The summer of 1976 was a great one – I spent nearly every waking hour with my best friend Katie. We mostly hung out at my house or at one of the parks in town. The days were long and filled with laughter, the kind that makes your stomach hurt and your cheeks ache. We would ride our bikes until the sun dipped below the horizon, the warm breeze tangling our hair and the scent of freshly cut grass filling the air.
We avoided Katie’s home mostly because her dad was a bit of a control freak and was strict. I knew Katie got spankings from him when she misbehaved or otherwise made him angry. I was no stranger to corporal punishment myself, from either my own father and more rarely from my stepmother, but it had probably been a year since I earned a warm bottom, as my stepMother called them. The thought of it always made my stomach churn, a mix of fear and embarrassment.
Two weeks before school went back, I was invited on a camping trip with Katie and her parents. I had to bring an adult with me, presumably because Katie’s dad didn’t want to be responsible for me. My own dad was a no go on coming on the trip but my stepMother agreed. I was thrilled at the prospect of an adventure, the promise of campfires, roasted marshmallows, and the whispering of the trees at night.
The trip got off to a good start – until late Saturday afternoon when Katie and I got the bright idea to take a canoe out on the water without adult permission or supervision. At least, as Katie’s dad observed, we had the brains to wear life vests. The lake was serene, the water like glass reflecting the sky above. We paddled out, giggling and feeling invincible, the world around us a blur of green and blue.
Nevertheless, he was furious with us and, truth be told, my stepMother was pretty mad too. After Katie’s dad chewed us out he told my stepMother that Katie and I both needed a ‘whooping’. He said he hoped she agreed and would give me the same as what Katie was going to have. The words hung in the air, heavy and foreboding, like a storm cloud ready to burst.
I’m sure my stepMother and I both had the horrible thought of how we would explain this to my dad – me for my behaviour and she for lack of supervision. My stepmum asked Katie’s dad precisely what he meant by a ‘whooping’ and he explained he was talking about a spanking with a belt – something I had never had. The idea of it sent a shiver down my spine, the unknown amplifying my fear.
My stepMother replied that she needed to talk with me about it first. Katie’s dad sighed at this – he grabbed Katie by the arm and took her off to the bathhouse to be belted. The sight of Katie being led away, her shoulders slumped and her steps hesitant, made my heart ache for her.
My stepMother took me back to our tent and sat me down to talk to me. I was naturally nervous – but also knew I couldn’t face Katie again if I myself didn’t get punished. In the end, my stepMother decided that I would get the same as Katie. The decision felt like a weight settling on my chest, heavy and inescapable.
We stood outside the tent for a while, watching Katie’s Mother preparing lunch, and eventually saw Katie coming back from the bathhouse with her father. The air was thick with tension, the smell of grilled hot dogs and the sound of sizzling meat a stark contrast to the somber mood.
Katie must have been given a very sore bottom – she had obviously been crying and went right inside her tent without saying a word. Her silence spoke volumes, a testament to the pain and humiliation she had endured.
My stepMother told Katie’s dad she didn’t have a belt to use on me. He immediately unbuckled his own, pulled it out and handed it to her. She and I then made the walk to the bathhouse. Each step felt like a march towards doom, the belt swinging ominously in my stepMother’s hand.
The girls’ side consisted of a single stall toilet and a single stall shower. We walked in and I just stared at my stepMother, thinking: “Now what?” The small space felt suffocating, the walls closing in on me as I waited for her next move.
She instructed me to put my hands up on the wall. My stepMother then told me to keep my hands on the wall but take a step back so my bottom was sticking out more. The position felt awkward and exposed, my heart pounding in my chest.
I did as I was told and waited. The air in the bathhouse was thick and still, the faint scent of soap and mildew lingering. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears. I could hear the distant sounds of campers outside, muffled by the cinderblock walls, but inside it was just the two of us and the tense silence. (short pause)
My stepMother stood behind me, belt in hand, and I could sense her hesitation. I waited, my palms pressed flat against the cool, rough wall, my breath coming in shallow bursts. The anticipation was almost worse than the punishment itself. (pause)
Suddenly, there was a sharp, whistling sound as the belt cut through the air, followed by a crisp
as it landed across my bottom. The sting was immediate but surprisingly mild, more startling than painful. I flinched, my skin tingling, and squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the next. (pause)
The second swat came a moment later, the leather snapping against me with a louder crack. The sound seemed to bounce off the tiled walls, amplifying my embarrassment. It stung a little more, but I managed to keep still. My stepMother’s voice was gentle but uncertain: “Does that even hurt?” (pause)
Not wanting to lie but not wanting it to get worse I replied: “A little.”
The third swat was harder and did hurt more and I let out an ‘ouch’. My stepMother told me it needed to hurt – she would give me 10 more that hard, then we would be done. I began crying after five more, but managed to grit my teeth as she applied a final five swats to my poor bottom.
When it was over, my bottom stung and burned. My stepMother hugged me really tight and told me she was sorry she had to punish me.
When we returned to the camp Katie was still in her tent, and my stepMother told me I could lay down as well for a while. The rest of the weekend went well – but that is a memory Katie and I still talk about.
