Chapter 1

 

I was young and naive when I met Carl. Handsome, bold, adventurous, successful, he overcame any doubts I might have had about him in a whirlwind courtship. He swamped me with pretties, lavished rich gifts on me. He took me to places girls of my simple background could only dream of. I was aware, vaguely, that he had a very limited circle of friends but paid it no mind, concerned only with what was happening to me.

My parents had both been gone for quite a few years. I had been raised by my grandmother, a woman of strict German ancestry. She loved me and I knew it but she demanded perfection. I, of course, was unable to be perfect. Consequently, I was always on the receiving end of her strap.

'This is going to hurt me more than you' never entered her thoughts. She firmly believed the way to a child's brain was through pain. As a child, I was spanked on bare buttocks; later, as I matured, Nana let loose without prejudice, often covering my whole body with her strap.

I remember one fearful incident well. I was probably about seventeen years old. I had gone to the school basketball game with a boy and strict orders to return home immediately after the game.

I did not and she went looking for me, finding me in the school parking lot, necking with my date.

"Caroline," she said simply, "Get home."

Nothing was said or done when I got home; she simply told me to go to bed, which I did. Early in the morning, at first light, she come into my room with her trusty strap, ripped the covers off my bed, tore off my nightgown and proceeded to whip me good. She explained that she was going to prevent me from becoming a slut if she had to remove every inch of skin from my body.

When it was all over, she took me to her room and bed. I cuddled into her bosom, sobbing myself to sleep. Much too soon, I was awakened, ate breakfast and went to school. The welts soon disappeared as did the memory of the pain but somewhere deep within, I had experienced strange sexual stirrings.

Actually I was quite spoiled. Anything I wanted I got but I did have to earn it. I remember my prom. I wanted a special dress which cost over One Hundred Dollars, a fortune in those days. One day, when I returned from school, the gown was there. It was everything I ever dreamed of with layer upon layer of pink sateen over mounds of crinolines with a modest bodice and gigantic appliqued bows.

Nana said it was mine but for the next five weeks I had to wash all the windows weekly, oil the woodwork, scrub the floors and do all the dishes daily. This was to be on top of my regular chores and my marks in school were not to suffer. If I worked hard, it would be mine in time for the prom. I did and it was.

Just before her death, more and more often, we would lay together in her big bed, just cuddling and talking. She told me of her childhood in Austria; how, when she was a girl, she was trained to wear a corset. Girls were laced in to create small waists which were looked upon, in those times, as a beautiful thing. Till the time of her death, she wore such a garment every day of her life.

So many times, I, as a young girl, was called into her room to help her tighten the stays. Often she said she would have to get one made for me but fortunately or unfortunately, it never came to be.

I have a special memory of one summer when I was a little girl and my mother was still alive. We had rented a cottage at the seashore before the start of the summer season. I couldn't have been more than eight or nine at the time. We had arrived early morning on a particularly hot day. As children would, I stripped off my clothes, then searched for my bathing suit. I couldn't wait to jump into the cool, inviting water. It seems we had forgotten to pack the suit for it was nowhere to be found. The little white house sat only feet from a pretty, fresh-water lake. I was ranting and raving because I did not have my suit. Nana said, "There is no one around; go like that! No one will see."

Without hesitation, I bolted out of the house into the cool, refreshing pine water. My mother was screaming and yelling about the naked child but Nana calmed her down, put on her own bathing suit and joined me. She swam like a fish in those days. After a while, we lay on the beach together. She had brought me a towel to cover my nakedness, yet I felt really naughty, in some strange way thrilled. For a few days until other vacationers arrived, I was allowed to run around naked as a jaybird.

That same summer, Mom and Nana took me visiting across the lake to some friends of theirs. These people had a son a couple of years older than me that I had a crush on. I thought he was the most beautiful person in the world. His name, I think, was Patrick O'Brien. I was playing nicely with my doll when Patrick came home.

He started teasing me as boys would, then took a scissor and cut off a large chunk of my hair. His mother saw him do it and called his father. I was crying; I looked funny with a chunk of my hair missing. The father, whose name I do not remember, grabbed Patrick and dragged him into the house. In those years, there was no such thing as child abuse or child abuse agencies. His father scooped up a thick leather belt from the chair in the bedroom.

"Come, young lady," he ordered. "Patrick is going to get a whipping for that." He ordered Patrick to strip, then spread himself out on the bed. It was the first time I had ever seen a boy naked. I was scared but took the trouble to look at the little thing that hung between his legs. It seemed so cute, hanging between the two miniature breasts. Patrick was scared too, and embarrassed; he knew what was going to happen. I tried to back out of the room but Mom and Nana prevented that.

"It's good that she see how other responsible parents correct their children." Nana said to Mom. I watched in horror as the father took his stance, brought the big belt back and let it loose across Patrick's buttocks. He moaned but did not cry out.

"Stubborn little cuss," the father volunteered, continuing to lash out on the prostrate figure on the bed. Patrick had grabbed the wrought iron rungs of the headboard and was hanging on, gritting his teeth. Obviously mortified, his hands turned white from his grip and a determination not to cry out, especially with me watching. With the same determination, his father continued to give him licks as serious welts appeared on Patrick's back and backside.

In a short time, Patrick started to plead and whimper but it fell on deaf ears. His papa hit him again and again. To this day, I can feel those lashes as they fell on Patrick's body.

He finally gave up and started to sob. Merciless, the father continued until Nana interrupted, saying simply and yet commandingly, "That's enough! Stop! That child's had enough."

I can remember so vividly the night Nana died. I was a sophomore in college, home for Easter vacation. Nana had given me a small allowance for my education which I tried not to waste coming home every weekend. When I had arrived home, she was lying on the sofa, all frail and quiet but smiling.

"You know it's been forty years since I've seen your grandfather," she said, "I am going to him soon."

"Nonsense," I said, but in my heart, I knew it was true. I glanced over at the doctor, who indicated it would not be long. There was nothing more he could do. At that instant, she said in her straightforward manner: "Goodbye, my love," closed her eyes and joined him in paradise.

Mom had died several years earlier. There had never been any love lost between us. She had pushed the responsibility of my growth onto her own mother, simply because she did not want to be bothered raising a child. At first I resented her, then, as the years went on, I felt sorry for her. She had built her own little world and rarely let any light in. When she went, it concerned me little.

When Nana's estate was probated, I discovered that I was left a few thousand dollars. It was always her wish and goal that I get a college education.

"Women need the education tool to become on an even status with men," she always said. I was determined to get that education, graduating from Seton Hall with top honours. It was soon after graduation that I met and married Carl.