Daddy/son relationships are not unusual in the gay community. In fact, I think they’re becoming more common these days. And sometimes a daddy needs to remind his son who’s in charge in their household. That usually means a dose of discipline, like the boys in today’s photo posts are experiencing. I especially like the top photo. See the expression on the young guy’s face and the way he’s gripping the mattress while his daddy heats up his bottom? Priceless ….
These photos remind me of a scene in my short story titled Slacker. It appears in my anthology titled Flawed Boys. In Slacker nineteen-year-old Robert enters into a daddy/son relationship with Cecil, and when Robert violates the household rules, Cecil administers a wicked paddling to Robert. Here’s how Robert describes it:
Slacker, copyright Martin Delacroix 2013
The first blow landed without warning; it made a sound like a pistol shot. I felt fire in my behind, like someone had touched hot metal to my skin. The pain hurt like nothing I’d ever felt before. I screamed, shot up straight, and hopped around like a kid on a pogo stick. My cock flipped here and there while I rubbed my stinging ass.
“That hurt,” I cried.
“It’s supposed to,” Daddy said. Then he pointed with the paddle. “Get back in position. Every time you take your hands off the bed, I’m adding extra licks.”
Extra licks? Jee-zus Christ . . . .
Shaking, I returned my hands to the mattress. I stuck my ass out, and then the beating proceeded. The paddle cracked across my buttocks, over and over, roasting my flesh. I wept like a four-year-old, stamped my feet against the carpet. I begged Daddy to stop, hollering each time he struck me. The pain was indescribable. It swallowed me and drove all thoughts from my brain. I turned into a quivering idiot; I babbled nonsense.
I wasn’t me anymore.
“Please, don’t. Please, no more . . . .”
Daddy didn’t talk while administering my punishment; he only worked the paddle, striking me everywhere from the tops of my thighs to just below my waist. Every square inch of my backside burned like I’d sat on a bed of hot coals.
The paddling seemed endless, my suffering unendurable. It was a good thing we didn’t have any neighbors close by, because I screamed like a person getting stabbed to death. Honestly, I thought I was going to die from the pain.
I thought, doesn’t Daddy have an ounce of mercy in him? Does he know how much this hurts? But then I thought, don’t blame Daddy, stupid. You brought this upon yourself.
Eventually, the paddling ceased. The whole thing might have lasted ten minutes or so, but to me it had seemed like three hours.
“That’s it, Robert,” Daddy said. “You can stand up now.”
When I rose, I trembled so badly I thought I might stagger and fall. My hands flew to my flaming bottom; I rubbed my ass while tears flowed down my cheeks. I stood there, naked as the day I was born, and crying like a baby. I had lost all sense of pride and dignity.
I’m just a punk, an idiot, an utter fool.
I spent a pleasant evening with an old friend in the city last night. We drank a few glasses of wine and dined on takeout. The weather was so nice that we spent most of the evening on his outdoor deck. Afterward, I came home and climbed into bed. I was tired, and then I slept like a log until nine AM this morning.
I have an easy day ahead. After I finish this post I will read the Sunday newspaper from cover to cover while I sip from a coffee mug. This afternoon, I’m attending a Christmas concert with a friend. After the concert I’ll run two miles, here on the island, and then I’ll dine on leftovers from last night. I have some household chores I need to get done at some point, later this morning, but that’s about it.
Okay, that might not sound like a very exciting Sunday, but it suits me just fine. Outside, it’s warm and humid. I have my a/c running, actually, which hardly sounds like Christmas, does it?
All right, everyone, I’m closing this post so I can read my newspaper. Have nice Sunday, wherever you might be.