pointelle is an irregular print only newsletter of unrefined and permissive short form writing.
Jenny started to softly cry but slowly pulled her cargo shorts down to reveal pink
underwear that had a purple bow on it with the name of the day embroidered: Friday. She bent over and I spanked her. And then Hannah spanked her. And suddenly we were spanking Jenny from school. In my heart I think we would have stopped eventually, but I was mesmerized by the sensation of spanking Jenny, mesmerized by her milky skin getting pinker with each spank. But Hannah’s mother opened the door and found us and immediately put her body in between Jenny and me and yelled at us. I was in a soft daze but I came to when my father picked me up from Hannah’s. He didn’t say anything on our drive home and I wondered how much Hannah’s mother had disclosed.
I thought about the spanking all weekend. I wondered what Hannah was thinking about it. As punishment, I was forbidden to call her. I wanted to explain myself, explain that it was retribution, but my parents looked at me differently after that event, as if they had decided something about me was utterly wrong. It seemed as if Hannah had also decided something was wrong about me. The next Monday at school she didn’t speak to me. She sat next to Jenny instead and they whispered to each other and looked at me with pity. I swore to myself that if girls could be this evil, and if they could inspire such evil in me, that I couldn’t love them. They were equally as unsafe as boys, as men, but their unsafety was less predictable and infinitely more destabilizing.