The Price of Free Speech, Part 1

Up to a month ago, I shelved all of my spanko feelings in search of a relationship. Seemed to me that I missed the companionship of a female more than anything, and needed to fill that void in my life. It felt that the only way I would ever get to have spanking back in my life would be by trying to turn a new mate onto one of my favorite little “things”. Of course I knew that more than likely a vanilla woman would look at me like I had three heads if I told her I wanted to spank her ass, but it would be a coin toss, and either she would want to play or not.

Settled in with my new attitude, I began dating and could not find anyone to want to be with, let alone want to think about trying to give them a smack bottom. Then my work schedule got busy, and I stopped looking all together. We all know what they say about dating and relationships, “when you least expect it, what you are searching for will find you”.

It was late February, and ever year at that time I would volunteer at a local community center to help the children and parents prepare for their spring concert. Working in the music industry, I found it quite nice to take a break from demanding producers and musical directors to help teach the kids how to sing. The group I worked with were the 14 to 17 year olds, since they seemed to only listen to adult males. My way of relating to the kids was to communicate with them at their level. Not afraid of letting them slip by the occasional swear or sexual gesture, I would let them converse freely. In return, they listened to me, and told me how they appreciated the way I let them just talk freely, instead of acting like a parent or teacher and hollering at them for their behavior. Surprisingly, my group was better behaved then the groups who had adults constantly correcting them for cursing or acting rude.

About a week before the performance, Miss Jones, a volunteer from the local high school, came in to listen to the songs my group was rehearsing. Miss Jones was one of those 30 something women teachers that demanded everyone call her Miss Jones instead of her first name. She clamed it showed professionalism and respect, and that was the only way your students listened to you. Her dress code was standard. A full-length skirt and conservative blouse, always pressed, not a wrinkle in sight. Her hair always neat, either worn pulled up or tied back, but never let down. Some of my students had Miss Jones as a teacher, and often referred to her as a monster, or “that bitch”. We laughed about it often, but always managed to keep it within our four walls so she would not hear it and get angry.

Now back to our visit by “that bitch”. My kids rocked. They had it together, and anyone that ever heard them sing was always impressed. I let them sing popular songs, instead of the standard boring show tunes or so called classics like everyone else did. One of my numbers was three girls singing a song by one of the “popular” girl pop singers (who will remain nameless), and it included a dance they came up with themselves based on the video for the song. Miss Jones was enjoying our performance until the three girls came up to sing. When they were finished, “that bitch” began scolding my girls, telling them that they should be ashamed of themselves wanting to sing songs by a hussy, and dancing like little hookers. My ears almost exploded at her comments, and I dismissed my group making sure to complement all of them on how awesome they were. I did not want the kids to witness me going off on Miss Jones for her arrogant comments, and total disregard for free speech.

Once my classroom was clear, I cornered the “monster” and began to let her know that I did not appreciate her negative comments to my hard working students. All I did was start world war three. We argued back and forth for about 15 minutes until finally Miss Jones stormed out of my room and returned to hers to gather her things. While alone, I thought about what I said to her. See, I called her a stark raving bitch with no compassion for anyone’s feelings. I also told her that if she would get laid once in a while and let her hair down, maybe the kids wouldn’t talk about how she walks around like she has a pole up her ass. That was the comment that sent her out of my room.

Some time passed, and the janitor stopped in my room to let me know he was leaving, and that I would have to lock the back door on my way out. I gathered my things and headed out. On my way down the hall, I noticed that there was a light on in Miss Jones’ room. Feeling a bit guilty for my rude comments, I decided to stop in and apologize for my remarks. I knocked on the door and she looked up. She shot me a look that could have cut a diamond in half. “Miss Jones, I am sorry for my comments that I made to you. Things just got carried away. We do have to work together for the next week or so, and I just want to try and make peace between us for the kid’s sake”. She then invited me into her room, and we calmly began to talk.


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