In my house, in the 1970s, a spanking was a pretty common occurrence. My mother stayed at home to raise her two sons and she never hesitated to reinforce the rules with a good old-fashioned bare-bottom spanking. I wouldn’t say her methods were terribly extreme but she definitely made her point very, very clear.
A spanking was always administered in private in the offending child’s bedroom, and it was always over her knee and on the bare bottom. No exceptions were made. By the time I was seven years old, she had stopped using her hand and started using a wooden spoon to make herself understood.
I would almost always be sent to my room to wait for my punishment, which was undoubtedly the worst part. Then my mother would come in holding that spoon, which had a long, thin handle and a small round head just bigger than a silver dollar. Once I was over her knee, she applied that spoon vigorously to my bare backside, alternating from one cheek to the next very rapidly. It felt like lightning! I was never able to count the strokes but I don’t think she ever stopped until every square inch of my bum was bright red.
On one particular day, however, which was probably in about 1979 or thereabouts, she decided that whatever I had done warranted my first taste of the belt. It would be the only time I ever received a spanking with the belt but I much preferred it to her wooden spoon. The reason for my preference was that she didn’t appear to know how to wield it very effectively.
I was told to go to my room, as usual, but this time she followed me in and told me that I was going to get a spanking with the belt. This horrified me and I was speechless. She then proceeded to take out my little white belt that I might wear with Sunday clothes and told me that because it was my first time, I would only receive two strokes.
I was too stunned to say anything. I was ordered to pull down my pants and my underwear and kneel on the floor and bend over my bed. I did as I was told, and when I bent over and felt the cool air on my behind, I was shaking with fear. I can never remember another time when I have felt so completely at someone else’s mercy.
My mother didn’t fold the belt over, however. She seemed to think that if she stood back far enough she could whip me with its entire length. The only problem appeared to be that her aim wasn’t very good, and so she had to deliver each stroke very slowly in order to hit the target. Consequently, it didn’t hurt at all – and I wasn’t complaining! After two very ineffective strokes, she simply put the belt away and left.
I’m not sure, but I suspect that she was somewhat embarrassed by her lack of skill (I didn’t bother to offer a critique). All I know is, the next time I was due for a spanking, she went right back to her trusty wooden spoon and reminded me that she had more than mastered the technique for using it to turn bottoms red!