The bedroom remained hot, despite the open window over the backyard. The gauzy curtain fluttered listlessly. Birds chirped.

Pausing, Mrs. Capelli crossed her long legs, her bare thighs showing the smeared sheen of sunscreen. "Understand?"

She pulled back her long dark wavy hair with one hand in an impromptu ponytail, cooling her neck. Her olive skin contrasted nicely with her short white cotton dress. A youthful newlywed, Mrs. Capelli looked like a Mediterranean goddess.

I sniffled. "I understand."

"Sorry, Grace."

I shrugged and nodded.

"You didn't know better," she sympathized. "Teens often think that nowadays."

"What about that other part? Can I?"

She studied me for a moment. Smiling finally, she nodded and winked.

"When?"

Bored with the sideshow they could hear but didn't see, Jeffrey and Chuck squabbled down below.

"Right now," she shrugged.

I charged down the stairs, Mrs. Capelli's antique hairbrush in hand.

–- 15 MINUTES EARLIER –-

"Grace," Mrs. Capelli called down from the second-story window, "can I see you upstairs?"

Turning my attention from the 7-year-olds in their shallow inflatable splash pool, I called up. "Sure!"

Second in command. So mature!

Scampering up the stairs, I felt like a sexy little redhead in my skimpy lime two-piece swimsuit.

Never mind I only had a splash pool and two little boys to impress.

"What's up?" I asked, somewhat breathless.

Mrs. Capelli stood before her mirror, brushing.

"Please put that chair," she said, pointing with her hairbrush, "up close to the window."

Picking up the chair, I asked, "Why?"

"I'll show you first," she said, taking my arm and sitting, "and explain later."

As a teen, I just assumed my spanking days were behind me.

But over her lap I went nevertheless.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

I felt positively bare-bottom in my skimpy swimsuit.

I howled and kicked.

Coppertone made me slippery against her thighs, squirming like a salamander.

Standing and sobbing, I like totally entertained Jeffrey and Chuck down below.

"The boys needed to hear that spankings apply to all," Mrs. Capelli explained, perspiration beading her upper lip. "Yes, you're second in command. But you're still spanked."

–- 20 MINUTES EARLIER –-

"Because I'm second in command," I said, slathering Coppertone all over. "Mrs. Capelli said so."

I had just told Jeffrey to stop pushing Chuck in the splash pool.

"Second in command?" asked Jeffrey. "What's that mean?"

Mrs. Capelli took care of us during summer vacation – each of us an only child of a single, working mom.

"Means I help Mrs. Capelli."

At 13, I was almost twice their age – certainly not in the same juvenile category as they.

I improvised, "I can even spank you guys."

"Why?"

"Because I'm 13 and second in command."

"What about you?" asked Chuck. "Mrs. Capelli still spanks you, right?"

"No!" I scoffed, again improvising. "I'm not spanked. That's just for little boys."

Indeed, I hadn't been spanked since becoming a teen – nearly four months ago.

The second-story window opened.

I looked up to see Mrs. Capelli leaning out, hairbrush in hand.