When I was younger, back in the 1970s, I often visited my aunt Joanne. One regular day, I was out playing with the neighbors until it got dark.
I was only about three blocks away but hadn’t told anyone where I was.
Of course, I didn’t think anything of it and did not realize that my aunt had been looking for me for over two hours.
When I walked into my aunt’s apartment, I saw her sitting on her couch in tears, still dressed in her nurse’s uniform.
It was the old-fashioned all white, with the white stockings and white shoes.
Aunt Joanne was a tall, imposing figure with sharp features and piercing blue eyes that could see right through you. Her hair was always neatly pinned up, not a strand out of place.
She looked up at me, and suddenly, her sadness changed to anger. Aunt Joanne was an old-fashioned, no-nonsense kind who believed in spankings and smacked bottoms.
I got the standard lecture about irresponsibility and then was told that I would be spanked!
I had been spanked by my folks several times and knew that arguing would never do me any good. However, I vowed silently that I would not cry.
I assumed the position over my aunt’s knee, noticing how much thinner than my mom she was. I remember her starting to spank me.
It was starting to hurt but I maintained my silence.
However, my legs were starting to betray me and began kicking involuntarily. I didn’t notice that my plimsolls had flown off.
Finally, after a dozen or so smacks, SHE stopped. I felt that I had won. Sure, my butt burned – but I had not cried.
Then Aunt Joanne picked up my plimsoll and gave me the hardest swat yet, right on the back of my thigh. That one swat made me yelp and I began to lose my battle.
She spanked me thoroughly with the plimsoll all over my bottom.
Each swat felt like a burst of fire on my skin, the sting spreading and intensifying with every strike. My resolve to stay silent was crumbling with each blow.
The pain was sharp and unrelenting, and I could feel the heat radiating from my bottom. My legs kicked out uncontrollably, and I could hear my own sobs echoing in the room.
Aunt Joanne’s face remained stern, her grip firm as she continued the spanking. The plimsoll’s hard rubber sole left a lasting impression, both physically and emotionally.
By the time she was done, I was a mess of tears and hiccups, my bottom throbbing with a dull, persistent ache. I stumbled to my room, the lesson painfully etched into my memory.
