My first "adult"(ish) relationship began in high school, when I was fifteen. Having moved every two years--or less--of my life, I was fairly outcast when I returned to the farmland community in which my father had grown up and continued to reside, having begun junior high in the Bay Area, near San Francisco. By my Sophomore year, after a couple of years surrounded by the unsophisticated, small-minded cretins I had known periodically throughout my childhood, I didn't mind being an outcast at all. In fact, I found that the outcast caste was made up of much better people.
A girl moved back into town (as a courtesy, no names: herein referred to as "C"), from her family's home in Arkansas. She was not only attractive, but the first girl since I'd left the Bay Area that was attracted to me. She, too, immersed herself among the outcasts. We began dating with what was my first (real) kiss. Two months later, I lost my virginity--she had done so previously.
Like so many of the less popular girls, C enjoyed the New Kids On the Block, the Coreys (Haim & Feldman), cheap perfumes (what was the one shaped like an exclamation point?), and stone washed jeans. She also, religiously, liked to torture me with such blood-freezing phrases as, "we need to talk", "I'm fat", and "I forgot to take my pills (for the last 3 days). I think I'm pregnant." These, in addition to the matching t-shirts with both our names printed over a heart, and finally deciding to move away, were enough to send me to the mental ward...but that's another story.
Although we went to the same school (200 students, junior high & high school), we lived in different towns (all farmland, with a lot of space between residences). Often, I would ride the bus home with her, and we'd spend hours in her bedroom (mostly having sex, of course); half the time, with her white trash mother and little brother in the living room of their mobile home (I did not believe in the concept of "white trash" until getting to know these people). The days that her mother actually worked, however, were much more fun.
One such day, as we lied naked in C's bed between bumping uglies sessions, she began the "I'm fat" game. This particular time, each time she said it, I would flip her over and give her a few rapid spanks on her bare bottom. She would giggle, flip back over on her side, and continue to plague me with that dreaded phrase. I was well aware of my extreme libidinous fixation with spanking by this point in my life, but was nowhere near coming to terms with it. The game continued for 15-20 minutes, during which time I strongly wanted to pull her over my knee and actually spank her, but I was too afraid, still thinking something was wrong with me for my interest in spanking. Looking back, I think that she probably would have let me, and may have really liked it.
A number of times, she had told me stories of her spanking history, which I devoured hungrily, and came back for more. The stories that were most prevalent, and most interesting to me, were about her uncle in Arkansas. The whole clan lived together (at least, very near each other), including a set of grandparents, C and her mother & brother, at least one uncle & aunt, and cousins: 3 or 4 boys & a girl. Apparently, all the kids were very naughty, and all tended to get into trouble together--and often. C's uncle was the disciplinarian. When he was angry, he would tell them to line up. The boys would all fight to be first in line, all of them knowing that he spanked harder with each new miscreant down the line. The two girls, although older than the boys, knew they couldn't push their way to the front, so they always were last--C told me she believed her uncle took it easier on them anyway. Once they were in line, bottoms all facing the same direction, he would pull their pants and underwear down in the back, one at a time, and spank their bare bottoms with his belt. I don't know if they were standing bent over, or perhaps pulled over his lap--maybe even just over one knee while he remained standing; I was too nervous to show my exuberance by asking too many specific questions. I did, however, ask when C had last been spanked this way, and it had only been a relatively short amount of time (she had definitely been fully developed...). She told me of a time--near the last time she was spanked by her uncle--when she and the other female cousin had wanted to show how grown up they were, so they managed to take their spankings without crying. The uncle didn't like that! When he had finished spanking both of them, and still neither had cried, he said something to the effect of, "Not crying, huh? I guess I'll have to spank you again!" C said they both burst into tears immediately, but he began their spankings anew. They never tried to hold back their tears again.
Of course, I was enthralled by her stories--I still have images in my head from my wild imagination at the time--but my reactions confused me even more. While I enjoyed the, for me, erotic aspect of the stories, I was simultaneously angered by the idea of C's being hurt (typical, I think, of all young lovers). Similarly, while I was giving her each light flurry of spanks during the "I'm Fat" game, I wanted to really spank her, but would never have wanted to hurt her. The catharsis of finally slapping my palm against a bare female bottom was contradicted by protective instincts that held me back.
...The truth is, she really could have used a good spanking.
This is C. Doesn't it look like she just got a swat on those turquoise panties?