A Life in the Day of Rosemary Booker - The Woody Back to School ...

A Life in the Day of Rosemary Booker
was anything to go by then my imminent future
looked positively bleak.
Claire is a consummate professional and leaves
precisely thirty-seconds before delivering the second
cut. I am too giddy to actually countdown but I
suppose that I have been whopped so often that I
instinctively braced myself and gritted my teeth just
before the second wave of agony imploded
throughout my central nervous system. Despite my
best intentions at stoicism my body jerked spastically
on the bed like a landed fish. It was of course all
most alarming. We are only two in with four to go
and my bum already felt like it had been seared with
welding rods.
“It’s only whops,” I told myself.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Debs
watching intently. Her mouth was set in a grim line
and I could sense that she was smoldering with
anger. She knew that in just a few minutes she was
going to be subjected to a very painful caning that
was totally unnecessary and could have been
avoided. Of course I knew that it was all my fault
which didn’t make me feel any better but I had more
pressing matters on my mind.
The third stroke scorched another stripe across
my bum and caused me to clench my fists and
pummel the bed in consternation.
Of course, being caned by an expert like Claire
means that all the strokes will land in the safe target
area known as the sweet spot. This means that there
will be no wraparounds or high or lower riders. This
certainly helps during the recovery period but is not