It takes a long time and a few winters to become 'local'. Some folks never get there.To a man, the locals were dressed in khaki pants, with pressed cr...ases so sharp you could cut slices in the newspapers they were all reading. Starched button-down off white shirts with breast pocket protectors filled with ink pens, sharpened number 2 pencils and a slide rule.They all wore deck-shoes, and that felt odd to me; 55 miles to the ocean and all these academic looking old men are wearing deck shoes.Off. ?I cringed at the word slut. Was that what they thought of me. Strangely being called a slut, when I was naked, unable to see who was looking at me? well it turned me on.I walked forward, laughter surrounding me, every few steps another blow to my aching rear end. Each cheek was ablaze, my parents had never even lightly spanked me, and this was well and truly more than I could really take.?Stop,? the voice said as I reached what I assumed was the end of the corridor.I stood, shaking, pain. More

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