UNINFORMED AND UNIFORMED </b>
by
Joe Doe
BARBARA, A SUCCESSFUL PSYCHOLOGIST, AGREES TO TRY OUT HER HALLOWEEN ;
COSTUME OVER THE WEEKEND TO WIN A BET WITH HER DAUGHTER, JENNY.
LONG TIME READERS WON'T BE SURPRISED WHEN THE EXPERIMENT QUICKLY
SPIRALS OUT OF CONTROL.
Part 1
"I've said it before, but I'll say it again. That new suit looks
fantastic on you, Jenny."
Barbara Wilson put down her tennis racket and smiled. Although
her 18-year-old daughter, Jenny, had been in college only two ;
months, the changes in her personality and demeanor were stunning.
The tastefully chic business wardrobe that Jenny had purchased for
her after-school internship confirmed it. Barbara's little girl
was all grown up.
Jenny straightened her blazer and smiled, basking in her mother's
compliment. "Yeah, the extra work of the internship is worth it
just for the clothes," she said. "It sure beats the heck out of
those horrible uniforms we had to wear at St. Aggie."
"Not the uniforms speech again," her mother sighed, rolling her
eyes. "I know you hated the uniforms, but it was the hard work
you put in at St. Agnes that got you your college scholarship,
your internship, and those clothes you're so fond of. You really
make too big of a deal out of it, if you ask me. Clothes don't
change the person you are inside."
"But clothes do change the way others treat you, and that impacts
how you feel about yourself," Jenny countered. "I can't believe
that a big time psychologist like you doesn't understand that.
Did YOU ever actually WEAR a school uniform? Or. could it be that,
on this ONE subject, Mother dear, you are a tad uninformed?"
"No, I never actually WORE a uniform," Barbara admitted. "But
sometimes I wish I had. I think school uniforms are quite
attractive. They're inexpensive, convenient, and, as a 'big
time psychologist,' I can tell you that they help alleviate
peer pressure and class distinctions. In fact, at the 'school ;
board meetings' for several months now, we've been discussing
implementing a new uniform policy, so I'm not quite as clueless
as you seem to think, young lady."
"So, voting for someone else to do something makes you an expert
in what it feels like to do it?" Jenny asked, sarcastically.
"You should run for Congress, Mom."
"My psychology practice pays better, dear," her mother replied, ;
snidely. "Besides, the women in Congress don't wear school
uniforms either, so I don't think that would give me the
experience you seem to think I require."
Barbara poured herself a glass of water and sat down at the
kitchen table opposite her daughter. Although 38, Barbara was ;
in excellent shape, but at 5'2" she was also considerably shorter ;
than her latest tennis opponent, who had gleefully run her all
over the court. Barbara had won, of course, but her diminutive
stature had made it quite a workout.
Of course, there was another possibility. Could it be that she
was actually getting...old?
Even at 38, she knew that she still looked youthful. She was ;
regularly carded at bars and liquor stores. But was that simply
because of her height? Or (worse yet) were the bouncers simply
humoring her?
Barbara shuddered at the idea. Then a new (and happier) thought
replaced it.
"There's a Halloween party your father and I have to go to next ;
week, and I still haven't picked a costume," she said, thoughtfully.
"Maybe I could go as a uniformed school girl. That would solve my
party costume dilemma, and it would give me a chance to experience
what it would be like to wear a uniform for a day."
"Nice try, Mom, but wearing a uniform to a costume party doesn't
give you the experience I was talking about. If I dress up like
Cleopatra, that doesn't mean that people will treat me like I'm
Queen of the Nile. I'd be treated like a woman at a costume party
in a white dress and a plastic crown."
"Actually I was thinking of something a bit more elaborate,"
Barbara said. "We can drive up to that mall way up north and
buy my school uniform there. In those clothes you look like
an adult...."
"I AM an adult, Mother," Jenny replied, sharply.
"Yes, well.... In any case, we can say that I'm a new student
starting school. Since it's a bit of a drive, and your father ;
is out of town, we can even stay overnight at that hotel up by
the mall. That will give me a chance to interact with people a
bit in my new uniform."
Barbara paused and looked thoughtful. "Do you really think...that
anyone would believe...that I'm a teenager?" she asked her
daughter, haltingly. "I mean, to be honest, that's the part I'm
really curious about. You don't think I look...too old, do you?"
"You look great for an 'older' lady," Jenny said, with a laugh.
"If we get you out of those frumpy I-AM-A-DOCTOR clothes you'll
look great. But it's still a stupid idea. As soon as you see
how easy it is to pass as a teenager, you'll chicken out and change
back into your adult clothes. You won't experience any of the
downsides, and then I'll have to listen to some 'I know what
uniforms are like' speech for the rest of my life. No thanks!"
The word "chicken" immediately awoke Barbara's competitive nature.
"Then let's make a little wager, daughter dear. From now until
the time your father returns home on Sunday, I'll be the daughter, ;
and you can be my mom. You'll be in charge, but you'll have all
the responsibilities, too. You'll drive me, and you can pay for
my uniform -- AND our hotel stay."
"And what do I get out of this?" Jenny asked. "Other than the
bill, of course?"
"If I go the entire weekend without 'chickening out,' to use your
phrase, then you'll come to my school board meeting next week and
tell them how much you loved your school uniform," Barbara said.
"And you'll cook dinners on Saturdays for a month."
"I thought I asked what I get?" Jenny insisted.
"If I DO chicken out, I'll pick up the whole tab for the weekend,
and buy you that used sports car you've been pestering your father ;
about," Barbara replied with a smile.
Jenny pondered the offer. "You want me to betray every single kid
who ever attends school in order to get a second hand car?" she
asked, slyly. "And I'd have to spend date nights for a month
slinging hash for you and Dad?" ;
But then she smiled. "Well, it is a convertible...." She paused
and rubbed her chin pensively. "And I would be TOTALLY in charge,
right?"
"If you pay the bills, you call the shots," her mother said. "Of
course, as a teenager, I reserve the right to WHINE if you pick a
hotel that is anything less than fabulous."
"Deal," Jenny said, shaking her mother's hand. "It's quite a
drive, so we had better get started soon."
"While I'm taking my shower, can you see if you can find a t-shirt
or something that would make me look a bit younger?" Barbara said.
"I don't think a business suit, silk blouse, and heels will cut it
today."
"Agreed," Jenny said. "I think you're too short for the stuff in
my closet...now, but I have some old stuff in the basement that
should fit."
She smiled and adopted a maternal tone. "And hurry up with that
shower, young lady. I want to get there before midnight."
"YES, Mother," Barbara used her best "you're-annoying-me-to-death"
faux teenager voice.
"And where do you think you're going, young lady?" Jenny asked.
"Upstairs to shower," Barbara said, in confusion.
"No way. You always made me shower in the laundry room when I got
home from soccer practice. And that's where I want you to shower
now."
"You were filthy, Jenn-...I mean, 'Mother,'" Barbara replied.
"Well, you're all hot and sweaty after your tennis game. And isn't
that a scrape on your knee? I don't want you dripping blood all
over my nice white bathroom."
Jenny put one hand on her hip and pointed sternly towards the door.
"Laundry Room. Now. March."
Barbara gave her daughter an evil look before skulking into the
laundry room. The cement floor of the stark and utilitarian room
was a far cry from the comfy upstairs bathroom, but it would get
the job done.
Besides, Barbara wasn't going to lose a bet that easily.
The small laundry room didn't have a shower per se, just a shower
nozzle and a floor drain. The lack of a tub or a curtain had
elicited endless complaints from Jenny over the years.
Since Barbara used the laundry room only for laundry, she had
ignored her daughter's griping. And she had also neglected to
fix the lock on the outside door, since the laundry room was
securely separated from the rest of the house by a sturdy door
with a lock that worked.
The broken lock had caused Jenny a great deal of embarrassment
a few weeks ago when their neighbor, old Mr. Peepers, had
"accidentally" walked in on her while she was in the shower.
Barbara read Mr. Peepers the riot act and told him in no uncertain
terms that if he ever entered her house again without knocking,
she would call the police.
But, as a trained psychologist, Barbara decided that minimizing the
incident would help Jenny reconcile with Mr. Peepers more quickly.
Although she casually mentioned to Jenny that she had spoken with
Mr. Peepers, she kept her tone purposefully indifferent. She
breezily dismissed the incident as a harmless accident. She
said that Jenny's accusations were "silly" and chided her for
her "overwrought melodramatics."
"He's got to be at least 80," Barbara had joked. "I doubt he could
even see you through those thick glasses that he wears. Besides, I
suspect that you don't have anything he hasn't seen," she chuckled.
To say that Jenny had been furious with her mother's nonchalant
response would be an understatement.
Now, of course, it was Barbara who had to contend with the laundry
room's shortcomings. She tried to shower quickly, but adjusting
the water temperature correctly with the two rusty old spigots was
difficult. She had barely gotten herself wet when her daughter
returned.
"When are you going to learn to put your clothes away properly?"
Jenny said, as she made a beeline for the tennis outfit heaped on
top of the dryer. "I'm not your maid, you know."
Barbara immediately turned her back. "Jenny, I would like a little
PRIVACY, please!" she shouted.
"Don't take that tone of voice with me, Missy," Jenny shot back.
"When I complained about the laundry room, you said I was being
silly. My fellow students weren't particularly happy the day you
and the other moms marched into the locker room at St. Aggie when
we were showering, but we didn't have much to say about it, did
we?"
She handed Barbara a bar of soap. "The soap on the floor is kind
of gross, so I brought you a fresh bar. I'll be back with a towel
and your clothes in a few minutes, so hurry up."
She scooped up her mother's shoes and clothes and headed towards
the door. Barbara felt a tiny chill as Jenny opened the door to
the house, and the air conditioning blew into the laundry room.
"One other thing, dear. I'd hurry up, if I were you. That
neighbor boy always tries to peep through the window whenever he
sees steam. And your old friend, Mr. Peepers, always seems to
find some excuse to visit."
Barbara swallowed as she looked up at the small laundry room
window. The house was a split level, and that wall backed onto
a tree-lined walkway between the two houses. Whenever Jenny
complained, Barbara told her that the shrubs in front of the
window made it too dark for anyone to see anything. But, of
course, that was the view looking OUT. The bright fluorescent
lighting in the laundry room meant that looking IN was another
story altogether.
Barbara suddenly became extremely conscious of the thick cloud of
steam that had formed around her. The laundry room window was open
just a smidge. But as Barbara watched the steam drift towards the
window, she realized that a smidge would be all it took.
She quickly rinsed the shampoo out of hair. She had to get out
there NOW.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! Her heart skipped a beat as she heard a
banging on the outside door.
"Who is it?" Jennifer called out in a sing song voice. Barbara
watched in horror as her daughter, bath towel and clothes in hand,
scurried back into the room and headed for the outside door....
And opened it.
Mr. Peepers looked at Jennifer with an expression of surprise and
disappointment. "Oh...I'm sorry...I thought you were in the
show.... Uh...I mean, how are you? Uh...your dad asked me for
some finishing nails...well, a couple of years ago. I was in the
hardware store the other day, and I saw some, so I thought I'd
bring them over. I could put them in the toolbox over there in
the corner...."
Barbara gasped as she looked at the toolbox, which was sitting
comfortably on a shelf less than 6 feet from the shower.
She shrank back against the wall as Mr. Peepers attempted to
peer around Jenny. "But, if this is a bad time, I could come
back later...."
"Oh, don't be silly," Jenny said, brightly. "Why don't you just
put the nails on top of the toolbox?"
Barbara's fingers curled and tried to dig into the concrete as she
pressed her back tightly against the laundry room wall.
Mr. Peepers broke into an enormous grin as soon as he spotted
Barbara standing naked against the wall. "Well, well, well,"
he said. "So it was YOU taking the shower. I guess my wife
was right after all.... You ARE a natural blonde."
His leering comment awoke Barbara to the fact that her hands were
still pressed against the wall. She quickly cupped her crotch
with her right hand while shielding her breasts with her left....
As if Mr. Peepers hadn't already seen everything!
"Get out of here, you old pervert!" Barbara yelled. "I'll have
you arrested! Get the fuck out of here!"
"Now, now, now!" he retorted. "I knocked before I entered. And
your daughter invited me in. If there is anyone who should be
arrested, it's you -- prancing around in front of me in your
birthday suit when all I wanted to do was drop off some nails."
"He does have a point, Mother," Jenny said, not even trying to
hide her amusement at her mother's predicament.
Barbara turned her face to the wall and shouted over her shoulder
at her daughter. "I want him out of here NOW, Jennifer!"
"Geez, Mom, don't make such a big deal out of it." Jennifer mocked
her mother with her own words. "I really think you're...well,
overreacting. It's not like you have something he hasn't seen."
"Nice caboose, too," Mr. Peepers added, as he slowly ran his eyes
over Barbara's exposed bottom. "So what do you say, Jennifer?
Should we call the police? I have some buddies on the force who
wouldn't even let her get dressed before they cuff her. And
registering her as a sex offender down at the station would
probably take some time. You could bring her clothes to the
station tomorrow."
"Show's over," Jennifer said, crisply. "I think you've had
enough fun for one day. Why don't you just hand over the
nails and leave?"
He smiled and handed her the nails. "Nice seeing you," he called
out as he opened the door to the yard. "It's obvious now where
Jenny gets her good looks."
Barbara started to yell as soon as he had closed the door, but
Jennifer quickly cut her off. "Dry yourself and put on your new
clothes. I'll be waiting in the car. If you want to CHICKEN OUT,
that would be just fine. We can go to the car dealership instead
of the mall. But remember...I'm just treating you the way you
treat me. That was the bet, wasn't it?"
The next few minutes alone in the laundry room gave Barbara a
chance to cool off. Although she was angry and humiliated, she
had to admit that Jenny was basically right.
Although she was not pleased with her daughter's choice of
clothing, the thought of a return visit from Mr. Peepers compelled
her to dress quickly. The white training bra was an embarrassingly [
good fit, the panties were emblazoned with smiling bears, and the
midriff-baring t-Shirt left her belly-button fully exposed. She
tried repeatedly to tug up her low-rise, cut-off denim shorts, but
to no avail; although she didn't have a mirror, she was certain the
slightest bend on her part would expose the waistband' of her ,
juvenile underpants to the world.
The plain white ankle socks fit, but Jenny had replaced Barbara's
stylish Nikes with a pair of beat-up old sneakers that she had last
worn on a campout years before.
Since there was no hair dryer in the laundry room, she used the
band Jenny had provided to tie her hair into a ponytail. It
didn't really matter. As soon as she got upstairs, she would
change clothes and dry her hair properly. ]
But when she tried to open the door to the house, she found it was
locked. Her keys were in her purse in the house, so she pounded
on the door and shouted. No one answered.
She could use the front door; that was never locked. That would
mean she would have to go out into the yard. But, although she
absolutely despised the outfit her daughter had selected, she
knew she really had no choice.
As she walked out of the laundry room, she was surprised to see
her 19-year-old neighbor, Jimmy, quickly walking out of her yard
and back toward his house.
"Can I help you, Jimmy?" she asked.
"Uh...no," he replied, awkwardly. "I was just doing some yard
work. When I saw your hedges needed trimming, too, I just thought
I'd help out."
Barbara's blinked nervously as she noticed the freshly trimmed
hedge next to the laundry room window. "What's that bottle in
your pocket, Jimmy?" she asked, suspiciously.
"Uh...nothing...just a bottle of window cleaner. The laundry room
window looked a little dirty, that's all."
He tried to stuff the bottle deeper into his pocket, but it was too
late. "The label on that bottle says ANTI-FOG, Jimmy," Barbara
observed.
His reaction surprised her. Although he was 19, he was also .
hopelessly geeky, and Barbara expected him to react with the
same nervous stammer he always had whenever they talked.
But instead, he simply looked at her and smiled. The leering
look on his face as his eyes slowly ran up her bare legs caused
her mouth to go dry.
The role reversal puzzled her. Why was she standing pigeon-toed
while this teenage boy brazenly looked HER up and down? She had
caught him practically red-handed committing a crime.
But it was Barbara who stood there shifting her weight awkwardly
from foot to foot as Jimmy boldly ogled her. He normally couldn't
even look her in the eye. But now he was carefully examining her
flat tummy and slender bare legs.
The inspection was cut short by two quick bursts of a car horn,
followed by Jenny's voice. "Let's get a move on! I want to get
there TO-DAY!" she shouted.
Barbara turned and obediently scampered towards the car. As she
ran towards the car, she heard Jimmy's voice behind her. "Tell
Jenny if she ever needs more finishing nails, I have plenty," he
said, happily. "And if you ever need that little hedge of YOURS
trimmed...."
Blushing, Barbara ran towards the car with a new appreciation for
the power of clothing.
******************************
THE POWER REVERSAL BET/EXPERIMENT CONTINUES, AND BARBIE'S
APPRECIATION FOR THE POWER OF COSTUMING WILL GROW RICHER
AND DEEPER DURING AN ENCOUNTER WITH A SHREWISH SALESCLERK.
JENNY AND BARBIE HEAR OF PADDYWELL ACADEMY.
Part 2
When Barbara reached the car she looked behind her. Sure enough,
Jimmy was still leering at her. No doubt he had enjoyed the rear
view of Barbara running towards the car in her low-rise shorts.
She had planned to simply ask for the house keys so that she could
let herself back into the house to change. But, when she saw Mr.
Peepers ogling her from his front window, she quickly got into the
car in order to end the free show.
"Jenny, can I have the keys?" she said. "These pants are indecent,
and the bra is way too...too...."
"Welcome to high school, little girl," Jenny chuckled. "Like it or
not, you have to wear what the other kids wear if you don't want to
have the stuffings knocked out of you."
She put the car into gear and began to back out of the driveway.
"Imagine a big time psychologist not understanding peer pressure,"
she teased. "Don't they teach you kids anything in school these
days?" she added, clearly relishing the chance to mock her mother
with her own words.
"But my purse is in the house, Jenny," Barbara whined.
"Just as well," Jenny said. "I'm paying the bills, and you'll do
things my way. No money and no ID will keep you from wandering off
when we're at the mall. Besides, I don't want you wasting money on
a lot of junk."
The phrase "wasting money on a lot of junk" was one of Barbara's
favorites, and it steamed her to hear her daughter use it on her.
But the next phrase brought the argument to an end.
"You know, since you called me 'Jenny,' I should win the bet by
default," Jenny said, with a smile. "Parents name their children,
and call their children by their first names, not the other way
around. Maybe we should just go to the car dealership."
"I'm sorry...Mom," Barbara replied. Although she knew now that she
was the victim of a wager gone awry, she would be damned if she was
going to buy her smug daughter that car.
"Okay, Barbie, we'll just let it go for now. We WILL have to
discuss the punishment for your flip attitude towards me and
the disgraceful language you used in front of Mr. Peepers.
But now we'll just concentrate on getting your school uniform.
"'Barbie' is such a cute name, don't you think?" Jenny added,
playfully. "It's much cuter than 'Barbara.' 'Barbie' reminds
me of the doll. How would you like to be my great big Barbie
doll, honey? We'll take you out and get you a nice new school
uniform, just like the Barbie dolls get every fall."
"Whatever you say, Mother," Barbara replied, coolly. She hated to
be called "Barbie," and she hated Barbie dolls even more. But she
knew that she wouldn't win the bet unless she played along.
As the drive continued, she began to wonder what her "punishment"
might be. She hadn't spanked Jenny for several years. But that
didn't keep her from threatening Jenny with the juvenile punishment
from time to time. "Don't ever think you're too old for a
spanking," she had warned. "That antique slipper on my dresser
is still reserved for you. You remember that slipper, don't
you, Jenny? Well, as long as I'm paying the bills, you'll do
what I say!"
Barbara's bottom cheeks flexed defensively as she recalled the
extremely unfortunate choice of words. Although she hadn't
experienced it herself, she knew from her daughter's reaction
that, though the slipper didn't do any actual damage, it stung
like a fury.
And to make matters even worse, she had always spanked Jenny
bare-bottom.
Barbara fidgeted in her seat as she contemplated her options.
Although Jenny had inherited her mother's drive and determination,
she had inherited her large frame from her father. At 5'10", Jenny ..;
was a full 8 inches taller than her mother, and, although Barbara
was in excellent shape, she knew that, if push came to shove, her
muscular and athletic daughter could handle her easily.
At the first stoplight, Jenny stopped to buckle Barbie's belt.
The action was noticed by an old woman in the crosswalk who smiled
approvingly.
Barbara looked at her daughter closely. Jenny had exchanged her
contacts for her emergency wire rim glasses, doubtlessly to look
older. With her stylishly short hair, makeup, and power suit,
she looked every bit the young professional.
Barbara barely recognized the tiny girl with the pony tail whose
reflection stared stupidly back at her. Without makeup, she looked
every bit as young as her clothes suggested.
"You know, Barbie, if your new uniform is REALLY cute, maybe we can
have you wear it to the next board meeting," Jenny chuckled. "What
better way to prove how darling they are then to model one for all
your friends?"
Jenny eventually tired of teasing her mother, and Barbara at last
closed her eyes. It had been a hard day on the tennis courts, and
she was relieved that her daughter was driving.
As her mind began to drift, she began to think about her school
uniform. She hoped it was plaid; she liked plaid. A white blouse
and a knee-length skirt would be nice. If done correctly, she
might even look like a stewardess.
But, as she drifted farther off, other images invaded her mind.
Her flight attendant fantasy quickly devolved into a nightmare
of curfews, homework, and school rules. She was at the Board
meeting now, and she was wearing the school uniform. Mr. Peepers
and Jimmy both had front row seats, and they grinned broadly as
the superintendent of schools turned Barbie over his knee. "As
you can see, these uniforms make it easy to raise a girl's skirt
and lower her underpants for a spanking," he said, pedantically.
"Here...let me demonstrate...."
The scene shifted suddenly and she felt dazed. There was a hand
on her shoulder, shaking her, and then her daughter's voice, "Wake
up, Barbie! We're here."
Barbie wiped her eyes. Although she hated the idea of marching
through the mall in her skimpy outfit, she was nonetheless relieved
to be rescued from her Halloween fright-mare.
Little did she know that the real nightmare was just beginning.
After less than a minute in the mall, Barbie realized that her
daughter had been right about her clothing. While the
professionally attired Jenny earned nary a glance, Barbie's
skimpy outfit made her a visual target. Most men noticed her
bare midriff before their eyes traveled down her legs. A few
took their time; others quickly dismissed her as tasty but deadly
jail-bait.
Sometimes they just gave her a quick leer; it was the men seated on
the benches who seemed to make the most leisurely appraisals. Most
of them never even bothered to make eye contact although a few did
take the time for a suggestive smile.
Barbie liked the men who simply ogled her better than the men that
ogled and then smiled. The smiles weren't friendly or warm; to
her, the smiles were knowing and sarcastic. The smiles slyly
suggested Barbie was a little bimbo unworthy of serious attention.
It was a sign of contempt. "You look nice today, you little
tease," their smiles seemed to say. "Do you know what I would
like to do to you?"
Most of the women didn't make eye contact either, but the few who
did look her in the face, didn't bother to hide their loathing or
disgust. Barbie knew the look well; it was the same look that she
routinely gave to Britney wannabes.
Barbie wanted to stop the women and explain that she wasn't a
little tramp. She was one of them.
But, deep down, she knew that it would do no good. She was no
longer one of them. Now she was one of THEM.
By the time their long march to the uniform store ended, Barbie
felt totally defeated. The perky tone of the old woman running
the shop did little to help her spirits.
The woman totally ignored Barbie and focused instead on Jenny.
"What can I do for you today, ma'am?" the old woman asked,
pleasantly. "Let me guess...surgical scrubs? A nurse's uniform,
perhaps?"
"No, it's not for me; it's for my daughter," Jennifer said. "She's
going to be giving a talk on school uniforms, and I wanted to see
if we could find one for her to wear as sort of a demonstration."
"Splendid," the clerk replied. "We have uniforms from all of the
local schools. They're all along the back wall. Was there
something in particular you were interested in?"
Barbie seized the opportunity. "I wanted something that was
plaid...not too uniformy, but kind of...."
But Jenny had already moved to a rack in the back. "What is this?"
she asked, holding up a short gray blazer.
"You have excellent taste," the clerk gushed. "Those are the
uniforms for Paddywell Academy."
"Paddywell?" Jenny said, her curiosity piqued. "I've never heard
of it."
"It's a private reformatory for young women aged 18 to 40. The ;
women are usually there for petty offenses -- library fines,
parking violations, jaywalking, that sort of thing. The
headmaster, Dr. Leamus, says the structured boarding school
environment turns even the most obnoxious hellion into a polite
little girl."
The clerk dropped her voice and whispered to Jenny. "Of course,
there WAS that scandal a few years ago, but that doesn't seem
to have slowed the place down very much."
"Scandal?" Barbie said. "What sort of scandal?"
The clerk blithely ignored Barbie and kept on talking to Jenny.
"As you can see the blazer is 100% polyester. It's stain-resistant
and machine washable, so...."
"Tell me about the scandal," Jenny said.
"Well, a few years ago, one of the girls escaped. Don't ask me
how; the security there is like Alcatraz. Anyway, she went to
the police and claimed that the male professors watched the young
women in the shower, and spanked them, and...um...used them." The
clerk dropped her voice and whispered in Jenny's ear, "That is,
used them in...inappropriate ways."
"I think I get the picture," Jenny said. "What happened?"
"Nothing, of course," the saleswoman shrugged. "The Sheriff and
the mayor are both on Paddywell's board. Actually, if you want
to visit, it's just a mile down the road. It's a big Gothic
building on top of a hill. There's a huge stone wall around it
and, about 100 yards beyond that, an electric fence. It's so
close that sometimes when I walk out to my car at night I can
actually hear the guard dogs barking. I think I have a business
card somewhere...."
"Guard dogs?" Barbie said. "Electric fence?"
The older woman looked over her glasses at Barbie. "Your habit of
interrupting adults suggests a visit to Paddywell might be just the
thing you need," she said, slyly.
Barbie swallowed. She wasn't interrupting. She was just asking a
question. It wasn't fair!
After putting Barbie back in her place, the clerk immediately
returned to her conversation with Jenny. "I should warn you in
advance that Dr. Leamus takes only students who are 18 years or
older."
Barbie's jaw dropped. She had been worried that no one would
believe that she was Jenny's daughter. But obviously that was
not a problem.
The salesclerk handed Barbie the skirt and jacket combination.
"This is your size, dear; why don't you go into the changing room
and try it on?"
"Do you sell regulation Academy underwear?" Jenny asked.
"Of course. But, if your daughter tries it on, you can't return
it."
"No problem. I guarantee you are going to get a sale tonight."
The clerk's mood brightened further. "I'll get it right away,
ma'am. And a regulation blouse and tie, as well."
Barbie looked at the outfit doubtfully. It was a gray blazer
with an ugly gold, red, and blue patch on the breast. The words
"PADDYWELL" was written out in Gothic script in a crescent curve
at the top of the patch. Below that was a picture of a paddle,
a tawse, and a cane, crossed to form a sort of 6-pointed star.
At the bottom of the patch was a Latin phrase:
Castigo Acerbe
Castigo Nudos
It was exactly what Barbie didn't want. The absurd and brightly
colored patch eliminated the slightest doubt that this was a school
uniform. And the image of the cane and strap would doubtlessly
draw nervous laughter and knowing smiles from everyone who saw it.
"I don't think a bra is really necessary in her case," the clerk
said, coldly, once again referring to Barbie in the 3rd person.
"Dr. Leamus prefers tight half-shirts for the underdeveloped
girls."
"I'm not a girl, and I'm not underdeveloped," Barbie shot back.
"And you need glasses, you old biddy."
"Barbie, I'm shocked...SHOCKED!" Jenny said in her best
"hand-in-the-cookie-jar" voice. "Here this nice woman is
trying to help us, and you insult her. We're going to have
a lot to talk about tonight, young lady."
Jenny took the other things from the clerk and tossed them to
Barbie, who managed to catch them, awkwardly.
"Changing room!" Jenny said. "March!"
Barbie couldn't decide what was the worst part of this experience.
Was it the uniform? The way her opinions were being ignored? The
ugly and ominous patch? Her daughter's attitude?
As she slouched off to the changing room, holding the uniform in
one hand and the underwear in the other, feeling like a prisoner
walking the last mile, Barbie decided that it was definitely the
salesclerk's smug, superior smile.
The one good thing about the skimpy outfit Jenny had given her to
wear was that it didn't take long to remove. Barbie ripped the
cellophane off the panties and quickly put them on.
The low-rise panties were snug and tight, with a very high leg cut.
As she looked over her shoulder, she could see that the waistband
left the top of her buttocks just barely visible. In front, a few
blonde pubic hairs peeked out enticingly.
Although the underpants were plain, white, undecorated cotton they
were unlike any school uniform panties she had ever seen. These
underpants were not designed for comfort or wear. At a real
reformatory these panties would make no sense. But, as she
recalled the salesclerk's whispered tales of "inappropriate"
behavior, the puzzle came together.
These panties were selected by a man.
Barbie's realization was interrupted by a flood of light as the
salesclerk casually ripped open the changing room curtain.
"You see, I was right," the woman said, brightly. "She doesn't
need a bra at all."
Barbie's arms flew over her chest to cover her tiny buds.
"You hurry up and change, dear...quick like a bunny!" the clerk
patronized. "Your mother looks like a very sophisticated and
successful woman, and I'm sure she has lots of important things
to do."
The salesclerk didn't even notice Barbie's infuriated scowl, not
that it would have mattered if she had. As the woman walked away,
Barbie saw Jenny standing by, arms folded.
Jenny's satisfied "I-told-you-so" grin spoke volumes.
Barbie tried not to expose herself as she closed the curtain, but
it was yet another battle that she lost. And Jenny's smug laughter
made her defeat all the more complete.
Her daughter HAD told her so, but she wouldn't listen. Barbie was
too smart, too educated, too worldly to let a little thing like a
change of clothes get the better of her.
What a difference a few hours can make.
She quickly pulled on her t-shirt. As she had feared, the tight
half-shirt left her flat as a board. The starched blouse and ,
dorky clip-on tie were awful, and the scratchy gray micro-skirt
barely covered her underpants.
When Barbie walked out into the main store in her new uniform, the
salesclerk actually clapped her hands. "How delightful! How
charming! It's as cute as a bug."
To her distress, Barbie noticed that another couple had entered the
store. The woman was looking at nurses' uniforms while her bored
husband sat in a chair and stared blankly into space.
But when the man saw Barbie leave the dressing room, he quickly
changed chairs to that he could get a better view.
"Why don't you walk back and forth, and turn a few times, so we can
get a better look at it, dear," the clerk suggested, unhelpfully.
Barbie looked at the grinning man nervously. She hated the
uniform, and she hated the way everyone was looking at her.
But when her "Mother" nodded, she reluctantly began to "model"
the clothes.
She tried to tug/pull the skirt down as she walked back and forth. "I
think you made a mistake with the skirt," she said anxiously.
"This is WAY too short."
"No, that's how it's supposed to be, dear," the clerk replied,
condescendingly. "The stricter the school, the shorter the skirt."
The salesclerk once again redirected her conversation to the woman
with the checkbook, Jenny. "And, as you can see, Paddywell is as
strict as they come. Isn't it just ADORABLE?"
"Just peachy!" Jenny replied. "So M-...uh...Barbie, what do you
think of school uniforms NOW?"
"I hate it! I look like a dork! The tie is so nerdy, and the
skirt barely covers my butt!"
"Perfect!" Jenny said, enthusiastically. "We'll take it."
"But, MOM!" Barbie whined. "I can't wear THIS! If the wind
blows...."
The salesclerk lifted the front of Barbie's skirt and completed the
sentence in a sing-song voice, "Everyone will see where the grass
grows!"
Barbie looked across the room at the grinning man, who was now
staring directly at the curly blonde hairs at the top of her
pubic mound.
Crimson-faced, Barbie angrily yanked her skirt down. She couldn't
believe that the old woman had just lifted her skirt. IN PUBLIC!
"You know, Dr. Leamus usually keeps the girls shaved for just
that reason," the clerk said, her voice once again dropping to
a whisper. "You really should consider that if she is going to
be wearing this on a regular basis."
"I'll certainly keep that in mind," Jenny said, thoughtfully.
"What about shoes?"
Barbie spent another 30 minutes parading around the store in the
skimpy uniform, much to the amusement of the seated male customer.
The poor man just wasn't able to find anything he liked his wife in
for the longest time.
First there were the black shoes, then the socks. And the clerk
spent more time fitting Barbie with the atrociously ugly school cap
than she had fitting her with the uniform.
"Should I wrap it...or will she just wear it home?" the clerk
suggested, maliciously, as she swiped Jenny's credit card.
(The old biddy! She knew that Barbie hated that uniform, and
now she wanted to make her parade around the mall in it.)
"No, please wrap it up," Jenny said. "I want to keep it nice.
Jenny turned to Barbie. "Go change back into your regular
clothes, dear. I saw another place I wanted to stop at on the
way out."
"Quick like a bunny!" the salesclerk added, merrily.
For the first time the clerk had actually asked Barbie to do
something she WANTED to do. Jenny chuckled as she watched
Barbie obediently scurry back to the changing room.
******************************
BARBIE LEARNS THAT THE MALL'S DOC-IN-A-BOX CLINIC HAPPILY GIVES
VERY THOROUGH SCHOOL SPORTS PHYSICALS.
Part 3
Barbie was naked save for the brief reformatory underpants when the
salesclerk boldly ripped the changing curtain open. Since Jenny
and her credit card were not present, the clerk dispensed with her
insincere smile. "Your mother said I should start wrapping as soon
you got undressed" she said. "Hurry up, you little brat. I don't
have all night."
Barbie felt her stomach knot. Jenny had sent the clerk back into
the dressing room. Apparently her "Mother" was determined to show
her what it was like to have no modesty whatsoever.
And it was only Friday night. How was she ever going to make it to ,
Sunday?
She had already stripped down to her panties. The clerk folded her
arms and grinned evilly as, clearly embarrassed, Barbie struggled
to wiggle the tight garment off her hips.
But the scowl returned as Barbie faced her to hand over her final
shred of modesty. Although Barbie was now stark naked, the gruff
clerk didn't bother to close either the curtain to her changing
room or the curtain that separated the changing area from the rest
of the store.
Barbie quickly closed the curtain and changed back into her street
clothes. Although she hated the idea of parading through the mall
in her skimpy "teen tease" outfit, it was still infinitely
preferable to the reformatory uniform.
Much to her relief, the nurse and her voyeur husband were gone
by the time she emerged from the changing room. The clerk soon
arrived from the back of the store and handed Jenny the neatly
bagged clothes. "While I was in the back, I took the liberty of .
calling Paddywell and telling them about your daughter. Dr. Leamus
wasn't there, but Prof. Lakewood said that, if you would like to
take a tour, you can drop by any time this weekend. He says that,
if you like the establishment, you could even stay overnight, as
his guest. I think that would be much nicer than a hotel, don't
you?"
"Much less expensive, too," Jenny added, giving Barbie a knowing
look.
"The guest rooms are quite opulent, from what I've been told," the
clerk continued. "Of course, your daughter would have to sleep in
the dormitory with the other girls, but, since she has a uniform, I
don't think that would be a problem. I do think they'd probably
want to shave off her little blonde peach fuzz before they let her
shower with the other girls, though."
Barbie's hand flew to the front of her shorts in an involuntary
defensive response. Her mind was racing. Didn't that scandal
involve men supervising female students in the shower room?
"I put the Paddywell business card in the bag and also threw in an
extra set of underwear, free of charge, in case you decide to stay
overnight," the clerk said. "Once again, I'd really suggest that
you try it. I hear the food is quite wonderful.... Well, the food
for the faculty and guests is quite wonderful, to be more precise,"
she said, once again giving Barbie a knowing smile.
Barbie looked over her shoulder at the grinning woman as Jenny led
her by the hand out of the store. The clerk gave Barbie a playful
wink and theatrically rubbed her bottom.
Barbie was once again exposed to the leering glances of the mall's
many patrons, but she didn't care. At least she was out of that
awful shop.
She was surprised when Jenny stopped and opened the door to a tiny
"Doc-in-a-Box" medical center that occupied a corner in the Mall.
"Why are we stopping here?" she asked. "Aren't you feeling well?"
Jenny smiled. "Can't you guess? Remember, you're my daughter
now."
Barbie looked at Jenny blankly. She hadn't a clue.
But it all came back instantly when Jenny began speaking to the
receptionist. "My daughter is going out for the soccer team this
year. I was wondering if she could get a quick physical?"
"Well, I have the forms for the Monroe High School Sports Physical
right here," the receptionist said. "But we were going to close
in a few minutes, and the nurse has already gone home."
"That's not a problem," Jenny replied. "I can stay in the room."
Barbie was stunned. Jenny had complained that the large "group
physicals" at St. Agnes were humiliating, especially since Barbara
and the other mothers usually stayed in the room and munched on
doughnuts while the girls were put through their paces.
Barbara had always dismissed Jenny's concerns as "silly." But, as
she watched the receptionist pull down a fresh piece of paper to
cover the exam table, her perspective instantly changed.
"You win the bet," she said to Jenny. "I'll get you the car.
I was totally, completely, 100% wrong, and you were absolutely
right. Let's go home."
Jenny leaned back in her chair and smiled triumphantly. After a
long pause, she said, "I'm sure you don't mean that, dear. You're
just nervous about your exam. But that's normal for girls your
age. Don't worry...I'll be right here, watching everything."
Barbie gritted her teeth as once again her daughter mocked her with
her own words. "No, I was wrong," Barbie said. "I was more than
wrong; I was stupid. You tried to explain the uniform thing to me,
and I just wouldn't listen. Well, I've learned my lesson, and we
can go home now. I'll pay you back for the uniform, and the hotel,
and everything else when we get home."
"It's not quite that simple, Barbie. I didn't drive all this way
just to have you chicken out. And remember, no one here knows you,
and you have no money and no ID. If you make a scene or try to run
away, you might very well end up in Paddywell without me."
Jenny crossed her legs at the ankle and smiled as she leaned
farther back in her chair. "This whole thing is about power,
and you're not in a position to bargain. This ends when I say
it ends."
Barbie knew her daughter was right, although she was surprised that
Jenny had put the matter to her so boldly. Barbie was still trying
to muster a response when Jenny relented.
"However, I do think that you have learned your lesson, albeit
not totally, and not to my complete and personal satisfaction.
So I am willing to accept your forfeit offer, with the additional
condition that you continue to play along with me until tomorrow
night, instead of Sunday. That means you get off 24 hours early.
And I want a NEW Mustang, not a used one. That's the deal."
"Jenny, a new Mustang costs...."
"I wonder if they'll have those little perfumed soaps in my room
at Paddywell? Jenny mused. "Of course, YOU'LL probably be washing
in some big gang shower room with green industrial soap."
"Deal," Barbie said, extending her hand.
Mother and daughter quickly shook hands, and the new agreement was
struck. Barbie hated the thought of another morning under Jenny's
thumb, but she knew her daughter was right. She really had no
choice.
The door opened, and the doctor entered. "I see here that we need
a sports physical for Monroe High," he said. "Sounds simple
enough. If you can just strip down to your underwear, we can
get started...."
He looked up from his clipboard long enough to glance at Barbie
and then at Jenny. He blinked. "Mrs. Wilson, is that YOU?"
"Um...yes, it is, Billy" Barbie said. "How are you?"
He looked at his chart, then back at Barbie, and then finally at
Jenny. "Uh...what's going on? This paper here says you need a
school physical.... Why are you two dressed that way?"
Barbie couldn't believe the level of disaster. They were more than
200 miles from home, and they stopped at a random Doc-in-a-Box, and
they ran into someone they knew. Billy grew up three blocks from
them and used to baby sit for Jenny when he was in high school.
But Jenny was more than up to the occasion. She quickly explained
the bet and recounted the events thus far. Barbie squirmed on the
white paper as Billy chuckled merrily at Jenny's "humorous" and
articulate narrative.
"And now I'd like her to see what it's like to get a physical when
someone else is watching," Jenny finally said. "Can you help us
out?"
"Yeah, I suppose so," Billy said. "Actually, it might be fun. I
kind of had a crush on your mom when I was in high school."
Billy turned to Barbie and gave his first order. "Why don't you
just strip down to your underwear, Barbie, so we can get started?
This shouldn't take long."
Barbie bit her lip nervously. When Billy had recognized her, she
had thought her ordeal was over. But now the little geek who used
to baby sit for pocket change was actually going to EXAMINE her.
She stared at him dumbly.
"If you want to go back on our deal, I'm sure I can probably
arrange to have you examined at Paddywell instead," Jenny observed.
Barbie hurriedly pulled her t-shirt over her head as Dr. Billy ran
down the physical check list.
"Do you have any allergies, muscle pain, back pain, fevers, or
sores?
"Fainting spells?
"Are you in good physical health? Have you been hospitalized for
anything in the last 10 years?
"Do you have any illness or infirmity that would prevent you from
participating fully in an after-school sport? Has anyone in your
immediate family ever suffered from such an illness of infirmity?"
Dr. Billy looked up from his clipboard and smiled. All was the
same as before, except now his patient was sitting on the edge
of the examination table wearing nothing but her training bra and
childish panties.
Jenny smiled too. She knew her mom had gone to a female doctor for
years, and it was high time that she had a chance to experience
what it was like to be examined by a man. Although Billy was
outwardly professional (as all male doctors always pretended to
be), it was obvious to everyone in the room that his interest in
Barbie was not entirely scientific.
Barbie's embarrassment eased somewhat as Billy took her temperature
with an ear thermometer before taking her blood pressure and
listening to her heart. She felt a bit less comfortable when he
ordered her onto the scale, particularly when he noted to Jenny,
after measuring Barbie's height that she was "a bit small for her
age."
But she didn't begin to feel really uncomfortable until he ordered
her to lie on her "tummy." She tensed as he examined her foot and
then slowly began massaging her calf.
The thumping and squeezing were professional, but that was no
consolation to her. She was now lying on a table while a young
man who looked scarcely older than her daughter slowly massaged
and tapped her calves...her thighs...her bare back.... The fact
that her daughter was watching the whole thing with a huge grin
on her face only made matters worse.
When Dr. Billy ordered her to roll over so he could do her front,
Barbie squeezed her thighs closely together, in the hope that her
arousal wouldn't show.
She lay helplessly as he massaged, poked, and probed her legs,
hips, and stomach. She was relieved when he told her she could
sit up. She kept her thighs clenched together as she swung her
legs around, attempting to hide the wet stain on the front of
her panties.
"You can get dressed now," Dr. Billy said. "That's it."
Barbie was already reaching for her jeans when Jenny spoke up.
"Could you give her a breast exam, Doctor? I know it seems silly,
but I'd really like to be sure."
"Well, that isn't really part of the school physical," Dr. Billy
replied. He paused and slowly looked Barbie up and down. "But
of course, seeing as how you're an old friend, I'd be happy to
throw it in," he said with a smile.
"Just slip off your training bra, Barbie, and the doctor will give
you a nice exam," Jenny said, sweetly. "Anything we do today we
won't have to do at Paddywell."
The lightly veiled threat worked, and Barbie obediently shed her
bra.
She flushed beet red as Dr. Billy slowly and methodically squeezed
her tiny breasts. Jenny smiled. As she had hoped, Billy was doing
a VERY thorough job.
He smiled as Barbie's nipples became erect. "Are you sexually
active, Barbie?"
"Um...yes," she answered.
"Yes...what?"
"Yes...um...um...s-sir."
"And do you use birth control?"
"Yes, sir, a diaphragm and jelly."
"That's not totally reliable. How often do you have sex?"
"Well, I've been married so long...only a few times a month; I
mostly use a vibrator...s-sir...."
Barbie had forgotten momentarily that Jenny was present. Her voice
trailed off, and she glanced at the girl sheepishly. Jenny was now
grinning from ear to ear.
"Do you suppose you could give her a quick internal exam, Doctor?"
Jenny asked.
"Sure...no extra charge," he replied, brightly. "I don't about
'quick,' though. These things really shouldn't be rushed...."
"Well, you ARE the doctor, Doctor."
Barbie felt dizzy as she watched the smiling young doctor slowly
unfold the stirrups and snap them into place. He spread them
wide -- wider than she had ever seen foot stirrups placed.
She had hoped to keep her arousal a secret. But now that would be
impossible.
She stood up, looking first at Billy and then at her grinning
daughter. After taking a deep breath, she slowly eased her
panties down to her knees....
******************************
By the time they reached the hotel, Barbie's 14-karat embarrassed
submissiveness had faded and was beginning to be replaced by
outright annoyance. In fact, the recollection of what her darling
daughter had just done to her left her more than a little pissed.
"Geez...what a dump," she said as they entered the lobby. "Does
this place have a pool?"
"Yes, a small one, in back," Fred Dobbs, the manager, said. "But
it's closed now."
"THAT figures," Barbie said, sulking.
"You don't have a suit anyway, dear," Jenny noted.
"Who needs a stupid old suit!" Barbie said, in a huff. "I can just
skinny-dip." Impulsively, she gave Fred a playful wink.
Jenny shot her an angry look, well aware that her mother didn't
know how to swim, and that she was, in fact, terrified of the
water. Clearly Barbie was simply using swimming as a way to jerk
Jenny's chain.
"Don't worry, Mom," Barbie said. "If we get kicked out of this
fleabag you can just drive us home tonight. It's a long drive,
but I can sleep in the backseat."
"We're not going to be kicked out," Jenny said, tightly. "And this
is not a fleabag."
"Do you have any movies?" Barbie said to the manager. "I wanna
movie."
"We don't need movies," Jenny snapped. She handed him her credit
card. "And I'd watch my mouth, young lady. Remember that I
promised you a discussion about your behavior...later? Well,
this is later. You still have a good spanking coming."
Fred smiled, and Barbie immediately fell silent. She had
forgotten about Jenny's promise to punish her for swearing at
Mr. Peepers. She tried to tell herself that it was a bluff.
After all, no matter how she was dressed, Barbara was still 38
years old. She was too old for a spanking.
Wasn't she?
Too old or not, the threat did its job, and Barbie remained silent
for the rest of the check-in. The smiling manager seemed to be
tickled by the idea that the young woman who had insulted his hotel
was about to be spanked. "This room is at the end of the hall," he
said, handing Jenny the key. "There is no one else in that end of
the hotel, so noise won't be a problem."
He dropped his voice and whispered to Jenny in a conspiratorial
manner, "If you want my opinion, when it comes to discipline, I
think a THOROUGH approach is best."
Barbie shot him an evil glare and stuck out her tongue as she
followed Jenny to the elevator.
As soon as they reached their large but bland and characterless
room, Jenny went into the bathroom and unwrapped a bar of soap,
which she placed on a small table, next to the TV.
Then she reached into her purse and extracted an old Turkish
slipper -- THE slipper...the one she herself had always been
spanked with.
Barbie swallowed as soon as the slipper came into view.
"Your sudden interest in swimming gave me an idea," Jenny said.
"I'm going to leave you here for a few minutes. I want you to
do nothing until I get back. That means no phone calls, no TV,
and, above all, no leaving the room. When I return, I'm going
to use this soap to wash your mouth out, for the language you
used in front of Mr. Peepers. Then I'm going punish you for
being rude to that nice old lady in the store, for being rude
to the hotel manager, and for being rude to me. The punishment
is going to be with my hand and with this slipper, and it is
going to be on your bare bottom. Afterwards you will stand in
the corner until I decide that you've had enough. Questions?"
Barbie said nothing, but simply stared at her shoes.
"Good," Jenny said, as she headed for the door. "I'll be back
soon. I want you to spend the time thinking about your offenses."
As soon as Jenny slammed the door, Barbie crossed over to the table
and picked up the slipper. She had gotten it as a decorator item
years ago -- cheap, because there was only one. Later, it had
come in handy as an instrument of correction. She knew that it
certainly elicited tearful contrition from her daughter, but
she had never bothered to find out exactly why.
But she was about to learn.
It seemed heavier than she remembered.
She tried to bend it, but the smooth sole wasn't very flexible.
Camel hide, she imagined, or maybe goat. The top was somewhat
faded, but still ornate, embroidered with silk thread and gold in
elaborate, floral arabesques. It was at least a century old and
would still be in good shape a hundred years into the future.
"Damned old world craftsmanship," she thought, ruefully, as she
tapped the slipper against her palm.
She experimentally swung the slipper through the air and brought it
down sharply on her palm.
WHAP!
"OWW!" she winced. She dropped the slipper and immediately put her
scalded palm under her arm. That HURT! Really HURT!
She put the slipper back on the table and picked up the soap. She
pondered how Jenny would do it. Would she stick the whole bar in
her mouth? Would she use a washcloth to create a lather? Would
she scrape it and put the flakes in her mouth?
Barbie used her fingernail to scrape a bit of the soap off the bar
and put it on her tongue. But she tasted nothing.
She put her finger on her tongue and rubbed it back and forth until
her finger began to glide easily back and forth over her tongue's
rough surface. The gag reflex followed almost immediately, and
soon she was on her knees attempting to spit the lather out into
the trash can.
As she rinsed her mouth out in the bathroom, she envisioned herself
over Jenny's knee with a bar of soap in her mouth, gagging as her
daughter tanned her bottom with the slipper.
One thing was for sure. However Jenny decided to use the soap, it
wasn't going to taste very good.
Barbie picked the bar of soap up off the rug and put it back on
the table. "This is just what she wants me to do," she thought.
"That's why she left the soap and the slipper out. She wants me
to stare at them, and imagine the punishment, and drive myself
crazy until she gets back. She's trying to torture me, and I'm
letting her."
Barbie decided her time would be better spent trying to figure out
an exit strategy. The first step was to understand her situation
and find any weaknesses in her enemies. Knowledge was her friend.
She took the school uniform blazer out of the bag. It was, without
doubt, the scariest Halloween costume she had ever seen, but she
tried to look at it objectively.
She examined the crest on the jacket:
Castigo Acerbe
Castigo Nudos
What did it mean? She looked at the TV...and then at the PC across
the room. Jenny had told her not to watch TV, but she didn't say
not to look stuff up on the Internet. She found a keyboard in the
desk drawer and quickly logged onto the system.
It took her only a minute to find a Latin-English dictionary. The
translation, while insightful, did little to ease her already
troubled mind:
Castigo: Chastise
Acerbe: Harshly
Nudos: Naked
So the school's motto was depressingly clear.
She was about to do a search on Paddywell Academy when the hotel
room door opened.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jenny said. "I told you
no TV!"
"I wasn't watching TV," Barbie said. "I was on the Internet."
"You KNOW what I meant!" Jenny shouted. "I told you to do nothing
until I returned, and when I come back you're on the Internet. How
much did that cost, anyway?”
"Um...$9...."
"After I tan your fanny, I'm going to march you down to see the
hotel manager," Jenny said. You're going to explain to him that
you used the Internet without permission, and you're going to tell
him exactly -- and I mean EXACTLY -- how I punished you. And then
you're going to ask him to take this charge off my bill."
"I'll pay for it," Barbie said, weakly.
"You certainly will, young lady," Jenny said, as she picked up the
slipper.
She pulled the chair away from the table and beckoned Barbie
forward. "Since you're so interested in swimming, young lady,
you'll be pleased to know that there is a YWCA across the street."
"I...um...don't know how to swim," Barbie admitted.
"That's why I arranged a swimming lesson for you tomorrow morning."
"But I don't have a suit."
"You won't need one. There is a women-only pool where suits are
optional. Of course, we will have to shave off your peach fuzz.
That way you'll fit in with the other little girls who are learning
to swim."
"I don't want to go in the water!" Barbie cried, desperately.
"Since this is your first lesson, you'll mostly just stand by the
pool and practice arm and leg movements. Don't worry -- there is
a special glassed-in lounge area where I can sit with the other
moms and drink Starbucks while I watch you do your exercises."
Barbie swallowed. The thought of prancing around the pool shaved
and naked for Jenny's amusement was not a pleasant one.
She stared nervously at the slipper as Jenny undid the snap of her
shorts and began pulling down the zipper. The YWCA would be awful,
but, right now, Barbie had bigger problems.
Edited by C. Lakewood
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