Dear Dad,
After last night I felt that I had to write this letter to you. In a few hours, I will go to the hospital and pick up my wife and my newborn son. And as your only son, I think I have to tell you what kind of father you were to me and try and figure out what kind of father I will be. So much good and bad has happened between us and I have trouble sorting it all out. This letter is important and, please, bear with me...I am trying to get it all out for you on paper. It started so long ago...
The first time I remember getting spanked by you I was 5 years old. It was a hot summer and you had just given me some money to buy some ice cream. I went running from the pool in the backyard into the street after the ice cream truck. You followed me and after I ran into the street you quickly grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the way of a speeding car. You yanked me hard toward you and started to yell. Although I know now you were just worried about what might have happened, I was frightened by your anger. You held on to my arm tight and I squirmed to get away. But then you turned me around quickly, and in front of the neighbors lined up by the ice cream truck, you gave me a hard swat on my behind. I was more surprised by the loud slap that your hand made against my wet bathing suit than I was by the sting I felt from your big hand. You dragged me crying back into the yard and yelled at me for running into the street. I cried more because I wanted an ice cream than from your yelling. My crying may have upset you more because you gave me three more quick slaps on the behind. If I did not notice before, I did this time. It hurt a lot and I started bouncing in place from the stinging I felt. I ran up to my room and cried on my bed...on my stomach because my behind hurt too much.
Later on, I heard you come in and sit next to me on the bed and felt your hand brushing the hair on my head. In a soft voice, you apologized for spanking me and explained that you just got scared that I could have been hurt or worse. And you said that I was your boy and you loved me and you would never let anyone hurt me. I stubbornly refused to lift my head from the pillow. Then I felt you loosen my bathing suit and lower it a bit over my behind, I turned my head around and saw you looking down at what your hand had done to my buttocks. I looked down and say 2 bright red hand prints on each of my white asscheeks. You lightly stroked the marks you put there and I looked up at your face and saw a tear in your eye. I realized that you did love me and did not mean to hurt me and I reached up to hug you. I pressed my small body against your bare, hairy chest and felt you hug me back tightly. You whispered, "I'm sorry, son" in my ear as you stroked my hair and butt. I could not have loved you more than I did at that moment.
And this love between us was tested many times over the years. Like the time in fifth grade that Billy Windman and I got caught drinking a six-pack of beer in the school bathroom. We were both hauled into the principal's office and I think they called you at work. You came into the office at the same time as Mrs. Windman who started crying the minute she saw Billy. You just stood there looking steamed and not saying anything. Mrs. Windman cried and complained that Billy and his brother were too much for a single mother to handle and that they did not have a father. She went on and on and probably would have continued all day when you spoke up and said, "Nancy, why don't you let me handle this. You can go back to work and I will bring Billy home with me and Jon." Mrs. Windman dried her tears, sniffled into a tissue, and looked up at you adoringly. She thanked you a little too profusely and said how nice it was to for you to help her. She said, "A boy needs a father figure. Billy could learn a lot from you. Thank you." After Mrs. Windman left, you and the principal, Mr. Jackson, started discussing what happened. I remembered Mr. Jackson telling you that "This behavior must be stopped. Appropriate discipline must be used and rules be enforced" or something stupid like that. I remember you kept your eyes on me and asked, "And what do you suggest, Mr. Jackson?" Mr. Jackson did not answer but simply walked over to his desk and opened a drawer. He reached in and pulled out a wooden paddle with holes in it. I had never seen one before and was not sure what it was at first. You had spanked me a few times since the ice cream incident but it was always over your lap with your hand. Billy piped up, "You are not allowed to hit me. My mother won't let you." You took the paddle from Mr. Jackson and turned and said, "Billy, you heard your mother. She wants me to teach you a lesson...Both of you."
"Okay, Billy, you're first." I swear Billy almost fainted when you dragged him over to the desk and made him lean over. Five quick swipes across his pants and Billy cried the entire time. The slaps could not have hurt at all and I already was relieved that that is all I was going to get. "Billy, go out now and wait in the office. I'll take you home after I'm through with your friend here." After Billy left and shut the door, you turned to me with a look on your face that told me that five light strokes was not what was intended for me. You said Billy had no father to control him and couldn't help but do stupid things like that. But that I was your son and had better _d_a_m_n_ well behave like it. You said you were very disappointed in me and angry that I had embarrassed him like this in front of the principal and the school. The longer you spoke, the more I started to feel queasy. It was a combination of nervousness and the buzz I had from the beer. "I just want you to learn how irresponsible you have been. Now, drop your pants." "Huh?" I answered. You had always spanked me on my pants or pajama bottoms and now you wanted me to take my pants down in front of the principal. "NOW!" I think Mr. Jackson and I both jumped. I walked over to the desk and turned around. I slowly undid my belt and pants and lowered them about halfway down my butt. "All the way, Jon. And your underwear too." I started feeling more nauseous as I lowered my pants and underwear down to me knees. I leaned onto the desk with my hands and before I could take a deep breath I felt the paddle collide with my young butt. It felt much harder and faster than your hand and it seemed to cover both cheeks at the same time. I cried out after the first and second strokes and would have screamed louder if you hadn't whispered, "Shhh. Quiet son. Take this like a man."
This paddling seemed to go on forever. I never thought that I would miss your hand on my ass but I did every time I felt the hard crack of the would blister against my skin. And unlike a spanking with your bare hands, the paddle did not get tired or sore. My eyes were squeezed shut against my tears and my mouth was squeezed shut to keep from throwing up. I even clenched my sphincter together tight, which just made the pain in my asscheeks worse, in order to keep from peeing out all the beer in me. I don't know if your arm slipped or you changed your target, but when the paddle landed across the back of my thighs, I screamed out both in surprise and pain. The shock caused me to unclench all my muscles...and as pee ran out my _d_i_c_k_, I covered my mouth and ran to throw up in Mr. Jackson's garbage pail. When I lifted my head from the pail, I saw Jackson mopping his sweaty, red face with a handkerchief and you standing still, red-faced and sweaty from the exertion. Then I saw your eyes look down at the trail of urine I had left behind me. "Pull up your pants and clean up after yourself. We're going home." I felt Jackson's paw on my shoulder and he handed me his handkerchief. I pulled up my pants and kneeled down to clean the floor. "We should have more parents like you," Mr. Jackson said. "You are very lucky, Jon, to have a father who takes the time to look out for his son." I wiped up the floor and mumbled some reply. I had to waddle out of the office to the car because I could not walk with my thighs close together. My one comforting thought was that the paddling probably toughened up my butt for the spanking or belt that I would definitely get when we got home.
And I was right. That paddling was just a prelude to serious discipline later. And on more than one occasion. I am not saying it was not deserved. I know I was a handful and tested you at every opportunity. But you were a strict father and my behind has the bruises to prove it. You never did any permanent harm to me but I do remember the first time I was so scared that you would lose control. I was 15 and Billy and I were still hanging out together. Somehow we were still sneaking beers and hanging out never doing much at all. But once we got it in our heads to take his mother's car and drive over the state line to party. Of course, we did not count on his mother thinking the car was stolen and calling the cops. And I can tell you, it did not matter how drunk I was, the thought of your angry face staring me down with a paddle in your hand would have been enough to stop me in my tracks. For two drunk, underage kids with no driver licenses, we got a lot farther than I thought we could. So after the police picked us up and drove us back the 100 miles with the car being towed, I spent the whole ride home in the police car thinking of ways to avoid seeing you. I could jump out of the car right now. I could tell them my father beats me and I was running away. I could tell them that he is not my real father and he kidnaped me. I could even admit to some heinous crime that they would be forced to jail me for. I could refuse bail and stay in prison being beat up and raped. But all that was preferable. I would do ANYTHING but face you.
As the policeman escorted me up the drive and you opened the front door, I almost fainted and peed in my pants at the same time. There was a momentary flash of anger in your eyes that hit me like a shock of electricity. But it passed and you were surprisingly calm to me and to the policeman. "Son, go up to your room. Thank you, officer. I..." I never heard the rest and flew to my room thinking I would be safe there. I undressed and went straight to bed and pretended to fall asleep immediately, thinking nothing would happen if I was asleep. My eyes were squeezed shut so tight, I never saw the light in my room come on. But I was wide awake the moment you ripped the covers off me and dragged me out of bed by my hair and started shaking me. "WHAT THE HELL were you thinking? You committed a CRIME, boy! Several crimes! You're only lucky you weren't killed or thrown in jail. What the _f_u_c_k_ is wrong with you? Is this how I raised you?.." You went on and on and I admit I did not hear much above my own whimpering... "Daddy, I'm sorry, please, really, I didn't mean...it was not...I don't...Don't Daddy, please..." "SHUT UP! I can't listen to this!" When you let go of my arm, my knees couldn't stay straight and I fell to the floor. Still whimpering I looked up and pleaded, "Please, daddy, don't! Please, I--" and my mouth clamped shut when I saw you undo your thick leather belt from your pants. I was shocked a little. You had never used a belt on me before. My mind raced and one stupid thought I had was that it is just a light belt...it can't hurt much. Calm down. I was still on my hands and knees when I heard the whizz of the belt in the air. I tensed in anticipation and unlike a spanking, there was a period of sound preceding the stroke. And unlike even the paddle, after the belt connected with my back and butt, there was about 3/4 to a full second of nothing before I started to feel the sharpest pain in my life. The power of your arm seemed to multiple as it translated into just 2 inches wide across my skin. I lost my breath as the feeling seemed to go from a sharp sting to a burning quiver in just a second...something that would have taken 15 or 20 spanks of you hand to get to. You reached down and grabbed my arm and threw me stomach down across the edge of the bed. In one motion, you ripped off my jockey shorts. And before I had a chance to breathe or say anything, I felt the second and third strokes in rapid succession. Unlike the faint glow after each spank of your bare hand, I could not distinguish between the different strokes of the belt. The initial stinging of one stroke blended in with the afterburn of the previous strike and the skin-ripping pull of the leather as it left my ass on an upstroke. I could not count the strokes. After just a few minutes, my asscheeks were numb...just some pressure and heat is all I felt. Except your arm may have tired because your aim grew worse and the belt made contact with new areas of skin, like the backs of my thighs and calves and even across my back and shoulders. Without realizing it, I started edging up over the bed like I was crawling into it to hide. I think it only made things worse, because it angered you that I was trying to move away and in moving up I separated my legs a little. Enough for the next stroke of the belt to reach the back of my balls. I had to stuff the blanket in my mouth to keep from screaming. That sharp pain was worse than anything I had ever felt on my ass. Although you probably only belted me for 10 minutes or so, it felt like an hour. After you stopped, my body continued to twitch. You never said anything else. I looked up and you just stood there looking exhausted, your shirt drenched with sweat. You simply turned, left, and shut the door behind you. I laid on my stomach for a good hour before I could move again. The skin along my entire back and ass and legs felt so tight I did not think I could move without splitting my skin like a tight pair of pants. I struggled up and went to the mirror on the back of my door. I turned and looked over my shoulder and bit my tongue when I saw the red and purple stripes crisscrossing my body. Although I could distinguish individual belt marks on my legs and back, my ass was just one shiny, purple mass with darkening edges and raised dark welts. My asscheeks looked wet, like a whole layer of skin had come off. I laid back down on the bed face down and reached back to feel the welts. As my hand made contact with my asscheeks, it felt like I was touching someone else. Although my ass felt numb, a chill went through me as I rubbed the welts lightly. Before long I was rockhard from restimulating the burning in my ass. And I cried the rest of the night.
And now, 11 years later I am living in another state with my wife. We are about to bring home our new son born yesterday. And you and I have not seen each other in a long time until this weekend. You came to help me prepare the baby's room. With my wife and son in the hospital one more day, we worked on changing the office into a nursery. A few hours after my son, your first grandson, was born, we returned to the house to finish up the room. We did not talk much. Just measured and cut moulding and painted. I think everything would have gone fine if you had not started lecturing me on fatherhood. I got so angry. I don't think you realized how I felt growing up. That I never measured up as a son. That you were always disappointed in me. And you were always disciplining me for the smallest infraction. And I still remembered being humiliated in front of my friends. You said, "Well, I hope your son doesn't give you as much trouble as you gave me. You were one hell of a handful, boy." I smirked, "Yeah, and you gave me some handful too." "_d_a_m_n_ right! A good thrashing was the only language you understood. If it wasn't for my hand on your behind every once in a while, you'd probably be broke or in jail today." "Bull_s_h_i_t_!" I shouted. "Every once in a while? I don't think I could ever sleep on my back you used to spank me so often." "I only spanked you a few times. Are you telling me I was a bad father." "YES! Why do you think I left home so early? To get away from your beatings." "Beatings? I never beat you. I only wanted you to grow up right. You better watch your mouth, boy." "NO, YOU watch it!"
And I do not know what came over me at that point. Maybe it was all the pent-up humiliation from years of spanking. Maybe it was just thinking I would never be a grown man in your eyes. Or the fear that you'd spank me again. I grabbed the closest thing near me, an unfinished piece of moulding about 2-1/2 feet long and 2 inches wide. Even though you are still bigger than me today I managed to pus you down to the floor. I just started swinging the moulding, not even aiming. I hit your legs, back, arms. I probably hit the couch more than I hit you. I was crying the whole time. "No, dammit! I WAS a good kid. I always tried to do right by you. My best was never good enough for you...." The moulding broke on the 15th swing or so and I broke down bawling and fell to my knees. You never shouted out or anything. You just got up off the floor and picked up the broken pieces of wood and said, "Get up, son." I struggled to my feet but could not raise my eyes to your stare. I felt like I was 5 years old again. "Look at me." I looked up at you with tears in my eyes. You looked the same as you always did. Maybe a little balder...a little heavier around the middle...wrinkles on your tanned face...and now the hair peeking over the collar of your shirt was gray, not black. "Drop your pants."
Those words. "Drop your pants." In the past, those words represented humiliation, anger, and the nights spent crying on my stomach with the stinging still in butt. But this time was different. I felt oddly comforted by your words. I slowly started to undo my belt and kick off my shoes. I pushed my jeans and shorts down at the same time as you just stood there watching me with a slightly sad expression on your face. I kicked off my jeans and shorts and took my socks off. When I straightened up, I saw you take of your shirt so I took of mine too. There I was, 28 years old, standing naked in front of my father. You stood there in your old jeans, shirtless, with your chest covered with thick black and gray hairs. You walked over and sat on the couch and still did not say anything. I knew what I was supposed to do. I walked over and laid face down across your lap. I was a lot bigger and heavier than I was at 5 or even 15 but my weight did not seem to bother you. I felt your belt buckle dig into my side but I dared not say anything. Your left hand rested on the back of my head and your right hand lightly stroked my butt as you let out a sigh. "I always loved you, Jon. You were the best son a father could have. You never disappointed me." I started crying softly. Not from fear or expectation of pain, but from the love that I felt from you. "I know, daddy. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." "Shhh," you said. "I only wanted you to be a good boy and wanted to teach you right." "You did, daddy. I'm sorry." "I love you. I only spanked you because I loved you. You know that?" "Yes, daddy. I know." And we both were quiet and did not move for a while. I was getting a little uncomfortable lying on my stomach but I did not move. Then, after a minute or two, I realized that you were waiting for me. "Please, daddy. I want to be a good son for you. Please spank me." For the first time, I was not begging you not to spank me. Instead, I desperately wanted to feel your hand on my ass. I wanted to feel the hard smack of your large palm against my bare asscheeks. I wanted my cheeks to sting with each stroke. Tingle, later, as the strokes gained in intensity. I knew you always loved me and wanted to feel you express your love through my body. I wanted to be your little boy again. Warm and safe on your lap.
The first slap was very hard, even for you. I let out a sigh and a sob. Happy to be loved by you. You probably spanked me longer and harder than you ever had. And with each stroke I felt more relief. Relief from my misplaced anger. Relief from the stress of being a new father. Release from feeling that I had failed you. Your older arm never tired. And for the first time in a long time, I felt completely in sync with you. I knew you loved me and just wanted the best for me. And I wanted to be the best for you. I felt so close to you. Every time you raised your arm, I couldn't wait for you to complete the swing so I could feel your hand on my ass. After about 30 slaps, I realized that I had the hardest erection of my life. I had gotten hard a few times before as a kid during a spanking but it was never this intense. Every slap pushed me so that my _d_i_c_k_ scraped hard against your rough jeans. The force of your stroke squeezed precum out of my _d_i_c_k_ each time. I didn't want you to stop. My heart was racing and I was breathing heavily. I could feel my hard _d_i_c_k_ throb against your jeans. Finally, something happened that had never occurred before. I came without you or me touching my _d_i_c_k_. It was the most explosive and satisfying orgasm of my life. And it seemed to go on for minutes, through about 8 more slaps on my ass. I bucked a little and almost fell off your lap. I felt your hands on my ass and back holding me in place. We both sighed at the same time. You slipped me off your lap and gently laid me down on the couch on my side. You stood up and took off the rest of your clothes. You laid down behind me and wrapped me in your arms. I felt your hairy, sweaty chest against my back and your hairy legs against my own. Your own half-hard _d_i_c_k_ was nestled against my throbbing, hot asscheeks. One arm wrapped around my neck and shoulders and the other around my abdomen with your hand against my smooth chest. "I love you, daddy." "I know, son. I love you too. Always." And we fell asleep like that.
Today I am still not sure what happened later. I cannot remember if it was real or a dream. But in my hazy, sleepy memory I remember waking to a sharp pain in my ass of a different sort. Your arms were still around me and we were in the same position but I felt something press against my asshole. You didn't move except to hug me tighter, pulling me onto you. I felt your large _d_i_c_k_ squeezing into me. The pain was worse than any spanking but it was amazing knowing you were inside me. You never moved...just hugged me close. After what felt like an hour, you squeezed your arms tightly around my chest and sighed. I felt a warm pressure inside me. You kissed the back of my head and then I fell asleep again.
When I woke up in the morning I was wrapped in a blanket alone on the couch. I saw the note you left on the floor. "To the best son a father could ever have...I love you...You will make the best father for your boy." I got up, sweaty with dried come on my stomach and thighs. I had to go to the bathroom but I resisted. I thought maybe I could hold you inside of me a little longer. Your come. The sperm that made me. I sat down at the desk and immediately started to write this thank you letter to you.
Thank you, dad.
Your loving son