I grew up in a small Indiana town. It was just my mom and my brother, who was a year younger than myself. We had been alone since I was about five years old. My dad left my mom and us, and we hadn’t heard from him in years.

When I was about twelve years old, my mom started dating a man who, after a year, became my stepdad.

My mom had used little discipline on us. She threatened us with a paddle every once in a while, but she never followed through. So, after the time I was about eight or nine, I figured out it was all a scare tactic.

The only person who my brother and myself had to worry about was our grandpa, my mom’s dad. He meant business. If we got out of hand and my mom had to call grandpa, we knew we were either getting a spanking or worse, the belt, if he had to come over to keep us in line.

When my mom started dating Bryan, he really didn’t say a lot when me and my mom got into arguments. By this time I was twelve. Now, a twelve-year-old girl and her mom rarely gets along. Shortly after my thirteenth birthday, Bryan and my mom got married. Bryan had no kids of his own, and now having stepchildren was a learning curve for him.

It wasn’t long after the wedding that my mom and I got into a screaming argument. I told mom that she was a bitch and that I was running away from home. I wasn’t sure where I was going, but I stormed upstairs and started packing.

Bryan owned his own construction company based just a mile or so from the house. I guess my mom texted him and told him he needed to come home as soon as possible. I could hear them talking downstairs. My mom was furious, and she told him to deal with me. I could hear him asking what that meant, what was he supposed to do with me? He didn’t know. He was new to being a parent.
Mom told him to ground me, spank me, take my TV away, just whatever.

“Discipline her,” she said. “Take her back to work with you too; she says she is running away.”

Soon Bryan came upstairs, knocked on my door and came into my room. I told him I was moving out and to get out of my room. He replied that this was his house and no one would disrespect him in his house.

I was thirteen at the time, and a smart-mouthed kid. I could tell he was far more nervous than I was. I asked him what he planned to do about it. Just as I suspected, he kinda stood and looked at me with nothing to say. I had him where I wanted him. My mom couldn’t do anything with me, and now I could see he couldn’t either. He told me to come along to work with him. I had to spend the day with him to get me away from my mom.

On the way to the truck, he asked if I had called my mom a bitch. I told him I did, and that seemed to really make him mad. I got into his truck and slammed the door fairly hard. He told me I had better watch my actions or I would be in trouble.

When we got to his work office, Bryan got a call on his cellphone from my grandpa. He stepped out of his office and talked to him in private. I guess my mom called grandpa and told him what had gone on, and grandpa called Bryan to talk about me, I guess.

Bryan came back into his office and told me my grandpa wasn’t happy about my behaviour and told him not to put up with it. Bryan said my grandpa told him that if either one of his grandkids acted like that then to take it upon hisself to bust their asses.

Then I remember being shocked when Bryan told me we could do it the easy way or the hard way, but it was going to happen. That happened nine years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday.
He said I could take my punishment like a young lady and do as I was told, or he could hold me down and bust my ass. His office was in the back of the building, since he was the owner. The only other person there was his secretary in the very front.

In my mind, I was screwed. If I put up a fight, then I would probably get it from my grandpa the next time I saw him. So, I decided not to fight him. I asked if I could just get my punishment at home that night and not in his office right now.

He said no, and to stand and come to his desk. He walked and shut his office door, and then told me to bend over his desk. I had some kind of shorts on. Not blue jean shorts, but cotton or something. They were not much protection for what seemed sure was about to happen.

As I bent over, I heard the worst sound I could imagine. He was unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops. I turned around and asked him to please not use the belt. He said to please just let’s get this over with. This was the easiest, quickest way. He didn’t feel it was right to use his hand since I was a young lady.

I turned back around and laid over the desk. He put his hand on my lower back to hold me in place and gave me about six or seven decent licks. I told myself not to cry. He definitely didn’t whip me as hard as my grandpa had in the past, but it still hurt, especially when he missed my butt and hit the back of my bare legs a couple of times. That brought tears to my eyes, but I didn’t cry.

He let me up and I watched television the rest of the day at his work. I was on better behaviour after that, but I still got a few more whippings from then until I moved out at age nineteen.

I will write about those memories another time.
MDW