Following on from Thursday’s post about spanking anecdotes of yesteryear, here is one that should have been included.

This little reminiscence of Rachel’s is similar to that of her namesake reported here back in 2009 in a post entitled, The Slipper and the Art of Spanking in 1970s England.

She writes:

In the last year of school when I had just turned 18 I tried to convince my parents that they should put more emphasis on me being an adult than a school girl.

I very much wanted to go a week away with my older brother, his mates and some of the neighbours’ kids, who were all a couple of years older than me.

I almost got Dad to go along with it, although I knew my brother and the others were not keen, and right up until the day before I was certain that I was going.

Then on the Saturday before we were due to leave two things happened to put the kibosh on things.

Firstly my brother and his mates turned up with beer and fags in my mother’s front room and made a mess. This set off alarm bells about what the coming week and what might happen. Seeing the mess they were making, I made myself scarce so as not to get caught up in it and joined the girls in the shed out back.

I had thought they were having a crafty fag and being discreet about it, but it turns out they were passing around a joint.

I know I should have run to my room, but I was so determined to fit in that I stayed.

Worse still, it was me holding the joint when Dad crashed the party. He went mental.

I got dragged over his lap for a walloping on my arse right in front of everyone. The total end of my street cred as an adult. It also meant the end to any chance I had of going away with the others.

I didn’t think it could get any worse, but that night Mum proved me wrong.

She insisted that Dad take’ proper measures’ with me. I knew what that meant.

From my mid teens on, when I was really naughty Dad would take me out to the utility room at the back of the kitchen that lay alongside the garage for a spanking. He would put an old slipper in a bucket of water, so that when I went out there it was there waiting for me.

Usually I was made to get in my pyjamas, as I was generally sent to bed right after even if it was the middle of the day.

This time it was the same, despite my pleading, I was so embarrassed. But it was jim-jam bottoms down and a sustained walloping on my bare arse with a wet slipper for me.

I was bawling like a kid and hoping it would soon be over when the garage door opened and my brother and two or three mates and some of the older girls were standing there in shock. The utility room door was open and through Dad’s legs (I was over his knee) I could see them so they could damn well see me.

I was still being teased about it 10 years later.