As an English kid, I spent quite a few summer and winter breaks with relatives in the US state of Michigan. These began when I was 14 and continued until I left university eight years later, though I’d known these relatives pretty much all my life because they had also visited us in London. My father had business contacts in Michigan, too.
The visits were wonderful experiences on the whole, often for two to three weeks at a time, and they were paid for through the books of my father’s business, nominally as a kind of apprenticeship, though I never actually went into the business.
These relatives, aunts and distant cousins, were also friendly with my Dad’s business contacts and mostly they were church-going evangelical Christians; warm-hearted, fun-loving and generous, but morally quite fundamentalist. They were very American – super-hospitable, and everything needed to be the biggest and the best! All this differed somewhat from my more sober home life in London.
So, one December, Uncle Donald, his wife Peggy and my cousin Leanne collected 14-year-old me from JFK airport whilst my mum and dad went on a business trip to Pittsburgh for a week. The idea was that we’d all meet up for Christmas again in Michigan.
The two-day car journey from New York to Grand Rapids, Michigan was thrilling – it took in Niagara Falls, drive-in hamburger joints and Howard Johnson’s 47 flavours of ice-cream (whatever the weather). At one filling station, however, I saw something you don’t see in the UK – a novelty birthday spanking paddle…
It gave me a little flutter in my tummy, not only because of what it was a public endorsement of something I naturally assumed should always be private, but because my own birthday was coming up! Peggy and Leanne teased me about that prospect of an upcoming birthday spanking, bought the paddle (for some reason it had an English crown on it!) and told me all about the tradition of birthday spankings in the States as we drove on.
I didn’t imagine for one minute that this could actually be a serious proposition at all, but it did make me feel a bit squirmy nonetheless. I was a very shy child! There was no spanking at home, though at school we did have the slipper and the cane back then.
Peggy and Donald told me that they’d spanked all their kids growing up, and that they’d all turned out fine. They were amazed that my parents didn’t spank me, and surprised that we didn’t have to take our trousers down for the cane at school. In the Grand Rapids Bible Belt, it was pants down for a spanking, whether at home or at school.
That made me even more squirmy, as I thought ‘pants’ meant underpants, and so a pants-down spanking meant a bare bottom punishment. Later, of course, I learned that ‘pants’ in the US meant trousers or jeans, so at least you could keep some semblance of modesty.
Even so, at my school in London there was no question of being made to take even your trousers down when you misbehaved, so the possibility that my relatives might administer a birthday spanking in public across my underpants still gave me the heebie-jeebies!
Fast-forward a couple of days to Grand Rapids, and the birthday spanking actually theme came to life, much to my astonishment, but not with me as its subject – yet! Another cousin of mine, Charlotte, had turned 20 and there was quite a party. Late on in the proceedings, to much raucous delight, it was announced that it was time for her birthday spanking!
There must have been over 30 people present, family and friends. Charlotte pretended to resist, but in the end she quite happily and provocatively laid herself over Leanne’s knee, and there were lots of cat-calls, whoops and whistles. I’d never seen anything like this in my life before – a pretty 20-year-old girl virtually volunteering to be spanked in public. Rather out of keeping with the cold weather outside, Charlotte wore skin-tight white leggings. It almost seemed as if she had deliberately chosen to wear something saucy to get spanked in.
The spanks weren’t too hard, but they did get harder as they went along. After ’20 and one to grow on’, others queued up to add a few more. There was mock yelping and lots of giggles. Several of the older men gave Charlotte some quite firm spanks and squeezed her bottom too.
Aunt Peggy caught me looking wide-eyed and rather red-faced at this spectacle. She placed a hand on my shoulder and said: “That’s something for you to look forward to on Sunday, kiddo!”
It also transpired that it was the custom to hand out one, five or ten dollar bills to the birthday spankee – which was something else I didn’t know about. I was super-embarrassed to contemplate an actual spanking, but also pretty eager to collect some birthday dollars – this was a new twist to the story. Aunt Peggy saw my dazed grin, and said: “It’s up to you – no spanking, no loot honey-bun! Your choice!”
I was relieved that Charlotte had kept her leggings on, scant protection though they were, but as if she read my mind, Peggy added: “Pants down birthday spankings for the boys always, but not the girls. That wouldn’t be proper.”
I was in a kind of turmoil because although I wanted the birthday spanking dollars, it was way too embarrassing to contemplate being spanked like that even in fun in front of my mum and dad, who were due back by Sunday. Peggy saw that I was tied up in knots about it, and kindly soothed me and calmed the waters. She told me not to get uptight about it – it was just a fun custom, and I didn’t have to go through with it if I didn’t want to. I mischievously asked if I could have the dollars without the spanking, at which she laughed, patted my bum and called me a cheeky monkey. ‘No’ was the answer!
Anyway, Sunday came and there was a big snowfall. The snow delayed Mum and Dad’s return, which was disappointing, but we did speak by phone and they wished me happy birthday. The Grand Rapids crew made a big fuss of me – we went ice-skating, and there was a big birthday cake. Later on I was given my first alcohol – a glass of Christmas sherry – which made me a bit light-headed. It was a big warm family affair!
A bit later, Aunt Peggy hugged me, pulled me close and said: “Last chance, honey-bun – birthday spanking and dollars, or not?” Before I even knew it, the word came out of my mouth! I grinned and said: “OK” impulsively. Peggy seemed delighted. She patted my bottom and said: “Good for you, kiddo!!”
She hushed everybody and announced: “OK people. It’s time for the ceremony – the birthday boy has agreed to have his birthday spanking!” There were cheers, whoops and applause, and I got a huge adrenalin rush. I caught sight of several women rubbing their hands together gleefully in anticipation, but my discomfort was softened by the sherry.
Peggy shouted above the din: “Our special little English boy guest, with his very cute little behind, will now be initiated into true American hospitality. You’re gonna be one of us, kiddo!” I was manoeuvred into a centre-stage position by several partygoers, including Charlotte. She whispered in my ear: “Your turn now, sweetie – enjoy! You’re gonna end up a whole lot richer!”
My arms were raised above my head, and I felt someone unzipping my jeans and tugging them down. More whoops and cheers. I had warm woollen winter ‘long johns’ on underneath, which at least were less revealing than normal pants. Then I found myself being dragged across Aunt Peggy’s lap. People were holding my hands and feet, and my nose was near the floor. I could see only shoes, mostly women’s high heels! I was very conscious that my bottom was up in the air, and though I had the long woollen pants on, I felt very exposed, vulnerable and compromised.
Someone was squeezing and patting my bottom affectionately – Peggy, I guess, but maybe it was by more than one person. Someone said: “Oh my! What a bottom!” while someone else murmured “cute butt!” Then I heard Aunt Peggy speak as she patted my behind: “You boys are so lucky to have such nice neat little bottoms! Not like us girls, spreading out all over the place. I think we’re going to enjoy this.” I felt the birthday paddle rubbing against my backside in a circular motion. It felt cold and hard, even through my warm pants.
It was at this point that perhaps the most embarrassing moment of all occurred – Aunt Peggy yanked my long johns up tight between my bottom cheeks. If I’d have had on normal pants it would have been a wedgie! As it was, it gave me another very squirmy feeling because the fabric was rubbing tightly against my sensitive skin in some very private places!
There was more patting and squeezing of my bottom cheeks, like they were kneading bread, and lots of cat-calls, mostly from the women. Charlotte, by contrast, had got a lot of male attention.
Then the spanking itself started. It was given pretty hard, the whacks were loud and after only about four or five swats I got a hot, burning feeling in my bottom. There was lots of stroking and rubbing between the spanks too. I got 14 firm swats and one more to ‘grow on’, then there was a kind of free-for-all – lots of hand spanks from the assembled throng, with fingers inevitably and (perhaps) inadvertently touching private places. It turned me on, though at the time I didn’t really know what that squirmy feeling, like needing to pee, actually was.
All in all, it had been a big day, a real initiation ceremony. My first alcohol, my first jeans-down spanking and my first real experience of sexual arousal. And I had loved the feeling of having a hot, well-smacked bottom.
Finally, I was allowed to get up and everyone applauded. I rubbed my bottom ruefully, and I got lots of hugs and more bottom pats from the ladies, and handshakes and back slaps from the men. My jeans were still down through all this. Thankfully I wasn’t erect but I was still too shy to let people see my front parts, so I pulled by sweater down at the front. Round the back, my pants were still tightly hugging my hot red bottom, but I didn’t mind that being on view so much. As for the money, I had made $120 – a very good ‘bottom line’, as you might say!
Then my cousin Leanne leaned over and whispered in my ear: “I haven’t had my turn yet.” As I zipped up my jeans, I allowed her to lead me into another room, where we were alone. I was elated and a bit tipsy. Leanne was much older than me – about 45, I guess, and quite solidly built. She seductively slipped me a 50 dollar bill, and said: “How about a special private little birthday spanking, in your birthday suit, honey-pie?”
Perhaps because she was much older, perhaps because of her ‘donation’ (I realised later that Leanne had basically ‘bought’ me), I allowed myself to be undressed and soon I was playfully put across her knee, my bare bottom in the air.
Leanne gave me way more than 14 spanks, but I loved it. She focused a lot on my ‘sit spot’ and so her hands brushed by some intimate places as she spanked. When that happened, it made me arch my back and stick my bottom out even more. As she smacked my bare bottom, Leanne related how she used to spank her own kids, and said that she especially liked spanking boy’s bottoms because they were so cute and it was years since she’d had such a ‘perfect little butt’ to attend to.
Then from out of nowhere (I didn’t see a handbag) she produced a tube of balsam soothing cream, and began to rub some into my cheeks which by now were very hot and pink.
At no point did the encounter become overtly sexual, although I sensed Leanne did want to touch me more intimately. But somehow I didn’t want that at all – I just loved the attention to my bottom and the heady mix of my hot, well-spanked cheeks with the cool, aromatic cream. It was delicious, and I could have stayed there like that all night.
Eventually, however, Leanne pulled me up, gave me a hug and a pat and helped me back on with my clothes. As I went to zip my jeans up, she asked me if my bottom was still sore. “A bit,” I confessed. Leanne gently tugged my trousers down to half-mast and put me back over her knee. “Well, a bit more of a rub, and then we’re done. Deal?”
Leanne rubbed and patted me a bit more. My long pants were now stuck to my bum cheeks because of the cream. Leanne had even applied it in my bum crank, so my underwear felt like a second skin. I felt the arousal return as she petted me, but all of a sudden it was over and we both went back to rejoin the party.
The next day, I felt very sheepish – what had happened there last night, I wondered? However, everyone else was normal and cheerful. Leanne hugged and patted me, and Charlotte told me how much she liked my ‘cute little English bottom’. Aunt Peggy laughed and agreed. “He’s got a bottom made for spanking. It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it!”
That was the first of many jokey and some serious spankings I experienced over the next few years in Michigan. They included one administered at church, after my now 18-year-old self and Kirsten, Leanne’s 17-year-old adopted daughter, got caught with cigarettes and alcohol. In Michigan, as in most states, it was illegal to drink alcohol under the age of 21.
Kirsten and I gelled, because I was also adopted. However, we both were given the ‘rod of correction’ for our trouble. More of that another time.