My only real complaint about Sunday School was that Mrs Wiseman’s pretty young assistant, Monica, didn’t handle the discipline. As excited as I was when a child disappeared into Mrs Worthingtoin’s office, there was a world of difference between the older woman and the beautiful Monica. From the moment sahe was hired (soon after I turned nine), such thoughts became my constant preoccupation, especially since I developed an immediate crush on her.

While I imagine I wasn’t the Sunday School boy to imagine getting a spanking from Monica, such thoughts quickly became the center of my fantasy life in and outside of Sunday School. The other women who spanked me (and the many who spanked me in my day dreams) all gave way in my imagination to Monica. She was much younger than my Mother or Mrs Bigwither yet still much older than me. At that age, it was mostly felt as an overwhelming crush which I did little to conceal in the hopes my affections, once noticed, would somehow be returned. Of course, Monica barely noticed me outside Sunday School when our paths crossed. She was grown up with her own friends and activities. But that only made me more determined to win her affection. Most of the time, I could only pine in relative solitude, catching glimpses of her from afar and occasionally enjoying the experience of passing her on the street or in a school hallway. On Sundays, however, I had the luxury of a whole hour with the object of my affection. Needless to say, any contact or conversation with her thrilled me.