From: sfpo8@aol.com (SFPo8) Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking Subject: Po8 and the comics as a child Date: 17 Jan 1995 20:40:11 -0500 This article appeared in DDD last year; a poetic version was posted a week ago. Several people have let me know that they remember these comic book spankings fondly, so I think the article deserves posting here. There is a second part about other sources of pleasure for a child in the 50s, which I will post in the future if anyone responds to this. By the way, if anyone has or knows of a copy of the Practical Pig book mentioned, please, PLEASE let me know. I have wanted it back for almost 50 years! Childhood Memories: A True Story Is it possible for a very young child to be stimulated, fascinated, possibly obsessed with spanking in the same ways as many adults are? Absolutely. I was. My memories of childhood fantasy and self-stimulation are quite clear; my only uncertainty is how young I was when it all started. Certainly, by the time I was in fifth grade, age ten, spanking had long since taken on a special meaning for me. I remember that date because of an incident at summer camp. Some children had formed a secret club, and the initiation into it was to be spanked by another member. I recall that I was excited at the prospect, yet fearful that, somehow, the other children present would realize that I was really eager to be spanked, looking forward to it, in fact. I believed that, for the other children, it was a test of bravery or ability to withstand pain, while for me it was an adventure. So I hid my feelings; the spanking, by hand, trousers hastily lowered, was quick and relatively painless, and I laughed it off. I do not know if any of the other boys involved enjoyed the initiation, but I know now that I had long before come to look upon spanking as a special, secret part of my life. Curiously, I have no other recollection of being really spanked as a child. I remember my mother once, frustrated at some behavior, putting me over her knee and whacking me a few times at my grandmother's house, but I was fully clothed and felt nothing except a little humiliation. I remember her asking me once, angrily, "Would you like a good spanking?" and my wanting to answer "Yes!" But if I was ever really spanked, I do not recall it. My fascination with spanking came not from the real world but from books and comics. I learned to read at age five, so I must have been six or a little older when I discovered The Katzenjammer Kids! Every Sunday the color comics showed the Captain or the Professor with Hans and Fritz over their knees, stars emanating from their plump bottoms to show the effects of the spanking they were undergoing. Usually, the kids got spanked for something they didn't do, and then they retaliated by playing a trick on the odd adults who populated their strip. But either at the beginning or the end, they almost always got spanked, and I would lie on my stomach, poring over the pages, loving it. Now, of course, I understand what was happening as I lay on my stomach, wriggling, stimulating myself while I read. It felt so good rubbing myself against the floor or bed, but I did not know why, at that age. This was long before I had any understanding of sex. All I knew was that I was in the same position, physically, as those children being spanked, and it felt good. There was only one activity which I knew of that one engaged in when lying on one's stomach: a spanking! And that position caused intense pleasure for me. Thus, whenever I had the opportunity, I would go to my room, lie on the floor, look at the Katzenjammer Kids getting spanked, while wriggling with delight until relief and ecstasy came. Somehow I knew this was a secret pleasure I could share with no one else, and for years I believed it to be my own deep, dark, strange secret, setting me apart from the rest of the world. (At night I would often lie in bed on my stomach, imagine spanking scenes, and achieve climax in the same way. When I reached puberty at age 12, I finally could not help but realize what had been happening all those years, and it was an incredible surprise and shock.) I remember two Donald Duck comic books which I especially loved and reread, probably about age eight. One contained a four-panel strip showing Donald in a store, buying a hairbrush. He discarded all the best models and finally bought a cheap, wooden one; the payoff, of course, was in the last panel, which showed that the only use for the hairbrush was to administer spankings to his three nephews, who had broken a window. Ever time I read the strip, I experienced again the anticipation of knowing why Donald wanted that cheap, wooden, oval model. And the final drawing, showing one bawling, already well-spanked nephew, another over Donald's lap, the hairbrush being put to good use, and the third waiting his turn, nervously, anticipating his punishment, excites me today as I recall it and identify with all the nephews at once: the sore-bottomed, spanked nephew, the one undergoing a spanking, and the one watching and waiting for his own hairbrush session. There was another, similar strip I enjoyed almost as much. Donald was missing some vitamins and accused his nephews of taking them; if none confessed, he promised to spank all three. In the final drawing, as nephew number two is being spanked, a ferocious mouse appears, growling, the obvious culprit. The joke seemed to me very silly, but I loved contemplating the situation. What if I were the first nephew, already spanked, or the second, spanked only a little? Should the third, equally innocent nephew be spanked anyway to even things up? How exciting it would be, I thought, as I writhed and thrust against the carpet, to be spanked for no reason! There must have been at least one artist in the Disney studio who was a real spanking fan, even though this would have been his well-kept secret, of course. I say this not just because of the Donald Duck cartoons; after all, few people except myself would have found them exciting. In fact, since ducks do not have human anatomies, it is surprising that I could have been as stimulated by those slightly pink, starry, feathered behinds as I was. Perhaps it was the fact that the duck nephews wore no trousers, only jackets, and so, in my mind, were being spanked on the bare bottom (even if they were only duck bottoms) which made the drawing exciting. But the absolutely best Disney art, for me, was my treasured book, The Practical Pig. This was an adaptation of a cartoon sequel to The Three Little Pigs. I have never seen the actual film cartoon, and I imagine it lies buried deep in the Disney vaults. Today, in a less innocent age, its eroticism would be all too obvious. It related how the eldest pig, Practical, built a lie detector to protect himself and his brothers from the wolf. When the wolf came to the door, and his lying excuses for enticing the pigs outside were detected, the doormat sank beneath him, and he was pictured entrapped in a machine which washed his mouth out with soap at the same time as he was being soundly spanked. This part of the story was actually only of mild interest to me. I could not identify with the wolf. But later in the story, the two foolish little pigs, against their brother's orders, go swimming, are captured by the wolf, and eventually escape. When they return home their brother asks them where they have been. They lie. Instantly, the machine grabs them, and the following illustration is one of the great spanking pictures of all time. It shows the two pigs, helpless, buckled to some kind of apparatus side by side, their pants pulled down, their arms pinioned by shiny metal clamps. Their human-like little bared bottoms are exposed and already reddening, as two huge hairbrushes deliver sound mechanical spankings. Even today, I remember the story's conclusion: "'This hurts me more than it hurts you,' Practical said. Wham! He dodged, but it was too late. The lie detector always worked." The final picture showed Practical, hanging from a conveyer belt, his pants being lowered, on his way to get his own spanking from the impersonal machine. How I remember squirming in joy and ecstasy, wishing I could somehow have my own machine, unknown to the outside world, which would bare my bottom and give me the spanking I felt I deserved for my secret, naughty thoughts and pleasures!