Paddling

When I was a child my father wielded a leather belt,
occasionally applying it vigorously to my bare bottom,
standard punishment for familial felonies.
My mother sometimes acted as witness, co-prosecuter, and judge,
but shied away from flogging duties.
Flogging was definitely a father's job.
Still, on occasion,
when the particularly heinous nature of the crime dictated,
she would grab a small wooden paddle and pretend to dispense justice.
And I would pretend to cry.
This elaborate charade was played out
many times over several years,
restrained paddling - crocodile tears.
A sanitized S & M session
between two consenting softies.