I was born in the late 1950s, the second of six children. I have four sisters and a brother, and we grew up most of the time in the United States, which we then left to come to Europe. Corporal punishment, both at home and at school, was widespread at the time, and both my siblings and I experienced first-hand what it was like to go to sleep with a hot, sore bottom.
I come from a wealthy family. My father, George, was a fantastic man but he was over 6ft tall and had the physique of a boxer – a single slap from him was enough to make our behinds red for hours.
My mother, Dorothy, on the other hand, hated raising her hand to her children. That didn’t mean we didn’t get our bottoms smacked when she thought it was required – she simply delegated the task to our nannies or one of the housekeepers. Later on, on a rare occasion when she did spank us, we found out that this decision had been for the best, because she smacked harder than Dad and the nannies put together! However, the protagonist of today’s story is my mother’s younger sister, my Aunt Betty.
Mother and her sister were both born in Italy and their family moved to New York when they were young. The family made a fortune in their new life in the US and their offspring followed in their footsteps of success. My own mother was a lawyer and stock market trader, while Aunt Betty worked in Paris as a model and designer for a famous fashion house.
She came over to the US to visit us several times a year. We all loved her because she was a very kind and sunny person, always fashionable and with a smile. Above all, she was a beautiful woman – tall, long legs, long blonde hair and blue eyes. It’s true to say that Aunt Betty was my first crush.
There came a time in our lives where my mother had to have surgery. Fortunately, Aunt Betty was over visiting, and she offered to look after me and my sister Barbara. I was overjoyed to be with my aunt instead of the nanny.
The first few days were fantastic – my aunt and her boyfriend, who was also visiting, were wonderful. They took us to the park and played with us continually.
Then, one afternoon while we were at home, Aunt Betty received an urgent phone call from her work in Paris. She had to send some important documents and so retreated to the study, leaving Barbara and I to play alone in the living room.
My sister started reading a book while I, both bored and curious, decided to explore the house. I wandered through the rooms, coming to the guest room where there was a collection of Aunt Betty’s hats, all carefully arranged on velvet stands. One in particular caught my attention – a black hat with a large white feather and a silk ribbon.
Without thinking too much, I took the hat and started playing with it like a Frisbee. I didn’t realise that Barbara had entered the room and, seeing me, she burst out laughing. I whirled around and the hat – thrown a little too hard this time – hit the mirror. I heard a small crack and my heart stopped. The feather had broken. In a panic, I tried to repair the damage but to no avail. Barbara looked at me meaningfully: “You’d better tell Aunt Betty right away.” It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but I knew my sister was right.
My heart in my mouth, I approached the study and knocked timidly on the door. Aunt Betty let me in and, seeing my guilty expression, she sensed immediately that something was wrong. I made my confession and showed her the hat, which I had reluctantly brought with me. When she saw the damage, my aunt’s expression changed and for the first time I saw her really angry.
“These hats are extremely precious! Some are unique!” she said in a firm voice. I felt even smaller and guilty. “We need to fix this right away and you, young man, have really let me down.”
Aunt Betty put away her papers, then closed the study door. She took me gently but firmly by the arm and, in one swift motion, bent me over her knee. My heart thudded as I lay across her lap, my legs dangling. I knew what was coming, and there was no escape. Aunt Betty raised her hand and delivered the first of twelve sharp smacks to my bare bottom. Each smack was crisp and stung dreadfully, making me gasp and wriggle. She counted each one aloud, her voice calm and clear: ‘One, two, three…’ until she reached twelve. By the end, my bottom was hot and sore, and I could not help but cry. Aunt Betty said, ‘You must always respect other people’s things, and remember, actions have consequences.’
The sound of each smack echoed in the room, and I felt the lesson keenly. Aunt Betty’s hand was firm, but I knew she meant to teach me right from wrong. When the twelfth smack landed, she set me on my feet and looked at me kindly. ‘There, that is done. You are forgiven, but let this be a lesson to you.’
I nodded, sniffling, and promised never to touch her things again. Aunt Betty gave me a gentle hug and said, ‘A good spanking is sometimes needed to help us remember important lessons. Now, dry your eyes and let us move on.’
She smiled and sat me on the desk next to her, giggling: ‘Here, stay here. Good! A warm bottom warms you up well, it will remind you to be careful next time.’ The hard wood pressed against my freshly-spanked behind, intensifying the throbbing pain. Tears stung my eyes, but being so close to that beautiful woman who had just chastised me was, in a strange way, a reward.
I would discover, many years later, that the effect my aunt had on me was the same for many men.
