Great Expectations: Jobless & Skirtless

Standing on the doorstep, I took a deep breath and prepared myself. My keys jingled a little in my nervous hands until I slid the house key into the brass colored lock. I stepped inside, already feeling their disappointment weighing on me like a ton of bricks. Figuratively, I dragged my feet to the kitchen where they sat waiting for me and hoping I would have good news for a change. I wished it were the case, but this isn’t a fairytale.

As soon as Mom laid eyes on me her hopeful smile became a disappointed frown. Her expression stung like a harsh slap and my cheek turned away just the same. Dad just shook his head, barely even looking at me. I didn’t blame him, I wouldn’t be able to look at me either. I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with half ice and half water, a habit of mine meant to conceal my nervousness. Glass in hand, I stepped up to the table, not bothering to sit down because I knew the lecture was forthcoming. Standing like the accused waiting for a verdict is just another part of the weekly routine that has become my life.

“32 interviews in as many weeks.” Dad said.

Last week it was 31. The week before it was 30 and next week it will be 33. It’s not that I’ve given up, I haven’t. It’s that reality trumps dreams and reality is a little short on available careers for people with my education. Call it bad timing, bad luck or just bad choices, it doesn’t really matter, the end result is still me, standing here.

“What are you going to do?” Dad asked.

I don’t know. How about I stare blankly at the floor until you fulfill your need to berate me and my already battered self confidence? When your done, I’ll sit down in front of my computer and search the job boards, send out my résumé to another three or four places and wait for a response. The exact same thing I have been doing for the last 32 weeks.

“What do you want me to say?” I asked.

“Don’t get smart with me, young lady.” Dad replied.

Good thing I didn’t say what I was really thinking isn’t it?

“Didn’t we tell you this would happened?” Dad asked.

Shall I count all the ways? You never supported my goals or my plans and while I’m not foolish enough to blame you, I don’t see why you feel the need to constantly remind me I was wrong. Maybe if the economy hadn’t imploded things would have worked out a bit differently, but it did. Please forgive me, I forgot to consult my crystal ball when I chose my major four years ago.

“I still don’t understand what was wrong with a simple business degree.” Mom said.

Only that everyone has one. If you want to succeed in the world today you need to stand out. 30 weeks ago I would have said it aloud, but now I’ll just sip some cold water.

“Answer your mother.” Dad ordered.

Tears stung at the corners of my eyes as I forced myself to give the apology they wanted to hear. Why is it so hard to say you’re sorry when you‘re not? White lies come so easy at other times but false apologies come out like pulled teeth, slow and painful.

“Nothing. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” I said.

“That’s all fine and good, but your long overdue apologies don’t put a paycheck in your bank account and they damn sure don’t help pay the mortgage on the roof over your head.” Dad said.

My empty wallet and absent social life do a damn good job of reminding me of that fact everyday, but thanks for pointing it out again. I’m not asking for sympathy cards or violins, but don’t you think I’m miserable enough without you restating the obvious every week? I sipped at my water to keep from saying anything I’d regret.

“Week after week we’ve waited and hoped for the best, but there comes a point when you need to start dealing with reality. I don’t care if you work a cash register, a car wash, or a copy machine, you need to find a job.” Dad said.

I know I should probably lower my expectations to a retail job, at least until the economy turns around. It’s just that the thought of committing myself to a menial jobs like that is akin to admitting I’m a complete and total failure. Maybe it’s wrong to look at it like that but nobody grows up wanting to work the counter at a fast food joint.

“I just need some more time. I’m sure something will come up soon.” I said.

“It’s been nearly a year since you graduated. How much longer are we supposed to wait for you to grow up?” Dad asked.

I don’t want to grow up. It’s not strictly necessary, is it? I mean it’s nice to feel taken care of and to know that no matter how bad things get I can always come home and get lectured just like when I was a little girl. Can I have a hug now? As if…

The sad thing is I am all grown up but without a job I might as well be sixteen and going to high school. Just because I am unemployed doesn’t mean that is the way I want it. Part of being grown up means accepting that we don’t always get what we want.

“I’m sorry.” I said.

Mom sighed, Dad looked disgusted, and I shrugged helplessly. If I could have thought of something better to say, I would have said it. As it was the words sounded empty and meaningless even to my ears.

“Are you? I don’t think so. We’ve been having this same conversation for months and nothing has changed. So just how sorry are you? Because it doesn’t look to me like you are sorry at all.” Mom said.

“What do you want from me? Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’m not arguing with you because I know you’re right. I’ve made mistakes and I don’t know how to fix them so I’m wide open to suggestions here.” I said.

I immediately regretted the frustration in my tone. I could read dad’s expression clear enough; he thought I was mouthing off to Mom. Why is it I always stick my foot in my mouth at the worst possible moments?

“Take your skirt off and go wait in the corner.” Dad ordered.

I gasped in surprise.

“But Dad-”

“Now young lady and don’t make me tell you again. A sore backside is precisely what you need to improve that attitude, but if you want to argue about it we can always wash your mouth out as well.” Dad said.

I unzipped my black skirt and let it slide down my legs to the floor. My face flushed with the hot blood of embarrassment. I could not meet my parents’ eyes as I stepped out of it and picked it up off the floor. Slowly, reluctantly, I folded the material neatly and laid it to rest over the back of the chair I would normally have been sitting on. I hesitated a moment wondering if there was something I should say. No words came to mind and so I walked away, head down until I was facing that old familiar corner.

It had been awhile since I had stood in that place. Not as long as I might have liked to say, but long enough that I had forgotten just how lonely a place it could be. I focused on the ticking of the grandfather clock in the opposite corner of the living room. It was soothing to my ears, but nothing could take my thoughts away from the imminent pain and shame of the spanking for which I was obediently waiting.

I stood there long enough to visualize just how ridiculous I appeared; A 24 year old woman with her skirt taken away, standing nose to a corner waiting to get her bare bottom spanked. The image was more like that of a naughty teenager than a grown woman. I tried to blink the image away, but it was branded in my mind’s eye. Then I heard the closet door squeak open and shut. The waiting was over.

I heard Dad sit down on the couch. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to tremble.

“Come here.” He commanded.

I expected his voice and yet it still made me jump like a frightened kitten. I turned around, still blushing, and walked toward him like the condemned. Standing to his right side, I stopped at a place easily within his reach. My eyes focused on the small paddle lying on the cushion next to him and I wished for it to disappear. Unfortunately, as I mentioned before, this isn‘t a fairytale.

“I’ve said all I know to say to you and it hasn’t made one bit of difference, Allison. You’ve always been a stubborn girl and I’ve obviously let this silliness go on far too long. Rest assured though, I‘m correcting that mistake right now and I‘ll be correcting it every single week until you finally come home with a job.” He lectured.

I barely heard the words. They were deafened by the future echoes of the paddle slapping against my bare flesh. I tried to swallow but my mouth was suddenly dry. My heart thumped in my chest. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Dad’s cold hands brushed against my skin as his fingers found their way inside the waist band of my panties. He yanked them down to my quivering knees in a single brisk motion. My hands moved like lightning to cover myself, but it was pointless and I knew it. Dad grabbed my wrists and before I knew what was happening, I was over his lap, my bare bottom pointing up at his face.

He started out with his hand. The slaps were slow and hard and my bottom jiggled and bounced like Jell-O under his efforts. At first it only tingled but then it began to sting and eventually burn as his energy was converted to heat. My legs began to kick despite my best efforts to refrain from such childish displays. They were little kicks at first, my toes barely leaving the carpet and then they got stronger and stronger as the burning increased to an unmanageable level. Surprisingly, I managed not to cry out or beg for mercy.

It was likely only a minute before he stopped, even though it felt like five. I knew it was far from over, but that did not keep me from hoping. When the paddle crashed down for the first time I nearly bolted from Dad’s lap. If not for his hand holding me down I might well have succeeded. Instead, I was trapped in place and the paddle came down again and again. I kicked like a mule and squirmed like a worm on a hook. The paddle never missed its mark though and soon my bottom was a raging fire of red hot heat. Tears dripped from my eyes and when I found my breath between cries of pain, I pleaded with him to stop. Shamefully, it was just like old times and he kept on spanking until he was certain I‘d gotten his message.

I sobbed in the corner for a half hour after he finished and spent another half hour thinking about what I was willing to do to avoid another such trip over my father’s lap. The answer was anything, but I also knew that the answer would change as the heat in my bottom dissipated. Call me stubborn, stupid or masochistic, but I was pretty certain I’d be in the exact same position in a week’s time.

When I was finally dismissed from displaying my red bottom, I quickly climbed the stairs to my bedroom with my panties still down around my knees. I knew better than to pull them up after a spanking and the embarrassment of walking around with them down was nothing compared to the embarrassment I had already suffered getting my bottom spanked.

In my room, I finished undressing and climbed under the covers. I tossed and turned for a while before eventually drifting off into a deep sleep. I dreamed of people from long ago and places far away. They seemed almost real enough to touch and in that way it was a far better sleep than I expected.