Organization: Anonymous contact service
Date: Thu, 1 Dec 1994 21:50:14 UTC


Dear Santa.....

I remember as a child, every year at Christmas I would never forget to write to santa to ask for my presents. Most of them never arrived, but that didn't stop me continuing the ritual, year after year.

As the years rolled by, I stopped writing them, as my belief in father Christmas slowly evaporated but nevertheless, every Christmas eve I would look out the window and send a silent wish to the North Pole.

This was my first year alone. My boy friend Andrew had run off with another guy he had met at a club in town, and I was feeling a mixture of hurt and anger. I had planned such a wonderful Christmas for us both, together in our own place, but now it was not to be. I thought back to my childhood again, and feeling low, decided to write one more note to Santa. When I had finished it, I left it on the mantelpiece, next to the solitary stocking, hung more for decoration than anything else, and went to bed. That night I dreamt about Andrew again...

I had met him in town one day, He had only been in London for about three months, but he had already worked out the best way of sleeping under a roof at night. He was quiet good looking, and so spent most of the time hanging around the amusement arcades, waiting for a pick up.

I didn't usually go in for chicken-farming, but this particular day I was feeling pretty low, having just ended a fairly steady relationship. I saw him stood outside one of the big arcades. He was about five foot four, looking sort of "little boy lost" and for some strange reason I found myself chatting to him. I asked him if he fancied a cup of coffee, and we walked round the corner to a Wimpy bar. As we drank our coffee, he told me a bit about himself. He had had a good upbringing, public school and all that, but he had been out of work since he left at eighteen. I asked him how long he had been out of work. he said he had not had a job for three and a half years.

I looked at him. He hardly looked older than sixteen, but if he was to be believed, he must be at least twenty-one. I asked him where he was staying.

He told me that he had been staying in a friend's house, but had been kicked out a couple of day's previously, and pointed down at a sports bag he was carrying with him. for some unknown reason I soon found myself offering him a room at my place. He had looked uncertain for a moment, but I told him that there were no strings attached,but i eintmn keeping the place a bit tidy while I was out at work...

So that was how it had started. He came home with me, and after a good meal, we had gone to bed, in different rooms. At that stage all I was interested in was giving him accommodation,nothing more, nothing less.

The next morning, I woke up to the smell of bacon cooking. I showered,dressed, and went out to the kitchen. Andrew was cooking breakfast. He smiled as I entered, and pointed to the table. I sat down and found toast and coffee already prepared. I was quite amazed! At best all I usually managed to grab was a cup of coffee and maybe a bowl of cereal, but here was a veritable feast!

Andrew asked what time I usually left for work. I told him that I tried to get away by eight-fifteen at the latest. As it was only ten past seven, we had plenty of time to eat a leisurely breakfast. as we ate, Andrew asked me for the first time if I was gay. Having a mouthful of toast, all I could do was nod. He asked me if I was into any sort of scene. I thought about it for a moment, was I? I tried to think if there was any particular sort of "scene" I might be into, but decided there wasn't and told him so. I wondered why he had asked, and said as much.

He looked a little sheepish, and after a while announced that he wasn't really into anything either. From the way he said it I knew there was something he wasn't telling me, so I asked again, still he said nothing.

Ordinarily I am fairly easy going, but there was something about the way he evaded my questions that got me a little annoyed. I didn't realise that my voice had suddenly started to sound authoritarian, but all of a sudden Andrew had become very shy, almost childish. I must admit at that point I snapped, and in a very firm voice demanded to know what he was on about.

Looking back on it later, I should have realised that he had controlled the whole scene, but at that time it just seemed to have happened. I found myself acting like a stern father to this boyish looking guy. He stared up at me with those huge brown eyes of his, his lower lip quivering, and almost begged me not to smack his bottom.

I had not even considered it up to that point, but hearing him voice the idea as one he did not seem to like prompted me into action. I reached across the table, and grabbed him by the ear pulled him round to my side of the table, and threw him across my knees. I landed six hearty slaps on the seat of his jeans. I had never considered myself to be a particularly dominant type, or even much of a disciplinarian, but there was just something about this boy that got under my skin.

I glanced at the clock. It was twenty past eight. I snapped at him for making me late for work, and told him to make sure that the place was tidy when I got home. I left the house feeling rather invigorated, and for some reason, well satisfied.

That day, at work I found myself looking back on the morning's events. For the life of me I could not remember what had set the whole thing off, but I realised I had enjoyed it. It had been almost father and son type thing, with me as the strict father, and Andrew as the little "naughty boy". The more I thought about it, the randier I got.

On the way home that evening, I found myself almost hoping that Andrew had not cleaned the house. It would give me an excuse to spank him again. I got off the bus, and walked to the front door. I heard a sort of scuffling as I opened the door, and after taking off my coat, opened the living room door and walked in.The room was immaculately tidy. it had been a bit of a mess when I had left that morning , but now it was not only neat, but it had been hovered and dusted as well. I felt a little deflated. Gone was one reason for giving those firm buttocks a slap. I walked across the room and pushed open the door to the kitchen. It was the same thing there, all the pots clean and tidied away, surfaces washed, and even the stainless steel sink unit shone. It was then that I realised that so far I had not seen Andrew. I walked back out to the hall and went upstairs....

The door to my bedroom was open, and I saw that too had been given the treatment. Even my bedside cabinet, which was usually cluttered with assorted books, ashtray, keys and such was now perfectly clean and respectable. Even my mirror had been polished!

Then I remembered the scuffling sound I had heard when I came in.Andrew had to be here somewhere. I walked past the bathroom, noticing it too was clean, and went to the spare room.

After seeing the miracle that had befallen the rest of the house, you could well imagine my surprise when I opened the door. There were clothes scattered across the floor, bits of paper strewn everywhere,and a wet towel just dropped in the middle of the room.Andrew stepped out of the walk-in wardrobe dressed only in white underpants and a vest, his hair damp and tousled. I demanded to know why the room was in such a mess. He looked down at his feet, and didn't say a word.

I stormed out of the room, calling back to him to get dressed, and see me in the living room in five minutes, my voice implying a hidden warning if he was any longer.

As I sat in the armchair waiting for him, I started to think about what I had seen in the spare room. The mess of course, but it was what the mess had consisted of. Thinking about it, I could remember seeing various articles of clothing, but there was something in the back of my mind that didn't quite fit. Also the papers strewn across the bed seemed for some reason to be wrong. I couldn't quiet put my finger on it, but the whole thing seemed somehow familiar, in a strange sort of way. I could remember seeing a room just like it somewhere, for the life of me I could not remember where.

I looked up at the clock, the five minutes I had given him were just about up, and I was just going to get out of the chair to call him when I heard a quiet knock on the living room door. I wondered why he had knocked, and then realised that he might not be sure if I wanted him to come in. I called out to him to enter.

I nearly fell out of my chair when he opened the door.There,framed in the doorway, was a schoolboy, dressed in cap,blazer,grey shirt and tie, shiny black shoes, short grey trousers and long grey knee length socks. The sight alone took my breath away. This vision walked into the room and stood in front of me.

It was then that I realised what had been so familiar about the room. My room had been just the same when I was about eleven. And the clothes I suddenly realised had consisted mainly of shirts and shorts. I could not remember seeing one pair of long trousers anywhere. And the papers were all open school exercise books! Looking back to what I had been thinking about that morning, it seemed I had a young "son" on my hands.

Well, what to do next? I looked Andrew full in the face. With that cap on, his face looked almost cherubic, a little bit of fringe sticking out from under the peak. He looked no more than about ten or eleven. I wondered for a moment what he was expecting. Well the only way to find out was to ask him. Not straight out, things had progressed too far for that. I thought back to my childhood.

I remembered that my dad had used to get me quite scared as he asked me what I had done wrong, and somehow wormed out of me what should happen. I remembered that I always gave him the answers I thought he wanted, not necessarily the ones I wanted to give. I wondered if I could do the same....

I told Andrew to look at me. His bottom lip was quivering again. I told him to tell me what he thought I had called him downstairs for.

It was just like looking at a real boy who had been caught out. he hesitatingly mumbled something about his messy bedroom. taking the lead, I asked him what he thought I should do about it. His reply stunned me. "I don't know, Daddy," he said, in a voice so childlike I forgot for a moment just how old he was. "I think you do" was my reply, and his chin quivered again as his trembling voice whispered "spank me." I pretended I had not heard him properly and told him to repeat it. "spank me, Daddy" he said again, a little louder this time.

I did not waste any time, this naughty little boy needed his bottom spanking, he had indicated that fact very clearly. I took hold of his arm and bent him over my knee.Once in position, I stared down at him. his grey school shorts were pulled tight across his solid little bottom, his blazer half covering the grey material. I flipped the tail of his blazer over my "little boys" bottom, smoothing my hands over and feeling the tight ridge through the material.

Gently at first I patted his bottom, slowly developing the strength as I continued to make sure that every inch of his bottom was well spanked. After delivering what must have been about 50 good solid smacks I stood Andrew on his feet. I proceeded to unfasten the waistband of his shorts and then unfastened the zip letting the shorts fall down around Andrew's ankles. Once more I placed the boy across my knees, this time smoothing the white underpants to ensure that the full shape of his bottom was prepared for the next part of his punishment. 50 more very hard smacks were delivered to his backside, Andrew squirmed a little during this and a few sobs were in evidence.

This completed I tug his underpants down so that they joined his little grey shorts around his ankles. It suddenly occurred to me that apart from his head there was no sign of body hair, Andrew was as smooth as a new born baby.

There is wonderful splendour was a very cute, smooth and spankable bottom waiting for the completion of it's punishment. This time Andrew struggled and pleaded with me.

"Please Daddy, I won't do it again!" he cried, as I took my hand to his bare bottom, his legs flailing in the air. "I'm, sure you won't" I said as I gave him 50 more hearty smacks.The spanking completed, I stood the sobbing boy on his feet, his shorts and underpants had by that time fallen on the floor. "Now, young man go to your bedroom and tidy it, I shall be along in half an hour to see how good it is" I said. "Yes Daddy" Andrew replied, picked up his clothes and left the room. I was not sure at this stage how far this young man wished to take things and I considered that I would probably find him in jeans and tee-shirt when I went up to his bedroom. However when I finally went up to his room, he was sat at the dressing table, writing in one of the exercise books. I asked him what he was doing. He looked round at me and said he was doing his "Homework". Now I knew how far he wanted it to go. I told him to go and brush his teeth and get ready for bed, noticing the pyjamas folded neatly on the pillow. I sat down on the chair as he went and brushed his teeth, and watched him undress, put his uniform tidily away, and put his pyjamas on.

He got into bed, and looked longingly at me. I walked over to the bed, and knelt down beside it. I gently pulled back the blankets and took hold of his _c_o_c_k_, rubbing it slowly backwards and forwards as I told him a bedtime story. He came into my hands almost at once. I took some tissues from the dressing table, cleaned him up, and then pulled back the covers and tucked him in. As I leant over to tuck in the other side he reached up and put his arms around my neck, kissed me, and said, "I love you, daddy".

As I turned out the light I whispered back to him, "I love you too, Son."

After that, Andrew and I settled into a happy relationship, both getting what we wanted out of the relationship. he didn't want _s_e_x_ other than masturbation, and I couldn't for some strange reason, seem to want to take it any further either. We were very happy together, me and my little boy.

During the summer months we would go out, him dressed in little boy clothes, for walks in the country or rides in the car. No-one ever seemed to take any notice of us,and quite often after a nice afternoon walk, we would call into a little country pub, and he would sit out in the garden with his orange juice or coke, and I would often wonder if anyone thought us an odd couple.. But no-one ever did.I know that it excited Andrew as much as it did me, to be out together as father and son. One day, whilst we were shopping in town, he played up, I think to see just how far he could push it, and was rewarded by two stingers across the backs of his legs. it turned both of us on to see passers by staring at the palm marks on his thighs, just below the hem of his little play shorts.

Then suddenly, about three weeks before Christmas, he had disappeared. A friend of mine told me he had seen Andrew in Oxford Street with another young chap. I didn't want to know. if that was all I meant to him, after two and a half years, well, what could I do about it? I was terribly hurt. But still life must go on....

Christmas morning I woke up bleary-eyed. I had cried myself to sleep,thinking about Andrew. I stumbled out of bed and went down to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. As I filled the kettle, I heard noises from the front room. Fearing burglars, I cautiously opened the door..........

Sat under the tree, in school uniform was Andrew. and with him another"boy" dressed identically. they were un- wrapping Andrew's presents I had left under the tree. When he heard the door open, Andrew looked up, and ran over to me, and gave me a big hug. he kissed me and said, "Happy Christmas Daddy, and I've brought my little brother home too!"..............I looked upwards as the other "boy" came over and hugged me too. For the first time in many years, I said a silent 'thank you' to Santa Claus