I’d passed this place several times in the past. As a traveling factory rep, I had occasion to find myself in this part of the state, perhaps every six months, or so.
This time, I had some time to kill — actually the rest of the day free — and yielded to my curiosity, pulling into the gravel parking lot spanning the front of the building.
The building itself was old and made of concrete block. With windows fronting the store, it looked like it had once been a market — IGA, or whatever.
The sign read, “General Store” with another, smaller sign that read, “Everything from scoop to nuts” hanging below it. I have always enjoyed digging through such a place, looking for that gem that could never be found in a Wal-Mart or Kmart.
As I parked, I noticed that the place was virtually deserted. My car was the only one in the lot and I assumed that employees must park behind the building.
Entering the store, I was charmed by the sound of tinkling bells which announced my entrance to the proprietress, an attractive lady, maybe forty years old, standing behind a sales counter, looking in my direction to see who had rung the bells.
I smiled at her and told her that I just wanted to browse. Not waiting for an answer, I took a quick turn down an aisle and was soon focused on the outstanding collection of eclectic merchandise, putting the lady out of my mind.
Although I was entertained by the variety of bric-a-brac and toys, camping gear and fishing tackle, pet food and horse tack, I’d not found anything to truly appeal to my taste. Until I wandered into the souvenir section.
Immediately I thought back to years past when I’d stop at a Stuckey’s for breakfast and look, always, for the souvenir paddles. They’d always have several choices, all highly varnished, each displaying its saucy message; “Apply To The Seat Of Learning”, “For Naughty Boys”, and so on.
I guess that, as political correctness took hold and ‘spanking’ fell out of fashion, the chain chose to discontinue sales of the paddles and they’d all but become a thing of the past.
Here, though, was a display of perhaps twenty different paddles, all identical in shape and size, all with the highly-varnished finish, all thin and, I imagined perfectly suited to sting and burn a naughty male’s posterior.
Without volition I found myself reaching out and picking up one of the paddles. I could feel my heart pounding and my penis stirred in my trousers, aroused by my immediate fantasy of a stern, strict woman applying this very same paddle to my bared bottom.
Holding the paddle by the handle end, as if I was preparing to use it, I tapped it against the palm of my left hand. As I tap, tap, tapped my palm, I drew a mental picture of removing my clothes, preparing myself for a severe paddling by this woman who was prepared to fulfill my fantasies.
I’d been so absorbed in my thoughts, I’d not noticed the shopkeeper’s approach until she was standing next to me.
“You’re not the first to find themselves standing before these paddles.