Cookie called herself my aunt, but we weren't actually related at all. I frequently visited her house to play with Roger a friend who was my age. Cookie raised Roger and his cousin Skippy with serious discipline applied with a leather belt across the bare bottom. When my mother became aware of this, she gave Cookie permission to punish me whenever I happened to visit.
Cookie didn't hesitate to take my mother up on this. I was only seven years old, but it seemed that my mother liked the quiet, affectionate child I'd become after a good whipping, so she began to send me over there from time to time just to receive the strap. Together, the women decided to make a regular thing of it. My mother kept a slip of paper pinned to a cabinet door, and whenever I misbehaved, she'd put an ex or two on the paper beside my name. Every Friday after school, I'd have to show the paper to Cookie, and she would lovingly take down my pants and underpants, lay me over the arm of a chair a bed or a hassock and give me one good lash across my little cheeks for every ex on the paper. Then she'd make me turn around so the tongue of the strap would slap the other round little lobe of flesh and give me another good slap for each ex.
When Cookie was done, all the exxes that had been written on the paper were written across my little schoolboy bottom in angry, red welts.
These weekly whippings weren't the only times I felt the strap, but they became the framework on which all the other punishments hung. A switch was often used when we were out doors and in public, but this was in the fifties, and a naked boy receiving a good beating on his bare bottom was not only not unusual, but everyone seemed to consider it kind of cute.
The more I was whipped, the more people began to think of me as a naughty little boy, even know most of the punishments were given on totally trumped up charges. It wasn't long before I became the whipping boy for our entire neighborhood and even beyond. I'll get into the intimate details in my next story.