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If Only Larry Had Known That The Stick Was A Wand

Benjamin Sabin

    It just so happened that little Larry found a stick that turned out to be a wand, which had belonged to a very powerful wizard.
    When he brought it home his mother—a larger woman with an affinity for flower print sun dresses—she questioned him about the stick, which was actually a wand.
    “Where did you get that?” his mother said. “Don’t bring that in here. Sticks are dirty. If you bring that in here I will tan your hide.”
    Larry walked into the kitchen with the stick/wand in his hand, paying no attention to his mother’s threat. He waved the wand about, casting imaginary spells on the cookie jar, the napkin holder and consequently the napkins, Dodo the cat, Reggie the dog, and whatever else caught his eye. He was having a wonderful time.
    Larry had aimed the stick/wand at a porcelain rabbit—left behind from Easter almost three months ago—when his mother grabbed him by the wrist and swung him about. In little time, Larry was bent over his mother’s knee with his ass in the air, which is the universal position to have one’s hide tanned.
    “I told you not to bring that filthy stick in here you little mongrel.”
    Larry’s mother raised her hand and brought it down hard.
    Larry tightened his grip around the stick/wand. He felt hot and wished a few bad things upon his mother, the foremost being that she was hit by a car and stopped breathing.
    Again Larry’s mother brought her hand down against Larry’s ass, and then again, and again, and again until his hide was fully tanned.
    The stick/wand was thrown out the back door and Larry was sent to his room with a sore ass and salt crustiness around his eyes.

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