When I was about eight years old, I developed a serious skin infection as a result of swimming in a neighbour’s dirty pool. I had it for a few days, especially in my crotch area, before my mom finally saw it.
I was sitting in a chair in the living room, in just my dressing gown, after taking a bath. Mom walked by and noticed the rash on my upper leg. She ordered me to open up my robe so she could see me properly. Obviously, by that age, it was embarrassing for me to show her my body but I reluctantly did as I was told. She was horrified and asked me how long I had the rash – I said a couple of days.
Mom told me to get dressed and took me to the urgent care centre. They were very nice and prescribed an antibiotic cream, which mom would have to apply all over my body, including my bottom and crotch, for at least a week.
So every morning I would take a bath, and then Mom would put the cream on my chest, stomach, legs, back and bottom. She spent a great deal of time putting it on my behind – it was like having it creamed for my diaper when I was a toddler.
Mom did all this in her bedroom. She sat on the bed while I stood in front of her, completely naked. Every day she would comment about how much worse it could have been because I hid the rash from her, and that I should have known better than to go into a dirty pool.
She kept emphasising that I must never do anything like this again, and never hide any medical condition from her. I kept answering ‘OK’ in a very unenthusiastic manner, just to get her to stop talking about it. For my own part, I was glad to see that the tube of cream was getting close to empty, so I figured it wouldn’t be long before all this was over.
The last day was a total shocker. I met Mom in her bedroom after my morning bath, once again naked as the day I was born. She was sitting on the foot of the bed, just as she had all week. I didn’t see any cream, though, so I wasn’t sure what was happening.
Then she said: “Eddie, you should have never gone into that dirty pool and you should never have hidden that you were sick from me. I have to spank you now to make sure you never do anything like this again.”
Then she pulled me completely over her lap. I was in total shock as even with all the warning signs, an eight-year-old boy is not that analytical. I was now over her lap and facing the walk-in closet right next to the bed, which had a ceiling to floor mirror. I was looking directly at myself over mom’s lap. I don’t think she planned it, but it was a very unusual way to get a spanking. I was going to be able to see everything.
Mom told me not to move – she said was going to give me a good spanking because I had done two things wrong: I had gone into that dirty pool, and I had hidden the rash for days.
Then she said ‘here we go’ and began to spank. I could see her in the mirror as she was doing it. She didn’t look angry, but had a determined and serious look on her face. Suddenly, she looked over and noticed my face in the mirror, looking at her chastising me. Softly, she said: “Eddie, close your eyes and keep them closed – or I’ll keeping spanking you until you do.”
I closed my eyes and the spanking continued. All the while I just kept muttering ‘oh boy, oh boy, oh boy’, very softly. Mom must have heard me because she started to shush me, trying to calm me down. It worked – I wasn’t afraid or scared at all, but it did feel like the punishment went on forever, as my bum caught fire.
When she was finally done, Mom made me stand up. She held me by my shoulders and looked me right in the eye. “Eddie, I love you very much and never want you to do anything like this again. If you are sick or hurt, you must tell me.” “OK mommy,” I replied. I’m not sure why I used the juvenile word for my mother at that point – I probably felt like a little boy from the spanking and humiliation of the treatment.
Mom pulled me into her arms and hugged me. I looked over in the mirror and was able to see my bright, beet red spanked butt. I understood exactly why I got spanked. I’m not going to say it didn’t hurt, because it did. But it didn’t bother me at all. In fact, I really felt the love in it.
Mom got up and walked over to her dresser. She got out a tube of her own skin lotion, and said: “Turn around – this will make you feel better.” She very gently rubbed the lotion into my sore bottom, cooling it down. Now I really felt the love. I didn’t enjoy being spanked for a second, but I didn’t mind this at all.
When she was finished, she told me to get dressed, and that she was taking me out for ice cream. This type of treat was rare, and it felt strange sitting in the ice cream shop booth, eating a banana split with a very sore bottom! Mom was sweet as could be all day and didn’t tell dad about what happened, at least not in front of me. Later, she went to see the neighbours and told them I was forbidden to go in their pool in future.
As an aside, I really have no idea how mom was so proficient at giving me my spankings. She was the youngest of seven children (five boys and two girls) and although her brothers often had their bottoms smacked, she personally never got spanked in her life. I think she must have consulted my grandma about how to properly spank a naughty boy!