03 June 2004

Story: Yay! Chili's!

This is the first story in the Yay! mini series.  It's time for all-state orchestra, and Natalie is annoyed that she's stuck spending the weekend with crappy viola players and an asshole conductor.  When she has a couple of drinks at Chili's, her inhibitions are lowered and she says a few things that should get her spanked.  Oh wait, they do.  :)

Yay! Chili's!
by Breanna Carter

I walked towards the hotel with my viola over one shoulder, suitcase over the other. It was the weekend of all state orchestra in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and I wanted to be there as much as a kid wants to go to the dentist. That’s really what it was to me... like I had to be there. If I didn’t go, I’d have to pay for it, like at dentist where you have to pay the copay if you cancel the appointment less that 24 hours in advance. I don’t know why I even tried out for that damn orchestra. I guess just to prove to myself that I could make it. And I did, for the second year, and, unlike the first year (my junior year), I didn’t chicken out and cancel at the last minute.

I was there with all of the other viola players from my class. There were eight of us, taking up half of the section at all state. Even with all of the familiar faces, it didn’t help my anxiety.

I entered the hotel and went to the check-out desk. “Natalie Bookman,” I told the man who glared irritably at me. I’d be irritated, too, if I had to put up with a bunch of stupid high school kids for the weekend.

“Room 402,” he said, slamming the key on the desk.

“Thanks,” I murmured, rolling my eyes at him as I turned away and headed towards the elevator.

I must admit, it was actually a nice hotel. Had couches in the lobby where guests sat waiting for their keys because their room wasn’t ready yet. Four elevators, one which was broken down so everyone had to pile on the three remaining with tons of luggage and bumping one another. Okay, so maybe saying it was a nice hotel was an over-statement.

I squeezed through a crowd of people and pressed the “up” button by the elevator. I began feeling claustrophobic. Too many people, most of whom I knew, but none the less, I decided to take the stairs. So I hauled my damn heavy viola up the stairs as well as the damn heavy suitcase, and after two flights of stairs, I thought I was going to pass out. But I kept going anyway, and eventually made it up there, and learned that my room was right next to the stairs. At the time I didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. Good because I could take the stairs instead of crowding on the elevator... bad because the moron high school kids like to run up and down the stairs at ungodly times of the night.

“Natalie!” I heard.

I turned from inserting the key in my door to see Jonathan, a guy in my orchestra who sits first chair. He’s a junior with dark hair and eyes, wears a hat most of the time, and is an awesome viola player. I’d known him for two years and we got along pretty well, seeing as most of the time he was the person I shared a stand with. In other words, we sat next to each other most of the time. He was always super nice to me and really funny, and that’s always a plus.

“Ah, hey, Jonathan,” I said, finally figuring out how to work the key and opening the door. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. This your room?”

“Nah, I’m breaking into someone else’s room,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Hey... watch it,” he said in a warning tone.

I shook my head. “Yeah, it’s my room. Come on in,” I offered. I began to pick up my suitcase that I’d dropped on the floor, but he got it instead.

“Well, it’s cool that this is your room. I’m right next door.”

I nodded.

“Nice rooms,” he said.

“I’ve seen better.” I couldn’t help it, I was cynical towards the whole weekend and didn’t want to be there at all.

“Well, uh, yeah, so have I.. but they’re not bad. I mean, come on, how many nice hotels will actually host 300 kids?”

I raised my eyebrows. “I’d rather be at home right now,” I admitted.

“It’s not so bad. You practice all the music?”

“No.”

“Might wanna do that. Especially practice the hard parts in the songs... that’s what they’ll use for tryouts.” By tryouts he meant tryouts to see who sits in the back and who doesn’t.

“I don’t care,” I murmured.

“Hey, don’t talk like that. If you really didn’t want to come, you shouldn’t have tried out in the first place.”

“I know... and I regret it like you wouldn’t believe.”

I guess he finally got sick of my cynicalism because he finally left and announced that he’d see me at tryouts. I was glad that Jonathan was there. If he hadn’t, I’d probably do something totally stupid and get myself kicked out. That’d earn me a failing grade in orchestra.

I walked around for a little while after getting settled in my room. There was a Chili’s next door and some fast food restuarants down the street a little. Chili’s would be my choice of food. Definitely.

That evening we had tryouts to see where we would sit in the orchestra. It was nearing five, and there were over a million places I could think of that I’d rather be. I figured maybe not caring about anything would help my anxiety go away, but it didn’t. It sucked more that they went in alphabetical order and I just happened to be the second one to play. Lucky me. And I screwed up like crazy. My hands were shaking like you wouldn’t believe and I messed up all the notes and I wanted to cry afterwards. Not cause I did so badly, but because I hate having panic attacks.

“How’d you do?” Jonathan asked afterwards, obviously not noting the tears that were forming in my eyes.

“Shitty,” I answered. “See ya.”

I rushed past him and ran up the stairs, finding my room and collapsing on the bed, television blaring through the room. At least if I were at home I could be eating dinner, or enjoying the damn television.

Our first practice as an orchestra was that night at seven. I was hungry and on the verge of another panic attack. I was seated as 13th chair out of 15. Isn’t that shitty. I didn’t mind, really, because I knew how badly I’d played. Also because it was all state, and most of the kids were probably better than me. But somewhere inside of me I was bothered because I was third chair in my own orchestra, out of eight. Logically, you’d think that there’d be at least five people behind me. But oh well.

The conductor guy was an asshole. The people there were assholes. I talked to the guy I sat next to, a guy in my orchestra who was a freshman, and told him that I was never trying out for this again, even though I couldn’t anyway because I was a senior, but if I could, I still wouldn’t try out for it. He just shrugged at me.

And thus, the night was finally over, and I talked to my friend Katilyn and we discussed eating at Chili’s the next evening before practice. Then I scurried towards my room and went to sleep.

Looking back on it, I guess the weekend wasn’t so bad. I probably made it out to be worse than it actually was. That Saturday, though, waking up at seven in the morning was the hardest in the world. Not only did I hate this place, but they were also making we wake up early! I once again wondered why the hell I signed up for this crap.

Luckily, though, a chamber music group played for us the first half of the practice. That was comforting, at least for a little while. So after they played, we practiced some more, then had a short lunch break, then played even more, in the concert hall, where it was bigger and we had different seats. See, logically, when you arrange an orchestra, you have first and second chair making up the first stand. And generally, you have them in order. When you run out of room, you just start over from the front. For example, in the very front is first stand, then behind them is second, then behind is third, then forth, then fifth. At this time, it is common to run out of space. So next to second stand, sixth is stand, and seventh behind them, and then the last person would be next to seventh stand. Logical, do you get it? That’s how it was set up and it was fine, except I hated the person who sat in front of me. I mean, by this time in the practice I was totally pissed off because I didn’t *deserve* to be 13th chair. I’d seen all the other kids playing and our first chair sucked! Jonathan should have totally beaten him. This all gave me more the reason to hate orchestra.

Finally, our two hour long dinner break was given to us and I rushed out of the hall with Katilyn.

“Let’s go to Chili’s,” I exclaimed, happy to be anywhere but with the damn morons in the orchestra.

“Yay! Chili’s!” she said.

We practically skipped next door to the restuarant, telling the hostess that there were, indeed, two of us, and we preferred non-smoking. She sat us in a little booth in the back corner where we proceeded to get sodas and chips, then scanned over the menu for something yummy. I already knew what I wanted, because I always got the same thing, I’m a picky eater, but Katilyn hadn’t decided yet, so I looked anyway. Finally, she picked something and we talked and ate our chips.

“Dude, this orchestra sucks, yo. I wish I’d come last year so I’d have known not to try out this year,” I mumbled, taking a sip of my coke.

Katilyn nodded. “The conductor is just an asshole.”

“And the music sucks.”

“Let’s talk about other stuff...”

I nodded. “Good idea. If I think too much about this damn orchestra, I’ll get all pissed off again.”

We were quiet for a moment, the only sounds being heard were those of other guests laughing and talking, until the silence was broken by the waiter bringing out our food. He struck up a conversation with us and we talked back, then babbled to each other about different stuff, talked about the trip we were taking to Australia over the summer with the orchestra, then suddenly, Katilyn said, “we need to get drunk before we go to Australia, since the drinking age there is only 18.”

I nodded. “Hellz yeah!”

“We can have a party at my friend’s apartment. It’ll be fun.”

I smiled. “Australia’s going to be the coolest trip ever. We’ll be graduated and we can do whatever the hell we want.”

She grinned and pushed her plate out of the way, then picked up the drink menu. “Hey! Let’s get a margarita.”

“I’ve never had one..”

“They’re just like daquiris, only different alcohol.”

“Ohhies. Okay!”

“Hey, you think we could get em alcoholic?... nah, we better not even try..”

I just shrugged and finished the last of my meal, and the waiter came out to check on us. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“It’s great,” we chanted.

“Hey, you think we can get two strawberry margaritas?” Katilyn asked.

“Sure!” he answered, taking our plates from us. “I’ll get those right out for you.”

He walked off and we talked a little more, and in a matter of minutes, he was out with, not two, but FOUR margaritas. Katilyn stared wide-eyed at the glasses being handed to us and I choked on my laughter. We hadn’t realized that Chili’s had two for one margaritas. He left and Katilyn took a sip of her margarita, I was still laughing too much to take a drink, and her eyes got wider and she whispered, “take a sip.”

That was when I began cackling. I knew exactly what she was thinking... so I took a sip and I giggled more because they weren’t non-alcoholic. Cool points for us!

We chugged down the first drink and asked for a “to-go” cup for our second, and drank them on our walk back to the hotel. We were a little tipsy, but we were making it out to be ten times worse than it really was. We were just excited that they actually gave us alcohol!

When we got to practice, I think after five minutes everyone from our school knew that we were tipsy. We’d told one or two people, and they’d told someone, and by the time practice actually began, random people from our orchestra would come up to us and say “heard you’re drunk,” or something dumb like that.

So anyway, we’re sitting in the same spot that we’d sat in all afternoon, my stand partner and I, and I was in the middle of asking him if he’d ever played a viola drunk. He didn’t even get the word “no” out before this stupid girl started bitching at us.

“You’re not supposed to sit there,” she said, blond hair bobbing up and down.

I glared at her.

“I’m a higher chair than you, you should sit behind me.”

I blinked. “Uh, this is how we’ve been sitting all weekend.”

“No it isn’t,” she said snobbily, scrunching her nose up.

I glared. “Yes, it is,” I replied, balling my fist up and gripping my viola tighter.

“No it’s not... you should sit in the back ‘cause you’re one of the last chairs.”

“Well, you’re a bitch, but you don’t hear me complaining.”

She rolled her eyes and turned around, muttering something to her stand partner.

“Hey, if you got something to say to me, just say it,” I said, louder than I thought because a few people turned around and got a little quiet.

“All I have to say is that you don’t deserve to be this close to the front.”

I stood up and handed my viola to the freshman who was sitting next to me. “Well YOU don’t deserve to be in this fucking orchestra and sure as hell shouldn’t be in front of me.” I didn’t even see Jonathan getting up.

She rolled her eyes at me again, and by this time, all of the people in my section, and some of the violins, were staring at me.

“Don’t roll your fucking eyes at me,” I spat. “There are plenty of people in this section that are better than you so pull the fucking stick out of your ass and stop being so goddamn arrogant!”

Her mouth dropped like I’d committed a sin.

“Natalie, calm down,” I heard Jonathan’s voice say, and he touched my shoulder.

I pulled away. “I won’t fucking calm down until I kick her ass!” And at that time, I proceeded to lurch forward and push her. She nearly fell out of the chair and it’d have been funny if Jonathan hadn’t caught me by the arms and pulled me back before I punched her in the jaw. And I was pretty pissed off... I didn’t even realize that I was yelling obscenities at her until Jonathan covered my mouth and dragged me out of the room. Talk about causing a scene. I think nearly everyone in the orchestra was staring at me. It’s not normal for me to be the center of attention, and if I hadn’t been drunk, I’d probably have had another panic attack.

“What the hell are you doing!” Jonathan scolded, dragging me by the upper arm through the hallway of the hotel.

“That bitch!” was all I could answer.

“I don’t care if she’s a bitch, Young Lady, you do NOT fight someone, got it?”

Those words caused a knot in my stomach and I allowed some of my anger to dissolve. “Sorry, but she pissed me off.”

“Not a good excuse,” he replied, arriving at the elevators and pressing the arrow pointing upwards.

“Where are we going?” I asked, out of breath from having to walk so fast.

“We’re going to have a talk.”

I sniffled, waiting nervously in this awkward silence for the elevator to arrive.

The ding from the elevator broke the silence, then the doors opened and I was dragged inside. He pressed the “4” causing the circle around the number to light, then the elevator creeped up slowly and I could only hear my heart pounding. I could feel the sweat forming on my brow. I couldn’t believe that Jonathan was about to yell at me... I was so stupid for trying to fight with that girl...

The doors pushed open and I was dragged into the hallway and towards Jonathan’s room. I couldn’t believe he was still dragging me everywhere! Like I was going to escape or something.

He inserted the key and I saw the green light and heard the beep, then saw him turn the handle. How come the doorhandle was so much more interesting than the disappointment in his eyes?

He pushed me inside and shut the door behind him. I took a deep breath in and looked at him. There he was, standing a good three or four inches taller than me, hat tipped up a bit, brown hair fallen down to his eyes. And that look in his eyes... oh man... he looked more upset than I’d ever seen him before. It was that same look he’d given me when I’d popped off with a smartass comment to him, the same look he’d given me when I hadn’t practiced an important part in a song we were playing... but there was more to it. There was a fire in his eyes, and behind that fire, something I didn’t quite notice, but it didn’t seem like such a good look to me. I bit my lip. The anxiety attack was coming on.

Jonathan moved past me and sat on the bed. “Natalie, I am very disappointed in you, do you hear me?” he scolded, glaring at me. I wondered why he was sitting down instead of towering over me... it’d have been more intimidating if he were above me... “I can’t believe that you’d just go and fight that damn girl over something so stupid... You could get kicked out of the orchestra and then fail the class, and hell, you could even go to jail for fighting like that! Not cool, Young Lady, not cool at all.”

I bit my lip harder.

“You shouldn’t have drank those damn margaritas, but you did, and now you’re going to have to accept the consequences.” He patted his lap. “Pants down, and over.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“Pants down, and over,” he repeated, as if I hadn’t heard what he said.

“I mean, I heard you, but... wh-what are you going to do?” I asked.

“I’m going to spank you for picking a fight and drinking. Something I should have done a long time ago.”

I blinked again. What? Was this really happening? My head was spinning and I thought I was going to pass out. Spank me? He sounded like my father! “But... y-you can’t spank me!” I said pathetically.

“Sure I can, and I am. Now, pull down your pants and get over my lap or I’ll do it for you, and trust me, that will not be fun.”

“No, no, no...” I murmured. “You can’t!”

“Natalie, I’m not going to ask you again,” he said, staring me straight in the eyes.

I whimpered. “Please, Jonathan,” I whispered, not wanting to be embarrassed like that. “I’m not a kid... don’t spank me.”

“You sure have been acting like a kid, Natalie. Am I going to have to pull them down myself?”

“Noooo,” I said, hands rushing to the buttons of my jeans. I stood there for a moment, contemplating. Like he’d said, it’d be worse if I resisted, but how could I submit so easily? I hadn’t been spanked since I was really young, and it didn’t seem right, me being a 17 year old girl, over the knee of a 16 year old guy... what if someone walked in? What would they think?

I heard him sigh. “You’ve left me no choice,” he was saying, and he reached out and grabbed my wrist, where my hands were still on my button, and pulled me towards him.

“Noooooo,” I whined.

“The less you resist, the easier it’ll be,” he reminded me. “Now move your hands.”

“Nooooo, Jonathan, please!” I begged.

He sighed again and pried my hands away with both of his, and as he moved his right hand to the button of my jeans, I couldn’t help it, I had to reach back down there. “Natalie!” he scolded, smacking my hand. “Move your hands!”

I whined loudly. “Pleaseeeee don’t spank me!”

“You sound like a three year old!” he told me, successfully unbuttoning my jeans, then unzipping them.

“I feel like a three year old,” I murmured.

“That’s the point,” he murmured back, grabbing my left arm and throwing me over his lap. “I told you it’d have been easier if you would have just done what I said..” he began, tugging my pants down to my knees, allowing me a little modesty. Next thing I know, he’s pulling down my white cotton panties.

“Noooooooooo!” That seemed to be the word of the night. I squirmed and wiggled and put my hands back to pull my panties back up, but he caught them with his left hand and held them tightly behind my back, delivering a sharp smack to my upturned rump. “OUCH!” I said. That’d hurt a lot!

“Stop squirming,” he ordered, smacking me three more times.

I winced with each one and finally stopped squirming so much.

He adjusted me back into proper position. I felt so young and vulnerable, lying there, bottom on display for the world to see, though the only person around was Jonathan, and he definitely wasn’t the world. None the less, I was blushing furiously. I wished that I could get up already and just go apologize to the girl and everyone in the orchestra. That wouldn’t be as embarrassing as being spanked like a child!

“Now,” he began, delivering two smacks, “I am spanking you, number one because you picked a fight, number two because you’ve had such a negative attitude this whole weekend, and number three for resisting, got it?” SMACK!! SMACK!!

“Owwww, yesssss,” I groaned.

“Good SMACK! Because once I get finished with you SMACK!, I don’t think you’ll ever forget this weekend. SMACK SMACK SMACK!”

I winced with each smack, trying not to cry out too loudly because I didn’t want anyone to hear what was happening.

“You SMACK are seventeen SMACK years old,” he began, finally getting a definite rhythm, “and you know that SMACK this type SMACK of behavior SMACK will not be tolerated. SMACK SMACK!!”

“I know,” I whined, kicking my legs a bit and feeling my pants and panties slide down to my ankles.

He kept up the spanking and lecturing. “Fighting is never okay, Young Lady,” he told me, spanking as doing so, to make sure I got the full impact of the statement. And oh, did I. “I don’t care if you’ve been drinking or not... if you’re going to be someplace you might fight, then you needn’t drink... and you shouldn’t drink anyway, you’re too young.” He kept spanking, and I was beginning to feel my bottom grow warmer and warmer, and the smacking began getting harder and harder. I could imagine that my rear was a nice pink color by this time. “And as for the negative attitude, it’s gotta stop, Natalie, got it?”

“Oooowwwwiiiiieesssss, yesssssss, I got it,” I howled.

“And when I tell you to do something, you will do it, understood?”

“Yesssssss, ooowwww, yessssss! I will!”

“Good!” And with that, he proceeded to spank harder, and lower, concentrating mostly on my sit spots and thighs, and that was when I started yelping and the tears slid down my face, falling onto the carpet.

“Pleasseeeee stoppppp,” I begged, biting my lower lip and being blinded by tears.

“I won’t stop until I know that you’ve learned your lesson,” he replied, whacking my left thigh as hard as he could, then my right.

“Oooowwwwwww! T-that OW hurts!”

He didn’t let up, though... kept spanking and spanking and spanking, and I cried harder and harder, kicking a little, and trying to squirm, until finally I was howling in pain and my bottom throbbed so much and I was exhausted from the whole incident and I lay limply over his knee. I just lay there and sobbed, feeling terrible for the things I’d done. Feeling stupid for buying those damn margaritas, stupid for trying to fight that damn girl, stupid for trying to get out of being punished. I deserved every smack he delivered to my upturned rump, even if it did hurt like hell.

And finally, he stopped. I couldn’t even feel it... I guess the only way I noticed was because the only noise I could hear was my weeping.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” I groaned. “I r-really am-m.”

“Shhhhh, it’s okay. I wasn’t too hard on you, huh?” he asked.

I shook my head, still sobbing, and feeling his hand on my bottom, rubbing it a bit to lessen the sting. He released my hands and lifted me, holding me close to him and allowing me to press my head into his chest and dampen his shirt with my tears and snot. But he didn’t mind, I guess, else he wouldn’t have held me for so long. He just held me and rocked me, neither of us speaking. I felt forgiven, and didn’t feel so bad anymore.

Eventually, my crying died down and he lifted me from the hug. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, sniffling and wiping my eyes.

He smiled. “Sorry I was so hard on you, but you’ll never try to pick a fight with that girl again, huh?”

“Nopers,” I whispered, wincing as I pulled my panties over my throbbing bottom. “It was really dumb,” I admitted.

“Yes, it was. I’m glad that we’re seeing eye to eye here.”

I rubbed my backside.

He glanced at his watch. “Well, there’s still an hour left of practice, so we have to go back down there.”

I whined. “I don’t feel up to it...”

“Too bad. You gotta go down there... unless you want more...”

I shook my head. “No, no more,” I said, tugging my pants up and wincing again at the sting. “I’ve had enough.”

He smiled slightly then put his arm around me, leading me back downstairs. “And after practice you can take a nice cool bath and feel lots better, okay?”

I nodded.

We walked downstairs together, I wincing with each step, and entered the concert hall, his arm still around my shoulder. I knew that my face was still streaked with tears, and everyone would probably wonder what had happened. I wasn’t sure what Jonathan was going to tell them, but I was going to say that he just smacked some sense into me, which was true, but they hopefully wouldn’t see it the way it really happened.

The hardest part of the practice was not the way everyone looked at me when I entered, nor was it apologizing to the bitchy girl, nor was it explaining to the conductor and my teacher that I’d really learned my lesson, but it was sitting on my aching rear end and attempting to play my viola.

Yep... I learned a lot that weekend but the one thing that sticks in my mind is that it’s harder to play the viola on a sore bottom than it is when you’re drunk.

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