"Kisses or spankings," Brittany Sinclair insisted, "Make up your mind."

Her companion sitting behind the bushes outside her house, fourteen-year-old Paul Royalton, was vaguely reminded of movie dialogue from "True Grit."

"You can't paddle me now," he pointed out, "Pia will hear."

"So kiss me then," the girl suggested, "Wouldn't you rather do that anyway?"

That was Paul's preference, the brunette being quite attractive for a twelve-year-old, but he was scared; he'd never really kissed a girl before.

"Lots of guys would be happy to kiss you," he ventured nervously.

Brittany was adamant. "My first kiss from a boy who's not family, I want it to be special–I want it to be with you, Paul."

He felt encouraged by the revelation that his kissing prowess wouldn't be compared to anyone else's. "Okay, Brittie…"

They both leaned forward, their lips touching lightly.

"Oh, wow!" Her eyes shone in the darkness.

Paul exhaled. "All right?"

She nodded. "But let's make the rest last longer."

"More?"

Brittany grinned. "Three more, unless you want three pants-down paddywhackings from me instead."

It had been a sucker bet, Paul realized, his loyalty to the Bullets clouding his judgement. Still, who'd have figured them being swept in four games by the favored Bucks? Yet how bad was a wager payoff that required kissing a pretty girl who liked him, especially when the alternative was to submit to being embarrassingly spanked by her?

"No, let's kiss…"

It lasted slightly longer than the first one and left him feeling warm.

"Nice," she said softly. "Another, please."

Her hand cupped the back of his neck, encouraging him to maintain their third kiss for ten seconds.

"Young love, how cute," remarked Pia Emmanuel as she peered over the bushes bordering Brittany's bedroom window, "But forbidden."

Both miscreants, attired in pajamas and slippers, scrambled to their feet.

"We were just kissing," Brittany offered.

"Outside the house at eleven-thirty," her babysitter noted. "Marcie just called about Paul being missing, I'll get her over here…Then you sweethearts will get smacked elsewhere, so I hope it was worth it."

Twelve minutes later, Brittany and Paul were facing each other while bent over the knees of their respective babysitters, Pia and Marcella Valentine, who were seated on opposite ends of the living room davenport, Pia employing a flat-backed maple hairbrush and left-handed Marcella wielding a short rubber strap. Both younthful victims were bare-bottomed, pajama seats nestling just below their upturned reddening derrieres, while being soundly spanked as they futilely squirmed, kicked and cried.

Pia's swats were delivered moderately to Brittany's trim bumcheeks whereas Marcella vigorously lashed her boyish twin targets; both babysitters felt that Paul, being male and older, held primary responsibilty for their charges' misbehavior. After the two blubbering spankees had switched laps Pia became the much more emphatic chastiser, making Paul wail childishly.

"Paul owes me another kiss," Brittany sniffled afterward.

"Collect it then," Marcella advised.

For the sore-bottomed, teary-eyed kissers, it was blissfully sweet.

Brittany sighed dreamily. "Worth every stinging smack…"