When I was around 12 or 13, we went on a family picnic at a local fish hatchery. My brother and his friends were walking on a narrow cement wall next to a fish pond.
I was making loud cat calls, trying to scare them and make them to fall into the pond, when my mom said: “Danny, if any of those boys falls in, you’re the one I’m going to spank.”
Needless to say, overhearing Mom threaten to spank me, my brother and a friend just ‘happened’ (I think on purpose) to fall into the pond anyway.
After they had been safely helped out of the water, Mom told me: “You and I are going for a walk, young man.”
We walked to the far north end of the hatchery. There were no other people there, but there was a park bench. Mom sat down on the bench and told me to get over her knee for my spanking.
Very reluctantly, I bent over and Mom gave me 10 good spanks on my behind. After my spanking was over, we walked back to our little group of friends.
Everyone began asking me: “Did your mom spank you?” They knew the answer, so I ignored their questions.
Whether this was a good idea is something of a moot point, because then they all began chanting: “Danny got a spanking, Danny got a spanking…”
They were right – and, especially for a big boy, it was hugely embarrassing hearing them spread the word about my punishment.