Janice and her awakenings with Aunt Alice


These days you can find out about almost anything on the Internet. So if you have a strange personal experience and think you may be a little odd, it doesn’t take long to find out that you are not the only one in the world to be obsessed with Singer sewing machines or whatever it happens to be.

But back in the 1960s, the world was a different place, and if your secret quirk happened to have a sexual dimension then it was so much more confusing. Therefore when my life was turned upside down, it took a long time to get my head straight as I seriously thought I was a freak.

What are you talking about Janice? Start from the beginning, as Aunt Alice would have said. I learnt the hard way to listen to Aunt Alice so here goes.

I was born in Gateshead as Janice Armstrong and in 1963 I was 19-years-old and had just completed my journalism part one qualification from a correspondence course and a bit of unpaid volunteering. I was absolutely convinced that I was going to change the world or at least get to write about it. However being an inexperience girl in a northern town was not the best place to launch a career in writing.

In fact the only two newspapers within travelling distance of home both turned me down without an interview when they found out I was a woman. OK well maybe I would have had a bit of chance if I had been a woman but a teenage girl had no chance.

I got a job in a flower shop of all things and wrote to just about every newspaper in the country for a staff position as a writer. After six months, I had only three offers of an interview, all of them in London.

You have to understand that for a Tyneside girl in 1963 London was the other side of the moon. Sure, it was cool and happening. But it was also dangerous and expensive to get to. That was my father’s view anyway.

Despite my best efforts to persuade him, I had already missed two interview dates before I could even get him to discuss it. Then mum remembered her Aunt Alice. At that time, there were only three things to know about Aunt Alice. Firstly, she was not really my mother’s aunt, but a distant cousin. Second she was a widow and therefore respectable. And thirdly, and most importantly for me, she lived in London.

To cut a very long frustrating story short it was finally agreed that I could go to London for an interview if I stayed with Aunt Alice. Nothing was decided about what would happen if I got the job, I think my father was fairly certain that it wouldn’t come up anyway.

It was a Friday when I finally set off and I was to stay with Aunt Alice for the weekend. It was a long journey and naturally I was excited as I had never been further than Grey Street in Newcastle on my own before.

London was a shock. It is big. Now Newcastle is big. But London is, well bigger. When it started getting a bit built up with more and more buildings when I was on the train down I asked a man where we were.

“Oh this is the outskirts of London.” He said.

So naturally, I started putting on my coat and collecting my bags and got ready to go. Twenty minutes later the train is still dashing through large railway stations and showing no sign of slowing down, let alone stopping.

When the train finally arrived at Kings Cross I suddenly realised that finding Muswell Hill and Aunt Alice was not going to be all that easy.

My father had impressed on me that I should only use buses as I would only get lost on an underground train and taxis were far too expensive. I explain all this only to demonstrate how naïve I was.

I could not find a bus to Muswell Hill after an hour of walking the streets with heavy bags, so I got on a bus going to Stamford Hill, assuming that all the Hills were probably near one another. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Eventually after walking some seriously grim looking streets, I sat down at the roadside and burst into tears. After a while, a taxi driver stopped and when I told him my plight he got out grabbed my bags and despite my protests drove me to Aunt Alice’s.

I think I actually asked him if he knew Aunt Alice, not understanding how he could possibly know where to take me otherwise.

“Are you sure you are supposed to be out on your own?” He said as I gratefully paid him a small fortune once we had arrived. He growled in voice like the cockneys in the films. Adding, “If you were my niece I would give you a bloody good hiding.”

Despite father’s old fashion thinking I had never been spanked as a child, but the threat from this complete stranger was oddly thrilling.

Aunt Alice turned out to be much younger than I expected. She also turned out to be rather more severe.

“Where have you been girl?” She scolded as she took my coat. “You were expected hours ago.”

I was used to elderly relatives being kind like Gran and offering tea and cakes and saying ‘never mind you are here now love’. So Aunt Alice was a bit of a shock all round.

Her house was not what I expect either. It was in a very posh area compared to Gateshead, but she only had the top part of the house. I had never heard of a flat before, except in connection with the new tower blocks.

At first I did not like it. There was no television and everywhere looked too nice to live in. I felt like I was living in a museum. Aunt Alice tried to make conversation but I realised we had little to say to one another. She had never heard of Coronation Street or Juke Box Jury and thought that Mick Jagger may have been one of the Beatles.

My job interview was not until Monday, so on Saturday, I took my life in my hands and ventured into central London. This time I armed myself with an A to Z and although I kept getting lost, I did manage to find myself again.

As well as the Tower of London and Parliament Square, I found Carnaby Street and the West End. I knew then that I was never going home.

My interview was a disaster. It obvious from the start that I was grossly under qualified and my complete lack of local knowledge was going to be an insurmountable hurdle.

I was completely dejected as I walked back to the tube station to catch the not so very confusing train home. I stopped off at a trendy new café to console myself with a last cup of coffee among the London in-crowd.

The café was advertising for a waitress and I had what I thought was a brilliant idea. I applied and they asked me to start the next day.

Now I knew I could not tell mum and dad or Aunt Alice that I hadn’t got the reporter job. But I reasoned that if told them something that was not entirely in line with the complete truth then I could work at the café until a real journalism job came up and I wouldn’t have to go home.

“They want you to start tomorrow?” Aunt Alice was incredulous. “What kind of newspaper is this? Surely they can give you at least a weeks notice. Where are you going to live?”

I just pulled a face and then suggested that I could easily find a flat like hers in the local newspaper.

“Oh my god how an earth did you get a job on a newspaper, even a small local?” Aunt Alice shook her head in amazement. “You will just have to stay here until we can find you something more permanent. And I will see this easy-to-come-by flat before you even think agreeing to paying rent.”

I could not believe my luck, and only just remembering to thank her, told her I could not wait to phone mum and dad.

“I think that I had better talk to your mother first.” She insisted. “This is going to be a bit of a surprise.”

Father was not happy. In fact he threatened to come and fetch me home. Aunt Alice was actually an ally here and calmed him down and persuaded him to let me try it. I didn’t know then, but she realised that I was so badly qualified for a job, that she assumed I would be let go after a few weeks at most.

The rest was surprisingly easy to pull off. I left for work each morning as Aunt Alice would expect, but instead of going to a newspaper office, I headed into Islington and reported for work at the café. The hours were a good fit and even the pay was better than that of a trainee reporter.

After a few weeks Aunt Alice and I were getting on fine and my father had stopped asking me when I was coming home. Furthermore I was beginning to realise how little about anything I really knew and so consequently was starting to know almost as much as anybody else.

Weeks turned into months and 1963 turned into 1964. I was no nearer finding a writing job but I was starting to make friends and was becoming part of the crowd. People had even stopped making fun of my northeast accent as I learnt to avoid northern slang in favour of local street talk. I even remembered to take home copies of the newspaper I was supposed to be working on, explaining that juniors like myself did not get by-lines. I just made up stories about what part I had played in getting this report or that feature. Aunt Alice seemed satisfied and I was very pleased with myself.

I have no idea how long my deception might have lasted had it not been for Aunt Alice’s interest in antiques.

Islington in those days was a poor area yet to experience the joys of gentrification, a completely different area than it is today. However there were a few up-market antique shops just off Upper Street and unknown by me Aunt Alice was a regular visitor to one shop in particular.

One day I was serving coffees to the in-crowd and trying to keep up with the latest gossip when I turned around to see Aunt Alice sitting at one of the tables. For a moment, I hoped I could duck out the back until she had gone but she looked up and right at me. I realised, the café not being her usual type of haunt, that she had probably seen me through the window and had come in to confront me.

“Hello Aunt Alice.” I ventured nervously.

“Good morning Janice.” She replied through tight lips. “Under cover are we? Or are you working on a feature on low-life café society?”

“No Aunt Alice.” I admitted blushing. “I work here.”

“Did you lose your other job?” She pressed.

“Not exactly.”

“You never got the job did you?” She said sadly.

I just shook my head and pulled a face.

“So all these months you have been lying?” She was angry.

“No I.” I did not know what to say. I truly had not thought of it in that way up until that moment. “I have been looking for writers jobs, this is just temporary.”

She stood up and walked to the door. Then just before she left in front of everyone she said:

“You naughty girl we will have some serious words about this when you get home.”

Everyone laughed and I got teased about it for the rest of the day.

“Looks like someone is going to get a smacked bottom when they get home.” The manageress teased as I went back to get another order.

The journey back to Muswell Hill that evening was awful I felt like I was going to my own execution. I wondered if Aunt Alice had called my father and whether I would be packed off back to Gateshead in the morning. I resolved that I would move out if I had to but I was definitely not going home.

Aunt Alice was calm when I got back to her flat. She sat me down and made me tell her everything. I felt like bursting into to tears and saying I was sorry but instead I think I was rather defiant and tried to suggest that a job was a job and what business of hers was it what I did for a living.

I thought I had gone too far but she stayed calm and firmly and at length explained that she had made certain promises to my mother. She also said that she did not approve of my career choice and that I was kidding myself if I thought that it was a springboard to a literary career.

I protested saying that it was a great place with really cool people.

“It is full of rock and rollers, beatniks and heaven knows what.” She exploded. “If we needed any further evidence that they were ne’er do wells then we only have to see that they have you lying to your own family.”

I started to protest again but she sent me to my room.

“I am not a child you can’t just.” I protested again.

She just gave a look that sent me scurrying away to do what I was told.

About an hour later she knocked on my door and came in and sat down beside me on my bed.

“I have been thinking it over and I have come to a decision. Your behaviour has been appalling and you seem to be completely unrepentant. I have thought about it and I have decided that as difficult as it is I am going to deal with you as I would have been dealt with at your age.”

I was about to tell her in my best grown up way that I was sorry but she was not going to keep me in and if she did not like it then I would leave. Then she produced a hairbrush.

“I think what you need young lady is a good sound spanking.”

My jaw must have dropped I was flabbergasted.

“I suppose if I refuse then you will throw me out.” I blustered, blushing for all I was worth.

“You really are the most exasperating and stupid girl I have ever known.” She sighed.

She suddenly pulled me across her lap and tugged up my skirts. While I reached behind me and struggled to push them back down, she tugged my knickers down leaving by bottom completely bare.

The spanking was unrestrained; I had never felt anything like it. I howled as much in surprise as anything, at first I did anyway.

“Please Aunt Alice.” I wailed trying to protect my bottom with my hands. “You can’t do this.”

“I can and I will Janice Armstrong. I am going to spank you until you can’t sit down for a week. Do you hear me girl?”

The spanking went on and on. I struggled as much as I could until I suddenly burst into tears. I was so embarrassed and ashamed; I was squirming on her lap and sobbing like a little girl.

“That’s it let it all out, I have never known such a girl.” Aunt Alice soothed.

She was no longer angry, but she did not let up a jot with the speed and impact of the brush.

The spanking continued until I just clung to her sobbing, I just surrendered, resigned to the fact that the spanking would never end. Then it did.

“Are you going to be a good girl?” Aunt Alice asked.

“Yes Auntie.” I sobbed.

“All right then, let us see how good you can be.” Aunt Alice replied firmly. “I want you to go and stand in the corner of the front room just as you are. No rubbing and no repairing your dress until I tell you to come out. Do you understand?”

“Yes Aunt Alice.” I was horrified at my submission.

“Trust me, any more defiance and I will put you back over my knee and we will start again.” She said kindly. “It will happen believe me.”

I had to stand in the corner with my bare bottom on display for the best part of the rest of the evening. I had never been so embarrassed in my life.

Eventually she allowed me to come out for a late meal and a chat.

“I ought to send you to bed without your supper but I think you and I have an understanding now and we need a little talk.”

As I knelt at her small coffee table, eating kippers and rubbing my bottom with one hand I remember, she explained to me that I was going to hand in my notice at the café and she would see what she could do about getting me a better job.

“And one more thing young lady. There will be no more talk of leaving or being thrown out, this city is no place for you to wander around looking for non-existent luxury flats.” She said pointedly. “Now you can go to bed.”

The next day I could hardly walk let alone sit and it took a while for the stiffness to abate as I made my way to work.

“I thought I was joking about you getting a good hiding yesterday.” The manageress whispered in my ear as was putting on my apron. “You really caught it didn’t you.”

I blushed furiously. The revelation of my humiliating punishment made handing in my notice all the more embarrassing.

“You’re lucky to have someone looking out for you and you know it. You can do better than working in a dump like this.” Was all the manageress said when I explained.

I felt a warm tickling glow when she said that and realised that I really had treated Aunt Alice badly. I bought her a bunch of flowers on my way back from work and very sheepishly apologised to her when I got home.

She smiled more than I had ever seen her smile before and she told me that she was not going to say anything to my parents but that I had better explain when I next saw them. She also told me that she had got me an interview at a friend’s marketing agency.

The interview turned out to be a formality as I was merely shown around the office and given details of a typing course I had to attend two afternoons a week.

Then that weekend after I had quit my job Aunt Alice took me to a shop in Regent Street and dressed me from top to toe in a range of business outfits and I felt that I had really arrived in London for first time.

The job was great, although for the first three months I was just running errands and doing typing practice, but eventually I sat in on meetings and had to make shorthand notes which I typed up afterwards.

My boss Mrs Medwin even asked my opinion on some of the accounts and I occasionally got to write creative pieces as a first draft for her presentations.

All this was later. In the days following my spanking, I could not look Aunt Alice in the eye and blushed every time I jumped up out of my seat when I forgot and tried to sit down. My bottom was an even tomato red all over with darker almost purple patches on the most prominent parts and underside of my bottom cheeks. These took more than a week to fade away and even after that I could still feel some tenderness when I pushed the flesh with my fingers. I could only just sit down comfortably by the time I had to start my new job.

The strangest part was that I could not stop thinking about the spanking long after all physical evidence had gone and it appeared to have been forgotten by Aunt Alice. At first, I tried to resent her for what she had done, but all I felt really was a warm loved feeling. That and something else I did not understand.

Maybe I would have got over it and put it down to experience and a late childhood memory, but then something else happened.

One day on my way home I bumped into some of the girls I knew from the café and they invited me to a party. I was happy to go, especially as I was now fashionably dressed and had a ‘happening’ job.

The party was a bit boring and people just stood around and talked about things I just did not understand. So, I did what lots of bored people do at parties and I drank too much. Worse still, I stayed too late and missed the last tube home.

One of the girls offered to put me up at her place nearby. I decided that it was far too late to call Aunt Alice and it being Saturday, I would go home early the next day before she was up. After all, I was now a sophisticated woman about town.

The next morning I got home just before eight and hoped I could get in before Aunt Alice was up. It was not that I meant to pretend that I hadn’t been out all night, it was just that I assumed that she would have gone to bed the night before and would have had no reason to worry.

Aunt Alice was asleep in an armchair when I got in. She woke up as I was hanging up my coat. I think I realised then that I was in trouble, but that didn’t stop me trying to behave nonchalantly and offer to make some breakfast as if nothing was wrong.

“You really don’t think there is a problem do you?” Aunt Alice was completely non-plused.

“I know I should have called you but.” I began then realised that I had no idea why I had not called, it would have been easy.

“Oh yes we will get to the not calling part, good point, but what is really in the fore front of my mind right now is where do you think you have been all night?” The last part was almost shouted at me.

“I went to a party.” My voice sounded very small to my own ears.

“Go to your room and get that tight skirt and jacket off and then come back here.” She said wearily holding the bridge of her nose.

“What for?” I stammered.

“You know what for.” She answered. “I am going to give you spanking.”

“Oh Aunt Alice you can’t please its not fair.” I whined. “I am too old for a spanking.”

Aunt Alice did not reply she just pointed towards my room and glowered at me.

I went and did what I was told, only I took my time and then put my dressing gown on over my blouse and pants. I really did not think it would happen and I would be able to talk her out of it. But when I returned Aunt Alice was already holding the hairbrush and had removed her cardigan.

“I am sorry Aunt Alice I know I should not have gone to the party but I didn’t think you.” I began.

“Didn’t think.” She scolded. “I bet you didn’t. Take that gown off at once.”

I didn’t react but Aunt Alice did. Somehow the gown ended up on the floor and I was across her knee with my knickers down.

The spanking was as before only this time I didn’t have the cushion of surprise. I had time to really absorb my humiliating position and the steady build up of pain in my bottom. Also this time I realised that the people downstairs might be able to hear and I began to protest.

Aunt Alice took no notice and the spanking proceeded without pause for many minutes. By which time I was sobbing my heart out and promising to be good.

“I know you’ll be good my girl. By the time I am finished with you, you will be a saint, Janice Armstrong. St Janice the patron saint of.” She breathed heavily and exerted herself with the spanking as she grouped for a clever comeback. “Whoever it is who can’t sit down. That and corners.”

The corner threat was not lost on me as I howled for mercy.

“Please Aunt Alice I am sorry.” I begged.

But Aunt Alice wasn’t done and I felt as if the whole morning had been turned over to my spanking.

Finally I was allowed up, but there was worse to come.

“So you are worried what the neighbours think are you? Well by the time I am done you will be more worried about what I think.”

I was led sobbing in just my blouse and socks into the upstairs hall in the communal area of the house. Thankful Aunt Alice stopped there and I was put in the corner at the foot of the shared attic stairs out of immediate sight of anyone coming or going through the outside front door. Unfortunately the woman downstairs had come out to see what all the fuss was about.

“Nothing to worry about Mrs Benson, just putting a naughty girl in her place.” Aunt Alice called down.

I was mortified; Mrs Benson must have seen that I was naked from the waist down and that I had been spanked.

“You stay in that corner and do not move or you’ll get another spanking.” Aunt Alice ordered.

I had no intention of disobeying.

A while later Mrs Benson came upstairs to speak to Aunt Alice on some pretext or other. Perhaps she thought after so long I would have been allowed back into the flat. Perhaps.

At first, the two women talked together as if I wasn’t there, although Aunt Alice did apologise for all the noise. I could have died.

“That’s the colour of fresh liver, she won’t be sitting for a while.” Mrs Benson chuckled. “My mum kept a garden stick behind a picture in the parlour, I wonder what is worse.”

“Indeed.” Aunt Alice replied.

A while later Aunt Alice came out and asked if I was ready to apologise properly. I certainly was. I was also given the choice of another half hour in the corner out on the landing or much longer in the corner inside the flat.

“Please can I come in?” I begged.

Aunt Alice did her best to make sure I regretted that choice as she kept me in my place until well into the afternoon, but I would have stood in the corner all day rather than have anymore public humiliation.

That evening I stood for ages in front of the mirror examining and fondling my maroon buttocks. I winced and gasped as I prodded the flesh, but then I did it again. I also felt a strange warm feeling and something else that even I knew was sexual arousal. I did not understand and it was the first time that I wondered if I was a bit odd. I kept easing myself down to sit in my bedroom chair and then jumping up. I tried to see how long I could sit for, not very long I found.

A couple of weeks later I came a cross a picture of woman being spanked in our picture archive at work. It gave me a strange thrill and I looked up the index for any other references. There weren’t any. After that I went to the library and some bookshops looking for any articles, stories or pictures with women getting spanked in them.

That wasn’t my last spanking from Aunt Alice. I must have been spanked every other month after that. The worse thing was that she took to having me stand in the corner for a time before as well as after my spanking.

Looking back I think I courted a couple of spankings. I certainly realised that when Aunt Alice was really cross with me I ad to stand bare-bottomed outside in the hall for Mrs Benson’s benefit. I hated such times.

Mrs Benson must have heard every spanking I ever had because she always came upstairs to speak to Aunt Alice while I was doing my corner time. It was really embarrassing when I was outside in the hall.

My obsession with spanking continued and a couple of years later I finally got a job on a women’s magazine. I spent hours in their archives looking up spanking references, of which there were many.

Then one day Aunt Alice told me that not only had she been spanked as teenager, but that her husband had spanked her when they were first married.

“I sometimes enjoyed it.” She blushed as she told me.

I wanted to hear more but was too embarrassed and tried to change the subject.

“Let me finish, this is just as embarrassing for me.” She insisted. “You sometimes enjoy it as well, when I spank you I mean.”

I wanted the ground to open up.

“I can’t not but notice.” She blushed with me. “I have to tell you that sometimes I quite like spanking you and I feel bad about it.”

“Is that why you only send me outside for corner time when you are really angry with me?” I ventured feeling extremely uncomfortable.

Aunt Alice nodded.

We talked about it a little more then I think we were both relieved to let the subject drop.

After that when Aunt Alice got the hairbrush out my mouth went dry. I always asked her if I had to stand in the hall. If she shook her head then I felt very strange but warm inside. If she nodded then I knew I had crossed the line and really had to be punished.

Aunt Alice never went easy and I cried and sometimes begged. But afterwards, if I wasn’t outside entertaining Mrs Benson, while I was standing in the corner Aunt Alice used to tell me about the many spankings she got as a girl and later from her husband.

Some of her stories were about other things he used to punish her with. One story that used to fascinate me the most was when she talked about being birched. From her stories, I knew that this hurt the most and afterwards she was the most submissive and contrite. But also sensed that she gained the most satisfaction.

All this while my job was going well and I met a man who gave every sign of being able to put me in my place when I needed it. So I eventually moved out of Aunt Alice’s.

A couple of days before I left for the last time she told me that Mrs Benson was away.

“You want to spank me one last time for old times sake?” I asked.

I felt very odd about the whole thing as I was now 23 and not the naïve girl I had been.

“I expect that boyfriend of yours will give you all the spankings you need. No I thought that perhaps you might want to experience the birch just once.” Aunt Alice was as timid as I had ever seen her.

“Is this, you know?” I didn’t really know what I was asking.

“It is for me as well, I want to remember my husband and my sore botty days are over now.” I could tell she was feeling as strange about this as I was.

“Alright.” I agreed, suddenly very scared. “Will it hurt?”

“Very much. You won’t be able to bear it.” She said firmly. “I won’t spare you and you will need a couple of days to recover.”

I just nodded as she told me to strip down almost naked. She had already prepared a couple of birch rods in the kitchen.

For my birching I was made to bend over the kitchen table longwise with my bare bottom raised a little by a small cushion. Aunt Alice tied my ankles to each table leg so that I was completely exposed. She also tied my hands together and secured them to the table legs at the other end.

The birching itself was noisy. It stung a lot but was much more bearable than the hairbrush, at first anyway.

As the birching continued, the sting got increasingly unbearable. The noise was terrific but soon it was the burn on my flesh that held my attention.

“Please Aunt Alice enough.” I sniffed wetly, but still hadn’t broken.

I think I would have been disappointed if she had stopped, I had certainly been more distressed while being spanked by her. But this was different and I was yet to understand why.

The birch strokes were slower and reached parts that a spanking never did. When I broke, it was sudden and almost unexpected. After I had begun to shed tears in earnest, I began to scream out loud with every stroke.

The pain was like fire and I thought I had nowhere else to go with it. I was wrong. The pain just got worse. I just yelled and begged as Aunt Alice laid on stroke after stroke.

She did pause a couple of times. Then she comforted me and calmed me down explaining all the while that it would be much worse when she began again. I think if I had asked her to stop at such times she would have, but once the immediate attack had abated to moderate agony I wanted to continue.

At one point I was actually afraid that my courage would fail and I would beg in a way that I really meant it and she would stop.

But I needn’t have worried, Aunt Alice knew what I needed. By the time she was really finished with me I was bleeding a little, only light grazes that seeped and were quickly wiped away, but enough to make me feel I had had real rite of passage.

Afterwards I was well beyond corner time and Aunt Alice put me to bed and put some salve on my grazed bottom.

That was the last time I was punished by Aunt Alice, although we were close for years afterwards. It was not the last time I was spanked or even birched. Although it was years before I plucked up the courage to tell my husband about my relationship with Aunt Alice.

If it hadn’t have been for her I think I still would have been fascinated by spanking, because I realise now that it had always been there. But I would I would not have had an awakening quite like I had and may never have found the courage to embrace it quite as fully.

9 Responses to “Janice and her awakenings with Aunt Alice”

  1. 1 Karl Friedrich Gauss

    Great story, Damien. Sounds all very real and plausible. Is it a true account? Or made up?

  2. 2 DJ

    Its a fictional account based on two possibly true stories.

    One was a bit grubby – about an uncle who introduces his neice to birching. I lifted it and added it at the end of the story with some small changes.

    The other part was inspired by a third hand account of a woman’s memoirs of being spanked by her graet aunt after moving to London in the 1960s.


  3. 3 Casey's Belly

    A very well-written and fascinating story, DJ – well up to your usual, quite excellent standards! Thank you for sharing – have you anything special in mind for the festive season, or will we just have to wait and see – a bit like standing in the corner?!

  4. 4 DJ

    Thanks for that.

    I have no definte plans, there is a slate of various things but how and when things get published depend on how busy I am elsewhere.


  5. 5 spckgr

    This story is just so fantastic! It felt I was living the same time in London and witnessing everything

  6. I’m glad I found this gem!

    Great story!

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