“So are you going to take away my pool privileges or spank me?” I giggled and swam away from him.
“I don’t know…” He bounced on the bottom of the pool and followed me towards the shallow end. “You do seem to like the pool.”
“Taking away my pool privileges would be cruel.” I tilted my head to the side. “I’d have to spend all my time in the theater.”
“Then I guess you’d rather have a spanking.” He moved to the edge of the pool and pulled himself up onto the side. “Come on over here.”
He’s practically irresistible when he’s dripping wet…
“Fine…” I bit down on my bottom lip and swam over.
“Over my knee, hurry up about it.” He patted his knee and smiled.
Is he going to actually spank me this time?
“I’m hurrying.” I pushed myself up and he leaned forward to help.
“You know—a spanking seems like a little much for splashing me.” He tilted his head slightly. “I think you need to be dunked!”
“What? No!” I shook my head back and forth.
It was too late. Greyson laid a trap and I walked right into it. I actually thought he was going to spank me—instead, I was about to get dunked. I wasn’t balanced on my feet, so when he held my arms and slid back into the water, all I could do was go along for the ride. He pushed me under the water and gave me a quick push on the top of my head to make sure I was fully submerged. I immediately came back up, but I was sputtering water and wiping my eyes when I did. My vision didn’t focus immediately, but I could hear Greyson laughing. I wasn’t amused, mainly because I had been deprived of what I wanted.
“That’s wasn’t fair!” I blinked my eyes into focus and glared at him.
“I bet you won’t splash me again.” He cocked his head and grinned.
I was sort of disappointed—but slightly relieved. I had mentally prepared myself for a few smacks on my ass, and as much as I hated to admit it, the thought of getting them kind of turned me on. Being dunked certainly quelled the fire, but I wished it was still burning. We played around in the pool for a little longer, and I had learned my lesson about splashing him, so I avoided it entirely. We got dried off once we were done and went inside to change. I definitely wasn’t going anywhere with my driving privileges revoked, so I put on a pair of loose fitting pajama pants and a t-shirt with my high school logo—it was tighter than I expected, but not uncomfortable. When I came back downstairs, the front door was open. A few seconds later, he walked inside with a rather large box in his hands.
“I think one of your boxes—got lost?” He gave me a perplexed stare and put it down on the floor.
“Hmm.” I walked over and looked at it. “Yeah, it’s one of mine—but I thought I already had everything. Wait, no—my sister sent this one.”
“Maybe the movers missed it and she decided to overnight it to you?” He shrugged and pointed at the overnight shipping label.
“Yeah—maybe.” I leaned over and started pulling the tape off of the box—the second I opened the top flap, I realized what it was. “Oh, no… This was supposed to stay at my house.”
“What is it?” He leaned forward.
“It’s my uh…” I chuckled under my breath. “Box of Shame.”
“Box of Shame?” He raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”
“It’s all of the stuff I decided to keep that I didn’t want to make it into my Memory Box.” I laughed and closed the flap. “I’ll put it in the closet upstairs.”
“Well now I’m intrigued…” Greyson folded his arms across his chest. “What kind of shameful skeletons do you have in your closet, young lady?”
“The kind that you don’t make a stop at when you’re going down memory lane.” I shrugged slightly.
“Now, I really want to see.” He narrowed his eyes at me.
“Fine…” I picked up the box. “I guess one trip down the wrong side of memory lane won’t hurt anything.”
I carried the box into the living room and dropped it by the couch. We both sat down, and I started picking through the stuff inside. It was filled with stuff that made me cringe—like a love letter I wrote to a guy I had a crush on professing my undying love—and thankfully never sent. There were some bad report cards, tests that I completely bombed, and discipline forms from the few times I did get in trouble at school. I kept most of my high school memories in the box that he had already seen, and I wasn’t ashamed of a bad grade here and there, but some of the comments on the papers I put in my Box of Shame—those would get a ceremonial burning once I graduated from college.
“Why wouldn’t you just put all of this stuff in your Memory Box?” He tossed a couple of papers to the side. “You obviously wanted to keep all of it…”
“I did want to keep it, but some of it was just for motivation, like the comments on this paper where the teacher trashed me for my writing—it gave me a baseline for comparison to what I was writing as I got older.” I showed him the paper.