I wanted to relate an event from my childhood that only just recently have I come to believe may be central to my love of maternal style discipline and the fulfillment that I have found as a DWC husband.
In the Deep South where I grew up, spankings were considered the accepted and natural way to discipline children. However, my father passed when I was very young and I don't recall him ever spanking me. My mom did spank me occasionally with a switch, fly swatter, or belt but, in retrospect, they were never particularly effective - although I'm sure I might have felt differently at the time. But they were not a real regular event, and I could usually beg, plead, and cry my way out of them - or at least shorten it to just a few whacks. My memories of my mom are certainly not as that of a disciplinarian.
When I was ten, I went to live at a church home for a year while certain family matters were being resolved. At that age, I had quite a temper and had never been effectively disciplined and was, by and large, out of control. My house-Mom there was one Mrs. Jones, an English lady. She was in her forties, quite trim and fit, and quite proper - and quite strict. Not liking her "strictness", the very first day I challenged her, much to my sorrow. With no hesitation, she summoned another house-Mom to come to my room and to bring the paddle. I started to run, but Mrs. Jones held me until the other house-Mom arrived moments later - at which point the two house-moms held me down over the edge of the bed while Mrs. Jones gave me a paddling I would never forget. After a few whacks, I was crying and pleading and begging - probably expecting this to end the spanking as it always had with my mom. But it did not work with Mrs. Jones. She ignored my pleas and made some remark like "Oh, I'm sure you won't do it again!" and kept right on paddling. I didn't count but there must have been at least 50 or so whacks before she was satisfied that I had learned my lesson. I was one very sorry and repentant young man when she was done with me!
It was the last childhood spanking I ever received. I had indeed learned my lesson and made it a definite point to be a model citizen for the rest of my stay at the church home. I certainly never dared to cross Mrs. Jones again! And it carried over. I returned home to live with my widowed mom and widowed aunt, but was from that point on, a very responsible young man who finished high school and college with honors.
I won't presume to make a statement on the morality or correctness of her actions or of corporal punishment of children in general. But - Mrs. Jones certainly made a change in my life!
Oddly, although a strong childhood memory, I never attributed my desire to be spanked by a strong loving woman with this event until recently -- when some private correspondence really brought this to light for me.
It was in the sexuality of adolescence that the thought of being soundly spanked by an assertive woman began to appeal to me, but I now believe that the erotic overtones of this desire always masked the fact that it all began with that one fateful afternoon when Mrs. Jones put me over the edge of the bed for a spanking