The Origin of Spankings, pt. 2: The Babysitter Incident

The following is a true story, and one which I believe played a pivotal role into making me a lifelong Spanko. I was 8 or 9 at the time. We lived in a typical house in a typical suburb. Brenda was probably 18, and literally, the girl next door. Well, the girl across the street, anyway.  The descriptions and images are the truest that my memory can supply -

Brenda had babysat me and my brother a few times, and I'm sure I had a crush on her. I'd often fantasized about being over her knee, but with my brother around, it seemed too difficult to pull off - he would have told my parents if she had punished me, and I didn't want my parents involved in any way. But that particular night, he'd gone to a sleepover at a friend's, and I knew that if I were ever to get her to spank me, it would have be now or never.

The budding Spanko inside me concocted several schemes designed to ignite Brenda's temper and earn myself a spanking, but I knew that none of them were a guarantee. I was a quiet, shy, and well-behaved child and had never given her any trouble. I had no idea how she would react if I just started misbehaving. She might only get mad enough to chew me out, and - while the idea of being angrily scolded by this young woman excited me - I was afraid I might get too intimidated to push her to the next level if she were not encouraged to go there herself. I had to do something that. once done, was impossible for me to back out of. The solution was obvious and childishly simple.

I would just walk straight up and and ask her if she would give me a good spanking. Please.
 

Easy, right?  No. Like the saying goes, easier said than done. I had to psych myself into it. This was not going to be an easy leap from shy little boy to nasty little brat. A war of wills raged inside me between desire and fear that still echoes down the years. That evening I discovered the power of anticipation. You know what I mean - that electric concoction of excitement and rising trepidation, what I call the thrill and the chill, that adrenalin-pumping suspense when you know the time is drawing inexorably closer. To this day, I still find that to be as potent an experience as that of the spanking itself.

I was playing on the living room floor while she sat with her homework on her lap. Bare, pretty knees poked out from beneath her books; picturing myself perched over them bolstered my determination. 

 A hundred questions raced through my mind - how would she react when I asked her to spank me? Would she get angry? Laugh at me? Refuse and send me to bed? If she agreed, how would she do it? Would she turn me over her knee, or just stand up and start whacking? Would she give it me barebottom? Maybe make me fetch her a hairbrush? How many swats? Would she spank hard and fast, or slow and measured, alternately scolding and driving her points home with an explosive flurry of  swats? How long would it go on, and would I break down? If I started to cry, would she stop? Or just spank harder?
All these mysteries only served to add fuel to the fire. Several times I told myself 'now!' but still chickened out. 

After all, Brenda may have been a slim girl, but she had thick arms and wide shoulders, probably capable of delivering some very solid swats. It would be a hard spanking, and I'd deliberately put on the thinnest pajamas I had to ensure I got the most from what I had coming to me, should Brenda not be willing to expose my barebottom.

It took a long time to screw up my courage, but with my bedtime drawing close, I had to either get up or give up. So I got up. I'm sure my knees were shaking, and my heart pounding as I approached her chair, enrapt in a boyish sense of wonder. The adrenalin must have been raging.

I remember Brenda looking quizzically at me as I stood beside her (in just the proper spot should she have a mind to drag me down over her lap), as I stumbled over my words. Somehow I managed to blurt out my request.  She reacted with predictable wide-eyed shock, which turned to outrage surprisingly quickly. 
I don't recall anything she said, but I do remember being shocked myself at how quickly I found myself staring face to face with the carpet.

I suppose she must have scolded me, because I had time to reflect on my situation. I was really in for it! Over Brenda's knee and about to get a good hard spanking! The excitment of the moment and the feeling of lying over her lap were winning out over the fear. I guess I was entering that peculiar headspace that spankees often experience. It's like your mind says, 'OK, this is now unavoidable, so I'll deal with it by embracing it fully.'

So what happened next?

Nothing.

Believe it or not, that was the moment my parents chose to come home. I guess Brenda and I were both too occupied in our little drama to have heard the car pulling up. There was no warning until we heard them at the front door. They would not have seen us the moment they entered, but a few steps inside and the view of the babysitter with their son over her knee would be plain enough. Understandably, Brenda panicked and hauled me back to my feet before my folks actually stepped inside.
I don't remember much else, other than standing there, still trembling, awash in a runaway mix of emotions - mostly embarrassment and frustration. 
Brenda had acted quickly, and my parents had not noticed anything amiss. But they shouldn't have been there - it was too early. I think they had come home early because one of them had not felt well. Brenda said nothing about the incident, but she left hurriedly, and never came back to sit me again.

I am sorry if the ending to this story is disappointing  - think how I felt about it! - but I can only relate what actually transpired. I wish I could tell you that she spanked me good and hard, gave me a stern lecture, and marched me up to my room, but ....
Anyway, the point of it all is that I sometimes wonder if only getting to the brink of realizing my boyhood spanking dreams that night actually had a more galvanizing effect on my Spanko-ness than if I had gotten a good shellacking from Brenda. The effect of that evening was to instill a powerful memory of the thrill of the anticipation, unmitigated by the memory of any serious discomfort.


Then again, maybe it would not have made a difference in the end.  I suspect Brenda probably would have had me regretting my request in short order, but the memory of the pain would have faded with time, while the adrenalin rush of that anticipation and the thrill of being over her lap would have lingered on.

 And on and on....