When I was 15, I got my first copy of Playboy and fell in love with the centerfold featured at the top of this page. I hid that magazine under my mattress, only to have my mother discover it a few weeks later. She was appalled. As a result, I received one of the most severe spankings on my bare bottom with my mother's wooden hairbrush that I ever received. Ever since, there has been this confusing tension in my mind between sexuality and punishment. There were many, many more trips across my mother's knee during the rest of my teenage years, and I absolutely hated each and every one of those bare bottom spankings. There was nothing the least bit sexy or exciting about actually getting a spanking with my mother's awful wooden hairbrush at the time it was happening. I always ended up bawling uncontrollably, and I have never been as embarrassed as I was at those dreadful times when she would pull down my underpants. But, somehow the idea of getting spanked stuck with me and got inexplicably mixed up with my sexuality.