Aunt Daisy's Secret

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  When he finally spoke, he was as loving and tender as he'd always been. All the horrible irritation and anger had vanished, and I could only remember the sweet things about our time together.

  I cooked him scrambled eggs and potatoes, and he said it was the best meal he'd ever had. I don't know if he was telling the truth or not, but it didn't seem like honesty was quite as important right then, as the quality of affection we had for each other. And mine, as bizarre as it may seem, has risen by leaps and bounds, in this short time.

  "Melanie!"

  The young woman jerked, awakened from Aunt Daisy's world into her own. The harsh sounding tone in Tony's voice concerned her.

  "Melanie, where are you?"

  Melanie snapped the book closed and pushed it back into its hiding place, along with the packet of letters. She could hear Tony's step on the stairs, and didn't want to be caught with the dairy in hand. It was a foolish worry, since Tony couldn't care less what she was doing, but Melanie felt she should guard her Aunt's privacy as if the woman was still living.

  "Melanie," Tony said, stepping up into the attic. Seeing him there in the shadowy light of the entry, she was instantly reminded of Aunt Daisy's description of her Joseph. They would be about the same height, with the same muscular Italian build, dark curly hair and gleaming black eyes. Melanie closed the lid of the trunk slowly as Tony peered at her from the gloomy stairwell. She hadn't realized until that moment how much the light of day had dwindled away. Long shadows would suggest a summer evening about 8:00 p.m., though nothing had happened to change the stifling heat. The fan still hummed along noisily; though suddenly its sound grated at her ears like nails on a blackboard.

  "Haven't I told you about that old thing," Tony said, as his eyes followed hers to the squealing metal appliance.

  Melanie was feeling such blissful thoughts, that the reality of Tony's irritation surprised her. Then she remembered that this was how things often were between them anymore.

  "It works just fine," Melanie said, "I haven't had a problem with it."

  "You keep using that old thing, you'll likely start a fire and burn the place down. But then, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea," he mused.

  "Tony no!" Melanie fumed at his attitude.

  She watched as her husband walked toward her, snatched the fan cord and yanked it from the socket. Then jerking the cord from the machine, he showed her the fraying end.

  "Humph!" was all the response she could give.

  "It's nearly 8:00, Mel, I was hoping for a little dinner?"

  "I'm sorry, I just get lost up here sometimes, with these old things."

  Tony nodded absently, and turned to leave, as Melanie was pushing the old trunk aside. It held more treasures than she ever imagined. Her curiosity was peaked, as she wondered what other tales her Aunt would tell on the pages of her diary.

  Melanie made dinner in a hurry. She was thankful that she had all the ingredients for Tony's favorite salad, and she served it to him as he waited not so patiently at the kitchen table.

  They didn't speak while they ate, the silence unusually uncomfortable between them. Melanie hoped to pacify Tony with a little dinner, the way Aunt Daisy had pacified Joseph, but her husband seemed so out of sorts. She was about to clear the table after they'd finished eating, when Tony interrupted her.

  "You know, Melanie, things aren't going very well between us," he said. He seemed collected and not at all angry now; though the truth was, his well practiced cool scared her, so much so, there was a lump in her stomach.

  "What do you mean?" she asked cautiously.

  "Maybe I was too old to marry, too set in my ways."

  "What! You're only thirty five," Melanie said incredulously.

  "I know that, but there's a difference between us, in the way we see things. Perhaps there's just nothing we can do about it."

  "You're really scaring me Tony, I don't understand. What is it that I do that bothers you so much?"

  "This morning," he started immediately. "You interrupted me five times, five times," he repeated for emphasis. "I can't get any work done. And they all seem like such ridiculous things. I really thought this house would keep you busy, you were so inspired to renovate it, quitting your job and all that. But it's taking time away from my work. I can't have that!"

  "I'm sorry," Melanie started to apologize.

  "No, that's not enough. I've told you this before, but no matter what I do, you don't hear me. You didn't used to be like this at all!" His voice was rising in tenor just a bit.

  Melanie bit her lip, holding back her immediate response, and her hurt. Oddly, her thoughts immediately recalled Joseph's solution to his troubles with Aunt Daisy: the spanking. She shook her head, as if to shake away the thought altogether. It was too ridiculous to even mention, and why in heavens name would she have even thought of it? Spanking was an antiquated throw back to some Neanderthal time, hardly a modern solution to a real relationship dilemma. It might have been okay in Aunt Daisy's day, but certainly not now!

  "I'm sorry Tony, I really am, I've just had such a problem making decisions about this house. With you here, I guess I forget you need to work."

  "Exactly," he agreed.

  "I'll try. I'll really try to be more considerate."

  Tony didn't look relieved. In fact, his jaw seemed set in concrete, and his jet black eyes pierced her so thoroughly that she had to look away. Her heart was pounding, as her mind worked furiously to find the right thing to say to appease Tony's concerns. She couldn't bear to lose him, he meant far too much to her, but this sudden seriousness scared her. Always before, she could flirt her way back into his good graces, but now, she couldn't even fathom making a sexual advance.

  "It's a whole attitude Melanie, I can't put up with your questions, and then your pouting and running off, disappearing upstairs where you moon about God knows what." Tony gestured with his usual Italian flare, his temper showing more and more, where he'd once been so calm.

  "I just get so overwhelmed," she tried to explain.

  "You've never been overwhelmed by things before. I don't understand, this is what you wanted!" Tony said pointedly. He looked at her and sighed sadly, a sullen mood replacing his irritation. He rose from his chair, and going to his office, he closed the door with an emphatic finality.

  This Tony took Melanie by surprise. Suddenly so distant, he didn't even seem like the Tony she loved so much. She was scared.

  That night, she slipped into her sexiest nightie and waited for him in under the covers; though she fell asleep before he came to bed, sometime after two o'clock. The next morning, Melanie woke by eight o'clock, but Tony was already gone. She wondered if he'd slept with her at all, except that the tell-tale signs, the wrinkled sheets and bunched up feather pillow, suggested he'd been there.

  Melanie avoided Tony all morning. It wasn't hard to do as long as she didn't knock on his door. He didn't come out once, and his closed office door was a sure indication that he wanted to be alone.

  While she waited for the right moment to initiate some reconciliation, Melanie plunged into her work: making phone calls to decorators, going over paint samples and trying to make at least some of the millions of decisions that she faced.

  At noon, she stopped to fix lunch. By that time, her stomach was doing anxious flip flops, as she considered how Tony might greet an interruption. She hesitated for nearly ten minutes, hoping that he'd come out on his own, but finally gave the office door a timid tap announcing her presence. She heard his muffled reply and opened the door.

  "I thought you might want lunch?"

  "Ah, yes, I am hungry," he said. He seemed pleasant enough.

  Melanie took his reply as an invitation, though the two ate in silence, Melanie not knowing what to say.

  "Thanks for the sandwich," Tony said, when he was finished. He remained as distant as he had before. Passing the plate to Melanie, he turned in his chair and went back to work at his computer.

  Chapter Two

&n
bsp; Melanie spent the afternoon just as she had the morning, feeling lonelier by the minute. She could hardly concentrate on her work for thinking of the horrible impasse between she and her husband. By four o'clock she wandered back to her attic perch, sitting down in the old chair with the diary in hand, ready to dive into a world that seemed much more pleasant and exciting than her own. Though she'd only spent a few hours with her Aunt's amazing journal, it was already a prized possession, the smell of its leather cover and the soft pages, delivering a perfume of another time to tickle her nostrils and her romantic sensibilities.

  I can't believe I'm writing about this once again, but I don't really know how else to unburden myself. These empty pages seem the only solace and friend I have in this amazing escapade of my love affair!

  Oh! And it is a love affair, I tremble as I write this, but it is so true.

  Everything Joseph has done has only made me love him all the more, even though his lessons are quite painful.

  After that first spanking, I've been more cautious of my snappy tongue when I'm with him. If I should get a bit cross, it only takes one stern look and I'm quickly reminded of how harsh my words sound. But tonight I was so terribly foolish. I treated Joseph very badly, and I have to agree that I deserve the treatment he gave me.

  In my defense, my day had been very rushed, and I was so looking forward to an evening with Joseph. He planned to take me dancing at the social in the basement of First Presbyterian. I was excited to see him as I always am, and when he called to tell me that he couldn't make it, I was crushed.

  "Go on ahead without me," he said.

  But I got very upset. I didn't want to go without him, what fun would that be?

  "Daisy, you're being childish," he told me, warning me with "that tone of voice".

  I told him I was sorry, that I was simply going to miss him so much.

  "Well, I might show up, so you be there. Have some fun with your girlfriends and we'll dance when I get there."

  I wasn't happy about it, and mumbled some answer and hung up the phone. I made up my mind right then that I'd indeed go to the dance, and if Joseph thought I'd just sit around and giggle with the girls, he had another thing coming!

  Oh! how foolish I am sometimes!

  I went to the dance, tagging along with Gracie and Meg and their beaus. I felt rather triumphant when I accepted another man's invitation to dance. (He couldn't hold a candle to Joseph, but he was handsome enough.)

  At first, all I could think of was Joseph, I missed him. But as time went by, I became a little more comfortable. I danced with my young man for nearly an hour, and was doing a rather fun fox-trot, when I happened to glance at the sidelines, only to see Joseph staring at me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, for there was no way to describe the expression on his face. Neither happy nor sad, neither hurt nor elated; the closest explanation of his look was perplexed.

  I continued glancing at Joseph now and again. Much to my growing discomfort, he continued to stare at me in his vacant way. I'm not sure why I continued to dance, I suppose it was a little bit of defiance, just doing it to spite him. I knew I'd pout a bit, and then forgive him for not being there in the first place; but things didn't go quite the way I planned.

  When I finally stopped dancing, I thanked the nice young man and excused myself; only to brush by Joseph with a sassy smirk on my face. "You said to enjoy myself, didn't you?" I told him, assuming he was angry with me.

  "And so you did this to bruise me?" he asked.

  "Maybe." I was being very snotty.

  Joseph followed me to the punchline, while I remained aloof. I guess sometimes I can't help myself, little irritations get in the way of my better judgment.

  "I think you've said enough," Joseph warned.

  I didn't give up then, and I imagine if I had, I might have avoided the sore bottom I have right now; but that's not how the story goes.

  "And whose to say I've said enough," I snapped at him with a hearty dose of sarcasm.

  With that, he took me by the arm. The moment he did, I felt a surge of emotion pass between us that was startling.

  Though he was very firm, he held me gently, pulling me from the dance floor, out into the hallway. Whisking me around, he held my shoulders in his hands with a tight grip. His dark eyes looked as if they'd drill holes right through me. I shuddered seeing how furious he was, though I was still angry myself, and not about to admit that I was behaving like a brat.

  "Suppose you tell me what's wrong with you," Joseph said.

  "Nothing's wrong," I charged, my voice very haughty.

  "Then why are you are being so nasty with me?"

  "Are you accusing me of something?" I asked in return.

  "Not in the slightest, but I'm about to take you outside and paddle your bottom."

  "Here? You wouldn't do that!" I protested.

  "Not another word," he warned.

  I fumed miserably as I looked back at him. I can't imagine I could communicate so much with my eyes, but apparently I did, for it was enough to make Joseph pull me out into the warm night and lead me to the back of the church property, where there was an old picnic table hidden in the shadows of an enormous willow tree.

  "Please Joseph," I said, trying to kick myself away from him, I knew exactly what he had in mind. Even as I tried to get away however, I had this strange surge of feeling pass through me. I still can't quite identify its source, but I know that it almost takes my breath away, it's so strong.

  Unfortunately I kicked him in the shins, and he stopped short of the table, and turned to me with his eyes steely cold. They were bearing down on me like two daggers. "For that Daisy," he said, "you'll get spanked on your bare behind."

  I was so shocked I couldn't even begin to think of a reply. Before I knew it, Joseph dragged me into the shadows, sitting himself down on the bench, my body going over his lap in seconds.

  "This, young lady, is going to hurt a whole lot more than the last time."

  "Please Joseph, I'm so sorry."

  "I'm sure you will be," he advised me.

  I hoped that he wouldn't really go through with this, but even though our romance was only months old, I should have known that Joseph was not the kind of man to change his mind.

  When he lifted the hem of my pink skirt, I know I blushed, even though he probably couldn't even see my rear end in the darkness. To my further horror, Joseph tugged at the waistband of my underwear and lowered them so that my bottom was completely bare. I couldn't believe this was happening. We were practically in a public place. Thank the lord for a dark moonless night!

  His hand came down on my bottom with a dozen quick smacks. I would have yowled from the beginning, except that I knew my cries might be heard across the church yard. This was hardly something that I wanted published to my friends. After the first round, Joseph continued smacking my poor rear with one blistering whack after another. He was quite right, it hurt much more than the hairbrush had hurt me through the protection of my clothes.

  My only response was tears, big huge sobbing tears that formed in my eyes and ran down my upside down cheeks. I whispered to him "please stop", but my pleading was to no avail.

  "I should get a switch and really give it to you," he said, when he momentarily paused.

  I said nothing, hoping that the switch was just a passing thought.

  I could hardly believe how much his hand burned my skin, when at other times it could be so tender and loving. And yet, even as I was in such terrible pain, I realized the justice of his punishing me. I deserved it for treating him so shabbily, and while this seemed at the time, a totally barbaric thing to do, I was submitting, almost grateful, and glad that he cared about our relationship enough to do this.

  "I'd better have a well behaved girl friend after this," he advised me.

  I truly hoped the steady smack, smack, smack couldn't be heard beyond the trees. It sounded so loud, I was certain that everyone inside the church could hear it! But no matter how I worried
and cried, Joseph was determined make sure I learned this lesson well.

  "Oh, Joseph, please stop," I finally wailed. My bottom was on fire, but Joseph wasn't listening.

  He must have spanked me for nearly five minutes, hardly giving us a breather. But as he appeared to finish, his smacks were less harsh and the tempo less vigorous. It was then that I felt that strange feeling again, that wild churning in my loins. It was so alarming, I was quite grateful that just moments later he pushed me back to my feet.

  I stared down at Joseph, as he still sat on the picnic bench. The sky had cleared just a little, so I could see his face in the starlight. I'm sure he could see mine.

  "I think sometimes, Daisy, you just beg to be paddled," he said.

  "Beg?" I was astounded by his charge.

  "You're normally not an ill-tempered woman, but sometimes . . . ."

  I know I blushed then. I have to admit, I was feeling much like a child, a spoiled brat actually. Thinking back to the incident that started all this, I was even more ashamed of myself. I apologized again, and his face broke out into the most pleasant smile. He took my hand, and pulled me down next to him on the bench. I winced a little, and Joseph snickered knowing why.

  "Hurts, doesn't it?" he said.

  "Yes," I admitted.

  "Looked mighty red too," he said.

  "You saw my bottom?"

  "Not much, but enough. I imagine it's a nice shade of crimson, just like your face."

  I tried to smile.

  Joey told me I'd better get used to it, if I was to continue being his girlfriend.

  Oh my! The sweetest things followed. Joseph was so tender and loving. We talked for sometime time about my nasty streak, and about spanking. He explained that a good hard paddling was one way to get two people beyond their differences quickly, especially when that one person had a habit of behaving like a naughty brat. It didn't seem strange at all that he should take it on himself to make me behave properly.