My mother possesses a favourite saying: “You were such a charming, well-mannered, and mischievous little boy – whatever became of you?” Thank you, Mother. When I reflect upon these memories, I often wonder how many parents, especially mothers, find a certain amusement in administering a mild chastisement to their children. Having read many accounts, I believe it is fair to say that some mothers do indeed find a little harmless discipline rather entertaining.
As for myself, I have always had the distinct impression that my mother rather enjoyed the act of smacking my bottom. I should add, however, that although we converse freely about many matters, we have never discussed this particular subject.
I am quite certain she must have known that I found playful spankings rather enjoyable – it was quite apparent, once the secret was out, and I never attempted to conceal it. On several occasions, Mother would threaten to “turn me upside down” if I was not ready for school, or out of bed, or down for dinner. However, these threats never amounted to more than words.
There was always a smile or a certain look – and, of course, we both knew that I was neither too old nor too large to be placed across her knee – she had demonstrated that quite clearly!
As I have explained before, as long as it remained a light-hearted game between us, I encouraged Mother whenever possible to place me over her knee – I was most fond of it. I would test the boundaries with my cheekiness, and Mother would respond accordingly. It was all in good fun – indeed, those years were the happiest of my childhood. That period coincided with several playful spankings, and I believe it also brought us closer together.
And so, to my much-anticipated birthday – a day that stands out in my memory. As I have mentioned, I was still quite young (in my early twenties), and Mother was still a relatively young woman, having only just turned fifty.
My birthday fell on a Monday that year, but it was during the school summer holidays. The day before, my parents had arranged a surprise outing to a theme park. Part of the surprise was that Tom and his parents joined us – it was a splendid day.
On my actual birthday, Mother did not need to wake me – I was up early, filled with excitement. When I entered the kitchen, still in my pyjamas, she greeted me with a warm embrace and a fond kiss. She directed me to my cards and gifts on the table.
“Would you like me to make you some rock cakes?” she asked. These were my favourite at the time, and I replied, “Yes, please,” as I began to open my cards. I was not paying much attention to what Mother was saying until she sat down beside me and read the recipe aloud.
Then she invented an instruction about letting the mixture rest for exactly thirteen minutes. “Oh,” she said, “how convenient – that is precisely how long it will take me to give you your birthday spanking!” I laughed and corrected her, “It is thirteen smacks, not minutes!” She replied, with mock sternness, “Not in this house, young man!” Mother gave me her special look and began gathering the ingredients.
I opened a present, but my thoughts were elsewhere. Was she truly going to spank me for thirteen minutes? If you have read my earlier account, you will recall that even a brief, playful spanking from my mother’s hand could sting quite a bit. That first smacked bottom, though it seemed longer, probably lasted only about five minutes, with much conversation and pretend scolding in between, certainly not a continuous spanking. Despite some apprehension, I felt a warm, pleasant sensation inside and glowed with anticipation – Mother was going to smack my bottom!
After mixing the ingredients, she made a great show of placing a kitchen chair in the centre of the room, where she could see the clock. She looked at it, sat down, and clapped her hands together. “Right,” she said, “time for that smacked bottom!” I protested, rather feebly, that it ought to be thirteen smacks, not thirteen minutes, but she simply said, “Right, you naughty boy, over my knee you go!”
Mother took my hand to guide me into position – and for the very first time, I felt an extra thrill. Even though it was all in fun, Mother was not smiling or laughing – she kept a straight face and actually placed me across her knee as she might if I were truly naughty.
(pause) The moment I found myself draped over her lap, the world seemed to shrink to the small circle of light in our kitchen, the gentle ticking of the clock, and the firm, warm presence of my mother. Her skirt rustled softly as she adjusted me, and I could feel the reassuring strength in her arms as she settled me into place. My heart thudded with a peculiar mixture of anticipation and embarrassment, and I felt, for a fleeting instant, as if I were much younger – a little boy again, caught in the act of some mischief and awaiting his just desserts.
(short pause) “You are such a naughty boy, Jay! Birthday or not, thirteen is not too old for a proper old-fashioned spanking!” she declared, her voice both stern and affectionate. The words seemed to echo in the room, and I felt a shiver of excitement run down my spine. There was something almost ceremonial about it – the way she spoke, the way she held me, the way the sunlight slanted through the window and danced on the patterned wallpaper.
(pause) The first smack landed with a sharp, unmistakable sound, and I gasped, more from surprise than pain. My pyjamas, thin as they were, offered little protection, and the sting was immediate and real. Mother’s hand was firm but not unkind, and as she continued, each smack was accompanied by a gentle scolding or a playful remark. “That is for leaving your socks on the stairs! And that is for cheek at breakfast!” she said, her tone half-mocking, half-maternal.
(pause) The tingling began to build, and I found myself wriggling and protesting in the most theatrical manner. “Oh, Mother, please! I shall be good! I promise!” I cried, though we both knew it was all part of the game. I threatened to telephone Childline, to report her to the authorities, and she only laughed, her laughter ringing out like a bell and filling the kitchen with warmth.
(pause) The minutes passed, and though the spanking was never continuous – there were pauses for conversation, for laughter, for mock outrage and affectionate teasing – the sense of ritual remained. I felt oddly cherished, as if this peculiar, old-fashioned punishment was a secret language between us, a way of saying “I love you” without words.
(pause) At last, Mother paused, her hand resting gently on my back. “Right, Jay. I shall indeed be giving you thirteen smacks – and one to grow on – after all. And just to ensure you learn your lesson, I think these had better be on your bottom!” she announced, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
(short pause) I instinctively reached behind with one hand to protect myself, but Mother caught it and held me firmly. “You, young man, are going nowhere,” she said, her voice full of mock severity. “Now, birthday boy, count these smacks for me – nice and loud, if you please!”
(pause) My bottom already tingled from the earlier spanking, and now, as Mother raised her hand, I braced myself for the real thing. The first smack landed with a resounding crack, and I exclaimed, “One!” The sting was sharp, but I could not help laughing, and Mother laughed too, the two of us caught up in the absurdity and joy of the moment.
(pause) Each smack was delivered with care – not too hard, but hard enough to make me squirm and giggle. “I expect you felt that one, birthday boy!” she teased, and I groaned and flopped about on her knee, exaggerating my discomfort for all it was worth. The warmth in my bottom increased with each smack, but so did my sense of delight. There was something wonderfully liberating about it – to be silly, to be noisy, to be loved so openly and unreservedly.
(pause) Mother took her time with the remainder of the spanking, spacing the smacks out evenly, making a great show of giving me an ‘extra hard’ one to grow on. In truth, it was no harder than the others, but by then my bottom was thoroughly warmed, and I laughed heartily as she finally released me.
(pause) She drew me in for a cuddle, and we both laughed until our sides ached. My bottom stung, but I felt lighter than air, as if all the cares of the world had been smacked away. “That will ensure you remember your birthday, will it not?” she said, and I knew I would remember it always – not for the pain, but for the love and laughter that filled the room.
(pause) Mother and I have laughed about that day many times over the years since. I do wonder if she had planned the bottom element or whether it was a spur of the moment decision.
I pulled up my pyjama bottoms and stood rubbing my well-smacked behind. Mother looked very pleased – she had the broadest smile on her face as I sat back down, gingerly, at the table with my cards and gifts while she finished off the rock cakes before they went into the oven.
What a morning, and what a birthday spanking! The rock cakes were quite good as well. But more amusement was to follow.
A little later, Tom arrived with his mother. She had driven him over with an ulterior motive – to give me the birthday spanking I had requested all those months ago. I presume that at some stage, Mother had given her permission to do so.
Tom’s mother gave me a card and a gift, wished me a happy birthday, and then began scratching her head. “I am sure there was something else to do… Oh yes, I remember – I must give you a birthday spanking, must I not?” Mother interjected, “You have my full permission to give Jay a soundly smacked bottom.”
Oh dear! Another spanking on top of the one Mother had already given me earlier. Tom’s mother made quite a production of it. “Have you a comfortable chair I can use, Mother, as this may take some time? As I have said before, I do believe some mothers enjoy this sort of thing more than they might admit!
Tom laughed and my mother was laughing at my predicament, knowing full well how sensitive my behind must already be from our earlier encounter. Then, I heard Tom’s mother say, “Come here, birthday boy,” and I presented myself for my second spanking of the day.
Of course, it was different, because it was not my mother. But once I was dangling over her knee, the experience felt very similar. At least I was now dressed in jeans, so I had a little more protection for my rear end.
Tom’s mother gave me thirteen fairly mild smacks. Then I heard her say, “If he is ever cheeky or naughty at our house, is it acceptable to smack his bottom, Mother?” “Absolutely!” my mother replied.
The fourteenth and final smack – the one to ‘grow on’ – was a particularly firm one. On top of all the other smacks I had received that day, I felt it most keenly. I grimaced and rubbed my bottom vigorously as Tom’s mother returned me to my feet. The two mothers and my friend roared with laughter. I believe Tom and his mother thought I was merely acting – but Mother and I knew otherwise!
Tom stayed for tea. I sat rather uncomfortably. Mother caught my eye from time to time and smiled knowingly. Father returned home and asked me how my day had been. I told him it had been the best birthday ever – which was quite true.
Mother and I had a conversation and a cuddle before my bedtime. I remember her saying, “That smacking is nothing compared to what will happen on your fourteenth birthday!”
Fortunately, I did not have to wait that long before I found myself back across Mother’s knee. It was always just for fun, always with my consent, and always given and received with affection.
Tom’s mother threatened
