Mom pulled down my sheets and ordered me to flip over on to my stomach. I watched, horrified, as she applied a blob of Vaseline to one end of the thermometer, then pulled down my pyjama pants. It had been some time since Mom had seen my bottom, especially so intimately – all of my spankings were now administered by Dad, and had been since I was around eight years old – so it was mortifying to be treated like a baby again.
In vain, I hoped Mom would leave me to stew and I could whip the thermometer out, heat it and stick it back in my butt before she returned. No such luck. She just sat patiently, gazing thoughtfully at her son’s backside. I think she was making plans for it even then!
At last she pulled the thermometer out, wiped my bottom with a tissue, and read the result. Normal. I was now in big trouble, as Mom quickly spelled out. I had told a lie about feeling sick, and I had most certainly told a lie about interfering with the thermometer.