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What Friends Are For

By Lawrence Kinden All Rights Reserved ©


What Friends Are For

I work at an old performing arts theater in a small town. We don't get any big shows here, just concerts from local groups of guys trying to make it big, high school bands and theatre groups, that sort of thing. Sometimes we get what I term, 'old people' concerts. These are once famous singers or bands who appeal to people my parents' age. At these sorts of shows, where most of the clientele are likely to be adults, we sell alcohol.

Now, being only sixteen, I cannot sell alcohol. Therefore there are adults who work theses shows as well. Even so, I'm normally the one in charge. Not officially of course, but I know the building and the rules better than anyone, so when problem arise, I handle them.

On the night of an 'old people' concert, only a week after my sixteenth birthday, a friend of mine, Sarah, was with me. Sarah is fifteen and way cuter than me. She's got dark tanned skin, blonde hair and blue eyes. She's also petite and wears clothes I wouldn't have fit in by the time I was ten.

Sarah didn't work at the theatre, she was just hanging out with me because we had French class together and were planning on studying during the show. The adult working with me was a lady named Lyn. She was nice, and we'd worked together several times before.

The concert went smoothly: no crises, no complaining customers. Afterward since it was Friday, I told Lyn I'd do the locking up. She thanked me and left and I finished cleaning up concession area.

I went through the building making sure all the doors were locked except the back doors, which the road crew used to haul the equipment from stage to trucks. I turned off all the unneeded lights and checked the bathrooms to make sure nothing disgusting had happened. By the time I finished I was ready to study with Sarah until the road crew was done.

When I got back to the lobby, I found Sarah behind the counter with the concession closet open, and a six-pack of beer on the counter. Four cans were gone and a fifth was in her hand.

I was stunned.

For a moment, my anger was all I felt. She grinned at me blearily. I quickly found my voice.

"Sarah, what are you doing?" I hissed, not wanting to alert the road crew.

"Just havin a beer Kayla," she responded, waving the yellow can.

"You're only fifteen!" my hiss raised to a growl.

"Don't get all bent outta shape, s'not tha big a deal."

I snatched the can from her and poured it down the sink fending off Sarah's attempts to grab it back and slurred protests. With the beer safely disposed of, I took hold of Sarah's wrist pulled her to the stairs leading to the mezzanine level. She tottered along behind me, protesting the whole way.

Once up stairs I cut off her complaints. "Don't you realize you could get me fired?" I demanded. I turned to look at her. Sarah's face fell, but she didn't respond.

I took us up into the balcony and from there to the projection booth from which we occasionally showed movies. During a movie the projectionist normally has to stay in the booth, in case something goes wrong, and so, for the comfort of said projectionist, usually me, there was a faded blue couch, a small end table with a lamp, and a pillow and folded blanket resting on the couch.

"Sit," I ordered and pushed her toward the couch.

Sarah sat and looked up at me.

"Sorry," she mumbled, "Didn' mean ta get ya in truble."

I looked down at her, my hands on my hips, my expression stern and, for a moment, I didn't have any idea what I was doing. Sarah was my friend, not my daughter, not my little sister. I had no authority to act like her parent in any regard and yet here I was, leading her around by the wrist and scolding her sternly. I asked myself what exactly I had planned. But then again, I knew what I planned to do to my best friend, it's just that now I was starting to have second thoughts.

Finally, I said, "I'm not in trouble, but you are." I firmed my resolve. I was going to do it. "I'll be right back, don't mess with anything."

I left he projection booth and went to the edge of the balcony, leaning over the railing.

"Hey, Dave," I hollered down.

The head tech looked up at me, "Yo," he responded with a wave.

"I gotta' take care of some stuff up in the booth, just make sure the doors are closed and I'll lock up when I'm done."

"You got it, kid," he hollered back, giving a half salute with his wrench.

I trotted back up to the projection booth, closing the doors firmly behind me. Sarah was standing, looking at the projection equipment, bracing herself on it without regard for how her precarious positioning might damage equipment worth thousands of dollars.

"Hiya' Kayla, whaz up?"

Her obvious drunkenness and disregard for theatre equipment reawakened my anger.

There was a small radio in the booth that I'd brought for those late nights when I was building film or working on the lights. The walls of the projection booth were thick and it was a good distance from the stage, but I didn't want to chance any sound alerting the road crew to what was going on up here.

"Sarah," I said, "I'm pissed at you. I can't believe you'd be so irresponsible." I grabbed her arm and pulled her back to the couch.

"Oh gawd. Please Kayla, you sound like my mom." But she didn't resist.

I sat on the couch and before she realized it, had her shorts unbuttoned and unzipped. With a quick tug, her white cotton panties with their little pink hearts were revealed.

"Yeah, well your mom never spanked you," I replied. Sarah made a grab for her shorts once they were at her knees, but I pulled her over my lap and her diminished capacity for balance helped me.

"Kayla, you can't do this," she gasped, all trace of her slurred speech gone.

"Watch me," I growled. Sarah didn't reply.

I raised my hand and brought it down on Sara's bottom. But at the last moment I kind of hesitated, the enormity of what I was doing gripped me, and what should have been a spank was a pat. Sarah didn't respond.

The next one was better. It felt more like a spank and sounded more like a spank, but still was unsatisfactory. I didn't give up. The more I spanked, the easier it got. I spanked her about ten times and by the end she was squealing and squirming at each spank.

I released my hold and Sarah slid to her knees on the floor. She started rubbing her bottom furiously and looked up at me sadly from a tear stained face. Her shorts were still around her ankles.

"I don't see *sniff* why you're makin such a deal outta this, Kay," she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

Her petulance made me angry all over again.

"Really?" I demanded. "You really don't understand?"

I grabbed her arms and pulled her up over my knees again.

"No! I'm sooorryy..." I considered her panty-clad bottom as she put her left hand over her bottom in an attempt to protect it. Hr other arm was pined between the couch and my back. Gripping the wayward arm by the wrist I pinned it to the small of her back and then pulled her panties down with my other hand. Sarah squeaked at this and wriggled, but her movements were slow and uncoordinated and it was easy to keep her on my lap.

The slaps of my palm on her bare bottom filled the room, and I found myself no longer caring whether or not the tech guys heard. I spanked Sarah as hard as I could. Her cute, round little bottom bounced with each spank and she bucked and squealed and cried. Soon her brown skin began to redden.

When my hand became sore, and I slowed down. I lost count of how many spanks I gave her, but it was at least thirty. Her bottom was a definite red.

Finally, I lifted her off my lap (she wasn't moving by herself) and stood up. She did not stand and, instead, knelt on the floor, tears running down her face, rubbing her bottom, and hiccupping as she cried. As spankings go, it wasn't so bad. I'm not much bigger than her and I spank nowhere near as hard as my parents but I knew Sarah had never been spanked before so the experience must have been quite a shock.

Feeling a little sorry for her, but not at all sorry that I'd spanked her, I guided her onto the couch on her belly. I covered her with the blanket and went to check on things in the theatre.

The road crew was gone, so I locked up and checked through the building one more time and then went back up to get Sarah. When I entered the projection booth, she was fast asleep. It was difficult to wake her and when I did it was a sort of half-wakefulness. I told her it was time to go and she stood and tried to walk, nearly tripping on her shorts and underwear. I pulled them up for her, like I was dressing a small child, and led her to my car. She slept all the way to my house and until the next morning. I practically had to carry her to my room.

We didn't get any studying done.

The next morning, I awoke first. It was around ten o'clock, the normal time for me to wake up after a late night at the theatre. Sarah was still asleep in the extra bed, so I went to the bathroom and cleaned up then went to the living room. My parents weren't there, so I went to the kitchen where I found a note on the refrigerator.

'Went to the mall, had errands to run, call the cell if you need us. Love, Mom and Dad'

I smiled and opened the fridge looking for something to eat. By the time Sarah showed up in the kitchen, still wearing the clothes she'd gone to sleep in, I'd finished my cereal and toast.

"Hungry?" I asked.

She nodded and reached for a bowl.

"So," she said hesitantly, "Didn't get much studying done, eh?"

"We can study after breakfast if you want."

Sarah nodded. "Sure. So, uh... I was pretty out of it last night. Did you really... I mean I may have dreamt it but..." she trailed off and sat at the kitchen table, staring at her cereal.

I hesitated a bit before I spoke. "Yes. I spanked you."

"Ah." She put a spoonful of cereal in her mouth and chewed slowly. "I'd never been..."

"I know," I responded.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked, still not looking up.

"No, I'm not mad. I was at the time, but now... As long as you promise not to drink at the theatre again."

She nodded. "I promise." Then she gave a half smile and looked up at me, "I don't think my bottom could handle it."

We both laughed but it was strained. Sarah ate in silence for a while and I puttered around the kitchen. When she was done eating, we cleaned up and went to the living room to study.

In the middle of conjugating verbs, Sarah stopped and looked at me. "Would you do it again?" she asked.


"My mom, she never..." she trailed off, "So I was wondering, if you thought you had to, would you do it again?"

I thought about it. Last night, I saw Sarah as an irresponsible brat and had given her what I felt an irresponsible brat deserved. However, she was my friend, not my responsibility. Then again, I thought, perhaps in this case, it's the same thing.

"If I thought I had to."

We studied for an hour or so until the phone rang. I answered it and Sarah's mother was on the other end.

"One moment, please," I told her, "I'll get Sarah." I put the phone down and went back to the living room. "Sarah, you're mom's on the phone."

She rolled her eyes but got up and answered the phone. I sat in the living room looking at our French book, but Sarah's voice began rising and it kept me from concentrating. I knew she'd been having arguments with her mother lately, but I'd not been witness to any. I knew Sarah's mother well, well enough to know she was fair with her daughter. My friend's continued rudeness which by now was quite audible started to get me a bit miffed. I tried to stifle my rising ire, it wouldn't do any good to try and yell at Sarah when she was fresh off an argument with her mom. None of my business, I told myself, but another thought came unbidden: if I thought I had to.

The phone slammed into the receiver and Sarah came back in, sitting on the couch with a thwump and crossed her arms angrily.

"Is, uh... everything alright?" I asked.

"No, my mom is such a bitch!" she whined, refusing to look at me.

"Sarah, I know your mother, she's a nice person," I tried to reason. "What's going on?"

"She won't let me do anything," no other answer was forthcoming and Sarah seemed content to sit on the couch and pout.

"What is it she won't let you do?"

"Everything!" Sarah exploded, standing up and pacing the room.

"It seems to me," I replied, "That you're being a bit unreasonable."

Sarah's eyes narrowed at me a bit and she mumbled.

"What was that?" I asked.

"I said, 'What are you going to do about it'." Her body was set in rigid defiance, but her voice wavered.

"I think you know what I'm gonna do," my voice held a steel to it I didn't know was possible. I stood up, gripped her by the upper arm, and began leading her to my room. She struggled a bit, but not much, she could have broken free any time. Once in my room I closed the door and the blinds. That done I sat on my bed and pulled her to me. For a moment I hesitated over whether or not to lower her shorts, but she took the decision out of my hands by unbuttoning them herself and draping herself across my knees.

"Sarah," I said in a stern voice, "I understand you and you're mother are not getting along right now, but the way you talk about her and the way you talk to her are completely unnecessary. I think you need a reminder of what happens when you misbehave."

There was no hesitation and Sarah squealed with the very first spank. Immediately she began wriggling and her free hand came back to try to cover her bottom. Easily I grabbed that wrist and held it to the small of her back. For my part, my heart was racing, my body tingled all over and I watched her bottom in fascination as I spanked it soundly.

Her little yelps increased as the spanking progressed, but she wasn't crying, and I thought that this spanking needed a bit more intensity. Swiftly, I hooked a finger into the waistband of her panties and lowered them to her knees.

She squealed and protested but her words were mixed up with her cries. Her tan bottom turned pink, but I didn't let up.

Finally, Sarah was sobbing, offering apologies that could not be discerned through her tears. I stopped and rubbed her back as she cried until she quieted. Standing, she pulled her underwear and shorts back up. She sniffled and wiped her tears away with the back of one hand. Then she caught me in a tight embrace.

"Thank you," she whispered, "Thank you for caring." We sat like that for a long time.

A couple hours later, I drove Sarah home. Neither of us said much, nothing needed to be said. It wasn't until we were pulling into the driveway of her house that I broke the silence.

"Be sure to apologize to your mother."

"What?" she demanded as we stepped out of the car and walked to the front door. "You're kidding right?"

Quickly I reached out and smacked her on her rear.

"Ouch!" she jumped at the unexpected swat and looked around to make sure no one saw. Luckily, the street was empty. "Alright," she mumbled when I got ready to deliver another.

Sarah was about to open the door when it opened from the inside, her mother was standing in the doorway frowning. "You were supposed to be home an hour ago, young lady."

Sarah looked about to make a sharp retort, but stopped herself. "Yeah, sorry about that mom," she said. Her mother's face bore the expression of shock. Sarah glanced at me and swallowed. "And, about what I said earlier... I'm sorry about that too." Her mother's face softened.

"Well, thank you for driving her home, Kayla."

"No problem," I responded with a smile "See ya Monday," I said to Sarah.

"Yeah, see ya."

I got back in my car and drove home, happy in the knowledge that I had helped a friend.

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