it through. Ian spoke between strokes.

"Love is..." SPANK! "patience..." SPANK! "prudence..." SPANK! "...hard work." SPANK! SPANK!

"Ouch! Ian! Stop it! Love is...is... just love! It doesn't have to make sense!"

His hand sounding loudly on her derriere was his only reply. She wiggled and squirmed, but the elegant panties provided scant protection, and he managed to turn her pink pastel bottom a bright shade of cherry red before he loosened his grip. Let her, he thought smugly, wear that for a while!

"Ian, Ian, how could you?" she complained bitterly, regaining her feet. As she rearranged her skirt there came a rush of furious tears. With a great sob she made for the bedroom. She stopped at the door, though, reached down and took off a shoe.
"Clueless bully!" she wailed.

The wicked, spiked heel missed his head by inches.


His gaze fell on the shoe, now lying spent in the middle of the floor.

'Clueless'?

Now he saw it all. Good Lord, he thought, what a fool I've been! Blind, silly, unfeeling, pompous old fool!

Of course, the whole evening had been a romantic set-up. Pamela felt as strongly about him as... as... yes, as strongly as he felt about her.

He got up and tapped on her door.

Her reply was soft and light. She was in her pyjamas, sitting upright in bed.
He stood at her threshold and began hopefully.

"Pam, can you ever forgive me?"

A cautious smile began to light up her face.

"Dear Ian," she said, shaking her head in wonder. "Dear, sweet, methodical Ian! Have you finally thought it all through?"

"Not really," he replied. "But love, you know, doesn't have to make sense."

"Oh, Ian, Ian," she laughed as she reached out to him. He bent to take her in his arms, first softly closing the bedroom door.

[Photo by Carlos A. Martinez at flickr.com]