He was in polite terms a rascal, and from accounts given by my father and others in the community, much more than that. A living legend in our communi...y, with a history of fighting, drinking, poaching, and anything else that fell in between, Mister Buddy was by all accounts a rounder. But, by the time I came to know him, he'd calmed down considerable and I knew only the gruff old man who would tell fascinating stories and allow me to hunt on the best damn dove field in south Georgia.He had. There obviously weren't very many behaviors he found objectionable. He seemed perfectly happy to have a nearly naked sixteen year old girl serving drinks and making herself available to these men, many of whom were old enough to be her grandfather.He ordered us to start circulating and taking drink orders. I was just about to walk away when I remembered Tommy's ginger ale. I turned back and told Phil that Tommy ordered a ginger ale.He went back behind the bar and poured the drink. I asked him. ” He doubled the belt, flung his arm back and whipped it down on me, landing with a crack that shot through the room. I yowled and bucked up, letting go of my legs. “Make that six. Hold your legs.” “I’m trying.” I whimpered, clutched tighter, waiting for the belt strike. It came swiftly and I screamed. “Ow, ow.” “Four more.” He fired two fierce lashes in a row, not letting me catch my breath. I sobbed and shook. I was exhausted and prayed for the next two to be over, but this phase. “What are you going to do about it?” she asked. The headlights of a passing car illuminated the inside of their car and he could see her determined face, her eyes locked on his, her lips.He stammered. “I, I, uh, I don’t, I, know…”“Be a gentleman,” she said, nodding towards her door.He pulled the car into a parking spot, gave her one more look, before exiting the car and coming around to open hers. He watched the red toenails of her feet in her strappy lace-up sandals emerge from the car. Her.