Sweating is for pigs, air conditioning is for angels, and I am an angel. When it is over a 100 degrees outside you can damn well bet this angel is turning the air on inside. Especially when I am expected to slave away over a hot oven, baking sweet little cupcakes for my brother’s idea of a charity event. Do you know what ‘Green’ energy is? I sure as hell do not and I would bet you anything my brother does not even know, but it is the latest and greatest message around. There is nothing like jumping on the bandwagon just to hear yourself playing the fiddle with a broken twig and a banjo on your knee.
If you have never baked 500 cupcakes at the same time, I seriously suggest you never do. I mean really, do you have any idea how large the oven would have to be? Okay, I am not that dumb, but baking 100 cupcakes is a lot of work and doing it five times over is a lot of work times five. Now, if you happen to have a sadistic brother living with you and he happens to take great pleasure in making you do ridiculous things, like baking cupcakes in absurd quantities, there are a few things you can do to make things go smoother;
Turn on the CD player, but make sure you load your CD’s first because sadistic brother music just sucks. Next, wear a comfy outfit that is both hot and cool. Skip the shoes, cause standing in shoes only makes you want to stand on cupcakes as they come out of the oven. Turn on the air, crank down the thermostat as low it can go and dance like you just turned 21. Trust me, it makes the day palatable and then you really do not care when your chocolate cupcakes come out looking like marble cake or that you will need an inch of frosting to raise the top of the cupcake above the edges of the baking cups. Last, make sure your sadistic brother is gone while you are doing all of the above and that he does not make it home before you are done. If you screw up on this part, heaven will not help you, angel or not.
Robert, a.k.a. my sadistic brother, walked through the front door, shivered, set his sights on me and asked, “Why the hell is it so cold in here?”
I shrugged from the kitchen and said, “Maybe because it’s hot as hell outside.”
Huffing and puffing, like a big bad wolf, he slammed the front door and marched to the thermostat in the hallway. He stared at it. His hand gyrated in the air while his face turned devilishly red. I think I saw horns coming out of his hair, but that could have just been his ears poking through. He probably counted to ten, his face returned to the pale color of normality and his hands steadily grabbed the thermostat, ripped it from the wall... Okay no, he did not rip it from the wall, but he did turn the air off, which was just as bad.
He marched over to me and said, “You’re baking.”
I fluttered eyelashes and said, “Why yes, yes I am.”
“It’s a miracle you didn’t blow a fuse,” he said.
I nodded, pursing my lips and said, “I think you’re the one about to blow a fuse.”
“Do you even have a brain in that head or is it all just hot air?” he asked.
Scowling at him, I said, “I’m not the idiot who thought it was a good idea to bake 500 cupcakes on the hottest day of the year.”
“They’re for a charity and you could at least be charitable while baking them,” he said.
“I am being charitable. I’ve spent my whole day doing nothing but baking and decorating your charitable donation. You’re the one not being very nice here,” I said.
“They’re for a Green Energy event,” he said.
I shrugged, saying, “So?”
“Do you know what irony is?” he asked.
Rolling my eyes, I said, “Your hand on a bad day?”
Would you believe he did not even smile? I mean really, what is with the all serious expression? You might think he was constipated or something. I know I was wondering about it, but then it got a little icky thinking about whether he had sat on the toilet anytime in the recent past. He really needs to lighten up, take a laxative and sit on a public toilet. I probably should have made the suggestion when he first suggested I would enjoy baking his cupcakes.
Robert said, “Irony is the fact you used enough fossil fuel based energy to power an entire metropolis for a week while baking cupcakes for an event designed around the concept of conserving energy and developing renewable sources for that energy.”
“Whatever, the fact of the matter is I was not going to slave over the hot oven in a 100 plus degrees,” I said.
“I never said you had to, but why don’t you use your head? The house did not need to be cooled to 55 degrees,” he said.
“As if it could be?” I said, cocking my head to the side. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know. I just wanted the air to keep running so the house didn’t turn into an oven.”
“Mission accomplished!” Robert said, throwing his hands into the air. “You turned it into a freezer instead.”
“You’re not even going to thank me for all the work I did for you, are you?” I said, shaking my head at him.
“Thank you? I don’t think so. What I ought to do is make you sell these tonight with a red hot backside,” he said.
“And maybe I ought to tell Dad what a jerk you’re being. What do you think?” I said.
Robert grabbed the kitchen phone and held it up to me, saying “Let’s call him together. I wonder what he’ll think about the icebox of a house you created today?”
I glared at him. He really needs to lose that smugness sometime. I swear, if I could wipe that smug grin off his face just one time, I would be happy forever. He always manipulates me into going where I should not and then he drops his nasty net on me. I should have seen it coming, but then so should have Eve when that delicious red apple dropped in her lap.
“Fine,” I said and he hung up the phone. “You win. You always win. I’m sorry I didn’t bake myself with your stupid cupcakes. Are we good now or do I need to lick your boots clean too?”
“You actually think our conversation changes anything?” My sadistic brother asked.
“Well no, no I don’t, but I was hoping you might leave me alone to finish decorating these cupcakes before I decide I would rather see you wearing them,” I said.
“I’ve got a better idea,” he said and I replied, “I doubt it.”
“I think you should join me in the living room,” he said.
“And I think you should pay me a thousand dollars for doing your baking, but it’s not going to happen,” I said.
“I think that’s the first thing you’ve been right about all day,” he said. “You are going to join me in the living room, if I have to pick you up and carry you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I said.
“Keep trying my patience,” he said.
“If you insist,” I said.
“Move it!” he said, turning devilishly red all over again.
I stomped my way to the living room. My sadistic brother followed, eyes all aglow, horns bursting through his dark hair and a red, pointed tail dancing behind his back. His breath was so hot and heavy you could see it floating in the air like frost on a cold morning. Well, maybe not, but you get the idea. He was mad, pissed even, and the entire object of his anger was me, but angels do not judge. We simply glide along with the currents and hope our presence is enough to elicit the better side of men. It is usually futile though.
When I stopped in the middle of the living room, he said, “Now, you are going to get the spanking you so richly deserve.”
“But it’s not my birthday,” I said.
“Go ahead,” he said, “keeping cracking jokes, but in the meantime, you are going to strip off those clothes.”
“And you’re going to stand on your head,” I said.
He marched straight up to me, yanked my top open and said, “Strip now or I’ll do it for you.”
I realized he was serious. Something about the total lack of emotion in his face made it obvious. Most people, angels in my case, would have stomped out of the room, fled the house, and begged their Daddy to protect them from the big, bad, satanic wolf. The problem with that theory is sometimes, Daddy is an even bigger and badder satanic wolf. He would definitely blister my bottom for the air conditioning thing and he would most likely use a belt or some other heavy implement that would leave me unable to sit for a couple of days. Big, bad, brother wolf is not quite up to heavy implements. So like any good angel, I chose the lesser evil.
Undressing in front of my brother always feels wrong. I mean I would rather not undress in front of anyone. My boobs are not particularly eye catching, my body’s curves are far from perfect and my legs are way too skinny. If I was a little more perfect, maybe I would like being naked in front of people, but even then, my sadistic brother would remain an exception. As things are, it is a little too revealing that I am far from perfect. And to think, he thought I did not know about irony.
Stripped to my bra and panties, I gave a last pleading look to the sadistic bastard. He was unmoved, as all sadistic bastards are unmoved by pleas for mercy. I reached up behind me and unfastened my bra, allowing it to slip from my chest, exposing my small breasts to his dispassionate gaze. The floor seemed much more appealing to look at and so I stared downward, gathering the courage to take my panties down.
Robert was not in a waiting mood. He grabbed my arm and dragged me with him to the couch. Sitting down, he pulled me over his lap and walloped my backside with the flat of his hand. It may not have been irony, but it was iron-like. My fat wobbled, my muscles tensed and my nerves screamed about the sting and heat emanating from my less than perfect butt. His hand pounded my buttocks like they were a pair of bongo drums. I remained mute and stoic against the discomfort, hoping it would end sooner than later.
I got all excited when his hand stopped slapping my butt around, but that faded quickly when his fingers slipped inside my panties and tugged them down my legs. It was no surprise when his hand resumed its drum playing a moment later. I did yelp though, but that was entirely a result of the increased sting imparted by said hand. Kicking and squirming, my bottom got roasted and rosy red all at the same time.
When I started to sing, and we are not talking opera, he increased the rhythm. Sparks were flying at every impact of his hand against my bottom. The air in the house heated ten degrees and kept climbing, but for some reason my nipples remained hard as rocks. I gave up kicking and squirming because it was getting me nowhere and a light sheen of sweat was threatening my forehead. As I am still an angel and not a pig, this was entirely unacceptable. Robert was sweating up a storm, but that was to be expected.
He stopped for a second time and lifted me up off his lap. I was torn between desires to hold my burning butt cheeks and cover my nakedness. My sadistic brother would allow neither. He raised my hands to rest on top of my head, pushed my elbows until they pointed straight to my sides and marched me to the corner in front of the bookcase. Taking a step back from me, he looked pointedly at my bottom and whistled. I swallowed the commentary threatening to put me back over his lap.
“I don’t know about you, but I definitely feel better now,” Robert said.
Looking back at him through the space between my arm and shoulder, I said, “I am so not going to your charity thing tonight.”
He laughed and said, “Not only are you going, but you are going to be delightful and sell those cupcakes just like you promised.”
“You can spank me all you like, but you can’t make me go,” I said.
He said, “I think we’ve already demonstrated what I can make you do, but if you need another example, you can push your luck and see if you end up selling cupcakes with your bottom still bare.”
Frustrated, I said, “Fine. Can I get back to finishing them now?”
“No, you are going to spend some time staring at nothing and thinking about your behavior first,” Robert said. “You can also think about this; I sent Melissa Fineman to the Retreat today, because she pulled one of your typical stunts at work.”
“Daddy would never let you do that to me,” I said.
Robert laughed and said, “Daddy has been begging me to send you for the last year, Daphne. If you don’t get your act together real soon, I might just decide he is right.”