BRANDI COLE'S DIARY

BY ANONYGURL

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!"

"Jesus, Brandi! Jesus!"

"Nhhhhhh-enner-nonnnn! Nennnnnnn!"

"Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!"

He took my head, Diary, and very fast and very forcefully, he
made me take him all the way in. ALL THE WAY IN! I know how to
deep throat, but I've never had my mouth taken over before, and
it wasn't like I knew what I was doing, or could control it, I
only did what his hands and his cock told me to do. It went all
the way down my throat at least six times, Diary, and because I
was choking so bad, he had to let me stop.

"Please! Please, Mr. Bork!" I gasped. "NO MORE!" Then I finally
saw his cock. IT WAS SO HUGE!

"Open your mouth and I'll do the rest!" he panted.

I panicked. "No! No! No, Mr. Bork! You don't understand." I fell
back on my hands, kicked out my legs and threw them wide.
"PLEASE! For God's sake! You have to!"

He grabbed me up, ran me to the couch and threw himself down. I
came down on top. He held me in the air--literally--while I
pulled my panties aside, and drew up my legs. Then he was inside
me and making me squeal, and I went up and down his shaft like a
runaway pump. Diary, I squealed and I pleaded and I hit my head
against his because it hurt so good. IT HURT, DIARY! BUT IT HURT
SO GOOD!

"OH MY GOD, BRANDI! OH MY GOD!"

"MR. BORK! OHHHHHHHHHHH!"

I was completely in his grasp and going up and down and all I
could do was keep squealing, "Mr. Bork! Mr. Bork!" until finally
a burst of cum hot as the sun blew into me and then I was
gripping his neck and clamping my teeth and screaming hard as I
could into a pillow. I came and I came and I came, Diary, until I
couldn't come any more and he was still hard inside me and still
coming and still hurting me, And then I shook and I chattered my
teeth until I passed out.

"You all right, baby?"

I looked up, found Mr. Bork stroking my hair. He sat beside me on
the couch. I was under a blanket.

"What happened?" I said.

"You passed out."

"I did?" I looked around in disbelief.

"You did."

I guess I did.

"You okay?"

"I guess so," I said. "I think so. I don't know." I looked at my
clothes thrown over the floor. "My butt hurts," I said.

"It does?"

"Really bad."

His kissed the tip of my nose. "No one ever deserved it more than
you." I guess they didn't.

"I'm not sure I can sit down," I said.

"Miss class tomorrow, young lady, and I'll tan you again."

My face grew hot. "Don't worry. I won't do that."

He held my panties aloft. "I like you naked, Brandi. You're very
sexy, naked."

Slowly, I drew back the blanket and let it fall away. "Even my
little breasts?" My nipples were squashed little points. He
sucked them alive.

"Especially those," he said.

"What about there," I said, slightly spreading my legs.

He bent down and kissed me first on my button, then between my
lips. Then his tongue went in and it stayed for a very long time.
When it came out again (I was so very ready to die) he smiled and
said, "Like a baby. So smooth," and for the first time since
getting my period, I was glad for no hair.

And then, Diary, he lay down atop me, kissed my nose and my eyes,
touched me on my breasts and my special place and made me
understand what being a good girl is all about.

***

I looked up and my husband was in the doorway. "What you got
there?" he asked.

"A time machine," I said.

He looked at my strangely, but with a soft smile, and sat down
beside me. "People are wondering where you are," he said. He
placed his hand upon my two holding the diary. He squeezed them
reassuringly. "You all right?"

I smiled as best as I could. "Sure."

He looked at the diary, took it from my hands, and glanced at it
curiously. "This yours?" he asked. Flipping the book back and
forth, he did not open it.

"It was. Until it got taken away."

He whistled softly. "You don't mean..."

I nodded. "I found it in the drawer."

He looked at the table, back at the book, then down at Dad's bed.
"Kept it close, didn't he," he said.

I said nothing.

"Did you read any?"

"Uh-huh."

"Were you shocked?"

"Uh-huh."

John laughed, uneasily. "This would have been real trouble," he
said. "If your Daddy had told."

"I know," I said. "He didn't tell."

John sighed. "I never understood."

I took his arm, leaned my head on his shoulder. "I did," I said.
"I still do."

John never gave up on me, not even after Daddy threatened him
harm. When I transferred to Our Lady of Good Counsel High School
in Wheaton, John followed. He was my English teacher in eleventh
grade, and my lover in all four. We married the day I turned
eighteen.

We kept it secret until my junior year in college, then I got
pregnant with Julie and carried the charade no further. When the
truth came out that John and I married during my senior year at
Good Counsel, he was dismissed, as he expected. He now teaches at
Frostburg State College upstate.

Later that night, after the guests were gone and the children
were in bed, John lay me back on Daddy's bed and touched me
gently on my breasts and on my special place and, like he did all
those years ago in the red brick house with so many pretty
flowers, after kissing my nose and my eyes, he showed me what
being a good woman is all about.