I can't remember a time when I wasn't interested in spanking. As a child of the 1950s and 1960s there was no dearth of reference to spanking. Your parents didn't shy away from talking about it, or doing it. It was in the comics about once a week, and it was on TV and in films. And the spankings were always the same, with the naughty lad upended over the spankers knee, and the spanker going to town beating a tattoo on the culprit's bottom.
My fascination with these spankings was probably due to my having no experience with that sort. I can remember only one spanking from my father, and that was about five swats with his double belt as he held me at arms length. I cried bloody murder from the first stroke, mostly because of the injustice of it. My younger brother and I were in the backyard wrestling, at my brother's instigation. My father though I was bullying, and so I got this licking, such as it was. The only other childhood spanking I recall was from my mother, when I was a couple years younger. That was a couple swats on the seat of my pants as she pushed me into the house. I've no idea what brought inspired that unusual action on her part. Both my parents still say my brother and I "gave no trouble." I guess that was the problem.
In first grade I saw a nun haul a classmate over her lap and spank her. It didn't make any sense at the time, as I didn't see that the girl had done anything wrong. But this was unusual. The nuns usually just slapped, though again I was too perfect a child to merit punishment. We did hear that the principal, the dreaded Sister Mary Anna could wield a mean yardstick. This was a skill she must have passed on to my eighth grade teacher.
My seventh and eighth grade classes were test cases. There were separate boys and girls classes. I suppose the experts thought kids of that age (13-14) would perform better without the distraction of the opposite _s_e_x_. The boys were taught by the two male teachers at the school, and neither of them was very good at maintaining order. The seventh grade teacher had threatened us with paddling at the beginning of the year, but I don't remember him ever following through. He said he might have to take a misbehaving student, along with a witness, to the boys room and paddle him. Promises, promises. But the eighth grade teacher was driven to corporal punishment. He had no control of the class, and I suspect now that the principal gave him an ultimatum. It wasn't too long before he was using his yardstick on some of my classmates after school, and a couple times in class. He'd have the boy bend over with his hands on his knees, then give about a dozen quick swats with the springy yardstick. Perhaps this was meant to inspire us. I know it made an impression on those who suffered through it. They talked about it a lot.
That same year, when I was around 13, I embarked on my career in spanking. There was a boy in the neighborhood, a couple years older than I, who was a bit of a misfit. Most of my friends endured his company when there was no one else, or when they could make him the butt of their jokes. I don't remember participating in that, probably because I knew even then that I didn't fit in either. Eventually this boy, whom I'll name Tom, and I were spending a fair amount of time together in the woods across the street from my home.
I had the brainstorm that we should form a club, and then recruit a couple of the other neighborhood boys as members. Tom left it to me to come up with the rules. As my interest in spanking was quite well developed by this point, I made sure that the only penalty for any infraction of the rules was spanking. But I didn't stop at that. I outlined every penalty, down to the number of swats, the clothing the spankee would be permitted to retain (and who removed the rest), and position. I even made rather crude drawings, just in case there was any confusion. And I made myself president. But Tom was the master-at-arms, the officer charged with enforcing the rules. We never did get anyone else to join.
Our meetings became nothing more than excuses for spankings, with myself getting most of them. Tom wasn't really into getting spanked, though he went along with it when I could prove he'd broken a rule. But he did get into the other role, eventually mastering the rules to the point that he caught me out on a couple of occasions.
We met in the wooded area, staking out spaces that were best for out "meetings." I remember one was inside a hedge growing around a tree stump that was just the right height for a spanking seat. There were felled trees that worked well as spanking horses. We made good use of all of them. And for instruments, in addition to the hand, I'd collected a couple thin wooden shingles, a wooden ruler, and an old wooden arrow shaft that made an excellent rod.
The houses were out of earshot, but there was always the danger than someone might be passing through. Maybe that added to the excitement. I know I was highly aware that there was the danger of discovery, and that we were doing something that no one else would understand or approve of In a word, we were misbehaving, something I'd never done before.
But one spanking stands out from the rest. I arrived late, which meant a rather straightforward spanking. But Tom wanted to administer it in an area quite near a clearing that I thought was too visible from the street. There were the remains of a tree house, with a couple boards still nailed between two trees at about waist height. He wanted me to drop my pants and bend over one of these, with my butt facing the clearing. I made a fuss and persuaded him not to do it there. With a smile, Tom deferred the spanking for the moment, but he reminded me that refusing to accept a spanking carried it's own penalties. He took me to a more secluded spot, sat on a tree stump, pulled me over his knee then spanked my bare butt with his hand, a thin shingle, and the arrow shaft. I think he gave me 20 with the last, and they really stung. I was bucking and kicking by the time number 20 came around.
When he let me stand up, he pointed out that he knew what was tenting my pants. As my excitement was apparent, he asked if I wanted to do anything with it, and I didn't know what he was talking about. Believe it or not, I was quite the innocent Catholic schoolboy at that point. I thought an erection was in some way sinful, and certainly I had no idea where to take it from there.
Tom knew now he could spank me whenever he wanted, and he took advantage of that fact every opportunity he could. I don't think I ever got the chance to spank him after that, and I didn't mind one bit. All it took was his announcement that we should have a meeting to get me to follow him across the street into the woods.
My mother once asked me what we did in the woods. I made up a story about helping Tom with his schoolwork, which everyone knew he was miserable at. I guess she wanted to believe only the best of me, since she bought that story. But I couldn't tell her I'd just spent the afternoon with my pants around my ankles getting spanked at least four times over my "student's" knee.
Unfortunately for me, his family moved away in a couple months, and my spanking life came to an abrupt close. It would be more than 10 years before I got into it again.