I am thinking of a sleepy little town in Tennessee, where the cicadas hum in the trees; where neighbors chat over white picket fences and the children "sir" and "ma'am." It's a place where the churches are full each Sunday morning and there's fried chicken and lemonade in the long, lazy afternoon. Perhaps you know a town like Colbyville, Tennessee. If you do, you're lucky. And if you're like me, you remember it very, very well-- it's where I got my first real spanking.
Oh, it was a long time ago. July, 1960, to be exact. I was twenty years old at the time. I know, rather old for a first spanking. Yes, it was long overdue. I was a city girl, born and bred. New York City. An only child, and Daddy didn't spank. I saw precious little of him before the divorce, and almost nothing after. The alimony was generous, though, and Mother was quite progressive. I was denied very little and got away with quite a lot.
So how did Miss Manhattan find herself in Smalltown, USA getting the discipline she so sorely needed? Well, it was through my girlfriend at college, Cheryl Cooper. Even though Cheryl was a freshman and I a sophomore, we were both English majors who despised the beatnik poets then in fashion and shared a passion for Byron and the Brontes. Cheryl was lively and spirited, and pretty to boot. She made scads of friends, but the two of us were exceptionally close, especially considering how different we were. She was petite, outgoing, and a small-town girl; I was tall, reserved, big-city. When Cheryl invited me to spend some time with her at home over the summer, I gladly accepted. It meant I didn't have to spend as much time with Mother and her ultra-intellectual friends.
Colbyville certainly was different. Instead of nightclubs and taxis, there were ice cream socials and porch swings. Creekside under the tall willow, Cheryl and I would set up a fishing pole and read aloud all afternoon. Heathcliff trod the moors all over again, while I fell in love with Colbyville and its people. I was intrigued by it all, but especially so by Mrs. Cooper. She shared Cheryl's porcelain-doll looks. A porcelain doll with a backbone of steel, I should add. Cheryl's father made a good living as a lawyer, but Evelyn Cooper had a maid in just once a week, grew all her own vegetables, and served on several volunteer committtees around town. A real pillar of the community. She had raised two boys and two girls, Cheryl being the youngest. 'Mr. Cooper,' as Mrs. Cooper referred to him, seemed to have disciplined the boys, but the girls had always been her responsibility. She might have been forbidding to some, but I took to her right away-- I appreciated her guidance and admired her strength. Even at our first meeting, she mentioned something about teaching me to 'walk like a lady.'
So for the first time in my life I lived in strict but homey surroundings. Mrs. Cooper made it clear that I was now part of the household, and would be expected to do my share of the work. So it was one Saturday morning that Cheryl and I were to pick and shell peas for Sunday dinner. And Cheryl had promised a peach pie. Mr. Cooper had gone to the office and Mrs. Cooper was at one of her meetings. It was a warm and humid day, and we were taking our sweet time when Ray Barnes, the cutest of Colbyville's elite eligibles, drove by with his brother Jeff. Well, it doesn't take much time for young people to concoct an outing, so not long afterward Cheryl and I had packed a hasty picnic lunch and were hopping into the back of Ray's old Pontiac convertible.
Oh, it was all very innocent, I assure you. Okay, Cheryl and I did smoke a whole cigarette apiece, just to show Ray we were indeed sophisticated coeds. But we had told no one we would be gone and we stayed much too late. Long enough for us to realize we would be missed and that certain assigned chores would remain undone. It was well toward evening when Ray and Jeff dropped us off at the end of the driveway and skedaddled out of there, content to leave us to our fate.
What that fate might be I hadn't a clue. "Do you think she'll be mad?" I asked Cheryl.
"I know she'll be mad," she replied.
My heart sank. Only here a week, and already I was screwing up.
"What do you think she'll do?" I asked. I was afraid I would be sent packing, and said so.
Cheryl snorted. "You'll wish you were that lucky," she said. She explained that Mama considered me a "responsibility," and Mama didn't give up on anyone so easily.
"What do you mean?" I asked innocently.
"Roberta, sometimes you're so dense! We're in for it. Mom won't send you away, she'll see to it you're disciplined. I hate to break the news to you, darlin', but we're both probably in for a good, sound spanking!"
A spanking? For a college-age girl? I couldn't imagine Cheryl being treated so. Nor myself. I simply couldn't take the idea seriously. What I really thought I would get was a cold dismissal and a ticket on the next train out of town.
Mrs. Cooper met us in the foyer. She was still wearing the summer linen suit she had worn to her meeting.
"Cheryl, come with me," she said simply. "You, Roberta, are to wait in the living room."
Wait for what? I wondered anxiously. Upstairs I heard the sound of the Coopers' bedroom door closing. I forced myself to take a seat, mostly to keep from pacing. The big old house made small creaking noises as the heat of the afternoon waned. A slight breeze lifted the curtains. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked evenly on, in marked contrast to the tumult of my thoughts and feelings. I didn't want to be sent home, but what if Cheryl were right? Punished like a naughty child? I didn't even know how to be spanked, I told myself. It was one social grace I had never had to master. Besides, the whole thing seemed unbelievable to me. Cheryl may be just out of high school, but I'm older and a guest here. Mrs. Cooper wouldn't dare spank me.
But something deep inside told me that I was even more immature than Cheryl, and that Mrs. Cooper would indeed dare. I just might, for once in my life, have to face the consequences of my actions.
I strained my ears for any sound that might indicate what was going on behind that closed door upstairs. There! Was that not a smack? And that? Don't get hysterical, I told myself. It's only your imagination. But my heart was beating as fast as any Romantic heroine's.
There was no mistaking the sound of the door opening, however. And there was no doubt that Cheryl had shed more than a few tears. I heard her light footfalls as she scampered to her room, then the solid click of Mrs. Cooper's heels on the landing.
"Roberta, you may come up now."
She sat on the upholstered bench in front of her dressing table, her legs crossed, and listened to my story. Head hanging, hands clasped behind, I gave my account. I had no heart to lie, though I did omit the cigarettes, hoping Cheryl had sense enough to do the same. Even so, I was convinced I was doomed to banishment. I abjectly admitted my guilt and pleaded not to be sent back to New York.
"Send you back to New York?" she laughed. "That's the furthest thing from my mind. You can't escape your penalty that easily, young lady."
I could stay, I could really stay! I exulted to myself. But, did that mean?...I suddenly noticed Mrs. Cooper's ivory-backed hairbrush with the rose design, near at hand on the dressing table. Mrs. Cooper's eyes followed my gaze.
"Cheryl has just taken her spanking. I hope you are ready to do the same."
I swallowed hard and lifted my chin. I heard myself say in a voice just above a whisper. "Yes, Mrs. Cooper, I am."
"Very well," she said, with a slight yet fond smile. "I shall require your presence here over my knee. You will receive the same as Cheryl. And because the two of you are much too old for this sort of irresponsible behavior, I must be quite severe. Now raise your skirt, Roberta."
So! I was to receive no special favors. Good, I thought, but my stomach knotted in apprehension. My education in spanking etiquette was begun.
The tone of Mrs. Cooper's voice made it clear she would tolerate no dawdling, and certainly no pouting. Compliantly I reached for the hem of my sundress and slowly gathered it in folds about my waist, exposing my white cotton undies. The coolness I felt about my intimate parts was a shaming rebuke, and I blushed hotly. Mrs. Cooper only motioned me closer, uncrossed her legs, and took me over her lap. With her left hand she swept up my skirt and grasped me firmly at the elastic of my panties. With her right she made a final adjustment, gathering me in so that my legs were together and my feet fully off the floor.
Never before had I felt so helpless and ashamed. The courage with which I had agreed to my sentence seemed to fail, and the spanking had not even begun! From the depths of my nervousness I managed to speak, trying to express my remorse.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Cooper, I'm really sorry. I won't be any more trouble, I promise."
"I expect not, Roberta. Now, are we ready?"
"I'm frightened," I admitted meekly.
"Now, now, this won't be as bad as all that. The Lord gave you a padded place for correction, and I shall simply make good use of it. Now you just be still."
There was nothing else I could say. A wave of novel impressions and sensations swept over me. I was embarrassed, scared, and strangely accepting all at the same time. I was acutely aware of my behind, so prominently positioned, waiting for chastisement. My thin cotton panties felt somewhat askew, but I dared not adjust them. Mrs. Cooper had just warned me to be still, and I did not want to arouse her ire further. I could only wait for what was to come.
All was quiet. Outside the window a mockingbird broke into its evening song, and off in the distance a power mower whined. Mrs. Cooper reached for the ivory-backed brush.
I cried "Oh!" at the first spank, and closed my eyes for the second. It was not long in coming. Mrs. Cooper seemed to favor a brisk and regular pace. By the fourth or fifth stroke there was a smarting that did not subside between spanks. I wanted to whimper and plead, but I gave a thought for my dignity, and concentrated on keeping my buttocks relaxed--I had heard it hurt less that way. But all I accomplished was to snuggle deeper into Mrs. Cooper's elegantly-skirted lap. For her part, she took no notice of my distress, but continued with the task at hand. I surmised she had a certain number of spanks in mind, and that I would receive the full measure. She was unstinting, each swat a real stinger. I endured as best I could, but it seemed to me that Mrs. Cooper was intent on making me pay for every misdeed of my spoiled girlhood. I could at least take a bit of comfort from knowing that at long last I was being well and truly punished, and I persevered as long as I could--to this day I have no idea of the number of spanks I endured--but when the tears came I let them. I had earned the right to them.
Mrs. Cooper seemed to think so too. Her manner was decidedly gentle as she released me. I got shakily to my feet and she took both my hands in hers.
"I trust we've learned our lesson?" she inquired, looking deep into my eyes.
"Yes, ma'am," I managed through tears. She stood and put her arms around me.
"I treat you like a daughter because I think of you that way. It's not easy being loved, you know. You have to live up to it. Do you understand, Roberta?"
"I think so."
"Good. Now run along to your room. You and Cheryl are put to bed. And no supper for you both."
Back in the bedroom Cheryl shared with me was one of the more unusual sights of that eventful day: Cheryl stretched out on the bed with her delicate pink panties at mid-thigh, a cold compress crowning her bare behind.
"Don't laugh," she warned. "I made one for you, too."
I was grateful and made quick use of it, copying Cheryl's pose exactly. We made quite a spectacle, no doubt about it, but we didn't care. We were survivors, united by a common bond. Strangely enough, I felt wonderful. The warmth in my behind induced a mood as mellow as the sultry evening, and, with a big orange summer moon for company, Cheryl and I talked far into the night, sharing sisterly confidences.
Around midnight, Cheryl jumped up and went to the window.
"We've suffered long enough," she said. "We can climb down the old chinaberry tree here and let ourselves into the kitchen without waking Mom and Dad."
I was aghast. "Cheryl, I don't want another spanking, do you?"
She grinned. "Don't be silly. There'll be sandwiches already made, waiting for us."
She was right, there were.
"Mama's strict, but she does have a heart of gold," Cheryl commented as we dug in. She was right about that, too.
We finished Wuthering Heights and moved on to Jane Eyre. Sometimes Ray would join us, reading his favorite passages from Douglas Southall Freeman's Life of Robert E. Lee. The days passed dreamily, and we gave Mrs. Cooper no further cause to employ the hairbrush. I came again at Christmas, and the summer after that Ray proposed. It was on my wedding day that Cheryl told me that she had known from the first that I was the object of Ray's affections, and she had taken a spanking for me, so I was forever in her debt and mustn't forget it.
I owe all of Colbyville so much. Ray and I raised our family here. Mrs. Cooper is gone, but she left me the ivory-backed brush. A strange object for bequeathal, some thought, but she knew it would be meaningful to me. The rose design is still fresh, even after all these years. But then, Ray never did spank as hard as Mrs. Cooper!
Oh, it was a long time ago. July, 1960, to be exact. I was twenty years old at the time. I know, rather old for a first spanking. Yes, it was long overdue. I was a city girl, born and bred. New York City. An only child, and Daddy didn't spank. I saw precious little of him before the divorce, and almost nothing after. The alimony was generous, though, and Mother was quite progressive. I was denied very little and got away with quite a lot.
So how did Miss Manhattan find herself in Smalltown, USA getting the discipline she so sorely needed? Well, it was through my girlfriend at college, Cheryl Cooper. Even though Cheryl was a freshman and I a sophomore, we were both English majors who despised the beatnik poets then in fashion and shared a passion for Byron and the Brontes. Cheryl was lively and spirited, and pretty to boot. She made scads of friends, but the two of us were exceptionally close, especially considering how different we were. She was petite, outgoing, and a small-town girl; I was tall, reserved, big-city. When Cheryl invited me to spend some time with her at home over the summer, I gladly accepted. It meant I didn't have to spend as much time with Mother and her ultra-intellectual friends.
Colbyville certainly was different. Instead of nightclubs and taxis, there were ice cream socials and porch swings. Creekside under the tall willow, Cheryl and I would set up a fishing pole and read aloud all afternoon. Heathcliff trod the moors all over again, while I fell in love with Colbyville and its people. I was intrigued by it all, but especially so by Mrs. Cooper. She shared Cheryl's porcelain-doll looks. A porcelain doll with a backbone of steel, I should add. Cheryl's father made a good living as a lawyer, but Evelyn Cooper had a maid in just once a week, grew all her own vegetables, and served on several volunteer committtees around town. A real pillar of the community. She had raised two boys and two girls, Cheryl being the youngest. 'Mr. Cooper,' as Mrs. Cooper referred to him, seemed to have disciplined the boys, but the girls had always been her responsibility. She might have been forbidding to some, but I took to her right away-- I appreciated her guidance and admired her strength. Even at our first meeting, she mentioned something about teaching me to 'walk like a lady.'
So for the first time in my life I lived in strict but homey surroundings. Mrs. Cooper made it clear that I was now part of the household, and would be expected to do my share of the work. So it was one Saturday morning that Cheryl and I were to pick and shell peas for Sunday dinner. And Cheryl had promised a peach pie. Mr. Cooper had gone to the office and Mrs. Cooper was at one of her meetings. It was a warm and humid day, and we were taking our sweet time when Ray Barnes, the cutest of Colbyville's elite eligibles, drove by with his brother Jeff. Well, it doesn't take much time for young people to concoct an outing, so not long afterward Cheryl and I had packed a hasty picnic lunch and were hopping into the back of Ray's old Pontiac convertible.
Oh, it was all very innocent, I assure you. Okay, Cheryl and I did smoke a whole cigarette apiece, just to show Ray we were indeed sophisticated coeds. But we had told no one we would be gone and we stayed much too late. Long enough for us to realize we would be missed and that certain assigned chores would remain undone. It was well toward evening when Ray and Jeff dropped us off at the end of the driveway and skedaddled out of there, content to leave us to our fate.
What that fate might be I hadn't a clue. "Do you think she'll be mad?" I asked Cheryl.
"I know she'll be mad," she replied.
My heart sank. Only here a week, and already I was screwing up.
"What do you think she'll do?" I asked. I was afraid I would be sent packing, and said so.
Cheryl snorted. "You'll wish you were that lucky," she said. She explained that Mama considered me a "responsibility," and Mama didn't give up on anyone so easily.
"What do you mean?" I asked innocently.
"Roberta, sometimes you're so dense! We're in for it. Mom won't send you away, she'll see to it you're disciplined. I hate to break the news to you, darlin', but we're both probably in for a good, sound spanking!"
A spanking? For a college-age girl? I couldn't imagine Cheryl being treated so. Nor myself. I simply couldn't take the idea seriously. What I really thought I would get was a cold dismissal and a ticket on the next train out of town.
Mrs. Cooper met us in the foyer. She was still wearing the summer linen suit she had worn to her meeting.
"Cheryl, come with me," she said simply. "You, Roberta, are to wait in the living room."
Wait for what? I wondered anxiously. Upstairs I heard the sound of the Coopers' bedroom door closing. I forced myself to take a seat, mostly to keep from pacing. The big old house made small creaking noises as the heat of the afternoon waned. A slight breeze lifted the curtains. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked evenly on, in marked contrast to the tumult of my thoughts and feelings. I didn't want to be sent home, but what if Cheryl were right? Punished like a naughty child? I didn't even know how to be spanked, I told myself. It was one social grace I had never had to master. Besides, the whole thing seemed unbelievable to me. Cheryl may be just out of high school, but I'm older and a guest here. Mrs. Cooper wouldn't dare spank me.
But something deep inside told me that I was even more immature than Cheryl, and that Mrs. Cooper would indeed dare. I just might, for once in my life, have to face the consequences of my actions.
I strained my ears for any sound that might indicate what was going on behind that closed door upstairs. There! Was that not a smack? And that? Don't get hysterical, I told myself. It's only your imagination. But my heart was beating as fast as any Romantic heroine's.
There was no mistaking the sound of the door opening, however. And there was no doubt that Cheryl had shed more than a few tears. I heard her light footfalls as she scampered to her room, then the solid click of Mrs. Cooper's heels on the landing.
"Roberta, you may come up now."
She sat on the upholstered bench in front of her dressing table, her legs crossed, and listened to my story. Head hanging, hands clasped behind, I gave my account. I had no heart to lie, though I did omit the cigarettes, hoping Cheryl had sense enough to do the same. Even so, I was convinced I was doomed to banishment. I abjectly admitted my guilt and pleaded not to be sent back to New York.
"Send you back to New York?" she laughed. "That's the furthest thing from my mind. You can't escape your penalty that easily, young lady."
I could stay, I could really stay! I exulted to myself. But, did that mean?...I suddenly noticed Mrs. Cooper's ivory-backed hairbrush with the rose design, near at hand on the dressing table. Mrs. Cooper's eyes followed my gaze.
"Cheryl has just taken her spanking. I hope you are ready to do the same."
I swallowed hard and lifted my chin. I heard myself say in a voice just above a whisper. "Yes, Mrs. Cooper, I am."
"Very well," she said, with a slight yet fond smile. "I shall require your presence here over my knee. You will receive the same as Cheryl. And because the two of you are much too old for this sort of irresponsible behavior, I must be quite severe. Now raise your skirt, Roberta."
So! I was to receive no special favors. Good, I thought, but my stomach knotted in apprehension. My education in spanking etiquette was begun.
The tone of Mrs. Cooper's voice made it clear she would tolerate no dawdling, and certainly no pouting. Compliantly I reached for the hem of my sundress and slowly gathered it in folds about my waist, exposing my white cotton undies. The coolness I felt about my intimate parts was a shaming rebuke, and I blushed hotly. Mrs. Cooper only motioned me closer, uncrossed her legs, and took me over her lap. With her left hand she swept up my skirt and grasped me firmly at the elastic of my panties. With her right she made a final adjustment, gathering me in so that my legs were together and my feet fully off the floor.
Never before had I felt so helpless and ashamed. The courage with which I had agreed to my sentence seemed to fail, and the spanking had not even begun! From the depths of my nervousness I managed to speak, trying to express my remorse.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Cooper, I'm really sorry. I won't be any more trouble, I promise."
"I expect not, Roberta. Now, are we ready?"
"I'm frightened," I admitted meekly.
"Now, now, this won't be as bad as all that. The Lord gave you a padded place for correction, and I shall simply make good use of it. Now you just be still."
There was nothing else I could say. A wave of novel impressions and sensations swept over me. I was embarrassed, scared, and strangely accepting all at the same time. I was acutely aware of my behind, so prominently positioned, waiting for chastisement. My thin cotton panties felt somewhat askew, but I dared not adjust them. Mrs. Cooper had just warned me to be still, and I did not want to arouse her ire further. I could only wait for what was to come.
All was quiet. Outside the window a mockingbird broke into its evening song, and off in the distance a power mower whined. Mrs. Cooper reached for the ivory-backed brush.
I cried "Oh!" at the first spank, and closed my eyes for the second. It was not long in coming. Mrs. Cooper seemed to favor a brisk and regular pace. By the fourth or fifth stroke there was a smarting that did not subside between spanks. I wanted to whimper and plead, but I gave a thought for my dignity, and concentrated on keeping my buttocks relaxed--I had heard it hurt less that way. But all I accomplished was to snuggle deeper into Mrs. Cooper's elegantly-skirted lap. For her part, she took no notice of my distress, but continued with the task at hand. I surmised she had a certain number of spanks in mind, and that I would receive the full measure. She was unstinting, each swat a real stinger. I endured as best I could, but it seemed to me that Mrs. Cooper was intent on making me pay for every misdeed of my spoiled girlhood. I could at least take a bit of comfort from knowing that at long last I was being well and truly punished, and I persevered as long as I could--to this day I have no idea of the number of spanks I endured--but when the tears came I let them. I had earned the right to them.
Mrs. Cooper seemed to think so too. Her manner was decidedly gentle as she released me. I got shakily to my feet and she took both my hands in hers.
"I trust we've learned our lesson?" she inquired, looking deep into my eyes.
"Yes, ma'am," I managed through tears. She stood and put her arms around me.
"I treat you like a daughter because I think of you that way. It's not easy being loved, you know. You have to live up to it. Do you understand, Roberta?"
"I think so."
"Good. Now run along to your room. You and Cheryl are put to bed. And no supper for you both."
Back in the bedroom Cheryl shared with me was one of the more unusual sights of that eventful day: Cheryl stretched out on the bed with her delicate pink panties at mid-thigh, a cold compress crowning her bare behind.
"Don't laugh," she warned. "I made one for you, too."
I was grateful and made quick use of it, copying Cheryl's pose exactly. We made quite a spectacle, no doubt about it, but we didn't care. We were survivors, united by a common bond. Strangely enough, I felt wonderful. The warmth in my behind induced a mood as mellow as the sultry evening, and, with a big orange summer moon for company, Cheryl and I talked far into the night, sharing sisterly confidences.
Around midnight, Cheryl jumped up and went to the window.
"We've suffered long enough," she said. "We can climb down the old chinaberry tree here and let ourselves into the kitchen without waking Mom and Dad."
I was aghast. "Cheryl, I don't want another spanking, do you?"
She grinned. "Don't be silly. There'll be sandwiches already made, waiting for us."
She was right, there were.
"Mama's strict, but she does have a heart of gold," Cheryl commented as we dug in. She was right about that, too.
We finished Wuthering Heights and moved on to Jane Eyre. Sometimes Ray would join us, reading his favorite passages from Douglas Southall Freeman's Life of Robert E. Lee. The days passed dreamily, and we gave Mrs. Cooper no further cause to employ the hairbrush. I came again at Christmas, and the summer after that Ray proposed. It was on my wedding day that Cheryl told me that she had known from the first that I was the object of Ray's affections, and she had taken a spanking for me, so I was forever in her debt and mustn't forget it.
I owe all of Colbyville so much. Ray and I raised our family here. Mrs. Cooper is gone, but she left me the ivory-backed brush. A strange object for bequeathal, some thought, but she knew it would be meaningful to me. The rose design is still fresh, even after all these years. But then, Ray never did spank as hard as Mrs. Cooper!
[Photo: Reading in the Sunlight by garryknight at flickr.com]
