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Old 11-25-2012, 02:57 PM
poppylouise poppylouise is offline
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Join Date: Nov 2012
Location: England
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My childhood experiences

Apologies in advance for writing an essay, but I need to get my thoughts out in some sort of coherent fashion - to an audience of like-minded people. Other spanking forums either don\\\'t allow any reference to childhood punishments or discuss them in a purely voyeuristic fashion.

I sometimes feel like a freak. Not because of TTWD in and of itself, but because I\\\'m not someone who was never spanked as a child and was simply born a spanko; nor did I get spanked as a child and then develop a liking for it. It kind of didn\\\'t happen in that order for me. It\\\'s all far more jumbled up than that.

I was born in the early 80s and grew up with one older brother. My mum was the soft touch and my dad was the stricter parent. My mum only ever smacked me once: my friend and I ran off and hid after school and our mums were so worried they almost called the police. When she told my dad what had happened, he said: \\\"you\\\'re lucky I wasn\\\'t there or you would have got more than just a smack,\\\" and I replayed that threat over and over in my mind. Not because it upset me, but because it caused a kind of horrified excitement.

My dad was generally the parent who smacked us, but it was very infrequent. We were smacked far less than any of my friends whose parents used physical punishment - we\\\'re talking the occasional smack on the bottom or leg, maybe once every few months, if that.

He had a pretty strict manner and limited patience. And, frankly, making him cross and being told off by him were a deterrant in themselves. I suppose the Freudian theorists would like to think the fact my dad had quite a strict manner gave rise to my interest in spanking, but I\\\'m not convinced. I like the way it feels. I enjoy it. I\\\'m not sure you can draw such a simple, causal link like that.

While I didn\\\'t like it when my brother was told off, or the rare occasions when I saw him being smacked, I was always absolutely fascinated by any other child being smacked, or references to it, and used to replay anything I witnessed - random strangers scolding their children, a man smacking his child at a swimming pool - over and over in my head, friends talking about being smacked, references in books and on TV.

When I was five or six, a schoolfriend told me in the playground that \\\"if you sneak a chocolate bar, mummy smacks you and sends you to bed, then when daddy comes home he pulls your pajama trousers down and smacks you even harder.\\\" Her sister then added: \\\"On the bare skin - it REALLY hurts.\\\"

I couldn\\\'t stop thinking about this. I repeated it over and over in my mind and obsessed over it so much that I told my mum about it, except I was so embarrassed (for reasons I didn\\\'t yet understand) that I had to write it down. My mum misunderstood and thought I was upset by it. She told me they were \\\"just joking\\\". (My mum tends to use denial to explain away things that bother her.)

I didn\\\'t know why I was so excited by any of this, but somehow I knew I shouldn\\\'t let on to anyone else how interested I was in all of this. Or how I thought about it all when I touched myself.

When I was about six, I was messing around with a male cousin (kind of \\\'I\\\'ll show you mine if you show me yours\\\', all very innocent) and he pulled his trousers down and said: \\\"I want you to spank me.\\\" I remember not reacting, but thinking: huh, actually I want YOU to spank ME. These days, I find myself wondering if he grew up to be a spanko; if perhaps it actually runs in the family.

As I mentioned before, my dad only hit us occasionally. He had a fairly strict upbringing (I\\\'m pretty sure his father hit him with a belt) and didn\\\'t want to go too far down that road with us, but dealt out the occasional smack on the bottom, which only really bothered me when I felt it was unfair.

I remember being incensed at being told off for something I didn\\\'t think was wrong, but being fairly nonplussed by being smacked, or threatened with smacks, for things I actually had done. I was a fairly well-behaved child, and didn\\\'t like to get into trouble, but was oddly defiant when I was told off. Some kids apologise to get out of trouble. I apologised when I was told to.

When I was maybe seven or eight and I didn\\\'t stop doing something (I forget what) when told, my dad threatened: \\\"I\\\'ll put you over my knee.\\\" It\\\'s the only time I remember him saying that and I remember kind of freezing with horrified excitement.

He did actually put me over his knee, and use his slipper, when I was 12. By this point, I\\\'d been obsessing over spanking for years and had started to have all sorts of absurd fantasies involving being spanked with everyone from family friends to teachers. I was already completely obsessed and I wasn\\\'t even in my teens yet.

So I guess that, rather than triggering a spanking fetish, this experience of going over my dad\\\'s knee kind of... cemented it, as utterly screwy and messed-up as that must sound. Because it was exciting and horrible and I hated it, but kept replaying it over and over, and realised then that there was this strange conflict between liking the idea of spanking, finding the experience unpleasant and then obsessing over the memory.

I was in the first year of secondary school when it happened. I had witnessed a friend being quite mouthy towards her parents, and I think it emboldened me. Maybe I was curious about what would happen if I tried it. Whatever the reason, I told my mum to f--k off, within earshot of my dad. He told me to go to my bedroom, and followed me up around 5-10 minutes later.

I can recall it now, as clear as day. Which might not seem like a big deal for people who got parental spankings over the knee / with implements all the time, but it was a very big deal for me. After maybe 10 or 15 minutes, my dad walked into my room holding a slipper. I was sitting on my bed. He said: \\\"Stand up.\\\" When I initially didn\\\'t move, he said: \\\"Trust me, you do not want to get yourself into any more trouble right now. Stand up.\\\"

So I stood up. And in the space of a few seconds he sat down on the bed, took hold of my arm and tipped me over his knee. \\\"No child of mine is going to speak to their mother like that,\\\" he said. \\\"I will not have you being so disrespectful. I\\\'m sorry I\\\'m having to do this. But you are getting far too big for your boots and it\\\'s high time you experienced the consequences.\\\"

He then gave me about eight very hard whacks with the slipper. Over my clothes, but that thing HURT (although I still had to be ordered to apologise). But, afterwards, I replayed it over and over. Slippers are a very squicky implement for me now.

I was on the receiving end of one more slippering about a year later. A friend and I tried a spot of shoplifting and her mum found some of the things we took and realised what had happened. She gave me 24 hours to tell my parents, or she would tell them for me. Not a fun situation to be in, let me tell you. I told my mum - actually I couldn\\\'t get the words out and had to write it down instead.

After she had read it, I said: \\\"Please don\\\'t tell dad.\\\" I don\\\'t know what I thought he was going to do to me, but I actually feared him being angry and disappointed. My mum, not so much, frankly. I honestly thought she was going to agree not to tell him. Part of me hoped that would be the case, and part of me felt I would be getting off scot-free when, maybe, I shouldn\\\'t. Instead, my mum said: \\\"If you didn\\\'t want him to find out, you shouldn\\\'t have done it.\\\"

I remember feeling really betrayed by her.

My mum and my friend\\\'s mum drove us back to the shop that afternoon. I think they called first. We gave the stuff back and the woman who owned it took each of us into a room in turn for a massive telling-off. For months after, I fantasised that she had in fact spanked us.

Then she sent me to my room to wait until my dad came home. I was actually really scared and worried about what was going to happen. He might just stop my pocket money or ground me or something, but I figured he was going to hit me. With the slipper, or maybe something else, like a belt. By the time he came home, I felt pretty awful and was desperate to get it over with. I heard my parents talking. Then I waited for what felt like ages, presumably because my dad didn\\\'t want to punish me in anger.

Eventually, finally, he came in holding a slipper and proceeded to give me the most almighty telling-off about how I could have been arrested and how he thought he and my mum had brought me up to be honest and how I had disappointed them, while I sat there feeling more and more awful and wishing the floor would swallow me up. When he ordered me to stand up, I did what he said. He also told me off about other bad behaviour, like being rude, and said he would be taking various things away, like my stereo, until I earned them back.

\\\"But right now,\\\" he said, \\\"We need to deal with what happened today.\\\" And then he pulled me over his knee - and proceeded to pull up my skirt, and pull down my tights and pants. When I tried to stop him, he said: \\\"You\\\'re not supposed to like it.\\\" And then he hit me about 25 times with that slipper. I remember it hurting really, really bad - and feeling like I utterly deserved it.
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  #2  
Old 12-04-2012, 07:13 AM
jevv jevv is offline
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Join Date: Dec 2012
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Wow, quite the vivid collection of memories, well described.
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Old 12-06-2012, 12:50 PM
Robert Robert is offline
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Join Date: May 2007
Location: Dallas
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thanks for sharing
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