It was a summer evening and I was getting ready for bed. Mom told me to take a bath and then put on my pyjamas.
Usually at this point, Mom would put out a clean pair of underpants for me to wear overnight and during the following day – but on this occasion she didn’t. I shouted down the stairs: “Mom! I need clean underwear!” She called back: “It’s OK, Eddie, just wear your PJs for tonight.”
I should add that these were my summer pyjamas – a short-sleeved shirt and short pants, all made of a very light material. I dressed myself in these, then went downstairs into the lounge, where Dad was sitting in his chair and watching TV.
I had only been sitting there for a few minutes when Dad shot me a concerned look and said: “Come over here, young man.” I walked over to him and he said: “You aren’t wearing any underwear – I can see right through your pyjamas!”
Before I could explain what Mom had said, Dad pulled me between his legs and bent me over his left leg. He pulled my pyjama shorts down with his other hand, then hitched up my shirt at the back, exposing my bare behind.
By now I was really confused. I knew I was about to be spanked (I had been in that position too many times before!) but my main feelings were of complete shock and surprise. When I was spanked by Mom (my usual disciplinarian), I generally knew I had been a bad boy and what to expect in return. But Mom had told me this was OK, and I didn’t think it was a big deal.
I didn’t have time to think or say anything, though, because without saying another word, Dad started spanking my bare bottom, hard. I could feel him going all over my rear end – left cheek, right cheek, then across my crack.
Of course, I was yelling and crying by now and indeed the spanking itself was pretty loud, as the room echoed to my naked butt being heartily slapped by my father. The noise brought Mom into the room to see what the noise was and she immediately asked Dad what was going on.
He replied: “This boy is walking around without underwear and I can see everything he has!” I should say that I was by now nine years old and developing fast, so there was definitely something to see below my shorts – it was no longer just the insignificant little penis of a small boy.
Fortunately, Mom came to my rescue and told Dad in no uncertain terms that she had told me it was OK.
Dad stopped spanking me, although my bottom was already sore from a couple of non-stop minutes of discipline. He pulled my shorts back up, gave me a final informal smack on the seat and said: “OK, buddy. Well, consider that a spanking for all the times I’ve let you get away with things!”
I knew he had a point, and scurried off to bed with a stinging bottom before he changed his mind.