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Archive name: AnonyGurl_-_Brandi_Cole's_Diary.txt (Mf, exh, inc, ped, spank)
Authors name: AnonyGurl (address withheld by request)
Story title : Brandi Cole's Diary

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Brandi Cole's Diary (Mf, exh, inc, ped, spank)
by AnonyGurl (address withheld by request)

***

Twenty-one years after her father discovered her diary 
and took it way from her, Brandi gets it back. Reading 
through the entries, she is first shocked, then 
mortified, and then finally enlightened by what she wrote 
at 13. 

***

I sat on the edge of my father's bed, looking at a pink 
and white diary I hadn't seen in twenty-one years. It had 
found it in his end table drawer, right on top, 
surrounded by his collection of prescription bottles, 
Hall's Mentho-lyptus cough drops, old copies of TV Guide, 
and half a package of condoms. I didn't know whether to 
laugh or cry.

He took the diary away from me in nineteen eight-five. I 
was thirteen years old then, just past my birthday, and 
an awful tart. One night after penning what turned out to 
be my final entry, I had stupidly left the diary out. 
Daddy found it the next morning. I got beaten that 
afternoon.

For a long time I just sat there, holding the book in my 
hands, looking at the winged unicorn on the cover. I had 
written and then scratched out someone's name under its 
left wing. I couldn't remember whose name it was. I 
wondered if it was better to read the book, to burn it, 
or just throw it away. Even now, I cringed thinking 
someone might read it.

One of the pages near the front was turned back, forming 
a page marker, and I opened it there. Just a page, I 
promised myself, no more. I read the first line and 
memory flooded back. I was twelve years old again, my 
daughter Julie's age, and a soft night breeze blew in my 
open bedroom window, arid and crisp, a month shy of 
summer. It was late Wednesday night, 11:00 p.m., and I 
sat at my little desk, writing. I paused for a moment, 
smiled, then finished what I had began:


May 15, 1985

Dear Diary,

OH MY GOD DIARY! I can't BELIEVE what I've DONE! 

Sorry, I had to get up to check on Daddy. There's NO WAY 
I want him coming in here tonight! But he's asleep. I 
hope. Lynne is out somewhere doing what Lynne and her 
fucking boyfriend do (she can die, for all I care, and I 
mean that diary!) and I'm sure she won't get her slutty 
ass home before dawn.

So let me start again:

OH MY GOD DIARY! I can't BELIEVE what I've DONE! 

My place hurts Diary, and so does my tail. Especially my 
tail. He spanked me so hard I thought my panties would 
catch fire, Diary, and I'll tell you what! My tail's 
STILL ON FIRE! I just reached down, Diary, and touched my 
sore bottom, and IT HURTS REALLY BAD!

Did I say how much it hurts? 

IT HURTS REALLY BAD!

I'm glad he left on my panties, Diary, because otherwise, 
Brandi Cole would be a lot sorer right now! 

Oh, well. I'd LOVE to do it again.

I WILL DO IT AGAIN!

I'm in my nightshirt and panties, Diary. I always dress 
in my nightshirt and panties at night, or a tee-shirt and 
my panties, or sometimes just in my panties, and 
sometimes in NOTHING AT ALL. 

NAKED!!!! 

I love saying that word, Diary, and writing it out makes 
me love it even more. NAKED! NAKED! NAKED! 

But that's only in my bedroom, of course, and with the 
curtains drawn, because Daddy wouldn't like for someone 
to look through the window and see my small breasts. 

My TINY breasts. 

My TINY size 32A breasts.

My enci-wenci-tiny little girl's breasts, Diary that I 
absolutely HATE!

I HATE my breasts!

I HATE my size 32A bras!

I HATE the boys who tease me in class and in the hallways 
at school, even though I'm no smaller really than the 
other girls in my class, and bigger than some. 

Think they tease me because they like me, Diary? That's 
what Melanie and Jenna say, but they're both really good 
looking and have BIG BREASTS and it doesn't matter if the 
boys tease them or not because you REALLY know they like 
them!

Beside, Daddy likes me this way. Daddy buys me my night 
clothes and my underwear and has me model them for him in 
his bedroom when Lynne is not at home. Daddy has me...

Well, that's another story.
 
I have a crush on my English teacher at school, Diary.

Mr. Bork (rhymes with Dork! ha-ha) is WAY too handsome, 
and he's got these big brown eyes, and big strong 
muscles, and lots of wavy brown hair and a mustache and a 
beard. He is SO cool!

I've had a crush on him forever, Diary. 

I wear short skirts and pretty flowered panties for him, 
Diary, and sometimes even thong panties, which I'm NOT 
SUPPOSED to wear. I got into trouble for it once, sent 
right home when Mrs. Kennison saw them under my skirt. 

The BITCH! 

But you know what, Diary? I didn't care. I wanted to 
"show off" for my Mr. Bork. 

I have a confession to make, Diary.

It's a bad thing to say, but I want to be honest. 

I love cock, Diary. I really do. I LOVE cock. 

There, I said it. I've always loved cock. The thought of 
cock. The glimpse of cock. The bulge of cock. The taste 
and the feel of cock. 

I LOVE cock.

Mostly, anyway.

I got sent to the principal's office the other day, 
Diary. For nothing at all. Well, almost for nothing. Mr. 
James, the principal, made me sit in his outer office for 
half an hour, Diary, missing most of Mr. Bork's class, 
and I got SO mad. When he finally had me sent in, I 
decided to GET EVEN! 

"Brandi?"

"Yes, Mr. James?"

He had on his ugly horned rim glasses and was reading 
something in my file. A FAT PIG, Diary, he looks like a 
human JABBA THE HUT! His lower lip quivers when he's 
reading, Diary, and when he talks, he spits all over the 
place. GROSS! I'll die if he ever spits it on me.

"Mr. Dennison, Mrs. Goines, and Miss Cappelli have all 
sent notes in about your behavior," he said, looking at 
me over his glasses. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, Mr. James," I said, totally innocent. 
"What do you mean?"

"Well," he said, sticking one of his DISGUSTINGLY FAT 
fingers in my folder. 

"Mr. Dennison says he caught you passing a slam book to 
another student one day last week." 

A slam book is just a notebook, Diary, where you write 
down things about other students. Mostly INSULTING 
things, like: Melissa Ruppert gave a boy head in a closet 
at a party three weeks ago, and didn't even know who it 
was because the boy she was supposed to do traded off 
with someone else and he CAME in her mouth, Diary. Or 
that Heather Mosser has herpes and gave it to James 
Oliver who gave it to Jennifer Lohr, who gave it 
to...well you get the idea.

Slam books are a NO-NO in school!

Anyway, I said: "No, Mr. James. I only passed the book 
across the isle to Tommy Horton. I didn't even know what 
it was."

"So you told Mr. Dennison."

"But it's the truth," I said, ready to blush. They hadn't 
caught on that I wrote the note about myself saying 
'Brandi Cole went all the way with Tommy Horton and 69'd 
too!' "

"And what about this incident with James Ryffel in gym 
class," he said, getting all huffy. "Mrs. Goines said you 
were caught kissing him, inside the boys locker room, 
with your shirt half-off!" 

This time I did blush, Diary, because only seconds 
before, it wasn't just my blouse that was half-off. Jimmy 
Ryffel had my bra pushed up over my boobs and was feeling 
them something FIERCE until I heard footsteps outside the 
door and pulled it back down. And just seconds before 
that he had my panties half-down feeling my place (I HATE 
that other word!) and had his finger in me. 

I said, "James Ryffel made me do that, Mr. James. He said 
if I didn't, he'd spread rumors all over school I was 
having sex with a..."

"A what?" Mr. James demanded. His face was all red.

"One of the assistant principal's," I said, looking at 
the floor.

He was quiet a moment, Diary, then he wrote fiercely 
inside my folder.

"What about Miss Cappelli?" he said. "She says you talk 
back to her constantly in class. Do it just to disrupt 
the class."

"Oh, no, sir," I protested. "Miss Cappelli hates me 
because I ask questions she can't answer, and that makes 
her really mad." Which is a big fat lie, Diary, because 
Miss Cappelli is probably the smartest teacher I know. 
The reason we always fight is because I HAVE A CRUSH on 
her too, I think, and I just don't know how to deal with 
it. In fact, she gets SO FRUSTRATED with me that last 
week she actually SMACKED MY REAR END after class. Can 
you BELIEVE that? She apologized, of course, and told me 
to go home, but for just a minute, I think I came really 
close to blurting it out. 

But I didn't.

Anyway, Diary, I sat up close to his desk and pretended 
to look inside my folder, and accidentally on purpose 
knocked a pencil on the floor. I got up and bent over to 
pick it up, Diary, and when I did, my skirt rode halfway 
up my rear end. 

Mr. James made a rude noise and moved about in his seat. 
When I came up again and turned around, he was looking at 
me strangely. 

"Sorry, Mr. James," I said, grabbing my skirt and 
pretending to be embarrassed. Despite being warned, I had 
on thong panties.

He said: "Miss Cole. Generally, I don't allow behavior 
like this from a stupid--I mean student (he actually said 
that, Diary)--even one with an otherwise excellent 
record." His face had gotten very red. "But I guess I 
can, well...look the other way this time."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. James!" I exclaimed, running around 
the desk and giving him a huge kiss on his cheek. He 
practically fell over trying to get away.

"Well, yes. Yes, of course. But I warn you Brandi, any 
more reports of questionable behavior..." He looked at me 
over his glasses with his hot eyes. "And you won't be 
getting off with just a warning. Next time it's something 
appropriate. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," I said, demurely. "Absolutely. Anything you 
say." I apologized for making a fuss and slipped out of 
his office and went back to class.

"I wonder what appropriate means?" I thought, walking 
into math. 
I HATE math!

*

Oh, my God, I thought. Was I really that way? 

I remembered everything now, so much of what happened, 
things I had blocked out for years. Such as I had worn 
braces back then and had acne, and I had such a terrible 
complex over it that I never wrote it down in my diary. 
(I had written everything else, it seemed.) Mr. Bork's 
real name was John Robinette, and he was not big and 
muscled as I wrote, but just a normal man. A teacher. He 
wore glasses and had short brown hair--no mustache or 
beard--and from what I remember, he was very thin. He was 
twenty-four years old, barely older than my brother. 

And Daddy...well Daddy was Daddy, no doubt about that. 
But he was just a lonely man raising three children with 
no wife, and even at twelve I was already something to 
handle. And Lynne, seventeen years old and the perfect 
slut, sleeping in Daddy's bed with her boyfriend (what 
was his name? Jack?) while Daddy slaved at work, telling 
me when I caught them that if I ever opened my mouth Jack 
would fill it with something hard and hot and wet. Then 
Lynne tying me to my bed two days later and letting Jack 
rape me when all I told Daddy was that Jack had been by. 

I hated Lynne then and I hate Lynne now. And Mr. Bork?

I went back to my reading.

Yesterday, in Mr. Bork's class (studying creative writing 
of all things--I guess I'll flunk), trying to write a 
poem I suddenly felt an itch. That oh-so-familiar itch. I 
didn't know what to do. That part of me which loves to 
touch myself said, "Do it, Brandi! Right here in class!" 
while the other part of me was yelling "ARE YOU CRAZY?" 
and stamping her feet. 

This was VERY naughty, Diary, even to think. 

I looked around and saw everyone else was bent over 
writing, even the shitheaded jocks. So slowly, ever so 
slowly, I inched my hand under my skirt and, I'll tell 
you, Diary, I could feel myself shake. Being naughty 
turned me on and scared me half to death! 

Knowing I'd get in trouble for it, but not caring, I 
found the top of my panties and slipped my fingers 
inside, went right down to my little button. I touched 
it. I looked back and forth with my eyes, trying not to 
gasp, then pulled my panties aside just a little and 
touched my lips, then, oh then, Diary, I put my middle 
finger inside, and it was wet, Diary, and HOT! 

HOT! HOT! HOT!

Everyone says blondes like me get their hair last, Diary, 
and I guess that's right, because I haven't got a one! (I 
may keep it that way when I grow up, because Daddy likes 
it bare.) But this turned me on all the more because I 
knew Mr. Bork would have an unobstructed view, should he 
look, and once I had two of my fingers inside, Diary, and 
I felt I really should quit--it was almost time for the 
bell and besides, now I had to go to the girl's room--I 
couldn't let go. I said, "Mr. Bork?" and of course he 
looked up and this is what he saw:

My legs were spread, my plaid skirt raised just a bit, 
and my panties pulled back with my fingers inside. His 
face just froze. I thought he would faint. I thought I 
would faint. Time stood still for a heartbeat or for an 
hour, and then I closed my legs and withdrew my hand and 
clasped my hands together in the middle of the desktop, 
letting myself calm.

Mr. Bork caught himself fast. "What is it, Brandi," he 
said, like nothing had happened at all. His voice was 
totally calm. 

I smiled and said shyly, "Nothing, Mr. Bork. I guess I 
forgot." 

As I finished my last word, I put the tip of my finger to 
my lips and I licked it, Diary. No one else saw--I hope--
but my Mr. Bork, and he saw it for sure. 

"Brandi, see me before you go, please," Mr. Bork said. 
The rest of the kids, not a clue in the world, milled out 
of the room. 

I waited at my desk, waiting for the last kid to leave.

When she did, Mr. Bork closed the door. 

"Have I done something wrong, Mr. Bork?" I asked, 
innocently. I moved about in my chair, trying to be 
nervous (which I actually was), to make the show better. 

He laughed sharply. "I don't know how to say this 
Brandi," he said, shuffling the papers on his desk. (What 
he wanted to say was, "I saw you playing with yourself, 
Brandi, and I am REALLY shocked." But diary, teachers 
don't say things like that, do they?) Instead, he cleared 
his throat, and said bluntly: "You had a finger inside 
your panties, Brandi. I'm sure this wasn't on purpose, 
because no twelve year old with a grade A average, is 
going to risk her future taunting a teacher. Right?" 

I wanted to scream YES, Diary! YES! YES! YES! but I 
settled for: "No, Mr. Bork. I...I'm just have this 
problem, you know?" I said this shyly, dropping my eyes, 
as though really embarrassed (which dammit, I was, 
because my face got all hot). 

Men don't wanna hear about "girl problems," and neither 
did Mr. Bork, so he smiled and said: "Well, okay then. 
We'll let that go." He looked at the door, then got up 
and went to reopen it. I can't tell you how DISAPPOINTED 
I was at that, Diary! It must have shown on my face, 
because when he came back and sat down on the edge of his 
desk, Mr. Bork said: "I meant to tell you earlier. 
There's a spot opening on the debate team next week. 
Stacey Stippich is leaving school (she's pregnant, Diary, 
and beginning to show), so if your interested in 
joining..."

I smiled uncertainly, and nodded. Debate club? Me? Are we 
kidding?

Then a thought hit me. "You're the Debate Club couch, 
right? Mr. Bork?"

Mr. Bork nodded. "Along with Miss Jeter, yes. We 
alternate weeks."

The Debate Club travels, dear Diary, ALL OVER THE 
COUNTRY. And when they go, they go with two chaperones. 

Miss Jeter. And MR. BORK!

My heartbeat shot up to a million, no, a million jillion! 
A million SQUILLION JILLION!

"Can I think about it?" I asked. 

He nodded and smiled. "Let me know next week."

I thought: I'll let you know right now if I can jump into 
your lap Mr. Bork! YES! YES! YES! 

Mr. Bork cleared his throat. "Now, I have a lot of tests 
to grade, Brandi. Why don't you run along home?"

I got up to leave, Diary, then he said: "And I'm sorry to 
hear about your problem. You take care of that, okay?"

I stood looking dumb. Remembering my "problem" at last 
(Jimmies, Diary, my face got so hot), I said: "Yes. Yes, 
sir, Mr. Bork, no problem there."

He nodded and smiled, then put his mind to grading his 
papers. I stood at my desk, feeling really dumb. "I was 
wondering," I said, cautiously. "I have homework to do, 
and my Dad's running late (he's probably home drunk, I 
wanted to say). Do you think I could, like, do my 
homework here?"

He didn't look up. "Go right ahead. Just be quiet."

I assured him I would.

I was anything but! 

I moved in my seat constantly, Diary, opening and closing 
my legs, chewed noisily on the end of my eraser. Yes, I 
even put a finger in my panties again and Mr. Bork almost 
looked! After a while, he got tired of it and said: "You 
are the noisiest kid I've ever seen, Brandi Cole." He 
threw down his pencil. "I ought to give you detention 
just for that. Never mind. I have to go down to the 
office to see Mr. James. You be okay?" 

I assured him I would. Then I was alone in the classroom. 

So much for my plan.

SHIT!

Still, I felt all tingly and happy inside. I wanted Mr. 
Bork's cock, yes, but I wanted to go away with him more. 
Because even my little girl smarts told me a night in a 
motel beats ten minutes in a locked classroom. I wanted 
to be Mr. Bork's lover, not his ten minute whore. 

I took out my notebook and started to write. 

Dear Mr. Bork,

I am sitting here in your classroom, fantasizing about 
being over your knee, having my fanny tanned by your big 
strong hand. I know you can't do this, not in the 
classroom, but there's something I'll do for you. If you 
say yes, that is. 


I've heard from other girls that Mr. Bork secretly likes 
spanking teenage girls. On their bare behinds. "He's a 
great lay," Jennifer Wyche said. "And if you hook up with 
him, Brandi, you'll get everything you want." 
What I wanted right now was a good spanking. 

My daddy, who loves me very much, will never do that. 
"But Brandi!" he says. "I love you too much. How could I 
hurt you?" 

He doesn't understand that a girl my age needs to be 
hurt, needs her fanny smacked once in a while, needs 
discipline. Only a spanking will do that. I cupped my 
chin in my hand and wondered what Mr. Bork's big hand 
would do to my bottom. I sighed.

Jotting down the rest of the note, I tore off the page 
and folded it over twice. Taking it to Mr. Bork's desk, I 
put everything down and then removed my panties. I placed 
them atop the note in the middle of his desk, Diary, and 
I grinned, a really stupid, CHILDISH grin, and thought: 
Brandi! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

Panty-less, I left the room and ran down the hallway 
(holding my skirt down you bet!), past the offices and 
out the front door. I knew I would either get expelled 
tomorrow, or get my tail beaten real good.
Which do you think I prayed for?

*

My God, I thought, closing the book. I had been such a 
tart! My hands shook I was so startled. 

You took off your panties! 

I put the book down and tossed back my head, trying to 
keep tears from ruining my makeup. I searched the end 
table for a Kleenex. I had forgotten so much. 

"Mom?" It was Julie calling from downstairs. "You okay?"

Julie, my own special problem. Twelve years old and 
turning out just like her mom. Thank God, for her father. 
Thank God, for a more effective person than me.

"Up here, honey."

"You okay?"

"Just fine."

"Dad wants to know if you want coffee or anything?"

"I'll have something later, honey. Thanks."

She said nothing else, and I felt her walk away. So 
insolent; so much like me.

I got up and crossed to the bedroom window to look out. 
The street below was lined both sides with cars and 
trucks, many looking almost shocked with their cleanly 
washed skins. The driveway was full. A blue Dodge pick-up 
had squashed the border row of pansies--that would be Mr. 
Nelson, I thought, Daddy's former yard supervisor at the 
mill. Mr. Benson's red pick-up was behind him. And there 
was Alderman Roble's fancy Lincoln Town car out on the 
street and the Lexus driven by Mrs. Keenan, the 
Reverend's wife. Daddy was popular with both the bad and 
the good, all of whom milled about downstairs in an 
uneasy truce. 

"They never understood, did they Daddy?" I whispered. 

They would certainly never understand us. 

I reopened the book and continued to read.


RRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

"I'll get it daddy!" I yelled, dashing to the phone. It 
was eight o'clock. I was terrified.

I hadn't eaten dinner and so far I had been to the 
bathroom THREE times, cursing the miserable squirts.

I was SOOOOO petrified, Diary! 

"Hello!" I answered, out of breath.

No one answered and for a moment I thought no one was 
there. I was crushed. Just as I was about to hang up, 
though, Mr. Bork said: "Brandi? Is that you?" 
HE HAD CALLED! 

"Yes, it's me," I answered. I thought I would faint!

"Brandi," he said. "It's Mr. Bork." Like I wouldn't know 
who he was out of ten thousand people calling! "I got 
your note. I've already spoken with your father." 

There was a long silence, Diary, and I swear I heard 
Daddy bounding downstairs to tear up my ass. But then Mr. 
Bork continued.

"I have to say I was shocked, Brandi. Just shocked. 
Leaving your panties on my desk like that, and that note. 
Do you know what would happen if one of the other 
teachers had found them? Or a student?"

I gulped and felt totally dumb, Diary, but I answered 
truthfully. "I had to take the chance, Mr. Bork. I was 
really, like, desperate. I couldn't do it in person. I 
was too scared."

Mr. Bork stayed silent. I felt his anger right over the 
phone. Tears built up in my eyes, Diary, and I was one 
second away from crying.

"I guess I'm in real trouble, Mr. Bork, aren't I? You're 
gonna expel me." And then I did start crying.

"Hold on, hold on," he said. "No one said that."

I sobbed and then I got the hiccups. "I'm sorry, Mr. 
Bork, HIC! I really am. HIC! Don't HIC! expel me, please! 
I promise to be HIC! good!" 

I HATE having the hiccups, Diary, I just HATE it!

"Brandi! Brandi, will you calm down."

"I'll be good in your class from now on, Mr. Bork, and I 
won't make trouble. I'll do my homework, and--"

"Brandi!"

I sobbed again loudly. "Yes, Mr. Bork?"

"Shut the hell up!"

Talk about SHOCKED! I said okay.

"Now, Brandi, listen to me. What you did today was wrong 
and it can't go unpunished."

"No, Mr. Bork," I sobbed.

"Shut up, Brandi."

"Yes, Mr. Bork."

"Now, tomorrow after school, I expect you in my class 
right after last period. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Bork."

"I can't tell anyone what you did without raising a 
stink, Brandi, so you'll be getting a special punishment 
from me. You know what that punishment is."

I nodded my head, Diary, and then I thought, "Like he can 
really see you, you stupid goober." Then I said, "I 
understand, Mr. Bork."

"You should. You suggested it yourself."

My fanny suddenly tingled, Diary, and got real warm, and 
I swear, I felt his hand coming down.

"I know, Mr. Bork," I said. "I'm sorry." Then I said to 
myself: "What are you talking about, girl! You're NOT 
sorry! You WANT to be spanked! Don't tell him you're 
sorry!" And I said: "Should I wear anything special, Mr. 
Bork?" Thinking maybe my thinnest panties or maybe even a 
thong so he could spank my bare rear?

"Just your uniform," he said, sternly. "No surprises."

"Yes, Mr. Bork."

"And Brandi? It's 'Yes, sir' from now on, understand? You 
will be respectful."

"Yes, sir." 

"And from now on, you be to class on time."

"Yes, sir." 

"And no more chewing gum, Brandi."

"Yes, sir."

"No, sir."

"No, sir," I corrected. 

"The next time I see you passing notes, or not paying 
attention in class, or writing love notes to yourself (I 
don't know how he could now that, Diary! I was always so 
careful. And besides, they aren't love notes to myself, 
I'm not hung up on myself) I will very likely make you 
read those notes out loud and then go stand in a corner 
for the rest of the class. Maybe even get on your knees. 
Understand?"

Oh, GOD, Diary! Think of the humiliation! Everyone in 
class laughing and pointing their fingers! 

"No, Mr. Bork," I said, meekly. "No, sir, I mean. You 
have my word on it. No more misbehaving."

"And there's to be no more wearing underwear not within 
school guidelines, young lady. White only, and only 
briefs, not bikini panties or those damned thongs you had 
on last month. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir! Yes, Mr. Bork!" I said, my head spinning. He 
really had me rattled, Diary. Talk about being put in 
your place. 

"I'll be watching you very closely, Brandi. The first 
time you step out of line..." He didn't have to say the 
rest.

"Yes, sir," I said. 

"And it won't be the sexual type of spanking you hint at 
in your note," he said, softly. 

I swallowed VERY hard, Diary, because I had just been 
threatened with REAL punishment. Not the kind that fills 
my daydreams and that I write about in my notes, but the 
kind that makes girls like me scream and cry. The kind 
Heather Long got from her father last week when she got 
caught cutting class and then sassed her mom for it 
later. Heather didn't come to school for two days, Diary, 
and then she had a REAL hard time sitting still. And 
Heather is six months older than I am, already thirteen. 

"Are you listening to me, Brandi?"

"Oh, yes, sir!" I yelped. "Every word!"

"Then I'll see you tomorrow in class," he said, and hung 
up.

Diary, I stood there for a full minute, just staring at 
the wall with the phone at my ear, wondering what I had 
done. I wished I had not written the note. I could not 
stop shaking.

The next day you KNOW I made his class on time. I was 
second in my seat and had my book open and was studying 
when Mr. Bork came in. He stared at me and his eyes like 
to set me on fire, Diary.

"Good afternoon, class," he said, and I piped up with, 
"Good afternoon, Mr. Bork!" so loud and so fast that 
Bonnie Rizzo and Michelle Penwarden laughed at me. You 
should have seen my face!

"This afternoon, class," he said, "we'll be taking an 
extended period so Mr. Rhimes (he's the vice-principal) 
can give a talk about the debate club." (I sat up with a 
shock. I had completely forgotten.) Mr. Bork looked 
directly at me. "I was privileged to tell him this 
morning that Brandi Cole is our newest club member." 

There were half a dozen gasps from girls I know, and then 
a shocked silence. No one was more shocked than me.

"Brandi will be taking Stacey's place on the team next 
week," he said. "And in three weeks, will be accompanying 
us on our trip to Chicago."

Again, shocked silence. Then two or three of the debate 
team girls clapped half-heartedly, and I went ten shades 
of red redder! Now everyone would think I was a geek!

But Diary! In three weeks I'd GO AWAY with Mr. Bork! 

"I have to leave for an important engagement after final 
period," he said, turning toward the blackboard. "Anyone 
scheduled for detention will have to make it up tomorrow 
afternoon."

It took a moment to sink in, and then, Diary, I was SO 
TOTALLY CRUSHED. I almost exclaimed: "But Mr. Bork!" 
before I realized it was me he had an important 
engagement with! He eyed me over the tops of his horn 
rimmed glasses, saying "Shut up!" with his eyes.

I choked/hiccupped/coughed all at once. 

The next fifty minutes zoomed by, Diary, and then Mr. 
Rhymes (what an ugly old toad) came in to talk. I 
listened to every word he said for half an hour (another 
first!) and actually stood up and thanked him for 
accepting me on the team. HOW EMBARRASSING! When he 
finally left and Mr. Bork dismissed the class, I was told 
to remain.

"Come up here, Brandi," he said, looking over his 
glasses. I got up and stood in front of his desk, hands 
safely behind my back. I was so NERVOUS!

"Do you want me to shut the door?" I asked, voice 
breaking.

"No." He wrote something into his attendance book and I 
remained there obediently, absolutely still. Then he 
said: "You were exceptionally well behaved in class 
today, Brandi."

"Thank you, sir," I said, thinking, OH NO! DON'T TELL ME! 
"I tried my best."

Mr. Bork grunted. "Don't let it go to your head. You're 
still getting spanked."

OH, THANK GOD! 

"Yes, sir," I said. "Thank you, sir."

He looked at me, over his glasses. I looked down. "Was 
that a smart-ass remark? You haven't learned?"

"Oh, no sir!" I practically shouted. "Not at all!"

He went back to his writing.

I stood there for a five full minutes, Diary, and I was 
SO CONFUSED. Were we going out of the building? My heart 
pounded and made me sway back and forth. Surely not his 
APARTMENT?

"We're going to my place, Brandi," he said and I almost 
fell down.

"You're a-a-apartment, sir?" I babbled. I SWEAR, Diary, I 
could not NOT say the word, I was so shocked! And inside 
I'm shouting "SHUT UP, Brandi, SHUT UP!"

He stopped writing and looked up. "Is there a problem?"

"No, sir," I said hurriedly. "Of course not."

"You understand why, of course."

"Yes, sir," I said, though I hadn't a clue.

Patiently, he explained. "It's because here at St. 
Mary's, corporal punishment is not an accepted form of 
punishment. The sound would carry throughout the entire 
building (He looked at me POINTEDLY, Diary, making sure I 
understood what the sound would be), and everyone would 
know. That would get me in trouble. I can't have that."

"No, sir," I agreed.

He ripped a piece of paper from his notebook, Diary, and 
gave it to me. My hand would not stop shaking. He said. 
"I want you on my doorstep no later than four o'clock. Is 
that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"It's fifteen minutes from your house. You can easily 
bike it once you've gone home and changed."

"Yes, sir."

"You're to wear blue jeans and a button down shirt, 
Brandi, some neutral color. Plain white panties and bra. 
You have those?"

"Yes, sir."

"No makeup," he said. "And no wild hairdo." He pointed at 
my head. "It's to remain just as it is now, ponytailed. 
Understand?"

"No, sir. Yes, sir."

"Anyone sees you, you just smile and keep those pedals 
turning."

"Yes, sir."

"Now get out of here. You'll be late for class."

"Yes, sir!" I shouted, running for my books. I ran out of 
the room, ran all the way to my next class, and was two 
minutes late getting there. I got written up.

I HATE math!

Once I got home and changed, I told Daddy I had to go to 
Marcie's house to study, then to Pizza Hut cause her dad 
was buying us pizza. I hate lying to Daddy, but I didn't 
know what else to do. I sure couldn't tell him the truth.
I put books in my backpack, and a mini-skirt and halter 
top (just in case Mr. Bork didn't like me in jeans) and 
got ready to go. 

I felt so PLAIN, Diary! No makeup and no revealing 
clothes? I LOOKED like a do-goody girl on the debate 
team. For a minute I stood in front of my mirror (by the 
way, I actually had straightened my room and made the 
bed--GO FIGURE) looking at myself, and I have to say 
this, Diary, I didn't like the girl looking back. She was 
WAY too plain and innocent looking, and unattractive with 
no makeup. If I passed her in the hallways at school I'd 
laugh about her to my friends. 

This is what I was: The white shirt COMPLETELY hid her 
boobies (I almost ran for my sock drawer HA! HA!), and 
the jeans made her hips look boyish and round. I looked 
at my backside and JUST HATED it, Diary. I almost cried. 
Then I got SO MAD at Mr. Bork for making me look like a 
dork, that I wanted to tear everything off and hide in 
the bed. Then I did cry. I was ten minutes late leaving 
the house.

I rode my bike down Adelphi Road past St. Mary's school 
(like always, I stuck out my tongue) and turned right on 
University Boulevard. Mr. Bork was right. It took me 
fifteen minutes to get to his apartment. Only it wasn't 
an apartment at all, but a red brick, two story house 
with a garage. I looked at the address numbers, then at 
the paper, then at the numbers again. I rode back down 
the street to check the sign. It was right. 

Peddling back up the street, I hopped off the bike and 
opened the metal gate. I rolled the bike it inside. His 
yard was fenced in, Diary, and there were flowers running 
all up and down the walk. There was a flower bed around 
each tree, and more flowers running along the fence at 
his neighbor's yard. I couldn't believe so many flowers. 
And there was a front porch swing on the porch (where 
else would it be, Brandi?), and blue and white shutters 
around the windows. 

The house was so pretty. 

I was surprised. 

Just then, some boys in a red Camaro went by and whistled 
and yelled and made me jump. IT MADE ME JUMP, Diary! And 
then I remembered I not passed a guy all the way here who 
didn't look at me, Diary, or turn to look, or a single 
car where guys in it that didn't check me out. 

But it was different, Diary, not what I expect. There 
were no quick head jerks or raised eyebrows, and no one 
gave me that nasty grin that says "Oh, yeah, Brandi, I'd 
like to fuck you real bad!" Instead, what I got were 
casual looks that sometimes kept on, and smiles rather 
than leers when I caught them looking. Not even the boys 
whistling and catcalling from the Camaro were the same. 

They seemed almost teasing, not taunting and mean. I 
looked after the car and they saw me looking, Diary, and 
I swear, two of the boys turned around in their seats and 
stopped being stupid. The others kept looking and the one 
boy actually waved.

He waved and I DIDN'T wave back. I just stood there and 
stared.

Then I realized Mr. Bork was calling.

"Yes, sir?"

He pointed at his watch. I looked after the car again. 
"Yes, sir," I said, and put my bike against the inside of 
the fence and shut the gate. "Sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, young lady. I told you four 
o'clock."

I started down the walk. Looking up at him, Diary, I 
said: "No, sir. I mean I actually am sorry." I stopped at 
the foot of the steps and it just came out. "Mr. Bork? Am 
I pretty?"

His face got very hard. "Young lady, this is no place for 
narcissistic behavior or childish games. Now get in 
here."

Since I didn't know what "narcissistic" behavior was, and 
I wasn't playing games, I looked at Mr. Bork and I said: 
"I'm not being a smart-ass, Mr. Bork. I'm really not." I 
looked down the street again but the Camaro was gone. "I 
just wanted to know."

He seemed puzzled for a minute, then shook it off and 
motioned me inside. I walked in and he shut the door 
behind us. 

*

I stopped reading and peered out the window again. The 
red brick house of John Robinette's was less than four 
miles away. I had driven by it just last week, curious if 
the new owners (how many had there been? I wondered, 
since he moved in nineteen eighty-nine) had kept it up. 

The flower beds surrounding the three maples were no 
longer there, nor along the fence at his neighbor's yard, 
but they still planted Impatiens and Daffodils along the 
front walk. The chain link fence had been recently 
replaced, and the trim on the house painted. It had a new 
roof. The old swing on the front porch was still there 
and someone had erected a swing set in the back yard. 
There was a wading pool.

How things change. How things never change.

Was it possible, I wondered, to mature in the space of 
one day? Within a few pages? The Brandi Cole that sat 
down to write this entry was not the same Brandi Cole who 
finished it. Or more correctly, no longer a hopeless 
tart. I remember being on John's sidewalk that afternoon, 
those strange emotions inside, sensing within my 
confusion another Brandi wanting escape, one who liked 
being watched and not ogled, desired but not craved. A 
young girl with braces and acne and hair in a ponytail, 
wearing jeans and a plain white shirt. And liking herself 
for it. 

And, I realized now, this shift in awareness showed in my 
writing. Had I known?

My father had. After that day he took me to bed only 
once, holding me in his arms afterward as I sobbed out my 
guilt, talked with me into the small hours of the 
morning. He heard my fears and my hopes, helped find the 
Brandi inside. He never touched me again, though later he 
beat me silly over John and the other things I wrote. I 
forgave him for that. I never forgave Lynne. 

I returned to the journal.

His house was as nice inside as out. The furniture was 
old, but clean looking, and not all mismatched like by 
brother has. There was an oval shaped rug on the floor 
and shiny wood beneath it, and one of those big screen 
TV's like Jenny has at her house. And books. Lots and 
lots of books.

Mr. Bork took me through the living room into his den, 
and had me sit down. He sat at his desk. He was very 
intense. "First thing I want to say, Brandi, is that you 
have almost no time to prepare for the team. Your to stay 
after tomorrow afternoon with two of the girls to learn 
the routine. Secondly, we got away in three weeks, and 
you will be rooming with three other girls. There will be 
no horseplay. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Light's out is eleven o'clock every night, including 
weekends, and you don't leave the room without 
permission."

"No, sir."

He looked at me very steadily. "You look very nice, 
Brandi. I'm really surprised."

I looked down, Diary. I felt myself blush. "Thank you, 
sir," I mumbled.

He was quiet for a time. Then he said: "I have the 
feeling you're no longer up for this, Brandi."

I just looked at the floor. 

"What happened?"

Shrugging, I said: "I don't know, sir." Which was the 
honest TRUTH!

Mr. Bork worked his hands together, stared at me, making 
me feel really small. "I can send you home right now, if 
that's what you want."

"No, sir," I said, very softly. "That's not what I want."

The truth was, Diary, I didn't know WHAT I wanted. Even 
though I was really confused, even though I feared the 
spanking, I was even MORE desperate for Mr. Bork. So 
desperate that I didn't know how to THINK what I wanted, 
much less say it.

"You want to stay?"

"Yes."

He didn't correct me. Instead, he got up from his chair 
and crossed over to where I was sitting, and squatted 
down. Diary! My heart started beating SUPER hard. SUPER 
DUPER HARD. I couldn't breath and I couldn't talk, and 
when he lifted my chin with his fingertips, I couldn't 
meet his eyes.

"You have two choices," he said. "Over my lap, or over 
the top of my desk."

For the first time I noticed his desk was completely 
clear. I gulped. "I'll do whatever you say, Mr. Bork."

"Will you?"

I met his eyes. I could barely speak. "Yes, sir."

"Entertain me," he said. He went back and sat down in his 
chair. This time I could not gulp.

Diary, he wanted me to MASTURBATE! No counting that I had 
done it in front of him just yesterday in class--this was 
different! This was SO VERY DIFFERENT. 

Right then I didn't want to masturbate any more than I 
wanted to be spanked and I wanted both desperately. I 
slowly unbuckled my belt, and pulled down my zipper.

"Can I ask you something, Mr. Bork?"

"Certainly."

"Are you going to hurt me?"

He cocked his head. "Hurt you how?"

I just sat there and shook. 

"Pull your pants down, Brandi."

I pulled down my pants.

"You didn't have this problem yesterday. You seemed 
willing enough then."

"Yes, sir."

"Different now, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

His lips turned up in a knowing smile, the kind of smile 
Daddy gets when he catches me up short, when I do 
something really dumb. "I'll ask you again, Brandi. Do 
you want to go home?"

In answer, I pushed my jeans all the down around my 
ankles and spread my legs. Putting my hand on my belly, I 
slipped it beneath my panties and went to the place 
between my legs. Breathing got really hard. I felt light 
headed. Then I found my little button and began to rub it 
and I jumped something awful.

I yipped, "Sorry!" and withdrew my hand. My face was on 
fire. "I don't why what happened." Then a shiver ran up 
my spine and I spread my legs more and tilted myself 
upwards, and put my hand back and began to rub. In 
seconds, I was squirming. "Oh, God," I said, without 
meaning to, and Mr. Bork's eyes, Diary, Mr. Bork's eyes 
got ready to POP. He tried to hide it, but his penis 
turned into this really big cock and pushed up under his 
pants so that they bulged. I got really excited.

"I've never done this before," I said, which is almost 
the truth. I've only done it for Daddy. "Not in front of 
a man." 

Mr. Bork's eyes just watched.

Knowing I shouldn't, Diary, but unable to stop, I slid my 
other hand down my panties and began touching my lips. 
Soon one finger was up me, then two, then three of them, 
so Mr. Bork couldn't miss what I did. Then I took out all 
but one because one finger is always the best. 

I made noise and I moaned, Diary, and it was SO 
EMBARRASSING! Then I removed my hand and pulled my 
panties aside and let Mr. Bork see everything. I used the 
fingers of both hands to open myself up, Diary, and I 
opened myself WIDE. Shaking like a leaf, I felt air go 
into my vagina and all the way down to its end, and this 
sent chills through me everywhere. I was totally 
flustered, Diary and HOT! Then I did something worse. 

OH, GOD, DIARY! I Didn't REALLY do this! 

Pulling my panties down to my knees, I leaned back all 
the way and pulled my knees against my chest. Hugging 
them there my chin, I pulled me butt cheeks apart and 
showed Mr. Bork everything Brandi Cole had.

He made a weird noise, then coughed.

"Mr. Bork," I said, feeling really desperate. 

"What?" he croaked back.

"I think you better spank me now."

He was up in an instant and to my chair, snatching me up 
and Diary, he pulled my panties into place in mid-air and 
put me over his knee. His giant erection poked me hard in 
the belly, making me gasp out loud. Then he pushed my 
shirt all the way and undid my bra. "When I finish," he 
said. "You'll have about three seconds to get between my 
legs and unbutton your top. It has to come off. Your 
brassiere too. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," I panted. OH, PLEASE! my brain screamed. Will 
you PLEASE SPANK ME ALREADY!

SMACK!

The first blow was not that hard but stung pretty good. 
It stung REALLY good! 
Then SMACK! went his hand and then SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! 
and my butt was suddenly alive and I gripped his leg with 
both hands and I sucked in my breath and yelled, "Ow! Mr. 
Bork! OW! That really hurts!"

His hand came down five more times and now he hand my 
hands clutched behind my back, keeping me in place and 
keeping them out of the way. I was kicking my feet and 
jumping up and down on his lap and pleading, "OW! OW! It 
hurts Mr. Bork! It hurts Mr. Bork! It HURTS!" and his 
hand spanked me six more times.

"Mr. Bork, please! OW! Mr. Bork! OW! OW! OW!"

Then he pulled down my panties and spanked my rear end, 
then raised them again and spanked me some more.

"You are SMACK! such a bad girl, Brandi SMACK! that 
everything I do SMACK! is so well deserved. SMACK! SMACK! 
SMACK! I will not SMACK! put up with your SMACK! bullshit 
anymore SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! and if you so much as SMACK! 
make a peep in my class SMACK! SMACK! I'll do this in 
front of the class!"

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! 

By now, I was crying harder than I had cried in years 
(have I EVER cried that hard?) and tears poured down my 
face and onto the floor. I couldn't see anything. My 
bottom felt like a sting from a hundred foot wasp and I 
couldn't cry out because I couldn't get my breathe. Every 
spank sent my feet flying. Then I was off his lap and 
onto the floor and Mr. Bork was standing before me and I 
tore at the buttons on my shirt and whipped it off and 
Mr. Bork was struggling to get his fly open. I tore off 
my bra and I got to my knees and I got his pants open and 
his erection out and before I could even look at it and 
see if it was huge he pushed it into my mouth. 
I started gagging.

"Nhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"