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Old 09-03-2010, 01:37 AM
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An Insider's View

“AN INSIDER’S VIEW”

By Carl Philip Michaels

(NOTE: This story is a fantasy. The author does not advocate the corporal punishment of children.)

I grew up in a traditional family of three kids with strict parents who were firm believers in the value of carefully applied corporal punishment. The last spanking I got was also the worst and the most embarrassing; it happened when I was fifteen. At that time, my sister Gwen was 14 and my brother Reid was 11. I've never really talked to anyone outside my family about this subject, but it's a big part of who I am, and one of the keys to my emotional development. Since the internet provides a certain degree of anonymity, I've decided to take advantage of this forum to give readers an insider’s view of discipline in my family.

Although my parents were quite strict and determined to keep us out of trouble, they were also very fair and by no means cruel. In retrospect, I think we actually had it better than some of our friends who were grounded instead of being spanked (although we certainly wouldn’t have admitted that when we were facing a spanking!). Groundings often lasted for weeks at a time, and from what I gathered hard feelings among family members kept building that whole time. With a spanking, it was embarrassing and it stung like crazy, but once it was over it was over. The slate was wiped clean and you were forgiven; no hard feelings remained except for those you felt in your rear end each time you sat down for the next few days.

Mom was the designated spanker in our family. (Actually, Mom spanked the kids, and Dad spanked Mom--a carefully guarded secret that we weren't supposed to know about!) Spankings for us kids were of two types. "Type One" spankings occurred on the spot, when and where one of us kids ran afoul of the rules. While these spankings were certainly on our list of things to avoid, they weren't severe; they consisted of a trip across Mom’s lap, pants pulled down or skirts turned up for about two dozen good swats. But like all spankings, they stung and they were embarrassing, especially since they were carried without regard for the presence of witnesses (family members only, that is). If we acted up in front of extended family, we could count on being spanked in front of them: grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, whoever. The embarrassment factor also increased as we grew older: Once when I was 13 and my cousins were visiting, I was acting particularly bratty and Mom pulled me over her lap for an attitude adjustment. I begged her not to spank me in front of my cousins as if my life depended on it! Her response was that embarrassment was part of the punishment; if I didn't want to "get it" in front of the family, all I had to do was follow the rules. I hung my head and sighed, defeated by superior logic.

"Type Two" spankings were another phenomenon altogether. These were reserved for serious infractions of the family rules, such as cheating at school, lying, smoking or drinking, and gross defiance. As we were fairly good kids most of the time, they didn't happen often, but when they did, they were full-blown, ritualized events. My parents were inventive (as you will see!), and they managed to make these punishments quite memorable without ever bruising our bottoms or breaking the skin. They were serious about deterring these kinds of misbehaviors, though, and they were successful! To this day, my mom takes pride in the fact that none of her kids ever had to get a Type Two spanking for the same offense twice. Although they provided great entertainment for the kids who were not currently in trouble, they were no fun at all for the one who was. If you’ll indulge me, I’d like to tell you the story of my worst—and last—spanking.

* * *

One Friday afternoon in the fall when I was 15, I gave in to my curiosity about cigarettes, and decided to try one with a friend behind the bleachers at school. A neighbor spotted me, and helpfully passed the information on to my mom. Confronted about it when I got home, I made the seriously unwise decision to deny it. Soon I was in my room, changing out of my school clothes and dreading the bare bottom spanking I was about to get in front of the whole family. Since there were two separate spankable offenses, I knew this was going to be a two-day punishment. To make matters worse, my aunt, uncle, and two cousins just happened to be visiting for the weekend!

Along with my brother and sister, I was the proud (not!) owner of a pair of dropseat pajamas, referred to in the family as punishment pajamas. These were so juvenile in appearance that, for anyone over the age of ten, just being seen in them was an embarrassing punishment! Mine happened to be baby-boy blue and covered with brown teddy bears. Mom had given me ten minutes to go the bathroom, change, and appear downstairs in my punishment pajamas. We weren’t allowed to wear underwear for these punishments; we had to go downstairs with the underpants we’d been wearing in hand. The terrible thing facing me now was that it had been two years since my last Type Two, and I’d quite outgrown the pajamas! I squeezed into them and my bottom strained against the fabric. When I looked at myself in the mirror, my heart sank and my face flushed. The bottoms were the ultimate “high water pants,” and the top stopped six inches above my belly button! Due to the underwear restriction, little was left to the imagination in front. I panicked, and briefly considered telling Mom that they were too small to wear. Then I thought about how angry she was at the moment, and quickly discarded the idea: any alternative might actually wind up being worse! I tiptoed out of my room, white briefs in hand, hoping no one would see me. No suck luck: My sister Gwen was right there in the hall!

“Hey Carl, love the outfit!” she said with a broad smile. “Might I suggest something a little smaller?” I cringed and blushed more deeply; she swatted me on the butt as I walked past. This was going to be a long evening.

[End of Part One]
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