From the Top Shelf - A Lesson Learned

Today's story was written by our friend Kaki Ann. It first appeared on Devlin O'Neill's weblog, but it deserves a second appearance. "A Lesson Learned" proves that you're never too old to go back to school, even if the learning process is sometimes rather painful.

Emily was running late again.  She was one of the oldest students in her class, having celebrated her fiftieth birthday several years before.  Emily had always been interested in writing and telling stories and was excited at the chance to take writing classes at the local community college.  She was so happy when she was offered an early retirement package, giving her extra free time, though she didn’t realize how much of it her classes would take.

Emily loved her class, but thought her professor, Mr. Murray, was too picky. 

“When I get my papers back from him they have more comments from him than what I wrote,” she complained to Anita, her young classmate and friend.  “This is supposed to be a beginner’s writing class but he expects us to write like we’re professionals.  If I get lower than a C on the last assignment, I’m going to lose my scholarship and have to pay for these classes myself and I can’t afford it.  He is so pedantic about everything; you would think he invented the English language and was the father of grammar.  Ugh!”

“Maybe you will get an A on your last paper; you spent a long time on it, didn’t you?”  Anita said, trying to encourage her.  “You told me you were determined to work on it all week and get an A.”

“I really planned on it, but the dog got sick, and then the neighbor needed me to babysit.  It was one thing after another.  I just ran out of time.  I think it was pretty good though.  Uh oh, here he comes.”

The following week before dismissing class Mr. Murray asked Emily to see him in his office.  Anita looked at Emily, who looked panic stricken.

“Why do you think he wants to see you?” Anita gaped.  “You didn’t!” 

Speechless, Emily could only nod.  She was nervous about being called into Mr. Murray’s office and felt like there were huge butterflies flying around in her stomach.  
He can’t possibly know it was me; he probably just wants to talk to me about my grade.  Yeah, that’s it.  He probably wants me to take an incomplete and try again next semester instead of failing me, she thought.

She found the professor’s office and knocked softly, hoping he wouldn’t hear so she could leave. But he called out for her to come in.  Emily took a deep breath, smiled, and entered the room.

“Good afternoon, Professor Murray, you wanted to see me?”

The man stood at his desk arranging some papers.  He was tall, sixtyish, with clear blue eyes and light brown hair that was beginning to show signs of gray.  Emily never noticed the color of his eyes since she always chose to sit in the back, hoping he wouldn’t notice her.  She also never noticed how distinguished he looked, but annoyed that men look distinguished as they gray and get older, while women just look old.
 
“Yes, Emily, and do you know why I asked to see you?”

“I figure it is about my grade,” she said nervously.

“Your grades are part of why I asked you here, but there is a bigger reason.  Do you see that bag on my desk?  I want you to look inside and tell me what you see.”

Emily walked over to the desk and looked inside. Her heart dropped.  “Um, it looks like a bag of Oreos all split in half.”

“Yes, and do you know where I found them, Emily?”  

“No, how would I know?”   

“They were stuck all over my car this morning.  It took me over an hour to scrape all of them off and get my car washed.”   The professor sounded very annoyed.
Picturing her professor outside, in his suit, scraping Oreos off his car, Emily couldn’t help but begin to giggle. 

“I’m happy you find this amusing, young lady.  I was almost late, which is trait I find rude and disrespectful.”  He gave her a look that told her he noticed she sometimes came to class late.  “Are you going to tell me the truth or not?  Just to warn you, I will go much easier on you if you tell the truth; I don’t tolerate anyone lying to me.”

Emily stopped giggling and stood staring, not knowing what to say.  She knew she was the one who put the Oreos on his car, but she was positive nobody saw her. How did he know? Why did I listen to Anita? Emily groaned inwardly, thinking back a week to when Mr. Murray returned their papers.  She couldn’t believe her eyes.  He had failed her!   Emily was furious; she could see her scholarship fly out the window. 

“He makes me so mad.  Just look at the grade he gave me,” said Emily, showing her paper to Anita.  “I wish there was some way I could get back at him.  Maybe my paper wasn’t an A but it sure didn’t deserve an F.” 

Anita got a mischievous look in her eyes and said, “Do you really mean it?  You want to get back at him?”

“Yes, but nothing dangerous, more like a prank.  I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”   Emily remembered some of the stories Anita told her of her younger days and got nervous. Anita laughed. “Have you ever heard of Oreoing a car?”

“Oreoing?  What the heck is that?”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like.  You get Oreos, twist them a part, and stick them on a car.  We used to do it at home all the time.  If you do it to a red car it looks like a ladybug when you are finished.” Anita laughed.   

The professor raised his voice, but only slightly.   “Well, young lady, are you going to answer me?” 

Startled out of her reverie, Emily jumped when he spoke.  “N-No, I don’t know anything about Oreos on your car.  I’m over fifty years old; do you really think I would pull a childish prank like that?  I am appalled that you would even consider that I would do such a thing.  I thought you called me here to discuss my grade, not make ridiculous accusations.” 

Emily was annoyed and so caught up in defending herself that for a minute she totally forgot she actually was guilty.  The last thing she wanted was for Mr. Murray to find out that it really was she who stuck all those cookies on his car, because, although he frustrated her, she really did like and respect him and would be humiliated if he knew.   
Professor Murray sighed.  “Is that the story you are sticking with?”

“It’s not a story; it’s the truth, whether you believe me or not.”

He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.   “Fine, have it your way.  Did you know that the college’s student handbook states that vandalism to a professor’s possessions is punishable by expulsion with no reimbursement of tuition, and noted in the student’s records, in addition to being reported to the police?  This is serious, Emily, and I know it was you.” 

Her mouth went dry and she started perspiring.  “H-How, how do you know it was me, Professor?”

He walked to his desk and said, “Did you purchase the book I suggested everyone read for extra credit?” 

Emily was puzzled by the question.  “Yes, you said to read To Kill a Mockingbird and do a book report.  I bought it the same day.”

“What did you do with the receipt, Emily?”

Confused, she looked at him and replied, “I guess I stuck it in my jeans pocket or left it in the bag with the book.  What difference does it make what I did with the receipt?"

Mr. Murray looked at Emily straight in the eye and said, “Because I found it next to my car the morning after you put Oreos all over it.  Look, see for yourself; it has your name and credit card information on it.”  He took the receipt from his desk and handed it to Emily.  “Is this your receipt?”

The guilty woman was very embarrassed and knew it was time to tell the truth.  She already was in big trouble and decided not to add to it. 

“Yes, sir, the receipt is mine.  It must have fallen out of the pocket of my jeans when I took my car keys out,” she groaned.  “I am so sorry, Professor, I don’t know what came over me.  I was just so upset and angry that you gave me an F on my paper.  Honestly, I’ve never done anything like this before in my life.  I am really sorry; you aren’t going to report me to the dean or police or anyone, are you?  I would be humiliated.”  

“First of all, missy, I did not give you an F; you gave yourself an F.  You are capable of doing a much better job than what you handed in.  I gave you a week for that assignment and it looks like you wrote it in less than an hour.  Secondly, you lied to me after I told you I don’t tolerate liars.  A person is only as good as her word; do you want people to distrust you?”

He looked right into her eyes the entire time he spoke. She felt as if he was looking right into her soul.

“No, Professor, I was so scared, that’s why I lied to you.  I don’t normally lie and I am really sorry for lying, and putting the Oreos on your car, and handing in a crappy assignment, and blaming you for my grade.  I really, really am sorry.  Can you please let me go?  I promise never to do anything like this again.  I will do better in class, too, if you give me another chance, please, please, please.” 

The tears in Emily’s eye trickled down her cheeks as she looked at him, waiting for his answer.

Mr. Murray was not angry at Emily.  He thought the prank was amusing but he knew he couldn’t let Emily know.  He felt she needed something to teach her a lesson and had just the idea. 

“Emily, what you did was wrong and you need to be punished.  If you are in agreement, there is a way we can take care of this without involving the dean or police; it will be between just us.”

Emily felt nervous, “What kind of punishment do you mean?”

“I mean a spanking.  Have you ever been spanked at school, home, or maybe by a boyfriend?”

Shocked, Emily couldn’t believe she heard correctly.  Spanking was fairly common in school when she was growing up but that was a long time ago; they surely didn’t do it anymore.  And he said it so calmly, like he was suggesting tea. 

“I remember being spanked a few times at home and a couple times at school, but that was a very long time ago.  I’m a middle aged woman, Professor Murray, almost as old as you, not one of the young kids that attend here.  Maybe there is something I can do for you, like help you grade papers, or tidy your office or something like that?” 

“No, young lady, I don’t need help with those things; I have students who volunteer for that work.  Besides, you need to be taught a lesson.”  He stood with his arms folded staring at her.  “What will it be?  Do I call the dean or are you ready to take your spanking?”

“Y-You aren’t serious, are you?   Y-You mean now?  I’m not ready.  I-I don’t know what to do.  Can I have a few days to think about it?”  Emily babbled, trying to stall.

“Yes, I mean now, and no, you may not have a few days to think about it.  You should have thought about putting Oreos all over my car for a few days.  Now, what is your decision, expelled or spanked?”

Emily sighed and looked down at the floor and whispered, “Spanked.”

“Louder, Emily, I can’t hear you.”

Oh, my God, she thought, he wants me to say it out loud. 

“I can’t say that out loud.  Please don’t make me; it’s embarrassing.  I said what you did, not the expelled thing, the other.  OK?”   The naughty girl could feel her cheeks burning.

Professor Murray sat on the wooden armless chair he reserved just for occasions such as this. 

“Come over here, Emily.” 

He unzipped and lowered her jeans, patted his lap and instructed her to lie across his thighs.  She did as she was instructed and he adjusted her so she would be comfortable, at least part of her.

“Don’t do it too hard, OK, Professor?” 

She couldn’t see him smiling as he answered her.  “A spanking has to hurt if it is going to teach a lesson, little girl.”

 “Oh, my,” she squeaked and felt a cool breeze as he tugged her panties down.  He can see my bare butt, she thought, and then she had another thought.  Oh, no, he can see my big bare butt; he is used to the young girls and mine looks huge.  Then suddenly she heard a slap and felt a burning in her posterior.  “Ouch!  That hurts.”

“Like I said before, it’s a spanking, it’s supposed to hurt, now hush.” 

Another slap to the other cheek followed and stung as much as the first.

“Ow!” 

The spanks kept coming, sometimes alternating cheeks, sometimes several in the same spot.  Emily was so embarrassed she wasn’t sure which set of her cheeks were redder, the ones on her face or her bottom ones.  When the Professor smacked the tender spot where her bottom and thigh met Emily yelped and almost jumped off his lap so he locked her legs between his so she wouldn’t fall and get hurt and continued working on her sit spot never missing a spank. 

Emily wriggled and cried out, “Please, sir, stop, I am sorry, I promise to be good.  I’ll never play a prank on you ever again, I mean it.”

The spanking continued for several minutes, leaving no part of her bottom forgotten.
He stopped for a minute and Emily started to get up. 

“Hold on now, we aren’t finished yet, that was just the warm up.”

The naughty girl looked up in disbelief.  “Just the warm up?  You mean there’s more?”

Her professor looked at her sternly and reminded her, “Remember, I gave you fair warning about lying to me.  I told you I would go easier on you if you told the truth, but you chose to fib.”

The next thing Emily knew the professor was smacking her behind with a small wooden paddle and her bottom felt like it was on fire.  Emily kicked and hollered at the new fire being applied to her bottom.  After delivering a couple dozen swats with the paddle he asked, “Are you sorry for putting Oreos all over my car?”

It took a minute for Emily to get her breath from crying.  “Yes, sir, I am very sorry.”

“Are you ever going to do it again,” he asked, punctuating each word with a smack with of the paddle.

“No, sir, never,” Emily cried and stretched her free hand to protect her burning bum.
The professor held her hand behind her back and told her, “Don’t try to cover your bottom with your hand.  You could get your hand injured.  “Are you going to try harder with your assignments?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”  He added a couple extra smacks with the paddle to impress upon her the importance of addressing him as ‘sir’ during her punishment.

“Yes, sir.” 

“OK, you can get up now; go stand in the corner and think about what you did.”
I am not going to stand in the corner, she thought.  As she was ready to open her mouth, she spied the paddle on the desk, thought better of it, and headed toward the corner rubbing her sore behind.

“No rubbing, young lady, or we will start over.”

Hearing that, she quickly locked her hands together behind her back and faced the corner. As Emily stood thinking, she realized what the professor said had made sense.  She never should have lied to him or blamed him for her poor grades.  And she should never have played that prank; she was very lucky he was such a kind and reasonable man.  The spanking really hurt and was terribly embarrassing but not as embarrassing as getting kicked out of school.  She couldn’t put her finger on it but she felt more at peace with herself and not at all angry, especially not at Professor Murray. 

He sat at his desk trying to grade papers but couldn’t help admiring the shades of pink and red covering the full bottom staring at him.  It had been some time since he had a mature bottom to spank; most of his students were young, recent high school graduates who needed a little old fashioned guidance. 

Emily’s sniffling had mostly stopped. 

“You may come out of the corner now.”

She put her clothes right and turned; her eyes were red from crying.  He put his arms around her and gave her a hug.  “I really am sorry, sir.”

“I know you are, Emily.  You are forgiven and this will all be behind us now.”  He smiled at her.

 “Thank you, sir.”  Emily’s bottom was still very sore but she couldn’t help but smile back at the professor.

“Emily, I want to help you make a clean start.  I want you to come to my office for tutoring after every class.  We will extend it to the weekend if it becomes necessary.  But one thing you must know is that you will be spanked if I am not satisfied with your work.  Do you understand, young lady?”

Emily was so happy and gave him an excited ‘yes, sir’ and a big hug.  “Thank you so much, sir, you’re so kind.”  

As Emily walked out the door Mr. Murray called to her.  “I forgot to tell you; you owe me ten dollars for the car wash.” 

Emily laughed and asked, “Hey, Professor, have you ever heard of bisquiting?”

I have the feeling that Emily's tutorials will result in some uncomfortable sitting afterward.