Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 27 Nov 2017
On the evening of Black Friday (the day after Thanksgiving), Iris took a call from the Oaklawn Nursing Centre, Rose Henderson resided. The call was short; Iris’ tone was somber. When she hung up, she walked upstairs to find Garret.
He was sitting in his room, on his bed, with Tim, and Sean sitting at Garret’s desk. The cousins were talking about a variety of subjects that occupy teenage boys’ minds.
When his Aunt Iris hurried in the door to his room, the two boys on the bed instantly rolled over on their abdomens, red-faced, to hide the boners that were popping up and bulging in the fronts of their shorts. Poor Sean could not make that move, and his smaller tent was raised in plain view of his Aunt.
What are you boys doing? What’s going on in here, Garret? Aunt Iris demanded.
Ah, ah, we, ah, were just talking, ah, about school and, um, things, Garret stammered.
It looks to me like you boys were doing something else, too. Shame on you young men, she decried.
I ought to get the wooden spoon and take it to the little rearends of every one of you, she declared.
No, no, Aunt Iris. I wasn’t, ah, that, it’s, ah,... sometimes, ah, I can’t, um, help it. I guess that’s true for Tim and Sean too, he added, trying to help out Sean, but incriminating Tim more.
He was feeling very antsy and nervous, and a little guilty and queasy, and a little dizzy; but his boner thwarted his effort to limit his mortified embarrassment, by growing to an engorged flag pole in his lap.
Ignoring the boy’s horny frustration, she walked over and put her hand on his head, softly rubbing his hair. She was unaware at the moment how wonderfully warm and welcome that soothing care felt to him.
Honey, I have some bad news for you. That was the nursing home, and, well, as your Mom passed away this evening. They think she had stroke, probably related to the head injury she received in the accident, Iris explained.
Garret’s head snapped up and he looked up at his Aunt, shocked.
What?! No! Momma! Noooo, please, no. Momma noooo! He broke down sobbing and wailing.
Iris pulled the boy up out of his chair and walked him along with her while she sat down on the bedside. Pulling him onto her lap, facing her, she drew him in close against her, with her arms tightly embracing him.
Garret cried, sobbing as if his young heart were irreparably broken.
Iris explained to Violet, who came upstairs when she heard the boy’s childlike, hopeless blubbering. They got him up, undressed him while he held on to them, crying, and put him into his bed early, nude with tumescent, boyish boner.
They both walked over and put their hands on his head, one after the other, softly stroking his hair. Pulling up the sheet, they kissed him on his head, shut off the light, but the did not leave.
Instead, they both pulled up chairs next to his bed, sitting in the dark while their young nephew cried like a hapless baby until he drifted off to sleep. When from the sound of the boy’s breathing it was sure he was sleeping, the two Aunts quietly got up and left Grant to gain the re-creative refreshment from solid slumber.
The next day, the Aunts began the hurried planning of Garret’s Mother’s funeral. It would be the following Friday.
Aunts Iris and Violet checked the boy’s dark suit, pressed it, and made sure his dress shirt and tie were ready, along with his dark dress shoes. Looking at him Saturday morning, they decided he needed a haircut to tidy him up and restore the image of a good-looking, clean cut, young man.
Aunt Iris took on the task of getting Garret to a barber. At 10 a.m., Saturday morning, she announced to Garret they were going to the barber to get him a haircut.
Garret did not feel like he needed a haircut, like his hair was too long.
I’m okay, Aunt Iris. My hair is okay, he responded.
Ptschaah, boy! No way! You look like a ruffian with that scruffy, loose, uneven hair! You want to look at your best for your Mother’s funeral. A nice, short, clean cut haircut! Think of it as part of honouring her, young man!
Garret knew he could not oppose this. Aunt Iris spun her slim, lithe, little nephew around, swatted his narrow, flat bottom, telling him to hurry and get ready.
That got him moving, and he came out in no time dressed and ready to go. He only hoped his Aunts would let him keep his longish hair to make him look a little older.
Aunt Iris came and grabbed the boy’s arm, tugging him along to the car to drive to the barber shop. Garret rode along in his jeans and a long sleeve knit shirt, and a slim, denim jacket.
At the barber shop, the parked on the side and walked in, taking seats next to each other on one of the two, long, oak pews that supplied seating in the shop. They shop was quite full and they had to wait.
In the meanwhile, a middle-aged lady came in with her grandson, about 7 years old. There were no seats available. Iris looked up at her, looked around the shop, and leaned over and told Garret to stand up and allow the lady with the grandson to sit down.
Obediently, Garret stood up and walked away from the bench.
Oh, no, that’s not necessary, the lady replied.
Oh, yes, it is, Violet responded.
This boy is going to grow up to be an honourable gentleman, and a gentleman doesn’t fail to give a lady his seat. That’s right, isn’t it, Garret?
Garret looked over at the lady, blushed embarrassed, but responded,
Yes, Ma’am, that’s right.
He then continued standing near Aunt Iris while the lady and her grandson took his seat.
At long last, it was Garret’s turn. There were two barbers, a man in his 50’s and a younger man, probably in his mid-twenties, who resembled the older barber.
All right, young man. Step up, into the chair, the younger barber summoned Garret.
Once he had sat, the barber placed the haircut cover around front of him, tucking it tightly around the boy’s thin neck.
The barber spoke little to Garret, except for an occasional command.
Hold your head still, boy! Bend your head forward! Turn to the right!
After cutting off a good part of Garret’s hair, the barber addressed the young man directly.
So, how do you want the top and front, son?
Garret sat silently.
I asked how you want the top and front, young man.
Ah, I, ah, don’t know, ah,...
Ma’am, how do you want the boy’s hair cut? I asked him about the top and front, and he said he doesn’t know.
Aunt Iris stood up and walked over alongside the chair, looking at her young nephew-son.
Short on top, no need for a part, she responded.
Garret looked shocked and sick.
No, Aunt Iris! Not that short! Please! he called out. As the barber began the whir of his clippers, Garret twisted in the chair, turning his from one side to another.
Now, boy, behave! the barber spoke up.
If you don’t sit still, I cannot cut your hair properly,
and could make a very, serious mistake, or even injure you. I don’t want to do that, youngster.
Garret paid no heed, continuing his contortions to try to elude the barber’s actions.
I told you to behave, young man, but you aren’t listening. You need your little fanny warmed up, and that’d get your attention and cooperation real fast, the barber admonished.
Turning to face Aunt Iris, he spoke directly to her.
Ma’am, this boy is definitely not listening. I cannot do this as long as he behaves like this.
Let him out of the chair, for a few minutes, sir. Don’t wait, though. Go on to another customer. When we’re done, you won’t have any more problem with Garret, I assure you.
He undid the cover around the boy, lowered the chair, and waited for the thin youth to crawl out. Knowing full well what his Aunt had in mind, Garret sat unmoving, ignoring the barber or the fact that other customers were waiting behind him.
Aunt Iris reached out and took hold of her nephew’s thin arm, jerking him right up and out of the chair.
You’ve got quite a lesson to learn, young man, she chided, pulling the boy along with her back to one of the two, long, wooden pews in the shop.
She sat down, maneuvering Garret around before her. Hurriedly, she unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, tugging them down off his little butt and down his skinny legs to his feet. Without pause, next to follow were her nephew’s light blue, trunk briefs.
Please, no, please, Aunt Iris! Garret called out softly, entreating her to spare him the embarrassment of being denuded, aroused, and spanked in public. He begged in vain.
She proceeded to pull him over her lap, gripped his small, right wrist in her hand, pulling it up behind his back into the space between his shoulder blades. Reaching down into her large purse, she retrieved the all-too-familiar, wooden hair brush.
Immediately she began to spank him very hard. In astonishingly fast time, Garret was bawling and wailing as the brush pounded one fiery smack after another all over his bare, little boy bottom and backs of this thin thighs.
His bottom was quickly very harsh, angry red with repetitive marks all over it. She smacked the insides of his thighs, and his legs spread widely apart instantly, allowing her to smack the tender insides of the boy’s buttocks.
Garret let go of his adolescent inhibitions, sobbing and crying and squalling. He was kicking his legs and his small arms were flailing around wildly, as if he were trying to swim off his Aunt’s lap and through the barber shop.
Aunt Iris continued spanking her nephew’s hurting, sore bottom, concentrating on the tender sit-spots where his mounds meet his thighs. As she did so, she interrogated him sharply.
Where did you get the idea you could misbehave like this, Garret Henderson?! You deserve everything that is happening to you, young man!
Are you going to give this barber, or me, any more trouble, because if you keep on, this is going to seem like a few love taps compared to what your young, bare bottom is going to get! Have I gotten through
to you?! Have you learned your lesson, to cooperate, obey, or else?!
His pride having been quickly discarded much earlier during the public spanking he was getting, Garret screeched his answers to her questions. Finally, satisfied, she stopped and pulled him immediately up onto his stomping feet as he danced the very juvenile, spanked-boy dance.
His face and ears were as red as his bottom, and as wet as his erect, leaking penis. Silence engulfed the barber ship. Only Garret’s pitiful sobs broke it.
No one spoke, while everyone stared at the indisputably chastened, spanked young boy, bouncing around while his still-erect, young member bobbed up and down. No one knew what to say except the barber.
Good for you, ma’am. Based on my own experience as a boy, and my observations while working for my Father here, that sort of discipline is always effective.
You’re quite correct, young man, Irish answered the young barber.
You are in this corner for a while, Garret, to think on the unfortunate spectacle you made necessary
here, Aunt Iris directed, standing up and steering her weeping nephew over to, and into, the corner by the coffee machine.
When you’re finally released, you will pull up your underwear and jeans, and come back to wait for our barber to take you back into the chair. Understand, young man?!
Garret whimpered his answer,
When he was allowed out of the corner, to redress, and return back into the barber’s chair, he sat very still and quietly, even though his sore bottom hurt like it was on fire.
Sitting there, the boy who had previously been unmindful of corporal discipline in his life was gradually, if unconsciously, learning from his frequent experiences since coming to live with his Aunts. In so doing, he came to the resolution he would always be on his best behaviour whenever he was in the barber shop in the future.
When the haircut was finished, Garret was released from the chair.
Wait right here, Aunt Iris
admonished as she opened her pocket book to pay and tip the young barber.
He thanked her, handing her a lollipop for Garret.
Give this to the little man, he explained, and added,
You did the right thing, ma’am. My Dad never hesitated to put me back in line the same way, with a smoking backside; and today I’m grateful. He, and you, will too one day.
Why thank you, young man, Aunt Iris replied.
Here you go, Garret. This nice young man gave you this, she added, handing me the orange lollipop.
What do you tell him?
Garret’s face was at that moment as red as his rearend, but he responded as prodded by his Aunt.
Thank you, sir.
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