I was intrigued to read Eddie’s account of being spanked for the first and last time by his nana, and I remembered my own encounters with another tough grandma.
Not my own – sadly, all my grandparents died before I was born – but I had a boyhood friend who often got his bottom warmed by his grandma, including a handful of occasions when I was present myself.
One day, my friend – let’s call him Neil – had failed a test in school, and he had the bright idea of taking me home with him, believing that his grandma wouldn’t spank him while I was present.
What Neil didn’t know at the time was that I had already had my bare bottom thoroughly smacked by this formidable lady. I had called at her house to see whether Neil was there, as I wanted him to come out to play. Well, he wasn’t, but his grandma asked whether I would pop to the store for her, as she needed a few things. She said I could use some of the money to buy some candy, so I readily agreed.
Unfortunately for me, it took much longer for me to get back from the shop – I can’t even now remember why. Anyway, by the time I did return, Neil’s grandma was pretty much sick with worry. Her face was like thunder when she saw me, and looking back, she must have worried that something bad had happened to me. She was on the apartment steps looking out for me, and in one hand was a belt.
She took all the provisions from me – including my candy – and drove me into the house, slapping the seat of my shorts repeatedly with her free hand as she did so.
“Not only are you not getting any candy, John,” she told me, “but you are also getting a good sore bottom!” She dragged a chair out from the kitchen table. “Take down your shorts and underpants, and let me see that bare bottom over the chair!”
Although Neil’s grandma and I were very well acquainted, it was still acutely embarrassing for me to show her my bare behind. Not that I cared about that for too long, as I quickly had more to worry about as she laid the leather hard across my backside. I yelled like there was no tomorrow, and there’s no doubt the whole neighbourhood could hear my punishment.
As I say, Neil wasn’t aware of this – I had been too ashamed to tell him – so when he handed his grandma the note from school there was a certain amount of smug confidence in his voice as he did so.
You can imagine how mortified he was when she took the belt down from where it hung on a kitchen hook and told him: “Well, young man, I saw John’s bottom the other day, now I’d better see yours. Get your pants and undies down!” I looked on with a confused mixture of horror and fascination as Neil turned his back on us, peeled the clothes away from his small bum and bent over the chair his grandma put out for him, just as she had for me.
Then the belt went to work. I was convinced Neil got it much worse than I had – in fact, his bottom was pretty much black and blue after the thrashing was over. Afterwards he was sent straight to bed, and I was sent home, with the threat of another whipping if I didn’t scoot straight away.
Neil and became even closer after that day. We were both growing boys and we shared our memories of sore bottoms with an equal measure of fascination and arousal.
One thing’s for sure – he had a very tough grandma – but she loved both of us to pieces and showed it throughout our childhoods, even when that meant beating our bottoms.