Where, how or why did your interest in corporal punishment start? With me it was seeing a girl have her bottom smacked by a teacher in junior school. It frightened me but gave me another strange feeling that I did not recognise.

When I was a child, I had a book about a boy called Thomas. Around the middle of the book was this sentence. “Thomas will be smacked with a slipper, a strap and a ruler.” There were pictures of the three implements.

I did not tell anyone that I found something very special, but did not know what, about the subject of smacking. After all these years I still have not told anyone.

I recall around the age of 8 or 9 realising that boys at my school could be slippered and that one day it might be me. I was quite certain that I would cry if it did; I didn't think I would be as tough as some of my friends whom I had seen touch their toes and knocked off-balance as a resounding thwack landed on their shorts. The look on their faces left no doubt that it hurt, but they didn't cry.

I attempted to find out how much the slipper might hurt by whacking my own bottom as best I could with one of my elder brother's plimsolls. These were much larger than mine and much more like what was used at school. Effective self slippering is not easy. It hurt quite a bit, but I was sure that it must hurt much more if administered by someone else. To compensate, I decided to steel myself and administer many whacks in quick succession - with my trousers down. I would decide on a number and be determined that they must all be delivered no matter how much it hurt. More often than not I bottled out before receiving the full complement. I got really cross with myself as I knew that if it was for real, the teacher wouldn't. I was puzzled that invariably by the end of the session, my willie had a bone in it and I had trouble pulling up my pants and trousers. I had no idea why this happened and I remember being a bit worried about it. It always went floppy again soon afterwards so all was well.

Time passed. My bottom successfully escaped the attentions of Mr Hughes, unlike that of many of my friends. I found I quite enjoyed the spectacle that was so often played out. I wanted to be slippered too, but I was still too timid to do things that might result in it. It nearly happened endless times, but somehow I managed not to get it. Whenever I could, however, I tried to keep my bottom prepared by self slippering. During these sessions I was often aware of a peculiar feeling in my willie when it had a bone in it. Not at all unpleasant, but a bit odd. One day I was particularly determined that every whack must be really hard. With slipper raised as high as I could I had to pluck up courage to follow through. Sometimes the anticipation of how much it might hurt was enough to delay the whack - but it had to be done! Sometimes involuntarily the whack would be much lighter than intended. After, I suppose four or five failed attempts at a really hard whack the slipper was raised again. This one would be really, really hard. The slipper stayed raised as I plucked up the courage. My willie now had a really odd feeling near the end. It was a very strange feeling and it was getting more and more intense. I wondered what on earth was happening to me. I dropped the slipper and stared at my willie aghast as the feeling was now overwhelming and it looked even harder than normal and was beginning to throb. I rushed to the bathroom as best I could with trousers and pants round my ankles not knowing what to do. I grabbed my willie just as something began to spurt out. It felt really weird, like nothing I had experienced before, but actually quite delightful.