I grew up a somewhat undisciplined child – I was adopted at the age of three and my new parents were to afraid to give me what I needed (i.e. a damn good spanking) for fear of having me taken away. So by the time I was in my teens, I pretty much got away with everything.
Then one day I came home to find my mother and her friend Mrs Johnson, from a few houses down the block, talking at the dinning table.
Without any thought, I interrupted their conversation to ask my mom something. My mother ignored my rudeness. Mrs Johnson did not. Instead, she reached out and grabbed one of my wrist. She then looked me straight in the eye, and said: “If you were one of my children, I’d bare your bottom for interrupting like that!”
I thought of what she said for weeks afterwards. I’m not sure how much longer it was after that, but one evening my parents went out and took me to Mrs Johnson’s house so she could babysit me. I personally felt I was a bit too old to have a babysitter, but I couldn’t stay home alone either.
The evening went pretty well until I was told to put on my pyjamas ready for bed. I put up a fuss, but eventually changed into my nightclothes. After I had done so, Mrs Johnson called me into the living room.
When I got there, she was sitting on a wooden armless chair. She called me over to stand in front of her and then gave me a lecture for about 15 minutes on why I was going to be spanked.
Before I knew it, I was across her lap. My pyjama bottoms and underwear were both lowered down to my knees and I was hand spanked. I had never felt such fire – but the strange thing was, I knew I needed every smack I got that evening.
For the next few years, Mrs Johnson gave me hand spankings, the paddle, the strap and the cane on a regular basis. I am 39 today and miss those days of boyhood.