This is fiction, not autobiography,but
I have worked in a few things that happened : (I've used quotes in this
section, but my memory's not that good; I have tried to convey the
conversations as I remember the emotional situations.)
boys did have a club where we did
dares, got naked, and talked about sex and spanking and whipping. We took
each other's penises in our mouths, but only once.
We looked at naked women in National Geographic, and at stolen copies
Playboy, and we read descriptions of floggings and canings in
books. We did not know that grown-ups did slapping and spanking as
part of sex; we imagined a million ways we might get spankings in our future, but not that. We
knew about ordeals in Indian tribes and in ancient
Sparta; and we agreed to do an ordeal. There was a boy we invited
into the club; we told
him there would be an initiation. The idea was we'd all go
initiation with him, since we'd never had an initiation. He claimed
that taking the initiation
would be no
problem for him, because he wasn't scared of the pain, but he just didn't want
to be in our club.
We never did the ordeal. This was entirely a boys club,
and our idea was that a pain ordeal was for boys to show how brave they were. But in fact we knew a girl who had to choose her own
punishments, and she
boasted : "Dad always says
the punishment I pick, is more than he would have given
me." And the punishment she picked was always a bare-bottom belting. But it never occured to us to invite
her into the club.
were two brothers in the club, and in later life I was praised by their father for
always including the younger one in our games, when in fact we were very mean to him. This kid brother is the main basis for my "little brat" character. He
liked to get naked for stuff like climbing trees. Once he got caught and I suppose spanked, although
certainly not in public.
- The brat's older brother told me his kid brother showed off a red bottom
to him every night,
red from dipping in hot water in the bathtub, pretty much as I describe it in the story, including that it happened every night. The kid called this his "ass-robatics." He wanted me to sleep over so I could watch. One thing I didn't put in the story, was that this boy said he loved me. I was so innocent. I knew about "fairies," but I didn't make the connection : his "love" seemed like hero worship to me - flattering but a bit of a nuisance, from a little kid.
He was always pulling out his penis and wanting me to do stuff to it;
he wanted us to suck on each others' penises again; he liked to rest his head on me and touch me, and he
wanted me to sleep over so we could spend the night together in his bed; and
he begged me do anything to his bottom and penis I liked. Once I let him kiss me on the face. But
I didn't connect any of this with "fairies." I thought it was
extreme dorky behavior, especially the stuff he wanted me to do with his
penis. My schooling did
include some sex education, but in those days they barely mentioned gay
spent the night with him, or saw his
torutured him, and no one else in the club did
either; that part's fiction - although his brother did beat him up
were mean to him precicely by not letting come with us for the most fun
things, like swimming, or sleepovers - and so he missed out on the
spanking games, on those few times we did that.
- This boy was not a public exhibitionist at all though. The exhibitionist part of the "little brat" character, is based on a different boy; a boy who was no sort of friend of mine. He liked to show his penis and bottom on the school playground ; we called him the retard. He got beat up a lot, including getting his
bare ass beaten. It didn't
look like he enjoyed it, but he showed his bottom mostly to the kids who did it, so maybe he
liked being spanked better than being left alone.
No one ever wanted to play with him. He was seriously disturbed, and quite retarded, and I suppose he was
being "mainstreamed." But the judgment of the playground was that he was bad,
selfish and rotten, as well as a retard, and we thought he had turned out that
way because he was spoiled -- not spanked enough -- at home. I wasn't
one of the boys who spanked him, but I agreed with everyone that it was for his own good.
- What I've talked about so far was when I was around twelve, I also have one dim memory, from much earlier, from about six, of a friend who did stuff on purpose to get spanked by his dad.
Once he made
with a saw in his family's garden hose, so his dad would get
soaked when he tried to wash his car. He said, dreamily: "My dad
will get soaked, and he'll
say - who
these cuts, and I'll say - it was me!, and he'll go swat-swat-swat."
I remember I tried to talk him out of cutting the hose, by
telling him that a
spanking hurt and it didn't make sense to want one, but I
remember what he said. I know it had to be his dad, not his mom. That's all I remember; I don't know if that
spanking actually happened.
- Even younger, when I was maybe five, my older girl cousin and
her friends liked to play "horsey," a game which included us little
"colts" getting chased through the sprinkler and getting "horse
when they caught us. A horse spanking was a kick, given with the
top of the foot to your butt, that lifted you off your feet.
about my age loved getting horse spankings from her big sister.
would laugh and say, "Do it again." I did not like getting horse
spankings, but I liked being chased. We colts played bare, I think.
Horse spankings, big sister said, were loving - and so not at all
like the spankings girls and boys got from their dads. But
loving about them? Did they come with horse kisses and horse
hugs? Did you get to say how many you wanted? My memories
are so vague But I remember my big cousin's dream
about the horses - horses running free across the plain, with mares and
stallions and little colts; families as families ought
to have been.
- I don't remember anyone else who wanted to
be spanked, but one boy, quite a good friend, got
spanked often, as if it was a compulsion.
Mostly, he would
hurt his little brother,
even when it was right in front of his mom; which meant a spanking
when his dad got home. He didn't hit his brother hard,
because he was gentle. Unfortunately, his dad wasn't - my
friend showed me
marks on his bottom the next day; that seemed to be part of the
compulsion, somehow. Part of his punishment was
the humiliation of stripping naked, and he really hated that.
He got five strokes for one little tap on his
brother's back. I think this was about age ten; his brother was a
year younger. His brother
provoked him on purpose, and gloated with glee to be
hit, because it meant his brother would be spanked and he would get to
My friend cried
on my shoulder, not about the spanking which he thought was
fair; he complained because his brother got to see him naked, and
was allowed to gloat.
But one day his brother was the one who had gotten the spanking, and my
friend embarrassed him by telling me about him having to strip naked and show his dick. He
so intent on needling his brother that he paid no attention to his
mother; but she was right behind him with a stick and she spanked him for
"dick." That spanking was with his pants
I was there; but he'd get spanked again naked in front of his little
brother, just as soon as I left, and that would be right away, because
severely scolded me for participating and told me to
go home, saying I'd worn out my welcome. I felt guilty and offered to be spanked too, even bare.
(I'm hoping she's
forgotten about that; I still see her from time to time.)
(That was the only family where spankings were done in front of me, although never bare.
She would say to whatever brother was getting spanked: "you don't want David to think
you're a crybaby, do you?")
I remember a nature hike leader who I felt a boy's hero worship for,
remember asking him if he was allowed to spank us if we did something
bad on a hike, and if so, what would I have to do to get a
spanking? I tried to get him to take the group swimming,
just because I wanted to see him, and to have him see me, in the locker
room. I don't think I ever saw my dad's penis as a child, but
there was an uncle who once pissed on a tree with me, and I was very
impressed. I was interested in seeing the penises of all the
grown men in my life, to compare them, and also to have the man look at
penis. I wanted to ask if it would get bigger. And I
would have welcomed a bare-bottom spanking from any one of those
Then when I was a teenage camp counselor, I got the question in turn -
allowed to spank kids?" The answer was of course no. This
was from two sisters who wanted me to spank their little brother.
He was, if not wanting to be spanked, at least very interested;
he asked me if I'd ever spanked anyone, like for example had I ever
been a baby-siiter and spanked a kid? He also asked if I
was Jewish, and when I said I was an athiest he explained to me
patiently that just because I didn't go to temple didn't mean I wasn't
Jewish. He was quite sure I was really Jewish, and would tell his
parents because they wouldn't hire a baby-sitter who wasn't Jewish at
all His parents did not spank. I had to tell
him that even if I was his baby-sitter, which I wasn't going to be, he wouldn't get a spanking.
He said to me: "turn around!" and we played at him spanking me.
He saw how much hot sauce I was putting on my food, and put
the same on his, making it a
contest. I was used to spicy food, he wasn't. He
described the intense burning pain of his lips and mouth, that
lasted for hours; but he wasn't sorry, he said he liked it really spicy.
the story, the narrator is jealous because his friends get spanked on
their bare bottoms, while he only gets it by hand on his pants.
This is based on me, except I wasn't spanked at all, not even by hand on my pants, and my friends,
every one of them, got spanked with a tool: strap, belt, or paddle (but
only sometimes bare, I think). My friends said I was crazy, but I wanted a chance just once to "be a man"
and "take it."
friend's father had a cool frat paddle in his study, so I asked for a swat to see how it felt, but when I pulled down my pants for it, he only gave me a
real light swat, like a joke. I said swats
with your pants on were for sissies and a brave boy wouldn't even want
it that way. He gave me about five, a bit hard but nothing like
as hard as I wanted, but then of course my friend had to prove he was
as brave as me, and his dad swatted him a whole lot harder than he did
me. I thought that was so unfair.
made myself a frat paddle and gave
myself one hundred smacks. I liked the way my bottom looked and it felt good to set myself a goal that really hurt, and to make it. But
somehow self-spanking did not work for me. There were many times
when I resolved to do another 100, but I did not usually keep my
I thought if someone was spanking me, I could say : "give me 100
spanks" and then I would be too ashamed to back out, and so I'd get a
really hard spanking, harder than I could give myself. But like
the narrator of this story, I was shy about saying "I want a
to my friends, so instead I tried to provoke my friends into a
spanking game or contest. But it was actually easier to
get my friends to take spankings than to give them.
- It was the boy ethic that you didn't show pain.
I remember digging out a tick with
a knife from my friend's leg, and he didn't even say
I cut my finger to the bone, a cut
which needed nine stitches, I said "it's nothing,"
and I didn't think I needed to go to the hospital. At the
hospital, I didn't want any anesthetic.
- One day that same friend and I
were fooling around with balancing stuff on each other's
bodies; I was carefully putting the last block on a
stack balanced on his butt,
when he moved and sent it crashing, and so I picked up a ping-pong
paddle that happened to be there, and gave him a good hard swat
on the seat of his shorts,
(after the fact) "Lets say that when you make a mistake, you get a
spanking." He didn't object, so I said: "And I'm in my
swimsuit and you're in cut-offs, so you should pull your pants down to
make it fair. Let's say it's a spank for each
block, OK?" He just lay there quietly so I
gave him a hard swat on his underpants for each block that had fallen.
was his turn to pile
my butt, and I jerked and sent his tower crashing on purpose, to
earn spanks. We played for
hours, and if he didn't get a spanking in a turn, he complained his
turn was too short and he should get another one. He never
complained about too many spankings or too hard. I built a
big construction on his butt using extra blocks from another set; and I
built it so
off-balance that it only took the slightest twitch of his body to knock
it down, and when it did fall down he laughed about the long spanking
he was about to get, boasting that it would be longer than any I'd
gotten. He wasn't laughing by the end of that spanking, but he wasn't crying either. The
next day he wouldn't play the balancing game at all - on the pretext
that I was better
than he was; actually, he was better than me.
I said the problem was he wasn't spanking me hard enough - I
was going to keep acting naughty until he spanked me so hard
I couldn't take it, and so a really hard spanking was the only way
he'd ever get a tower built. I
said I would play naked to
make it hurt more, and if even that wasn't enough, he should use a
belt. (I collected my Dad's old belts). But he
wouldn't play balancing because he said I was too good at it. And we
never played again.
- Another example is a
slightly younger kid I gave a birthday spanking to.
Perhaps he expected a play birthday spanking when he bent over my lap, but I spanked hard. After it was over, he
said "Wow, that really hurt. Even more than a
from my dad."
I said I didn't mean it to hurt that much, and if he wanted to he could
spank me back to make up for it. He rubbed his bottom and said "That's
OK." I was surprised I could hurt him more than a spanking from his dad, since it was by hand on his pants.
I said "Doesn't your Dad make you pull down your pants?" and he
said "Do I
have to, Dad?" He was submissive putty in my hands.
I did a trade-off spanking with my boy cousin,
a few months younger than me, when we took a bath together.
Mostly by hand, but with a few strokes with the back of the
brush. He wanted to trade brush spankings to see who could take the
most, but I said we'd do that next time. However his little
was waiting outside the door, and asked about the thumps she'd heard.
I'm sure she'd heard us talking about the spankings as well as
hearing the swats, but we told
her some lie. Then she tried to get the two of us to sleep with her in
her family's camper parked in the street, instead of us sleeping in the "boys dorm" and her in
the"girls dorm" that my mother had set up in the living room and
dining room of our house.
- There is another case of a
boy who wanted to be spanked, this is a boy I knew when I was grown up.
He was the son of a woman I knew; the father was long gone. He was
determined to go to college and have a career where he'd be respected and called "sir,"
and after eighth grade he announced he was going to work a summer job
to earn enough to go to Catholic high school, since he had gotten in
with a bad crowd in public school. This school, or
maybe all Catholic high schools for all I know, had abolished corporal
punishment by then. So he was quite surprised when he was slapped for
talking back, rapped on the knuckles, and bopped on the head--and that
was.just his first day. He wasn't expecting it, but he liked it;
especially he liked being made to say "sir"
to the teachers. He obeyed the rules, so he wasn't hit much after that first
day, but he liked knowing that the brothers would hit him if he got out
of line. However, he was against actual spanking of boys his own age on their bare bottoms; he
said priests who would do that were fags.
But for little kids, it was different; he was hard
trying to catch up academically after being allowed to goof off in public
school his whole life; he said he wished he'd
gone to a strict Catholic school, where (he believed) the nuns would have smacked his bare bottom with a ruler.
In spite of
the school policy against corporal punishment, the brothers would
rap knuckles or bop heads to maintain order in class, and this boy thrived in the strict classroom environment. But
there was no
punishment for getting a low grade on a test. The
work that had gotten him As and Bs in public school, only
earned him Cs and Ds in that Catholic high school. State college
admission was in those days by grades; he asked me about college admissions, calling me "sir". For his dream of
going to college, I told him he had to get better grades. So
he went to his aunt's
boyfriend (they were engaged but not yet married) to
ask to live with him for
a while. Of course he called him, "sir." His
uncle-to-be wore a business suit to work, and he was very good-looking,
and he had
rich friends - he
was exactly the man the boy wanted to be. He asked
his uncle to punish him for bad grades and for doing low-class stuff,
but then he was
surprised because his uncle didn't tell him not to have sex.
The boy knew that his
own birth had spoiled his mother's chances of going to college, and
also he could see that his
mother had some problems, and he didn't want his own life to be
He expected his uncle to forbid him to have sex, and to punish
him harshly for it. Also no pot, no booze, and an early
curfew. This was rather ironic, because his uncle was actually
a wild-man; he was a heavy pot-smoker, and was very sexually active from
a young age; he had done gay sex with older men for money, even, as a teenager.
He came from a middle-class academic background; his parents were
liberals involved in prison reform; I'm sure they never spanked him.
But with that background, even though he had spent his
high school years balling and getting high, and sucking cocks to
supplement his allowance, he had still gotten into a
good college. The first week the boy lived with his uncle-to-be,
there was a naked hot tub party, on what happened to be the boy's
birthday. His uncle gave him condoms as a
birthday present. The boy was shy to take his swimsuit off,
but when he saw that everyone else was
doing it, all his uncle's rich classy friends, he stripped too.
We were smoking some good pot (my
contribution) from a hooka we called
the big bright green pleasure machine, which sat on the edge of the
tub. There was always some naked body slithering past yours to
into the corner where the pleasure machine was, with a lot of laughing
and ducking people and grabbing. And it was
in that hot-tub, when the boy and his uncle and me were relaxing
after cleaning up after the party, at about two in the morning,
the boy asked for strict discipline and an early curfew. He
got into college but then had to drop out; I think his uncle helped
him financially for a while, but that marriage didn't last, and
without his uncle's money there just wasn't enough.
heard the boy was the assistant manager
a large hotel, on the executive "fast track". Hundreds of people
call him "sir." He's still young enough to be thrilled by the
celebreties who stay at his hotel,
and he gets very big tips, because he arranges for all the discrete
services that very rich people need.
There is one more boy I should mention, although I'm not proud of what
This is maybe age about 12. There was a boy no
one liked, and one day for some reason we
hitting him, instead of just ignoring him like we usually did. He
wasn't fighting back. I said, "Let's spank him." But he
made an enormous fuss and was ready to fight us to keep from having
his pants pulled down (he'd gotten "pantsed" once before by some
boys, and his pants were run up the flagpole, and he had to run stark naked across the playground.)
But he said it was OK if we punished him
without doing it bare; he
said we should punish him as much as we liked, he wanted us to, but then we had to
play with him. I
felt somehow I owed it to him to overcome my dislike for him, if he was
willing to take spanks to be played with. So after that we two
played together at my house; I acted as "Daddy" and lectured and
scolded him, and each
included a session with a paddle on the seat of
his pants. He utterly refused to pull his pants down. Somedays I only spanked a little but sometimes a lot.
play with him too, and I was the only boy who ever would
play with him, so he
called me his best friend.
My friends told me I got cooties from playing with such a creep.
I was ready to see myself as a hero,
befriending an unpopular
boy. I thought my scoldings and spanking were teaching - helping
him be a better person. But I found I didn't enjoy spanking
thought I needed to see his bottom get red, to enjoy it. I
stopped playing with
He was devastated - he said he
understood and didn't expect to be played with by someone like
me, just spanked. I felt really bad. He
said he could spank himself bare; he had tried it, so all I would have
each day was whisper
the number to him at school. To make an
excuse, I said that would only work if
I could watch how hard he spanked himself. He
gave in at last about me
seeing his bare bottom, and agreed to me spanking him bare.
But I never did it; it was just too creepy.
wonder if perhaps he was sexually abused (other than by me spanking him, I mean); he was weird and creepy in
so many ways - but I don't really remember
anything that would prove he was. I once saw a list of "red flags"
for teachers that
supposedly show when a child is being abused, and he had a lot of them.
The thing is, I had most of the red flags too, and I was not abused -
unless you call not being touched enough, abuse. I knew something was wrong with him.
I had known then
how many children are raped by their step-fathers, I might
have saved him, by getting the truth from him, which only I could
have done. No
teacher could have known - teachers are
the most clueless grown-ups of all about the boy world.
But according to the red-flag
list, pre-mature sexual knowledge is a red flag. So if my
parents had told me the truth about my classmates being raped (3 out of
each class of 30, according to some estimates) that would have counted
as abusing me. People think it helps children to lie to
Nothing in my boyhood
experience made me a fan of the corporal punishment of children - the
spankings my friends got didn't make them more mature, or make them
self-disciplined, or help them in
any way at all that I could see, and they hated the spankings and hated
dads. But it was the
punishment, and not the corporal part, that was the problem from the
boy's point of view. These same boys who were so devastated by their fathers' spankings, dreamed of undergoing a
manhood ordeal of whipping.
Also, as far as I can remember none of my friends thought that spanking was
a bad thing. We all believed that Dr. Spock had written a book
against spanking (that there was any other subject to the book, we did
not know); we thought this was silly and would just produce spoiled
children; I remember a boy saying, "I wish my parents didn't spank
me, but I know I'd turn out rotten if they didn't." My friends
were in favor of being spanked in general, but somehow the
particular spanking they had just gotten, was always unfair for some reason or other.
I remember suffering through my
scoldings and crying for hours (or even days) afterwards, thinking to
myself I'd get revenge by
doing something really, really bad. In my fantasies, I was so
bad I forced my dad to spank me. All the time I was being
scolded I was fantasizing about being spanked.
was scolded, horribly, instead of being spanked, but my spanked
friends didn't get spankings instead of scoldings, they got spankings
on top of scoldings. A scolding was being told you were
acting like a baby, and being
told it so often, we believed it. Boasting to your friends that
you'd gotten it really bad, and showing off a red bottom, and
saying, "it's OK, I could take it." was a way to prove you were tough. In contrast, the scolding part hurt too
much to talk about; my friends never repeated what had been said to
them in a scolding or talked about their scoldings at all. I
couldn't talk about mine, either. My friend who got the five
strokes for hitting his brother, was miserable for days; the deep dark
misery I knew so well from my own scoldings; I told him it was silly to
care about his brother seeing him naked since they stripped together at
the Y, and that if he had taken his belting well, it was an
and he should be glad his brother was there to watch. I
said I wanted him to give me five strokes for my initiation ordeal. And
wouldn't it be cool to have his little brother watch?
He agreed to everything I said, but he still hated his dad for spanking him - even if
he couldn't say why.
might seem odd that
we thought spanking each other, was
But actually most things we did for fun
hurt - boxing without gloves, fighting with "swords" (sticks), skateboarding without pads, hiking off-trail in cut-offs and pushing through brush, football,
trees (I fell out of of a few), bicycling (I fell off), doing
sweat lodges and
seeing who could stand
it the hottest (not me), or doing snowball fights naked, and seeing who
stand it the coldest. (Me. I have
a nude picture of myself in the snow, hiding my dick from the
camera with a big snowball.) We swallowed hot-sauce for a dare, or painted our dicks with it.
We juggled hot coals.
day's play left a boy covered
in cuts, scrapes, scratches, bruises, and burns from head to foot,
especially foot ; and
we would have laughed at anyone who asked why we thought all that was
fun. At least the spanking wasn't
dangerous, and a lot of what we did
for fun was.
I pity boys who grew up after
the invention of video games.
I was on the other side
of some bullying, too.
- I went into seventh grade not knowing about using a wet towel as a
whip. But Coach gave us a lecture about
with towels and of course I thought it was a cool idea
and tried it, and and I flicked a lot of bottoms.
I told the boys I flicked they should try to flick me back - but even
though I wanted the stings, I hated to lose, so I kept alert and not many boys managed
to sneak up on me. I offered to stand there and let them flick
me if they wanted to, but no one did.
But the flicking
over by even worse bullies than me, and I was just another victim.
were boys a grade older than us, who had jobs as gym monitors;
they organized the whipping and the extortion of lunch money.
days, about once a month, you got whipped in the showers - and there wasn't always an option of paying
your lunch money. The monitors kept us from running (which was
their job) so we couldn't get away.
When I was younger, a sleepover or a
camping overnight with the big kids was something I longed
with such excitement that I couldn't sleep the night before.
Most fun of all would be a water fight ;
and my best-ever one was the time I flung a huge water balloon
into a big kid's face.
He and his friends pulled down my swimsuit and worked me over, but
I remember my indignation, because I'd thrown the balloon
fair and square,
so I wouldn't say UNCLE, and I fought back,
landing some punches - for which they punished me again;
and then they
threw my swimsuit into a tree.
I don't remember any embarrassment from walking around naked,
only triumph. I told everyone I hadn't said UNCLE.
One of the bullies said I was a pretty tough kid.