I don't remember having the stereotypical "kid in a candy shop" experience as a child. When I bought candy, I honed in like a laser on what I wanted and just ignored the rest; the choices never overwhelmed me. The only time I do remember that feeling was as a teenager, when my father brought home The Box from a yard sale.

Like most kids, my first adventures with sexuality involved peeking at my dad's magazines when nobody was home. Not only did they make me aroused, but sneaking looks made me feel very naughty. I felt completely certain that if I were caught, my mom would paddle me or my dad would spank me with his belt.

Why I thought this I have no idea. They hadn't spanked me in years, and never with anything but their hands, but I was sure that for this they would. I guess in my mind, that was just what happened to kids who looked at dirty pictures. Part of me felt I deserved it. I would sit, transfixed by the naked asses, feeling where the paddle or the belt would land on my own behind if I were caught. Before long, the link between spanking and sex was fixed for me.

He had five Playboys. I read them cover to cover, learned all I could from the articles, regaled my friends with the barely understood jokes, and looked over and over again at the one cartoon that showed a rich man next to his young, scantily dressed maid saying, "She's spanking new." I had begun to surmise that spanking and sex were linked for a few other people, but that this was not "normal."

Then came the day my dad brought home The Box. He wouldn't say what was in it, but he put it in the garage near his magazines. Next time he left, I opened it to find a treasure trove: dozens of sex magazines of all sorts and descriptions. Now I was a kid in a candy shop. I had no idea what to pick from this wealth of flesh and forbidden knowledge.

Near the bottom was one that looked different from all the rest, one I'd never heard of before. It was called Janus, and it was filled with women being spanked and caned. I thrust it aside. It scared me. It was like someone had taken my darkest fantasies and printed them up on glossy paper for the world to see. Besides, it made me feel even guiltier. I was the one who should be taking the spanking, not deriving pleasure seeing others get it.

I read all the others, finding no great number of references to spanking, but enough to tell me there was some connection to sex that other people could see. Finally, there were none left but the one magazine that attracted and frightened me. I opened it and from that moment, I have always known what I wanted in this candy shop, too.