Pretty early on in my life, I became aware that I liked women’s laps.

I remember leaning against any female legs, hoping for that special moment that I might find myself drawn over a warm, maternal knee.

Early memories were just that – not for a spanking, just for the pleasure of lying over a woman’s lap.

To hang there without touching the floor was my aim.

The spanking thoughts started a little later on.

I must say, it seems odd to me that so many feel the need to experience a smacked bottom from a motherly figure.

I often wonder why that is.

One Christmas Eve, Mum and Dad packed my brother and me off to bed.

Of course, I was super-excited because it was Christmas.

As I prepared for sleep, I heard a bit of a commotion on the landing.

My brother was laughing, and I peeked out my bedroom door to see what was going on.

Mum was standing at the top of the stairs with my brother.

It seemed our parents had played a joke on him – they had written a letter (allegedly from Santa’s elves), addressed to my brother, which he had found on his bed.

Mum read the letter out loud, laughing as she did – I could hear her clearly.

The gist of it was that my brother was on Santa’s naughty list!

His crime – not going to bed on time on Christmas Eve.

The letter added that unless his mum smacked his bottom and put him to bed immediately, there would be no presents delivered for him on Christmas morning.

Mum and my brother then disappeared from my view, into his bedroom.

It sounded like they must have been having great fun because there was so much laughing.

I searched my own bed and around my room – but there was no letter for me.

Eventually, I heard Mum go back downstairs, and I heard her call back towards my brother’s room:

“That’ll make sure you get lot’s of presents!”

Her remark indicated to me my brother had had his bottom smacked.

I don’t recall hearing any smacks, mind you – just lots of laughter and high-pitched shrieks.

I got into bed and waited.

Nothing – I didn’t even get a letter.

Even though it was Christmas Eve, my excitement evaporated.

I woke early on Christmas morning, as younger ones do, but even the joy of Christmas couldn’t completely clear the little cloud hanging over me.

My parents always dressed up for Christmas – both Mum and Dad wore a silly hat and jumper.