I grew up in the usual middle-class suburban family AND I had two siblings.
My father very rarely spanked us, and when he did you barely felt it. My mother, on the other hand, was quite a different proposition – I remember one time in particular.
This event took place on a winter day when we had to go grocery shopping. I never enjoyed grocery shopping as it was boring.
As well as this my mother would always meet someone she knew in the supermarket and gossip to them for ages. This would always ensure that my behavior would worsen, which in turn would always irritate mother.
This day in particular, I my behavior was even worse and mother was not in a good mood.
From what I remember mother was talking to some busy body she knew about nothing in particular, but the conversation was always somewhat negative and involved alot of complaining about something or other.
I kept hounding her, repeatedly asking when we were going to go, telling her that I wanted to leave. Demanding that we leave!
Soon, I saw that all too familiar expression come across her face as she lifted me up, swiftly, and proceeded to smack my bottom.. The sound of her hand meeting my skin echoed in the busy store, each smack stinging more than the last. I could feel my cheeks burning, not just from the spanking but from the embarrassment of everyone watching. My mother’s face was set in determination—she never believed in using anything other than her hand, and truly, she didn’t need to. Her hand was hard enough, and her resolve even harder. I tried to wriggle away, but she held me in place, making sure I understood the lesson. The world seemed to shrink to just the two of us, the noise of the store fading as I focused on the sharp, rhythmic smacks and the growing regret inside me.
I tried to wiggle away, but to no avail. I was so embarrassed – A good smacked bottom in front of everyone! Mother kept slapping my behind until I cried hard, really regretting my actions.
Finally, though it seemed like forever, she put me back on the floor.
Naturally, the busybody mother had been talking to applauded my mothers actions adding the words.
“he is lucky he is not my son, or he would be getting the slipper when he got home.”
Well Mrs Busy Body was correct I was lucky I was not her son, whats more I was glad I was not her son. Actually come to that I would sooner be an orphan that have her as a bloody mother
I had nothing to say for the rest of the time and this incident never happened again, as I never misbehaved again in the grocery store!
