Even if spankings hadn’t intrigued me, I would have been thrilled when Monica scolded me. In hindsight, I’m sure I got into more mischief just to provoke attention from her, regardless of what kind of attention that might be. In my little boy imagination, I was convinced she would somehow admire my mischief as a sign of independence and cleverness. She would recognize how special I was compared to the others. She would realize how much I worshipped her and doubtless reward me with affection in return. Perhaps she would even nurse me at her breasts (which seemed even larger on such a short girl). Such are the hopes and dreams of a boy with a big crush on a pretty older girl at a time when an difference is both a huge chasm and a distance one imagines one can somehow cross.
Since I knew Monica wasn’t allowed to spank, I would often misbehave a little in Sunday School to draw out warnings without overstepping the fine line and earning a trip to Mrs Wiseman. That way, I could earn a least the threat of a spanking from my beloved. (She often threatened to spank you herself.) Thus it wasn’t hard to provoke comments like,