We sat on opposite ends of the sofa in her living room, sipping our drinks and waiting, each of us, for the other to say something.We sat on opposite ends of the sofa in her living room, sipping our drinks and waiting, each of us, for the other to say something. Finally I decided to go first. "I gather that you're planning to give those printouts to Mr. Moore, and tell him where you got them, unless I give you some reason not to," I said. She nodded. "You know what I make," I said, "and I don't have any savings. I don't see how you could expect me to give you enough to make it worth your while to risk going to jail for blackmail." "I don't want money," she said. "What do you want, then?", I demanded. "When I was growing up," she replied, "my parents were pretty rough with us - with me and my brother, who's three years younger than I am. Whenever one of us got out of line, there was a spanking, a paddling, a caning or a real whipping with a belt or a razor strap. If we got in trouble together, like if we were fighting or something like that, my mom or my dad, or sometimes both, would line us up and give it to the two of us together." "I don't get it," I said. "What does your childhood have to do with me?" "Just shut up and listen," she said roughly. "A few times one of us got a licking in the middle of the day, but usually they waited till bedtime, when Jimmy was in his PJ's and I was in my nightgown. It was awful, knowing sometimes for hours that it was going to happen, taking a bath and getting ready for bed, and then having one of my parents come in, make me take off my nightgown and work my ass over with a hairbrush or the strap or something like that. |