Mum’s bedside table

By the time I was 13, I was becoming more and more aware of sexual matters – but one day, that natural curiosity landed me in big, big trouble.

My parents split up when I was seven years old, and I had remained in the care of my mum, who was generally very easy-going but not above smacking my bottom when I was a naughty boy, generally just with her hand although a wooden spoon was sometimes employed – and always pants down, over her knee.

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