He would have made an excellent Santa Claus, that man on the other side of the desk. The flowing white beard, the twinklingly blue eyes, the wrinkles pressed from decades of laughter. On any other occasion, it would be an easy thing to imagine him the jolly saint. Heather could tell from her first … Continue reading The Birching
Why is it that receiving the tawse on the hands, despite being fully clothed, standing tall, dignity seemingly intact, seems so much more intimate, much more embarrassing, than if he would just bare by bottom?