At university I was in a hockey team; just a league within the university. I was never good enough or, at 5 feet 2 inches on a good day, tall enough to compete at any sort of competitive level.

My team played in green kit from head to toe; we looked like unripe ears of corn. We each had our Christian name emblazoned on the backs of our shirts. Being called Jo, it didn’t take up much room! Our games were always on a Wednesday afternoon. Next door was a five-a-side football pitch which was constantly in use. One team always seemed to play at the same time as us and the goalkeeper, all 6 feet of him, was forever making eyes at me, and I flirted back occasionally.

One afternoon, his game finished and he came and stood by our pitch. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I had fancied him for a few weeks, but never had a chance to find out who he was. I totally lost the plot of the game, which in a game like hockey wasn’t the brightest of ideas. I mistimed a challenge and totally took out two of the opposition players, with me ending up in a heap with my skirt round my shoulders and blood streaming from my nose. I was so taken aback I started effing and jeffing at the two crumpled players, before I heard a loud sound from our crowd of one, who was stood no more than 10 feet from me.

Before I had a chance to say anything else, the referee gave me a yellow card and I was off the pitch for the next 5 minutes. Only 7 minutes remained on the clock. Disaster! What a way to make an impression. To make things worse, I had to stand on the touchline almost next to him.

“Well, Jo Green-knickers, is that how you normally play the game? Hardly lady-like!” he said in a strong Northern accent.”

I remember those words as though it was yesterday, and it took me a moment to work out how he knew my name.

“Not usually, no. Call it a rush of blood.” I was flushed and my mind was racing. I wanted to get back on the field, but I had 3 minutes left to serve.

“You got off lightly there, Jo Greenknickers. Very lightly indeed!”

2 minutes.

“Why?” I asked. “What would you have done? Sent me off?”

One minute.

No answer. I felt his eyes looking me up and down and was very aware of my short skirt flapping in the wind. At last, I was waved back on and played the last 2 minutes with a steely determination not to fall foul of the referee again. The final whistle went, I shook hands with the two girls I had flattened, and apologised again to the referee for my language. I picked up my kit and left the enclosure, disappointed the goalkeeper had disappeared.

“Catch!” came a voice as a water bottle landed on my bag. He had brought me water to cool me down. ‘How sweet,’ I thought, and took a long draw from the ice cold bottle.

“In answer to your question, no, I think a good spanking was due for the challenge and foul language, but I guess the referee can’t hand out that sort of punishment.”

I was taken aback, first thinking how dare he, before thinking, alright, go on then, let’s see you try.

“OK, if you are up for it, I’ll let you,” I said, expecting him to run a mile.

“OK, there is a store room in the building I have a key to. It’s just round the corner.”

With that, he linked my arm to his and walked me off into the sports hall, opened the door and locked it behind us. I wasn’t at all frightened, but in shock I had been so forward.

“By the way, my name is Tom. I thought you should know my name before spanking your knickers.”

With that, he sat on a chair, pulled me over his knee and started to spank me firmly and rhythmically. I felt my skirt being pulled up and the spanking got that little bit harder. After about a minute, Tom helped me up and asked if I was alright. I nodded as I rubbed my knickers under my skirt.

“I take it you’ve done that before?” I quipped, trying to break the ice again.

“Once or twice, yes,” he replied. “But never so deserved,” he added with a warm smile. He unlocked the door and opened it so I could leave.

“Is that it?” I screeched. “Do you always just spank a girl and walk off?”

Indeed, Tom didn’t. He invited me for a drink the following evening, which I obviously agreed to, and we have been together now for 18 years, very happily married for 14 of them. He still calls me Jo Greenknickers to this day, but not usually in company.

JO