It was a long, hot walk, at least 5 miles, maybe 10, I don’t know.  It was a hot May day, too hot to be walking long distances.  I had to stop several times just to get out of the sun, looking for possible water fountains where I could, for I was sweating profusely.  I didn’t actually find any, as it was almost all residential areas from the mall to my house.  I never thought this town could be such a desert.  Here I am, walking under the beating sun, from oasis to oasis.  OK, so I was being melodramatic, I wasn’t exactly going to die out here, and it wasn’t all that hot, but geez I sweat a lot, OK?  I was also getting a pretty good sunburn, by the way.

Finally I reached the promised land.  I glanced at my watch.  5:45.  I sat down on the front doorstep, catching my breath and preparing myself for the upcoming battle.  I couldn’t find water for the last 2 miles but had no doubt soaked my clothes in sweat several times over.  I was parched.

After a short respite I heard the door open behind me.  Great.  “It’s 5:48, Dad.  I expect to be sitting down eating supper at 6:00.”  What is her deal?  She went inside before I summoned the courage to face her.  After continuing to summon for a minute more, I got up and went inside.

Kyra was nowhere in sight, probably in her room.  I trudged toward the fridge.  She must have heard me come in, though, as I heard her heels clacking on the stairs.  I didn’t pause, as getting a drink was my top priority.  As I pulled out a gallon jug of water from the fridge and set it on the counter, I heard her heels approaching.  I didn’t want to turn around, instead opting to take a swig.  But a hand reached out and pushed the jug away, while another hand spun my shoulder around.  I’m sure I wouldn’t have let myself been pushed around like this, except I was utterly exhausted from my critical shortage of water.

As I turned, my tongue leaped in my throat.  An impressive display of cleavage presented itself slightly below me.  She was wearing that damned black dress again.  And heels this time as well.

“Eyes up here,” she scolded, brusquely lifting my chin up with her hand.  “I know how much you like this dress but you are not to look at my breasts again.  Do you understand?”

I winced and told her, “Please, just let me get some water first.  I’m so thirsty.”  I felt that all my willpower would be replenished if I could just get some water.

 She squeezed the underside of my chin and leaned forward.  “Do you understand?” she repeated sternly.

“Fine, I won’t look at them.”

“Good.  Now, hopefully your nice little walk taught you a lesson today, and from now on you will listen to what I tell you.”  I moved my mouth to speak but no words came out.  All I could think was, ‘water, water, water.’  She grabbed my wrist and looked at my watch.  “It is now 5:53.  You had better whip something up quick.”  She let go of my chin and stepped back, still watching me.

I stood dumbly looking up at her for a moment.  “Hey, Earth to Dad!”  She snapped her fingers in front of my eyes.  “Your clock is ticking, little man.”  I reached over for the water jug.  “You don’t have time for that,” she informed me, grabbed it from my hand and taking a big gulp for herself, just to tease me.  Wiping her mouth, she looked at me and demanded, “What are you waiting for?”

Part of me knew I shouldn’t listen to her and that she couldn’t really do anything to me.  But the larger part of me realized that (1) I was in no condition to fight her until I got water, and (2) she wouldn’t let me get water until I had finished dinner, and therefore (3) I would have to give in now – just temporarily, of course – in order to hit her with everything I had later.

So, I made the only choice that seemed logical: I scurried to the pantry to look for food.  First, I pulled out a box of Kraft macaroni.  “I don’t want that.  Make something else,” she commanded.  Then I resorted to good old spaghetti and meatballs.  “No, Dad, we just had that.”  Frantic, I searched the pantry and fished out a can of black beans and some rice.  She sighed, “Good enough, I suppose.”

I started the rice cooking, knowing full well that it wouldn’t finish in time.  The beans could be done, though.  I searched for the can opener, with no success.  “Have you seen the can opener?”  She frowned disapprovingly, shook her head, and looked at the clock.  5:56.  I wish she wouldn’t just stand there staring at me.  It was disquieting.  Finally, I found the can opener and dumped the beans into a skillet.  Quickly, I threw in some spices, not knowing what or how much would be best but just hoping it was OK.  The beans were cooking fairly quickly, although the rice still had 10 minutes I thought.  I turned up the heat to high to try to cook it faster, not knowing what would happen.

“6:00.  I’m very disappointed in you, Dad.  Now every minute over will cost you.”  My hands started to shake.  I was having trouble steadying them, spilling some beans on the stovetop.

“Remind me to have you clean that after dinner.”  God, she was so unnerving.

Finally, both the beans and rice were done.  As I brought them to the table, I walked past Kyra as she said, “6:08.  Tsk tsk.  I had really hoped you had learned your lesson.”

I set the food down then fetched two plates and silverware.  She sat down and waited.  “Well, aren’t you going to serve me?”

I quickly took her plate and served the rice and beans, spilling some on the table.

“Kyra, can I please have some water now?” I pleaded.

“Let me try this slop first, and then we’ll see.”  She took a bite, then frowned.  My heart sank.  “Bring the cayenne pepper and paprika,” she ordered.  I went and fetched it.  “Just a dash of each.”  I sprinkled some on.  She took another bite, paused, then said, “This isn’t very good, Dad.  But nothing you make is, so that’s just something we’ll have to fix.”  I was feeling dejected, until to my surprise she added, “You may drink now.”

My eyes lit up.  “Thank you, Kyra!” I said with genuine enthusiasm, too thirsty to feel anything but gratitude.  I rushed over and chugged straight from the jug.  Exhausted, I carried it to the table and sat down as I continued to drink frequently.  As I regained my senses, my demeanor towards my daughter changed from one of gratitude to one of hatred, as I thought back over the degrading position she had put me in, taking advantage of my weakness.  A weakness, by the way, brought about by the long walk that she so cruelly and unfairly made me endure.  I brooded over how I would proceed.  I decided to punish her tonight, after dinner was done.

“Eat something.  I want you ready to go for our basketball game tonight,” she ordered as she pushed the pot of beans toward me.

“I’m not playing you tonight,” I stated.  But I did grab the ladle and serve myself; I was starving after my long walk.

“Oh?” she said, raising her eyebrows.  “I think you will.”

“Yeah right.  I’m your father, Kyra, and you can’t tell me what to do.”

She said nothing, but smiled.  I continued eating, and after a few bites she said, “I’ll make you a deal, Daddy.”  She leaned forward and put her hand on mine.  Without thinking, I snuck a glance at her chest – God, she was still wearing that dress.  I don’t think she noticed, because she continued, “If you can beat me in one more game of 1-on-1, I’ll be on my best behavior for a whole week, and I’ll do anything you ask of me.  We can play at any time of your choosing.  Agreed?”  I was caught off guard.  It sounded too good to be true.

“What’s the catch?” I asked skeptically.

“No catch; you just have to beat me,” she replied confidently.  I cautiously nodded my head.  She picked up my hand and we shook to it.  “Good.  Now, like I said, I’ll let you choose whatever day you want to play, but, considering how quickly you’re shrinking”—I winced – “it might be wise for you to play me tonight.”  As she ended, she got up from the table and took her dishes away.

She did have a point.  With how much I struggled last time, I knew it would get tougher by the day to compete with her on the court.  I reflected that she didn’t really give me much of a choice at all, but that was OK since it sounded like a great deal for me.  She had apparently forgotten to declare what would happen if I lost.  I wasn’t about to remind her, since it was a no-lose scenario for me as it was, and we had already shaken on it.

I finished eating and walked over to her confidently.  “You’re on.  I’ll meet you outside in 10,” I declared.

“That’s the spirit, tiger,” she looked down at me and smiled.

Warming up outside, I remembered that I intended to carry out my punishment tonight.  Well, I figured, after I beat her now on the court she should be easier to manage and I’ll still punish her tomorrow.  And, heck, even if I lose, I’ll carry it out all the same, tonight if needed.

She came out and I was happy to see her back to her normal height, without heels.  Well, she was still 4 inches taller than me but I found her significantly less intimidating than earlier today.  “Let’s start,” she said simply, opting not to warm up again.  I had fully recovered from the dehydration but was still sore from playing the last couple days.  I was feeling nice and loose after my warm-up, though, and was eager to start.  “You’re ball, since you lost yesterday,” I took pleasure in saying.

“Play to 21?  Or just 11 as usual?” she asked.

I had no doubt she had the stamina for 21, but I seriously doubted that I did.  “11,” I responded.

“Now, remember Dad, you have to win by 2 this time,” she chided condescendingly.

“Yeah, I know,” I replied with indignation.  I decided to play a more rough and physical game this time.  Sure, she was taller than me now, but I still had the weight advantage and, being a girl, there was no way she could outmuscle me.

She checked it up then made a hard move to the basket and laid in a 5-footer off the glass.  Shit, she usually misses those.  Her easy score took me by surprise, but still I stuck to my game plan.  On my first possession, I backed her down almost to the net and executed a nice drop-step.  At least, I thought it was nice until she blocked my shot, just barely getting a finger on it.  This game was not starting well at all.  I needed to keep playing physical and create easy shots.

On her next possession, she tried backing me down but I pushed back strongly.  She tried to go right but I aggressively shoved her with my elbows to keep her away from the basket.  It wasn’t strictly legal and a ref would normally call a foul on it, but too bad.  Kyra was caught off balance and stumbled back, losing the ball.  “Hey, what was that for?” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.  I ignored her outcry and ran around her to pick up the loose ball.  “So you want to play rough, huh?” she said as she turned to defend me.  I again backed her down, although I had more difficulty this time as she had also started pushing back roughly.  I was a little unnerved at how much my daughter was able to jostle me around, but still I had the advantage in strength as I worked my way near the basket.  This time, I used a pump fake and got her up in the air.  I was able to put it in for a layup, despite her reaching out in midair and still almost getting a piece of my shot.

When she had the ball next, she tried to drive past me on the left but I was there with arms braced to get in her way and push her off course.  But somehow she managed to fight through me and drive to the basket.  I wasn’t beaten yet, though.  As she went up for a 3-foot layup, I charged after her and leapt up to swat the ball out of her hand.  Unfortunately, her hand was just a little taller than I was used to, and I ended up slapping her hard on the forearm.  She still almost made the shot, but it bounced off the side of the rim.

“Geez, Dad, was that really necessary!?” she berated me, shaking off the pain in her arm.

“Aw, did I hurt my little girl?” I mocked.  “This is basketball; get used to it.”  As I said this, I thought I saw a tiny flame light up in Kyra’s eyes.  She glared down at me angrily and I couldn’t help feeling just a little intimidated.  I bounced the ball to her and said scornfully, “It’s your ball since you thought it was a foul.”  I knew full well that I fouled the crap out of her, but I was out for revenge after the misery she put me through this afternoon.

She bounced it back to me with force and replied coldly, “I never called a foul.”  I knew I was getting to her.  Hopefully I could keep this up and keep her off her game for an easy win.

I checked it up then dribbled around the perimeter.  I expected her to lose her composure and play aggressive but sloppy, allowing me to take advantage.  But she hung back more than normal, giving me room to move about.  I jabbed left and right some, testing her, but she seemed prepared to cut me off if I moved in closer.  So I thought, OK, if she’s going to give me a wide open shot I’ll just take it…

I gathered up my dribble and lined up a good shot from 15 feet away.  But she had anticipated my move, and just as I was leaving my feet I saw her dart towards me with surprising quickness.  By the time I had reached the top of my jump and released the ball, she had closed the gap and leaped high in the air, quite a bit higher than I had gotten.  Her arm stretched up over me and swatted the ball with ease.  But she kept hurtling towards me in the air, and before I knew it her body slammed into mine and knocked me clean off my feet.  Meanwhile, Kyra was slowed by the collision enough to stay on her feet, stumbling a bit but regaining her balance.

“Owww,” I said as I landed painfully on the pavement.  She came up and stood over me imperiously, mocking, “You’re not going to call a foul for that little collision, are you Daddy?”  I didn’t answer, still holding my side in pain.  She continued, feigning concern, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?  This is basketball; get used to it.”

I got over the pain and stood up angrily.  Boy, she was going to get it now.  I wouldn’t be surprised to see a few bruises on her body after I finish beating her.  “Your ball,” I snarled, also refusing to call a foul.

The ensuing possessions did not go as well as I had hoped, though.  I fought with her tooth and nail for every inch of the court, but with her superior height and athleticism she was able to match my efforts, and even start to pull slowly ahead as I began to get winded.  I could no longer rely on getting out to a big lead early on as we traded baskets back and forth from the beginning.  Even in my anger, I had to admire the way she was handling the situation: she kept her composure and after that one knockdown she played me hard and physical but not dirty.  Things could have escalated quickly if she hadn’t been the mature one and restrained herself.

She pulled ahead early, but I came back to take the lead, 6-5, then maintained it to 8-7.  I was happy to have the lead, but I was getting worried since, as usual, I was getting gassed but she was still playing at 100%.  I had played a tough, gritty game so far, although it was clearly more difficult than yesterday.  I was shorter, and to my dismay she seemed to be knocking down more shots from farther away.  As I became more tired and sluggish, I began to get frustrated and play sloppy, giving her a few too many jabs and swipes as I played lazy defense.  She didn’t retaliate, though, still powering along with good moves and solid defense.

After barely stopping her from scoring and keeping it at 8-7, I checked the ball then slowly backed her down with much effort.  Near the rim, I decided to try an up-and-under.  She bit somewhat on the pump fake, leaving an opening for the layup underneath.  I was sure I had it when a hand came up and swatted my shot.  Damn it!  She recovered much quicker than I expected.  On her next possession, she faked left and drove by me to the right.  I was too tired to keep up, so I tried a lazy defense and went for the steal.  However, she had blown by too quickly and put in a wide open layup.  Next, I pulled up for a mid-range jumper, something I rarely do unless I’m too tired or lazy to work for my shot.  I missed and Kyra grabbed the rebound.  The next possession, she ran by me again, to the same side as last time.  I made an effort to catch her, but she got another fairly easy lay-in.  She had the lead, 9-8.

Next, I tried backing her down, but my legs didn’t have enough juice to push her very far.  I was halted 8 feet from the rim.  I resorted to a fade-away, but as I was about to leave my feet I realized she had anticipated it and was poised for the block.  I stayed down, but now I was leaning back away from my pivot foot and she was towering over me, basically straddling my leg.  I had absolutely no room to move, since I couldn’t move my pivot foot.  I just stood there for a few seconds, trying to find an opening, but she was just too big and had perfect position.  In desperation, I jabbed right then jumped awkwardly to the left while heaving a shot over my shoulder.  It flew about 5 feet left of the backboard and landed in the grass.  “I’ll get it,” she said smugly, trotting over to pick up the ball.  Her next possession, instead of driving by me again, she simply backed me down straight under the hoop.  I tried to push back, but she had all the leverage and still-fresh legs.  In desperation, I lunged up to block her shot, but she simply stood while I jumped out of the way, then without leaving her feet she put in a wide-open layup.

10-8.  I was flat out exhausted at that point.  After checking it up, I stood protecting the ball for about 30 seconds just to catch my breath.  Meanwhile, Kyra had approached and leaned over me with her arms out.  “Ready when you are, Dad,” she quipped.  After catching my breath a bit, I tried pushing her off me.  She moved a few inches but came right back.  I jabbed left but she mirrored my move.  Starting to get desperate, I jabbed right, then left, and then dribbled right, hoping to throw her off.  I did so momentarily, but she recovered immediately and stepped right in front of me, forcing me to pick up my dribble.  Like last possession, I found myself in a hopeless situation, but this time I was 15 feet away.  She started to slowly inch her feet forward, causing me to have to lean farther and farther back while looking for a gap, but there wasn’t one.  I eventually just took a breath, jumped away from the hoop, and heaved a shot two-handed over my head.  As I fell to the pavement, I watched the shot go straight up and land in-bounds, short of the hoop.  She walked over to retrieve it and dribbled out.  She could have simply gone in for a layup since I was still picking myself off the ground.  But instead she dribbled patiently on the perimeter, saying, “Ready, Daddy?”  I thought it was nice of her, but also perhaps cocky and overconfident.  I took a deep breath and approached her.  “Game point,” she reminded.  She turned her back and backed me straight down to the hoop again.  I tried to poke around to get the ball but she guarded it too well.  I felt helpless as she forced me down under the basket.  Taking her time, she went up for an easy layup.  “Whoops!” she said as she missed.  She caught the rebound over my outstretched hands.  I desperately tried to jump up and grab it, but I felt as helpless as a kid trying to take his lollipop back from a bully.  She kept the ball high, jumped again, and dropped in the easy layup.  She had beaten me, 11-8.  I collapsed on the grass as she stood over me.

“Good game, Daddy,” she said with a smile, putting her hands on her hips.  I was too tired to reply.  “You gave a really good effort, Daddy.  I’m proud of you,” she said condescendingly.  Standing over me patiently while I continued to lie on the grass, she eventually said, “Well, somebody’s all tuckered out.  Here, let’s get you inside.”

I was about to tell her to wait a minute, but she had already bent down and was pulling me up.  She got my torso up and said, “C’mon Daddy, you’ll need to help pull yourself up too.”  Reluctantly, I pushed off with my feet and she lifted me the rest of the way.  I felt woozy.  “Boy, looks like I’ll have to help walk you in.”  She reached around my waist and started walking us to the house.  I just staggered along with her.  On the way, she mentioned, “Just so you know, my offer still stands.  You just have to beat me once.”  That was good to hear, but I now had serious doubts that I could beat her anymore.  Once inside, she noted, “My, you’re drenched.”  She had hardly broken a sweat.  “You could use a shower, Daddy.” 

“Please, can I just sit on the couch a bit first?” I asked, just wanting to get off my feet.

“No, Daddy; you’ll get the couch all wet and stinky.”  She walked me up the stairs.  I didn’t like being so dependent on her, but I don’t think I could have made it there myself.  She walked me right through my room and into the bathroom.  Turning me to face her, she lifted my arms and said, “Keep them up.”  Not realizing what she was doing, she reached down and pulled the shirt right over my head!

“Kyra, I can undress myself.”

“Oh, OK.”  She went to the tub and turned on the water, testing its temperature, then turned on the showerhead.

“What are you doing?  I can handle it myself.  I want a bath anyway.”

“No, sorry Daddy, you need to take a shower.  A bath would take too long.  I’d like to have a talk downstairs when you’re done.  Be down in 10 minutes, OK?”

I didn’t know what on earth she was talking about, but I was too tired to argue and simply replied, “Fine, a shower.  Now please get out.”  She smiled, gave me a peck on the forehead, and walked out, closing the door behind her.  I sluggishly took my remaining clothes off and got in the shower.  I just stood there, letting the water fall around me and carrying the sweat away.  Eventually, I soaped up, shampooed, and got out.

Heading downstairs, I saw Kyra waiting on the couch.  She had showered as well, and to my relief she had changed into a loose t-shirt and shorts instead of her skimpy pajamas.  “What’s this about?” I asked, confused.

She patted the couch next to her to indicate that I should sit down.  I did as she wished, and she picked up my wrist to look at my watch.  “14 minutes.  I had asked you to be down in 10.  That’s the third time today I’ve had to wait for you.”  She must have been referring to the mall and to dinner.  That reminder put a sour expression on my face and I was about to reprimand her when she cut me off.  “We’ll have to work on that.  But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

She took both my hands in hers as she turned towards me.  Taking a big breath, she gave me a look of sincere concern and said, “Daddy, I’m a big girl now.  I can handle myself and make my own decisions.”  I didn’t like where this was heading.  “You’ve been treating me like a little girl recently, and I don’t appreciate it.  From now on, I don’t want you telling me how to dress, or how to behave.  And I want you to lift that silly curfew and un-ground me and give me back my laptop and phone, effective immediately.”  She stared into my eyes, calmly, confidently.

“What?  I don’t believe this!  You’ve been acting completely out of line lately, and you deserved far worse punishment than what you’ve received so far.  For Christ’s sake, you left me in the parking lot today!  And you … well, er … your behavior in Dress Barn was completely inappropriate,” I exclaimed, not wanting to describe out loud the humiliating scene in the dressing room.  “… And dinner tonight!”

She kept her cool composure.  “I know you think I was being unfair, but it was really your fault I had to punish you.  Remember, you made me wait 30 minutes at the bench when I expressly told you to wait for me there.  And again, you had no business telling me what I can and can’t wear.  I only toyed around with you to teach you a lesson.  It was for your own good, Daddy.”

This is insane.  “I have every right to tell you what to do.  I’m your father, and you’re still in high school, young lady!”

“Dad, don’t be childish.”

“That’s it.”  I was livid.  I decided now was the time for her punishment.  “Kyra, get over my knee and pull down your shorts.  I’m going to give you a spanking that you’ll never forget.”

She seemed bemused.  “You can’t be serious.”

“Get down here, now,” I commanded, pulling her torso down toward my knees.

She held her arms out to brace herself.  Looking up at me, she said, “Dad, are you sure you want to do this?”

“You’re damned right I am.  Down, now!”

“OK, Dad,” she said calmly.

“Shorts down.”

“I thought you didn’t like me undressing in front of you.”

“I SAID DOWN, NOW!”

She complied.  It had been at least 5 years since I had spanked her.  I had only done it 2 or 3 times.  But I gave it my all and slapped her butt bare-handed.  “Not so hard, Dad, geez, I get the point.”  Clearly she didn’t.  With renewed vigor, I slammed my palm into her until her cheeks were bright red.  “It’s really starting to hurt, Dad,” she said, half whining, but also half annoyed.  I kept going for a couple minutes until my hand hurt.  But, with satisfaction, I thought about how much more pain I must have been causing her.  Finally, when I was done, I told her to get up, go to her room, and go straight to bed.  She stood up and stared down at me, hands on her hips.  “You shouldn’t have hit me that hard.  Now I’m gonna be sore.  Apologize,” she demanded.

I couldn’t believe it.  That’s not how spankings ought to go.  Apparently she was getting much too big for the barehand to be effective.  Realizing my work was not done yet, I stood up and took my belt off, saying “On your knees.  Bend over the couch.”

“Dad, what the hell!  This is bullshit.”

“Oh yeah?  You’re getting a little extra for that outburst, missy.  Down, now.”

“I don’t have to put up with this.”  She started to walk away.

“Oh yes you do.”  I grabbed both her wrists and pulled her back.  She struggled against me.  Boy, she was getting strong.  Or maybe I was just weaker after the basketball game.  Fortunately, though, I still had a slight upper hand, despite my fatigue.  We struggled for a while, but soon enough I had brought her to her knees.  “Stay down, if you know what’s good for you,” I boomed.  Picking up the belt and pulling her shorts down again, I laid into her.  And I mean I REALLY let her have it.  She started yelling, screaming, and kicking her feet.  “This isn’t fair!” she exclaimed.

“Hold still.”  I went a few more times, seeing her resistance fading.  I stopped once I heard her sobbing quietly.  “There, I think you’ve learned your lesson.”  I sat down next to her and rubbed my hand on her back in a fatherly gesture.  “Now, you know I only did that because I love you, dear.”

She looked up at me with fire in her eyes.  “I hate you,” she said, then got up and stomped up to her room.

“Remember, go straight to bed, I want lights out in 5 minutes.”  Remembering that she still had my credit card, I added, “Oh, and I’ll be needing that Visa card back.”  I heard the card slide under her door out into the hallway.  There, that’s how it ought to go.  Of course I didn’t enjoy causing my daughter pain, but spanking is a time-honored tradition and, really, there was absolutely no doubt that she had it coming.  Things will be better around here, I speculated.  After watching TV for a while, I decided to call it a night.  Passing her bedroom, I made sure that her lights were indeed off.  With a satisfied smile, I continued down the hall to my room.