The Holidays with Roberta

The following reminiscence first appeared in a little magazine called Twilight's Garden, which some of you may remember. It appeared a few months after the same autobiographical story we published here. Roberta is continuing her account of her life in Colbyville.

I once asked her if this story was true, like the one told in "In Old Tennessee." Of course, she said, though I thought she had a twinkle in her eye. But I know a lot of your friends, I said, and I don't know a Paige Whitfield.

"I had to change the names, dear," she replied. "You can understand that. No need to embarrass the woman further."

And the matter was closed.

Read the rest of the story in Christmas in Colbyville.

Christmas in Colbyville - Part I

Many people have asked me about Mrs. Cooper, who took a hairbrush to my pampered behind within a week of my arrival in Tennessee, that first summer so many years ago. Since she had no qualms about paddling me, a relative stranger, did she ever spank anyone else outside the family? Well, as I have stated, her influence on the community was profound. She was a keen judge of character and yes, she didn't hesitate when she thought a sound spanking would do someone some good. Even if that meant spanking under rather dramatic circumstances...

I recall one incident around Christmas, my favorite time of year in Colbyville. How I would look forward to those magic days! After Indian summer and hunting season, there'd be a special chill in the air that would herald the coming of the holidays. Handmade evergreen wreaths would make their appearance on stately doors all over town, and each door, it seemed, opened on a log fire lit to lend an extra warm glow to some festive gathering. There, over cups of julep or spicy eggnog, relatives and friends would gather to sing a carol or reminisce about Colbyville Christmases past. It was all as traditional and comfortable as only a country Christmas can be.

No small part of the season was the Christmas concert presented by the Elm Street Methodist Church Choral Society. No need to tell you which formidable local matron with a rich alto voice was also president of the Society. Mrs. Cooper had been a mainstay of the choir since its inception.

It was my first year in the choir, my first year in Colbyville as a married woman. Ray and I had set up housekeeping in the second-floor apartment in his aunt's old place in town. The kitchen was miniscule, I complained to Cheryl, so she invited me to join her in her mother's kitchen, turning out the dozens of cookies that would grace hostess' tables, church suppers, and old folks' homes over the next few weeks. It was a convenient excuse for us to spend hours together working and gossiping...oops, I mean "catching up." The chief topic that winter was Paige Whitfield, the Choral Society's star soprano.

"Paige isn't much older than Cheryl, Roberta. It was such a shock, Mrs. Whitfield going so suddenly. Has it been over a year already? She was the pillar of that family, Roberta. Mr. Whitfield..." She shook her head. Harold Whitfield was a good man, but lost without his wife. Lately he was out too late at night, and drinking too much.

"Lord knows Paige doesn't go to him for guidance. Without proper supervision, it's not surprising that she's been acting the way she has. Young girls today, they go off to college and come back thinking they know all about being a woman."

"Yes, mama, I agree," said Cheryl, barely suppressing a grin as her mother launched into a lecture.

"Forget to mind their elders, lose all respect."

"Yes, mama."

"A fine state of affairs!"

"Yes, mama."

Mrs. Cooper peered at her daughter intently.

"Do you find me amusing, young lady?"

"No, mama, of course not."

"Good, dear, I hoped not. Oh, look, you dropped a pecan."

"Where?"

"There, under the table. Bend down, you can just see it."

"Where? I don't see any-..."

SMACK!

"Ow-w, Mother-r!!"


The juicy part of Paige's story was that she had taken the money she had inherited (Mrs. Whitfield's side of the family was rather well off) and bought a slick, red sports car, and soon began spending her weekends in Nashville. Paige was star-struck, a small-town girl who thought she should be a star. She had a decent voice and she certainly had the looks: good height and figure, long blond hair, and cheekbones to die for. I would have been happy having any one of those attributes, but Paige wasn't. She wanted more than what Colbyville and the Choral Society had to offer. But instead of doing the hard work necessary to develop her talents, she devoted her time to making connections and seeing the "right" people.

That was all her business, of course. All I cared about was that she was an excellent soloist, and that made us all sound good. At least I thought it did. The other topic that dominated our kitchen conversations were the disheartening comments about our Fall Concert that had appeared in an unsigned review in the Nashville Eagle. The article heaped praise on "Paige Whitfield, a truly remarkable soprano," who "succeeded in spite of a lackluster chorus backing her up." Well! You can just imagine how we all felt when we read that. All of us were insulted; some took the criticism to heart, and the seeds of self-doubt were planted. Nothing we sang seemed to sound right and each found someone else to blame. As if Mrs. Cooper didn't have enough to do, what with ordering new gowns and getting the programs printed-- she now had to deal with thirty or so females who were on eggshells every time they got together.

Tempers flared one evening at rehearsal. In the middle of a solo, Paige stopped and turned to the soprano section, hands on hips.

"Who's flat?" she inquired imperiously. "I think it was you, Cheryl. Please, do be careful!"

There was an audible gasp of shock. No one had the right to correct the chorus, except the director, let alone single out a member. I knew what a firebrand my friend could be so I quickly dug my nails into Cheryl's arm.

"Just let it pass, Cheryl, please. Consider the source."

She bit her tongue, then looked at me and nodded, but I could see the incident would not be soon forgotten.


Just a week later came the night of the concert itself. Cheryl and our mutual friend Edna Carter were with me in the loft of the Old Church, the annex which had originally housed the congregation, but which was now rarely used. We had on our new gowns, lovely floor-length dresses of rich burgundy velvet. The rest of the choir were downstairs in the regular meeting hall where we held rehearsals, but Edna, Cheryl and I had just had to get away. I mean, here it was--our big holiday concert, the church beautifully decorated, the choir in gorgeous new gowns--yet our hearts really weren't in it. Rumor, accusation, and worry had taken its toll on all of us. The bad review in the Eagle, our shaken confidence, the tense, fractious rehearsals-- we were downright gloomy on a night in which we should have been on top of the world.

I was giving Edna a final lookover while Cheryl stared moodily out the side window.

"Our prima donna has arrived," she announced. "Late, of course."

Edna and I continued fussing till Cheryl fairly shrieked, "She's got a man with her!"

Paige had pulled the car up at the corner of the quiet street, where there was just enough light to reveal that there were indeed two figures inside, now locked in a passionate embrace. After a hot goodbye kiss, a tall, well-built man discreetly let himself out and began walking to the church. Evidently, he and Paige could not be seen going in together.

"Who is it, who is it?" the three of us cried as we jostled for position at the tiny window. The figure was nearing the brightly-lit entrance of the church.

"I don't know him."
"Never seen him!"
"Ohmigod, it's Cousin Ewan!"

Cheryl and I drank in all we could as the tall stranger strode up the steps and into the church. Then we turned on Edna.

"And who, pray tell, is Cousin Ewan?"

"Mother's first husband had an older brother, use to live out near Monroe. Ewan's his boy. They moved to Nashville years ago, but we still run into them now and then."

"Nashville?" Cheryl asked. She looked thoughtful. "What does he do?"

"Oh, he works for one of them newspapers."

Cheryl and I stared incredulously at Edna. Cheryl took her by both shoulders.

"Edna, is he a reporter?"

She nodded.

"It wouldn't be for the Nashville Eagle, would it?"

"Eagle? Bugle? Can't say for sure, Cheryl. You know I don't bother much with the newspapers."

"Edna, you ninny, don't you see? It was Ewan who wrote that crummy review, just to please that blond vixen. I can just picture the two of them cooking the whole thing up. They figured they'd just use us country bumpkins to advance their own careers. They think they're so smart! I could just spit!"

"Oh, Cheryl," laughed Edna, "don't be impressed by Cousin Ewan. He's just a local boy. My mama says, 'No matter where you go or what you do, everybody comes from somewhere.'"

Cheryl paused a second.

"Edna, sometimes you almost make sense, that's why I love you so. Cousin Ewan's a local boy and Paige is just a small-town girl."

A smile spread across her face.

"A small-town girl who needs a whippin'!"

She turned quickly and made for the stairs.

"Cheryl, where are you going?" I cried.

"I'm telling Mom!" she yelled gleefully.

Part II


[Photo: A Warm Welcome by photogramma1 at flickr.com]

Christmas in Colbyville - Part II

As soon as she walked into the rehearsal hall, Paige knew something was up. Every eye was on her, and you could hear a pin drop.

"You are late," Mrs. Cooper stated crisply.

"By ten minutes," Paige answered archly. "Is that so terrible?"

"Watch your tone of voice, Miss. This is not the first time you have kept us all waiting. Secondly, you are in a lot of trouble. I'll get right to the point: did you or did you not have anything to do with that shameful review in the newspaper?"

The question hung in the air for several moments as Paige weighed the odds that we knew something. She tried a little finesse.

"That review was just someone's opinion. I don't see why anyone would be upset by it."

"That review, Paige," Mrs. Cooper emphasized, "was biased and unfair. It hurt all our feelings. It was written solely to enhance your reputation at our expense. And it was written by Mr. Ewan Pierce, at your instigation. Can you deny it?"

A worried frown now creased Paige's pretty features. We evidently knew more than she had first thought.

"All right, Ewan did write the piece. But I didn't tell him what to write."

Mrs. Cooper exhaled in exasperation.

"My dear young lady, might I suggest that the nature of your relationship with Mr.Pierce would make it abundantly clear to him what you wanted him to say? And, further, I venture that tonight's review has already been written and approved by you!"

Paige blushed so brightly red that we knew instantly that Mrs. Cooper's surmise was absolutely on target. Any further pretense of innocence would be futile. Paige lowered her gaze and bit her lower lip as Mrs. Cooper continued.

"I hope you realize how serious a matter this is, young lady. We are all very, very upset with you. You are guilty of riding roughshod over other people's feelings in selfish pursuit of your own ends. Your punishment must be swift and sure."

Paige looked up, startled, at the mention of punishment, and she shifted her stance apprehensively.

"What you have done is most immature," Mrs. Cooper continued. "You are still a young woman, Paige, in need of a great deal of guidance. If only your mother, bless her soul, were still here. But what's done is done. And I'm sure she would agree that you must suffer the consequences of your misbehavior. And so for your penalty, I propose a public spanking, before the Society, here and now. Do I hear a motion?"

"So proposed, Madame President," several voices called out.

"Seconded," came the reply.

"Are there any objections?" asked Madame President.

Paige frantically scanned the room for support, but no one spoke up for her. In her defense, she could only voice her own anxiety.

"Ladies, please, you can't be serious. This is so...so...unthinkable! Please, you mustn't go through with it!"

Even as she pleaded, Mrs. Cooper had the bench from the rehearsal piano brought out to the middle of the room.

"Please check the corridor for roving males," she requested. "This will be a sight for women's eyes only."

She sat down, regally, near one end of the bench, and looked expectantly at Paige.

"Don't disappoint me with recalcitrance, dear. We'll all feel so much better when this is over."

As planned, Cheryl and Edna came forward to "assist" Paige. Mrs. Cooper would never tolerate dragging a girl to her punishment, but she thought a little "moral support" might be necessary in this case. Paige stiffened as Cheryl and Edna each took an arm, and I thought she might try to stand her ground. But Cheryl spoke to her in calm, confidential tones.

"I know you think you are going places, Paige. Maybe you will. Believe it or not, I wish you well. But just remember, Colbyville will always be your hometown. And if you ever want to have a friend in this town to talk to again, tomorrow or twenty years from now-- you'll get across Mama's knee this instant!"

Paige said nothing but she did allow herself to be led to Mrs. Cooper. She looked so mournful and sorry for herself I almost burst out laughing, but then I remembered how scared I had been in similar circumstances. You only had to look into Mrs. Cooper's commanding blue eyes to realize there was no escaping your fate. Indeed, Paige balked again, and there might have been an unpleasant scene were it not for Cheryl's quick thinking. Deftly, she released Paige's arm and delivered a forceful swat to the hesitant behind. The shock of that humiliating spank took the starch right out of Paige, and Chery and Edna had no further problems drawing her across Mrs. Cooper's lap. She settled compliantly into position, resting her head on her hands at one end of the bench, her fanny over Mrs. Cooper's thigh at the other, her long legs stretched out behind her.

At a nod from Mrs. Cooper, Edna reached down for the hem of Paige's gown. Paige gasped as she felt her long skirt coming up higher and higher. Cheryl stood at her waist, and gathered in the folds of velvet as they bunched about the girl's silken thighs, till at length Cheryl flipped the mass of fabric up and over to reveal Paige's exquisitely-shaped derriere, fetchingly clad in a pair of diaphanous pink silk panties. Paige could not clearly see the extent of her humiliation, nor--as Mrs. Cooper presently warned her not to cover herself--could she reach around and feel, so she waggled her behind to confirm what she already knew: her skirt was all the way up, her lingerie was in plain view, and she was about to get the spanking of her life.

With the room in a hushed and expectant silence, Paige swallowed and composed herself as best she could. Then she spoke in a surprisingly clear voice.

"Mrs. Cooper, ladies-- I want you to know I really am sorry. I didn't want to hurt anyone. The review just sort of came out like it did, and I let Ewan print it. I'm ashamed of myself and I apologize for upsetting you. I'm not trying to get out of my spanking, believe me. I...I...I just want to be friends again."

Well, she nearly stopped the show with that little speech. I guess being used to center stage helped; I don't know how else she could have gathered herself together like that.

"Oh, Paige, we are friends," Mrs. Cooper replied warmly. "We wouldn't bother to spank if we didn't love you. And I'm glad you're not trying to get out of this spanking, because we've come too far along for that. But I shall be fair. Now be still, and we'll get this over with as quickly as possible. I don't think it will be as bad as all that."

Anyone who applies correction regularly tends to develop a certain style. Mrs. Cooper always took her culprit over her knee, she always spanked over the panties, and she always said "It won't be as bad as all that" or something similarly encouraging. (Except it usually was as bad as all that.) What I didn't know was that Mrs. Cooper was quite capable of improvising when necessary.

"Oh, Cheryl, could you bring me a hymnal? The Second Revised, I think."

There were scattered giggles and I wondered what was up. Was she going to sing? I was mystified until she got the requested edition in hand: it made a perfect paddle!

Mrs. Cooper raised the hymnal high, Paige covered her face with her hand, and a large WHAP-P! resounded through the room. Beneath the sturdy book, Paige's flawless buttocks quivered.

WHAP! and again, WHAP! Mrs. Cooper held nothing back. The strokes came at a stately, measured pace, as befitted the formal nature of the proceedings. It was not long before Paige was squirmy, first pushing up on her toes--which only sent her bottom crashing into the hymnal--then bending at the knees--which only pressed her more firmly into the lap of her disciplinarian. She embarrassed herself no matter what she did, but it must have hurt so much she just couldn't help herself.

WHAP! WHAP! Mrs. Cooper was not dissuaded from her purpose by Paige's movements, and Paige eventually had to settle in as best she could, lying still and humbly accepting the full force of each well-laid-on spank. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! The hymnal was of a size to squarely cover both cheeks at once, and I really felt sorry for Paige as I watched her poor bottom redden, right through the sheer fabric of her panties!

Remember the old Zen puzzle: what is the sound of one hand clapping? How about: how many spanks in a good sound spanking? I stopped counting after thirty. With Mrs. Cooper you could never tell--she relied on her intuition as to when to stop. It was a combination of her sense of justice, the remorse of the miscreant, and, yes, mercy. Mrs. Cooper was often merciful. But I will say I'd never seen anyone defiant after a session with her. She didn't waste anyone's time: if you went over her knee for a spanking, you definitely got all you could handle.

So Paige was in tears when Mrs. Cooper finally told her it was over. She was not distraught, but I'm not sure how much more she could have taken. Around the room comments like "Serves her right!" and "About time!" had given way to "The poor dear!" As usual, Mrs. Cooper had judged the moment precisely.

"Up now, dear, and finish with those tears. There, your skirt is back in place. And we'll fix your hair and makeup, don't worry. You'll want to look nice for your solo."

"Oh, Mrs. Cooper, I can't go out there and sing--not after this!"

"Paige, I'll not have you sulking. You will sing, and sing beautifully, for those good people. I know you can do it. Just because a girl gets a spanking, it isn't the end of the world, you know."

Mrs. Cooper sighed, and looked benignly at the headstrong girl before her.

"You are a handful, young lady, and a trial to a mother. I can see that I will have to keep a close eye on you from now on."

Paige looked dubious, but finally a small, resigned smile tugged at her lips.

"Yes, Mrs. Cooper," was all she could say.


Mrs. Cooper was right about one thing--we all felt better after Paige took her punishment. The weeks of tension were over, and we positively sang our little hearts out. Paige was superb. And when she shed real tears during her solo, she had the audience in the palm of her hand. How were they to know those tears were inspired not by a sure sense of musical style, but by a certain aching part of the soloist's anatomy?

Paige had us over for New Year's open house. Mr. Whitfield didn't touch a drop; nevertheless, he smiled from ear to ear, telling everyone how lovely his daughter looked, and how nice it was to have a houseful of guests again. Paige seemed suddenly more content, and the little red sports car was often seen around town, even on weekends. Cheryl and Paige buried the hatchet, becoming fast allies in schemes to lure one Mr. Ewan Pearce more and more frequently to Colbyville. But that's another story. And, oh yes, the very next issue of the Nashville Eagle restored the fine reputation of the Elm Street Methodist Church Choral Society.

Mrs. Cooper was very well pleased.

Glitch

Well, for this month I had planned to post Roberta's domestic epic poem, "Marcie, Mary & Genevieve." It is, in my opinion, a masterpiece of light verse. If nothing else, it's the longest spanking poem I have ever seen. And it rhymes! However, in going through Roberta's papers, I find that the last page is missing! Rotten luck! I can't leave out the last page, so I will delay publication until I search further for the missing lines. This may take a while, because if I can't find it among her manuscripts, I will have to look in Aunt Roberta's-- wait for it-- Commodore 64. Yes, it still runs, as far as I know. But, I'm a little rusty; it's been years since I ran a 64. The good news is, as I see going through her papers, is that she saved the instruction manual.

For now, we'll have to do with just a taste:

But the husbands were resolved,
That for mischief the girls would pay,
Each took his wayward spouse in hand,
To treat in the time-honored way.

Across his lap and over,
Each miscreant was placed;
Marcie, Mary, Genevieve--
Naughty wives disgraced!

Three delicate silk-clad bottoms,
Turned up to face the sun,
Three lower lips were bitten,
Knowing what was to come.

So sorry to leave you hanging!