A Childhood Spanking, Not My Own

When my younger sister, Laurette,  was about six, she wanted to visit a friend of hers who lived at the end of our street, a long, tree-lined block of large, single-family homes.  There were only two couples with children who lived on that street: my parents with six children still at home and the other, younger, couple with three, one of whom was my sister's age.  The rest of the people on that street were widows, except for one who had always been single.  The youngest of them was eighty, the eldest over 100, so it was a quiet neighborhood.  My father used to joke that there was something in the water that kept those women alive for so long and they were all single, he teased, because they had done in their husbands for the insurance.  My father had a wry wit. Laurette, good girl that she was, asked, and received permission from, my mother to walk all the way to the end of the block to play with her friend. In today's world, no six year old would be allowed to so much as walk to the house next door without her mother standing right next to her, but things seemed safer when my sister and I were children. As later events would indicate, her friend was not at home and so Laurette walked over to the next block and found another friend to play with that day. She didn't think to call my mother and provide this information to her, however. Later that day, my mother called the home of my sister's friend only to find that Laurette was not there and that the family had only recently arrived home.  My mother told my father she could not find my sister and my father got into his car to look for her.  At that point, the bell tolled for Laurette and that little girl's life would never be the same again. Since Laurette had only two friends in the entire neighborhood, it didn't take long for my father to find her.  When he brought her into the house, she was softly crying.  He was silent and serious. Holding her hand, he walked her across the living room and into my parents' bedroom. I didn't know what my father was going to do, but I knew my sister was in trouble and I was glad I was not in her shoes.  Moments later, I walked into that room and saw my father sitting on the bed, Laurette over his knee.  He appeared to be quite calm as he spanked her little bottom.  My sister was crying much the same as she had been before he began spanking her.  I wonder if, when he found her, he told her he was going to spank her.  I wonder what that forewarning would have sounded like to her delivered in that quiet, gentle, voice of his .  I wonder if she got into the car and rode the short distance home knowing every second of the trip that she was to be spanked for the first time in her life.  I don't remember her kicking or pleading while my father spanked, or behaving in any of the ways described in spanking stories I've written or read. Heart pounding in both fear and, I later realized, excitement, I walked out of that room.  I am certain I walked quickly but, as I remember it, my trembling legs did not want to move and didn't seem to even though I was aware of walking.  There was a pulsing between my legs that made my bodywant to stop and my legs stiffen, but I kept moving. That was not the first time I had seen anyone get spanked, but it was the first time I had seen either of my parents spank one of my siblings.  I was fifteen at the time and had never been spanked.  Later that evening, as I held that image of my sister being spanked in my mind, my father's serious expression, his hand smacking Laurette's bottom and then rising again, I remembered that when I was six, I had done exactly what my sister had done.  When my father found me, he brought me home and gently explained to me, in the presence of my weeping mother, that they had been worried and that I must promise that I would always let them know where I was.  No spanking.  Not even a scolding.  Nine years later, I saw my sister get spanked for the same transgression.  The bell had tolled, but not for me.