31 August 2021:
Early Personal History with Corporal Punishment

My own history with CP is unusual but not, as I've learned in conversations with other aficionados, unique. I believe my interest in getting spanked stemmed from my relationship with my father when I was a toddler. Aside from punishment spankings, which more often came from my mother rather than Dad, I associated him, at least partially, with pleasurable spankings. Key to this association is the memory of being alone with him in the living room when I was 3 or 4 years old. I was playing and he was sitting in his big chair reading. At some point, he said to me, good-naturedly, "Come here and let me spank you." I went ver and got up in his lap and he landed a few smacks on the seat of my pants, and hugged and held me and we were both happy. Analyzing the interaction, I can imagine I felt a conflict, but, even at that young age, it was clear to me I did not have to go to him to "let" him spank me, that both going to him and allowing him to spank me were voluntary on my part. It was clear also that the spanking would not be punishment. He had not mentioned any misbehavior that would merit punishment, and there was no tone of threat in his voice. Key also to the experience was a sense of bonding with him, with privacy as no one else was in the room, least of all my mother.

Dad was the principal of the local school, and in that capacity paddled misbehaving children sent to him by the teachers. Before I started school, he sometimes would take me to school with him when he went to do paperwork on a weekend, and I was always fascinated to see the paddles in his office; I knew just where he kept them. A couple of them had been cracked and patched up with white surgical tape. (I later realized that new paddles were often taped up that way to ensure that if they cracked or broke, no splinters would go through the kids' clothes and into their butts. I came to that realization after a top in Columbus, Ohio broke a paddle on the seat of my Levis; splinters went through the denim and into my ass. The worst part was it ended the scene prematurely and sent him off to a pharmacy seeking antiseptic and bandages while I waited bare and unable to sit down, not wanting to get more blood on my clothes or a chair.)

This leads me to another less pleasant memory of being spanked by my father when I was 4 or 5 years old. We were in church and I was bored and playing with a hymnal. I must have torn a page out of it or something – I really never knew. Suddenly Dad grabbed me up and took me to a room adjacent the sanctuary. It was clear he was angry with me and I was in trouble. He jerked my pants down, put me over his knee, and gave me a really hard spanking. It burned like a hot stove and I yelled and cried. I'm sure the congregation in the next room could hear me. I don't remember what happened after that. But Dad never held a grudge. Once I was spanked, that was the end of it. I had paid the price for whatever I had done. We were back to our normal relationship; he had forgiven me, and I had forgiven him – tit for tat. He was a kind and loving man. (This contrasts with Bing Crosby's son's book in which he describes whippings from his father with no forgiveness afterward but his father's continued hostility and vigilance lest the boy re-offend.)

I later came to understand that the context of the spanking at church had a social significance I could not have appreciated as a small child. Dad was well known and highly regarded in the community and in the church. He could not be seen (or heard!) to be lenient with his own son when he could have paddled the children of the chuch congregation in his role as school principal. The spanking I got may have been more severe because of that social context.

Dad would joke about spanking and paddling with me even before I started school. He knew I was interested in the topic – perhaps based on his own apparent interest. Anyway, he told me they had an electric paddle at school. At this age I was already fascinated by electricity and anything electric, and it really peaked my interest to know how the electric paddle worked. Of course it made me a little scared that I might eventually "find out" how it worked by its being used on me. I was excited but a little fearful at the prospect. When I actually started school there was no electric paddle in evidence. There were occasional cases of misbehaving kids being paddled in the classroom or adjacent cloakroom by the (female) teacher. But the paddles were small "Fli-Back" game paddles (like ping-pong paddles) of the type that came with a rubber ball attached by an elastic string. They weren't so fearsome. Nothing like the long paddles in my dad's office.

Dad would occasionally repeat sayings with transparently ambiguous lewd references, like "Eat every carrot and pea [pee] on your plate," "I saw her as [ass] she turned the corner. I saw her but [butt] she didn't see me." sung with emphasis on the homonyms. One of these explicitly dealt with corporal punishment and had been from a dairy company's advertising slogan: "You can whip our cream but you can't beat our milk." These things stuck in my memory as they apparently had in his.

I think it was when I was in the second grade that my spanking-fantasy attachment to my father became displaced. I started playing with the boy next door (Larry Shields, not his real name), who was 2 years older, and one thing we did playing in the outbuildings behind his house involved paddling. Larry would paddle me with one of the "Fli-Back" game paddles he had gotten at the dime store. That was always very enjoyable to me, and we kept it up for years. Sometimes Larry allowed me to paddle him, and the sight of his butt in his tight white briefs was very exciting to me; the mental image of his butt and the joy of whacking it with the paddle haunts me to this day. Anyway, over the years, Larry and I continued our paddling play. As we grew and went through puberty our paddle play got rougher. We made paddles that resembled those used at school on the older boys, and we would share stories about paddlings at school.

Mr Skaggs

Mr Baucom

When I was in the 8th grade and Larry was in the 10th, for example, he told me he had run into Bobby Johnson in the boys' rest room. Bobby had been crying and had his pants down looking at his butt in the mirror. Bobby told Larry that Mr Skaggs, one of the coaches, had paddled him in his office next to the locker room. It seems that during lunch period Bobby had been hanging outside an upstairs window over the back door to the school spitting on kids' heads as they came out the door. Before he realized it, he spat on Mr Skaggs thinking he was one of the students. And before Bobby could run, Mr Skaggs saw him. Skaggs came and found Bobby and told him come to his office that afternoon during Bobby's study hall period. Mr Baucom, the principal, was with Mr Skaggs when Bobby got to the office. (There was a story about Baucom keeping Bobby's brother Lonny Johnson in his office and paddling him every hour on the hour. Mr Baucom also reputedly said he would "lift [boy's name] off the floor" meaning the his licks were so hard that a boy bending over would be knocked a considerable distance when the paddle hit his butt.) After lecturing Bobby, Mr Skaggs told him he was going to give him 3 licks. But Mr Baucom told Mr Skaggs to give him 6 more. Bobby got 9 licks, and by the time it was over he was bawling. I jacked off many times thinking about that after Larry told me about it. It was only one of several paddling stories from my school. In the higher grades, paddlings were carried out in private, away from the classroom. They were not as frequent in the schools I attended as in those attended by some of my friends.

When Larry graduated and went off to college, I didn't get to see him as often. We continued to play, but it was rarer. One factor was that Larry was straight. We had never gotten into overt sex play, (as I had with another boy) but I'm sure his dick was as hard as mine when he was paddling me. I imagine he jacked off after I left. But for me, it was routine that I would cum in my pants when he was beating my ass.

My point in sharing this story, however, is that I got into "recreational" spanking at a young age and with an age contemporary in a context that didn't involve punishment. Peer-to-peer CP play has been with me from early in life. Whatever psychodynamics I may have had with my parents were short-circuited because by then I was getting my jollies outside of the family. I started early. So my experience is different from that of most guys into "domestic" discipline. The context of my spankings with my buddy influenced my later preferences, which in turn influenced my choice of content for the website. How I turned from primarily bottom to primarily top is another story influenced by real-life psychodynamics; I'll leave that for another time.