The fascination with being spanked by Mr Anderson grew over the school break of 1957. Although I did receive a few from mom and Uncle Rob over the summer, they were not as intense and exciting as the ones from the principal. Maybe it was the fact he was not related, he was a bit of a surrogate father figure, and it occurred somewhere other than in a home. I don’t know for sure why it was the way it was, but I knew I that I thought about it often.
I rarely misbehaved from a non-event just to get it, but if I felt I was being picked on and by retaliating to the miscreant would result in one, then so be it. During the summer, as I went from 11 to 12, I became more and more concerned with my body, looks and height, which I suppose is very normal. When I would get up in the morning, I would look at myself in the bathroom mirror with only my underwear on and wonder why I had to be so short for my age. Today I am 5 ft exactly and during that summer I measured myself at 4 ft 11. I was thin, pale and short. My only good asset was my backside which provided good padding where I needed it. My chest had yet to catch up.
I was envious of the girls who had long legs and walked and conducted themselves confidently, and hoped that one day I would achieve those qualities to which I did not. And that summer had a lot of discussions among the adults regarding the ruckus down in not-too-far-away Little Rock, Arkansas regarding the forced desegregation of schools. So, after Labor Day, 1957, my seventh year in school started. This was to be a somewhat interesting year in that I was now in what was called then, Junior High. Unlike the schools in the big cities and counties, we did not go from one classroom to the next. Instead the different instructors came to us during the day, so we never left the classroom except for gym and lunch.
I avoided a trip to the office until the first week in November. We had just started getting dressed for PE class and my nemesis, Ginny, who had just come in to give something to her sister, looked at me and commented that I looked like I should be in 3rd grade instead of 7th because I was so small. Then she came by where I was putting on my shoes, flicked my shoulder length locks and said: “Is your hair real?” Well, that did it!
I had had taken enough of her crap, so I stood up and rammed my head into her gut knocking her to the floor. A commotion broke out and Mrs Harwood, the girl’s gym coach, came in quickly and separated us.
When she asked what this was all about, I gave my version of events to which she replied: “So you responded to taunting with violence? Now get dressed and we are going to the office.”
Soon I was on that ever more familiar pathway to the main office and soon I was waiting in the waiting room for the principal’s office.
I noticed a small placard on the wall that was a new addition. It said, ‘The one who spares his rod hates his child, but the one who loves his child is diligent in disciplining him.’ Or something to that effect, and I realized later it was from the bible but was worded a bit different than the way the pastor at church said it. I also noticed a mirror affixed to the back of the door coming from the main office, so I stood up to see how I looked. My dark green dress with two white stripes at the bottom was a bit wrinkly. My green plastic headband pushed my medium blonde hair away from my face and my black Mary Jane shoes were a bit scruffy on the toe area. Then the door behind me opened and I was invited in to Mr Anderson’s office. As I went inside, this strange intense feeling that had been growing in me for the past two years was really strong at the moment. Why did I feel this way and was I normal or was there something wrong with me?
Just as I began standing in front of his desk, his black rotary phone rang, and he answered it and talked to someone for about a minute. Then he said: “Hey, I have to go, I have an issue I have to take care of. Okay, bye.” Then he looked up at me and said as he chuckled: “Well, Emily, this is your first visit this year, I would have thought it would have been sooner.”
Then he looked at the note he had written down and continued. “I know Ginny probably got under your skin a bit but responding with physical violence as a result of her conversation is not acceptable here. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir, Mr Anderson.”
“Well, let’s take care of business, shall we?” He then stood and came around the side of his desk, grabbed the chair to my right and moved it to the mirror. This time, instead of facing the mirror, he placed it sideways so that my head would be to the left side.
He took me by the shoulder, turned me toward the chair and said his usual: “Bend over please and grab the edges of the seat with your hands flat. Do not get out of position, okay Em?”
“Yes sir, Mr Anderson.” I glanced to my right at my image in the mirror and looked at myself as I bent over into position. I continued to look in the mirror as I bent over the chair and grasped the seat. This was an interesting perspective that I found fascinating.
Then he stated: “Let’s get started.”
I saw Mr Anderson approach from behind with the paddle in his right hand. I watched him take his left hand, grab the edge of my green dress and pull it over my back to get access to my panty covered behind. He pressed down with his left hand to keep my dress in place and then I saw the paddle as he began rubbing it on my behind.
I remember feeling both nervousness and excitement at the same time just as I heard him say: “Here we go,” and I saw the paddle go up in the air and come back down with a loud ‘whack!’
Instantly I turned my head to looking down and I gripped the seat harder as I exhaled and tried to absorb the huge wave of stinging that had just come upon me. I looked back through the open area of the chair between the seat and the back to see my scruffy knees just below the edge of my dress. I could see them shake a bit when the next swat found its target: ‘Whap!’
I also felt Mr Anderson’s cool left index finger and thumb touch my skin between where he was holding my dress in place and the edge of the waistband of my panties. As with the last few spankings, I was determined not to cry.
The remainder went something like: Whap 3 “owww” Whap 4 “ahhh” Whap 5 “ssssss” Whap 6 “ohhh” Whap 7 “sssss” Whap 8 “ouchie” Whap 9 “ooohh” Whap 10 “ssssss” Whap 11 “owwww” Whap 12 “sssssss” Whap 13 “ahhhhh” Whap 14 “ooohh” Whap 15 “sssssss” Whap 16 “ahhhhh”
As before, I tried to shift my behind as much as I could to get the stinging even across my bottom. When he was done, he looked at me in the mirror looking at him and said that if I was going to resort in a physical sense to jokes and taunts, then he would do the same to my backside. He then lifted his left hand; I stood up and my dress fell back into place. He dismissed me and as I walked the way back to my classroom, the stinging and afterglow were all I could concentrate on. I even walked past my classroom for a bit before I realized what I had done.