Poem: The Nine Year Old's Predicament


by Will Faber <will_faber@wyrm.supernews.com>


Since he's eighteen and I'm just nine years old,
My brother says I'm just a little boy.
So, any time I don't do as I'm told,
Or if I whine or talk back or annoy,


Or anything that Mom and Dad forbid,
And he finds out,- I know that I'll be spanked
On the bare bottom like a little kid,
And if I might object, well, I'm outranked!


Now Mom and Daddy both have gone across
The ocean on a six-month trip to France;
My brother just declared: since he's the boss,
I have to go around without my pants!


Each afternoon, when I come home from school,
I have to hang my pants up in my room.
Shirt, socks, shoes, undies, no pants - that's the rule!
And if I ever break it - certain doom!


Although my legs get cold sometimes, I've found -
If it's just him and me - well, I don't mind.
What drives me nuts is when his friends come 'round:
They pat my legs, keep feeling my behind!


When I'm in trouble, brother calls:"Come here!
You can't behave like that. Enough's enough!
At least I know you'll listen through your rear.
So, to the couch now. Get your undies off!"


He bent me over, spanked my bottom red,
Holding me down half-nude across his lap.
"Let that teach you a lesson now," he said.
(I'm glad at least he didn't use the strap!)


But this is how, he says I have to stay
'Til bedtime, and it's strange, but, truth to tell,
He likes for me to run around this way,-
And, even stranger yet, I do as well!


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