Een herinnering van een Amerikaanse vrouw over een slaapfeestje in 1975, toen iedereen 17 of 18 jaar was.

Het bleek dat er maar één meisje was dat niet op haar billen kreeg.

When girls get together for a sleepover at a friend’s house, it goes without saying that they don’t sleep. They eat munchies, talk and giggle all night, and when the sun comes up they finally conk out. I had my share of slumber parties when I was a teenager, and I miss those days.

When I was sixteen I was invited to my friend Faith’s house with five other girls, all seven of us stuffed into Faith’s room, equipped with sleeping bags and pillows. Faith’s mom had provided sheet pizza and diet soda, together with a variety of flavored potato chips. Faith even had a television in her room, but our area only had three channels and they all went off the air after midnight. And of course, neither videotapes nor DVD’s had been invented yet. This was the summer of 1975 and we were all headed for our Senior year of high school.

We sometimes got carried away with our chatter, and when that happened Faith’s mom would knock at the door before opening it with a friendly warning. “Ladies, keep it down, please. It’s late.”
“OK. Mom,” said Faith–and after a few minutes the noise and giggles would resume.
“Hey, keep it down!” warned Laura. “Your mom is gonna come up here and spank you.”
“Naw, she won’t,” said Faith. “She’s never spanked me in my life.”
Joan looked at Faith in disbelief. “You never got a spankin’?”
“No,” Faith admitted.
“Wow,” said Rachel. “Your house must be like heaven!”
The other girls, including me, chorused “Yeah!”
“You mean,” Faith asked, “you guys get spanked still?”
“Oh sure!” Joan said. “My mom uses the back of her hairbrush.”
“So does my mom,” I admitted. “Right on the bare!”
Faith asked, “You mean she takes your undies down?”
“She sure does!” I said. “Then she swats me right on the skin.”
“My mom leaves my undies on,” said Joan. “But it hurts just the same. She always says she’s gonna burn my bloomers,” Joan added with a laugh. The rest of us laughed too.
“Well,” Faith asked, “how does she do it? I mean, does she put you over her lap or something?”
“Well yeah!” said Joan. “She puts me right over her knee and pulls my dress up. Then she paddles my underpants with her hairbrush.”
“That’s how I get it too,” I said. “My mom takes me to the bathroom and pins up my skirt and pulls my panties down. Then she puts me over her lap and spanks me good. She even makes me count the spanks!”
“My dad spanks me,” Sharon said. “He has this retarded stick. He makes me bend over my bed and he pulls up my skirt. Then he wallops me on the panties with the stick.”
“You show your undies to your dad?” Faith gasped.
“Well sure!” Sharon replied. “That’s how I get spanked. It’s only my dad. He’s seen my underwear. No big deal.”
“My mom uses a strap,” Laura said. “She makes me take my clothes off and stretch out on the bed with my butt raised up on pillows. Then she uses this big strap on me.”
“You have to get naked?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said Laura. “Everything off.”
“But,” I continued, “does anybody else see you?”
“Not usually,” Laura said. “She takes me to my room and shuts the door. But if my sister is gonna get whipped too, my mom makes us both take our clothes off. And that strap really hurts. She dips it in water first so it really burns!”
“That’s awful!” said Faith.
Cynthia got up and went for a square of pizza from the box on Faith’s vanity bench. “Oh, I give my dad the championship when it comes to spanking!” she admitted.
“What does he do?” asked Laura.
“Well,” said Cynthia, “he has this thing, you know like half a coat hanger. It’s like a big wooden coat hanger broken in the middle so one side looks kind of like a little paddle. He makes me pull my underpants down and go over his lap. And boy, does he hit hard!”
Faith said, “I can’t believe all you guys get spanked like little kids! Aren’t you too big for that?”
“Doesn’t Mr. Donaldo still paddle kids in school?” Cynthia reminded her. “I hear some of them are eighteen!”
“I never got the paddle,” Faith said. “Did any of you guys?”
“No,” we all said. I did not know that my experience with the principal’s paddle was still nearly a year away.
“How about you, Barbara?” Faith asked. “Do you get spanked too?”
Barbara acted as if she were reluctant to share. “Yeah, I do,” she admitted. “My mom uses a ping pong paddle from the rec room. She makes me pull sown my jeans and bend over this footstool thing, down on my knees. Then she paddles me with it. Sometimes she hits the back of my legs with it too.”
“So does my mom,” I said. “That really hurts!”
“Why don’t your mom and dad spank you?” Cynthia asked Faith.
“They say they don’t believe in it,” Faith said. “They say there are other ways to correct a kid when she’s naughty.”
“Well like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Faith sighed. “Like getting grounded in my room with the TV unplugged, or maybe not even having something like this sleepover. I think that would hurt worse than any spanking.”
“Then,” Laura laughed, “you haven’t felt my mom’s wet belt on your bare butt!”
Finally we all looked at Rachel, who hadn’t really contributed to the conversation.
“How about you, Rachel?” I asked. “Do you get spanked?”
“Yeah, I do,” Rachel admitted with the air of a girl who seemed reluctant to talk about it. “My dad cuts a switch and whips me with it sometimes.”
“On your bare?” I asked.
“No, usually I have jeans on, or a skirt and he doesn’t lift it up. He sends me to the garage and makes me bend over his workbench. It’s not too bad, but it can really sting once he gets going!”
“That’s how my mom used to get it,” I said, “except it was on her bare. But that was in the olden days, when everybody got whipped in one way or another.”
“Well,” Faith concluded, “it seems to be alive and well nowadays too, with all you guys telling me you still get it!”
“What if,” Cynthia asked Faith, “what if you did something like really bad and you asked your mom and dad to spank you? Do you think they would?”
“Oh I doubt it,” Faith said. “It’s just something they don’t believe in.”
“Maybe they ought to talk to our parents,” said Cynthia.
“A lot of good that would do!” Rachel said.
“Besides,” I warned the other girls, “none of these stories are supposed to get out of this room! I don’t want any boys finding out that we get tanned with our pants down! They would never let us hear the end of it.”

“Can we talk about something else now?” suggested Laura. “Like maybe boys?”

And so the conversation shifted to another lively topic.

(bron tekst: experienceproject)

(bron foto: unknown)

Eerder gepubliceerd op het Daphne Fotoblog op 10 januari 2015.