(gap: 2s) The morning sun barely crept through the heavy curtains of my childhood bedroom, painting faint golden stripes across the faded wallpaper. I lay there, heart pounding, staring at the ceiling as the weight of the day pressed down on me. Today was the day of the dreaded school test—the one I hadn’t bothered to revise for, despite my father’s stern warnings just weeks before. The memory of our last “conversation” about my lack of effort still stung, and I knew that if I failed, another painful reckoning awaited me.
(short pause) Desperation breeds creativity, especially in the mind of a child. As I listened to the distant clatter of breakfast dishes and the muffled voices of my parents downstairs, a plan began to form. If I could just avoid school, maybe I could escape both the test and my father’s inevitable disappointment. So, when Mother’s footsteps echoed up the stairs and she poked her head into my room, I clutched my stomach and groaned, summoning every ounce of theatrical misery I could muster.
(pause) “I don’t feel well,” I whimpered, my voice trembling with feigned weakness. Mother’s eyes narrowed, a mixture of concern and suspicion flickering across her face. She was no stranger to my antics, but she played along, sitting on the edge of my bed and brushing a cool hand across my forehead. “Let’s see if you have a fever,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. I watched her disappear into the hallway, my mind racing.
(pause) I remembered a trick from a comic book—a boy who’d outsmarted his mother by heating a thermometer with a light bulb. My bedside lamp glowed softly in the winter gloom, and as Mother returned with the thermometer, I felt a surge of hope. She placed it in my mouth and left to finish her chores, trusting me to sit still. The moment she was gone, I slipped the thermometer out and held it close to the bulb, watching the mercury climb. My hands shook with excitement and fear.
(pause) But I had no idea what a believable temperature was. When I heard Mother’s footsteps, I hastily returned the thermometer to my mouth, trying to look as pitiful as possible. She read the result, her brow furrowing. “One hundred and three?” she muttered, her voice thick with disbelief. She pressed her hand to my forehead, then slipped it down the collar of my pajamas, searching for any sign of fever. I could feel her skepticism growing, and my heart thudded in my chest.
(pause) “Well, young man,” she said, her voice suddenly steely, “we have a problem. You have a temperature of 103, but you’re not the least bit hot or clammy. Have you been playing with the thermometer?” My cheeks burned with guilt, but I shook my head, denying everything. The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but I clung to it, hoping she’d let it go.
(pause) “I’d better get the baby thermometer,” she announced, rising from the bed. Panic surged through me. “No, please, I’m too old for that!” I protested, but she was already gone, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. She returned moments later, armed with the dreaded baby thermometer, a jar of Vaseline, and a box of tissues. My fate was sealed.
(pause) Mother pulled back my sheets and instructed me to roll onto my stomach. I obeyed, cheeks burning with humiliation, as she applied a blob of Vaseline to the thermometer. The cold air prickled my skin, and I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear. I hoped, desperately, that she would leave me alone long enough to repeat my trick, but she remained by my side, her gaze fixed on me with a mixture of disappointment and resolve.
(pause) The minutes stretched on, each second an eternity as I lay exposed and vulnerable. I could feel Mother’s eyes on me, and I imagined her silently tallying my misdeeds, planning my punishment. When she finally withdrew the thermometer and read the result—normal—her lips pressed into a thin, grim line. The truth was out, and I was in more trouble than ever.
(pause) Mother’s voice was cold and clear as she spelled out my crimes: I had lied about being sick, and I had tampered with the thermometer. The weight of her disappointment settled over me like a heavy blanket, and I felt small and ashamed. I knew what was coming next, and dread pooled in my stomach.
(pause) With Father away on business, I expected my punishment to be postponed, the threat of his return looming over me like a storm cloud. But Mother had other ideas. “I’m going to fetch the paddle,” she announced, her voice unyielding. My heart sank as she left the room, the sound of her footsteps on the stairs echoing like a drumbeat of doom.
(pause) She returned with the wooden paddle—a relic of my younger years, smooth and worn from use. She ordered me out of bed, her face set in a mask of determination. I shuffled to her side, trembling, as she sat down and pulled me over her lap. The world seemed to shrink to the narrow circle of her arms and the sting of the paddle against my skin.
(pause) The spanking was not just swift and merciless—it was a storm of sensation and emotion. As Mother settled me across her lap, I could feel the tension in her body, her grip firm and unyielding around my waist. The paddle hovered for a moment, and in that breathless pause, my mind raced with regret and fear. Then, the first smack landed—sharp, echoing through the room and sending a jolt of pain through my backside. I gasped, the sting blooming hot and immediate, and before I could catch my breath, another followed, and another. Each strike was deliberate, punctuated by the sound of wood meeting flesh and my own involuntary yelps. My legs kicked reflexively, toes curling against the carpet, but Mother held me steady.
The spanking I got from her was just as bad as any I had had from Father and the result was one very sore and sorry boy. Of course, I was by now more than late for school and, through my tears, there was at least the hope that Mother would deem it not worth me going in now.
I was dead wrong. Not only did Mother take me into school, but she took me to my classroom, where she apologised to the teacher and explained in front of everyone that I was late because I had to have a bottom spanking for lying about being sick. My shame was complete, and the teasing I received from my classmates went on for weeks.
Predictably, that afternoon I also screwed up in the test, so when Father came home a few days later I was taken straight upstairs to be paddled again, and of course he made it an extra hard one to take into account my previous shenanigans.
