(gap: 2s) This story happened nearly fifty years ago, when I was a child living in a lively town in England. There were two parties every child wanted to attend. The girls loved the firemen’s party, where you could slide down the polished pole. It was always a highlight.
The boys looked forward to the nurses’ party, which took place just after Christmas. My friend Alan was invited and could bring two friends. I was one, and our friend Peter was the other.
I was not the most popular child, but I was always enthusiastic. The nurses’ party had tasty snacks, cheerful music, and sometimes even a slow dance with a nurse. I felt a bit nervous, but I wanted to have a good time.
When we arrived, the party was quieter than I expected. There were nurses and soft drinks, but the mood was calm. Some nurses were dancing and laughing, but I was too shy to join in.
At the far end of the room, a group of older women were laughing together. Two of them stood out. One wore a funny Christmas hat and kept everyone entertained. Her friend was taller, with dark hair and pointed, pixie-like ears. She reminded me of a fairy from a storybook, and I found her fascinating.
After a while, I needed to use the restroom. I remembered staying in this building once before, so I tried to find the room where I had stayed. On my way back, I stopped at the nurses’ desk and looked at the colorful notes on the wall.
Suddenly, the two cheerful women appeared. They advised me not to go down the hallway because it was busy. I told them about my previous hospital stay, and we started talking. The tall woman with pixie-like ears was named Susan, and she worked with children. We laughed and walked back to the party together.
Susan and her friend had just finished work and were having a small celebration before heading home. A slow song began to play, and I gathered my courage to ask Susan if she would like to dance. She laughed and said, “I am old enough to be your mother!” I blushed and replied, “That is why I asked you. I feel comfortable with adults.”
Susan smiled at me. “Alright, but you must behave yourself!” she said, wagging her finger. I laughed and promised to be on my best behavior.
Her friends cheered as we walked to the dance floor. Susan was taller than I was, especially in her shoes. As we danced, she reminded me to behave. I blushed again and said, “I appreciate when you speak to me that way.” She called me a “mischievous child,” and we both laughed.
It was fun to joke around. Secretly, I hoped Susan would pretend to scold me, just as a mother might. But the song ended, and I was unsure what to say next.
“Thank you for behaving,” Susan said with a playful smile. I replied, “I thought you might scold me if I did not.” I hoped she would play along and pretend to be strict.
She grinned and said, “You would probably enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” I turned bright red and looked at my shoes. “Is that why you like older women?” she teased. I said, “Well, a young nurse would not scold me! But you are a mother, you know how.” “Oh, I certainly do!” Susan said, pretending to be stern.
She led me to the drinks table and said, “You should have some juice—no more soft drinks.” “How did you know?” I asked. “It is obvious, young man! If you were my child, you would get a little warning for that!”
My head was spinning. “You would really scold me for sneaking soft drinks?” I asked. “If you were my son, yes! I would give you a good old fashioned smacked bottom,” Susan said, wagging her finger again.
I felt quite nervous. Susan was much older and knew all the tricks. She was only playing with me, but it was enjoyable.
After a while, Susan finished her drink, gave me a quick hug, and said, “No more soft drinks!” Then she waved goodbye and left the party. I felt a little disappointed.
I returned to my friends, and they teased me about dancing with an adult. Then Susan’s friend approached, took my arm, and told me to go to the nurses’ desk. I was confused, but I went anyway.
I stood in the hallway, feeling awkward. Suddenly, Susan peeked out from a door and gestured for me to come in.
“Alright, young man! I am going to give you a pretend scolding for sneaking soft drinks! But no foolishness!” “Alright, I promise!” I said, laughing. “Are you really scolding me for that?” “That is a good reason, isn’t it?” she said, pretending to be strict.
Susan pulled out a chair and sat down. She pointed for me to come over. My legs felt unsteady. What if someone saw us? But Susan said, “I am waiting, young man!”
She raised her finger. “No foolishness!” “I promise!” I said. Then I blurted out, “Pretend I am your son and I was naughty!” “Oh, I will, as soon as you come here!” she said, laughing.
So I went over. I had not been scolded like this since I was very young, and even then, it was just a gentle warning from my mother. But I always wondered what it would be like. Now, Susan was pretending to be my mother.
The music from the party was loud in the background. Susan said, “This is what happens when you sneak soft drinks!” She placed her hand on my back and gave me a gentle smack, just as a mother would. At first, it was soft and almost ticklish, and I could not help but laugh. But then, she gave a few firmer smacks, and I could feel the difference. It was not truly hard, but it was enough to make me squirm a little. I could feel the warmth through my trousers, and it made me feel so small and silly.
At first, it was rather amusing. I tried to be brave and not laugh, but the sensation was so unusual. My cheeks were burning, and I kept glancing at the door, hoping nobody would walk in and see me receiving a pretend scolding from an adult. But after a while, the smacks became a little quicker and slightly firmer. It began to sting, just a little, like touching something hot for a moment. I stopped worrying about being discovered and simply thought about my bottom.
Susan smacked a little faster. I wiggled and tried to move away, but she held me gently, not allowing me to escape. I wanted to cover my bottom with my hands, but I did not dare. My heart was pounding, and I felt a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. It was like being in a playful game, but also a little bit real. I could hear the party music and laughter outside, but in that small room, it was just Susan and me, and her hand giving me a pretend lesson.
I tried to grab something, and my hand landed on Susan’s ankle. Her leg was warm, but my bottom was even warmer. I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath. I did not know a pretend Smacked bottom could sting so much. I felt like a small child who had been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. My mind raced—was this what real Smacked bottoms felt like? It was just a game, but it made me feel all sorts of things: nervous, silly, and even a little proud for being brave enough to try it.
Susan held me firmly and gave a few more gentle smacks, a little slower but a bit firmer. I could not kick my legs much. Each smack made a soft thump, and I could feel the tingling spreading across my bottom. Susan truly knew how to pretend to be a strict mother. She was not unkind, but she made it feel real enough that I almost wanted to apologise for sneaking soft drinks, even though it was all pretend.
It only lasted a few minutes, but it felt much longer. When Susan finally stopped, she gave my bottom a playful smack and said, “Up you get!” I stood up, feeling unsteady and a little foolish. My face was red and my bottom tingled, almost as if I had been sitting on a radiator. I rubbed it and tried not to smile too much, but I could not help it.
Susan stood up, put on her coat, and picked up her bag. She gave me a motherly look and said, “No more soft drinks, alright?” I nodded and rubbed my bottom, saying, “Thank you for the pretend Smacked bottom!” She smiled and said, “You deserved it! But truly, you should play with children your own age, alright?”
She left, and I stood there, rubbing my bottom and thinking. I always wondered what a real Smacked bottom was like, but now I knew it could sting. Even though I was older, Susan made me feel like a small child again. It was somewhat embarrassing, but also amusing and special, like a secret memory just for me.
I went to the restroom, washed my face, and returned to the party. Alan was dancing, so I joined Peter at the snack table.
I do not know where Susan is now, but I am glad she gave me a pretend Smacked bottom. Later, I found a girlfriend, and I told her about my amusing adventure. We laughed, and now, sometimes, she pretends to scold me as well—just for fun.
