My phone rang about 8:00 p. m. last night. The caller was Barbara a 73-year-old grandmother whom I have known since childhood when I played baseball with her son. Barbara was crying and pleading with me to take in her grandson Bobby, thirteen. The boy's parents were fatally injured in a car accident six months ago. They were among my best friends. Barbara was the only next of kin to take care of Bobby. She was crying that she could not handle the boy at her age. Besides, he was a trouble maker doing poorly in school.
I was the boy's Godfather. Bobby had no aunts or uncles, and Barbara did not want to send him to a foster home. She thought I could do better with him. I had mixed emotions about taking the boy. Very mixed. At first I told Barbara no, but then said I would give it some careful thought after hearing her crying and pleading. I said I'd meet her and Bobby tomorrow and assess the situation.
The prospect of raising a 13-year-old boy did not sit well with me. I am 35 and live an open and active gay lifestyle. I live alone in a six bedroom, upper class home in a beautiful neighborhood in the hills. There's a very private large backyard with pool and spa and a stunning view of the mountains and city below. I'm an investor and philanthropist and do a lot of work from my house. Being independent and financially secure, I could travel frequently and enjoy my many friendships. A 13-year-old would definitely alter my lifestyle. Maybe I could just take him for the summer. And maybe I could find a home for him among my straight friends.
Tomorrow came and I met Barbara and Bobby at their modest home on the eastside of town. I had not seen Bobby since the funeral. He's a remarkably good looking boy. So good looking that people are always saying "what a cute boy." He's just 5' 3" and weighs 98 pounds. He has brown hair with bangs hanging almost to his eyelids. It's a style a lot of boys are wearing. He has bright blue eyes and a broad smile with dimples that melts your heart. But beneath the beautiful exterior apparently there lie's one troubled kid. I was chalking that up to the beginning of his adolescence and most likely the grieving process from the loss of his parents.
Although I'm gay, I had always wanted to be a father, especially to a son, but it seemed to be an impossibility for me. Barbara knew of my lifestyle. She was never really comfortable with that, but she's a tolerant and liberal thinking person.
My stomach felt like it was turning upside down and my heart seemed too aflutter with excitement. Taking this boy would be a challenge and an experience I may learn to love and live with or an experience I would later deeply regret.
I told Barbara and Bobby that this would only be a summer tryout. We would need to get adjusted to one another before any permanent changes could happen. Somehow Barbara knew that I would give in and take Bobby. She had his bags packed, his boom box, CD s, bike and other assorted things that go with boys this age. Although I was ready to give it a trial run, I certainly did not expect it to begin today! Bobby was dressed in shorts well above the knees. A bit unusual today when kids think shorts should be no higher than six inches above the ankle. He was wearing a white T-shirt that seemed a little large to me. It hung to the point it almost covered his shorts. His baseball hat was turned backwards and at a pitch that covered only the back of his head. _d_a_m_n_, he was cute. There was a bit of a sensual air about him. I'm sure he used his physical traits to manipulate people to get what he wanted. That will only go a short way with me. I don't like manipulative people. My life in the business world taught me to spot them, and I would take my own action.
We put Bobby's things in the back of my Ford Ranger. Kisses and hugs to Barbara, a few tears shed and we were on our way. We were in the Ranger 15 seconds and had our first confrontation. "Put on your seat belt, Bobby."
"I don't want to, Dave," he said emphatically.
"Bobby, get this straight, you will do what I tell you to do. Now buckle up. Now! Do it!" He looked at me. He saw the anger in my eyes and the no nonsense sound of my very forceful voice. He buckled up and said nothing more on the ride to my house.
We put his bike in the garage. My house is designed so that the master bedroom suite, my den and the library are off to the eastside of the house and the other bedrooms on the westside. Thank God for that. I'll have some privacy from the kid. My office/den is near the master suite away from the prying eyes and curiosity of Bobby. The boy's room is really nice with French doors leading to the backyard. The only thing it lacked was a desk for him to study. Thinking of studies, I wanted to find out more how well or how not so well he was doing in school.
The Nordic Middle School where he was enrolled is on the other side of town. I would have to transfer him to a school closer to my home. Wait a minute, dumb ass. This may all be over by summer. Don't hurry to find a new school. But I did want to see his records and talk to some of his teachers. Fortunately there were still teachers at the school wrapping things up for summer vacation. I made some appointments for the next day.
Things were quiet on our first day together. He wasn't any trouble and stayed out of my way while I was working. What a relief, I thought. Maybe this can work out. Oh how naive of me! I didn't know it yet, but I was in the quiet eye of a major storm.
Today we set off to Nordic Middle School. I have never set a foot in a middle school since, well, the days of my own childhood. I always remembered having a clean school and a good learning environment with good teachers. Nordic Middle was to me a disaster. The school badly needed renovation. I felt as though it should be condemned. Bobby's teachers were nice and cooperative. I looked at his records and was horrified. This kid can't know anything from the looks of these papers, I said allowed to the teachers. Detention time seemed to be his second home. He flunked a history class, got a C- in English, a D in math and the rest were mostly low Cs. About the only thing he was good at was disrupting the class, a little stealing, truancy and back talking to teachers. This angelic looking kid was a real _s_h_i_t_!
This can't continue, not on my watch. There must be some summer school programs to buildup his academic abilities, or at least try to get some. That was another problem to solve.
I leave my house many times during my business day. I can't leave an unruly and apparently untrustworthy 13-year-old home alone.
I also had to introduce him to my neighbors so they would know why suddenly there's a kid living in a bachelor's house. I also did not know any kids in the neighborhood. There must be some. That, too, had to be checked out.
Bobby's few clothes were a disaster. Maybe not to him, but the torn and tattered jeans, shorts and shirts did not appeal to me. How do I shop for a kid?
What about sports, some kind of summer league for him to join? Another problem.
What a _f_u_c_k_ing mess I got myself into! My privacy, organized and neat life were now turned upside down. I like challenges. I can deal with adult challenges. But kid challenges? I was being overwhelmed with all these things rushing through my mind.
The teachers were very supportive and listened to my rambling thoughts, questions and worries. They gave me some phone numbers and a network of people to contact on my side of town.
I had been with the teachers for a little more than an hour and wasn't giving it a second thought that Bobby would not be sitting quietly outside. He had to be there, right? No! And I panicked! Where the hell is this kid? I was running all over the small campus looking and yelling for him. No Bobby! Oh, _s_h_i_t_. How could I be so dumb to think that this kid would be considerate enough to tell me where he would be going? Man, do I need some advice on how to be a "parent." I need it fast.
Across the street from the school was a small strip mall, a convenience store and some little shops that sell nothing I'd find interesting. A police car was in front of one store. The cop and a man, apparently from the store, were talking to a boy. As I crossed the street toward the mall, I became angry, then angrier and finally rage. They were talking to Bobby! That _f_u_c_k_ing little bastard. I won't kill the kid, but I'll come _d_a_m_n_ close to it.
"What's the problem, Officer? I'm Dave Perkins. I take care of Bobby. He lost his parents a few months ago, and I was visiting his teachers at Nordic."
"He was caught shoplifting, Mr. Perkins. The manager has accused him of stealing this CD. He wants to press charges."
"Please don't. I can handle this. He has not been in police trouble before." He probably has been in a juvenile hall before, I thought to myself. But I've got to get him out of this trouble. I'll handle it my own way. I looked at the manager and said, "The CD is worth $9.95. I'll give you $150 cash now, and let's drop the matter, please."
The Officer looked at the manager. It seemed the cop was not in a big rush to take the kid downtown. That angelic face and tears that Bobby uses for manipulation were working. I'd play along with it. But just wait until I get him home.
The manager liked the color of my money. I was ready to up it another $100, if I sensed him balking. He didn't. He pocketed the cash and said, "Forget it, I got a store to run. It's up to you to punish your kid."
My kid! I was stunned. My kid. How the hell did I get "My Kid?"
"Thank you very much, sir. May we leave, Officer?" He nodded a yes. And we got the hell out of there fast. I was holding Bobby's hand firmly from the moment we left until we got to the Ranger. I think, no I hope, he is scared _s_h_i_t_less.
We stood at the Ranger looking at each other. I'm 6' 1" and 170 pounds of muscle. I work out regularly at a gym, the usual stuff plus body building. Bobby and I were standing a couple inches apart. I had my hands on his shoulders and was glaring down at him. His head was arched way back to look up at me. I made sure of that. I wanted firm eye contact. I could see some fear in his eyes.
Bobby's father was not around the boy very much. He was a workaholic, his wife said. So was she. But she seemed in denial about that. I doubt the kid had much supervision or discipline. I doubt, too, that much was done to help him become the person he is capable of being. Could I make a difference? I hope so. With all my heart, I hope so.
"Bobby, when was the last time you were punished with a spanking."
"I don't know, Dave."
"Well, you're going to get the whipping of your life," I said with firmness as I glared down at him. Still holding his shoulders, I could feel him tremble a bit. His eyes were a little glassy as though some tears were about ready to flow.
I opened the Ranger's door and told him to get in and BUCKLE UP.
After a few minutes of driving in silence, I spoke up to tell him what was going to happen.
"Bobby, you have been one bad boy today. You have given your grandmother a very difficult time. You are terrible at your school work. You're headed down a path that will ruin your life. You have to shape up. "I love you, Bobby. Hear me? I love you! I want to do what's best for you, if you are to live with me. Please understand that. (Silence from Bobby) You're going to summer school. You're going to join a sports team. You're going to meet some new friends. We're going on trips together. I want you to see a world you don't know about: museums, art galleries, plays, concerts. I want you to play and have fun, be a child and enjoy your childhood and grow to become a man. We can have lots of fun together. You'll enjoy that a lot more than getting into trouble. Believe me, kid, you will. But first comes discipline. There are going to be rules for you to follow. I will never strike you in anger. It has never crossed my mind to use corporal punishment on a kid. I'm going to have a difficult time with that in my conscience. But right now that's definitely what's going to happen to you." (No word out of Bobby. He just stared ahead)
"This evening I'm going to whip your bare ass very hard. You're going to lie across my knees for a spanking. You will be naked. Later you will stand and receive more punishment on your sore ass." Bobby turned and looked at me in horror but didn't say a word.
"Then you can go to bed. Tomorrow, when you wake up, you'll receive another spanking, a very hard one. Then, after breakfast we will begin setting down some rules and spend the day lining up activities for you. Do you understand what I have been saying?"
"Yes, sir," came a very soft reply in a trembling voice. In an equally soft and trembling voice almost inaudible, he said, "I didn't get off to a good start with you, Dave. I'm sorry. I deserve to be punished. I know that. I guess you should punish me in some way. But I never expected that you would be so harsh. A whipping! Jeeze!"
"Son," I said (the sound of using that word almost blew me away after I said it). "We're off to a rocky start, but I think things will work out. However, you do have a choice. You can make that choice now. You can stay with me, face your punishment and start a new life with me. Or, you can go back to your grandmother who can't handle you. But then we will have to find you some foster parents. Some other people to take care of you. You may live in some sort of county facility for boys until, if ever, foster parents are found. I don't know how long that takes. I don't want to scare you. Maybe they'll find some nice people right away. Maybe I can find some people who are my friends to take you in, but I doubt it. What's your choice? Should I drive to Grandma's now or take you home with me?"
"I want to stay with you, Dave. Punish me and set some rules. I suppose I need that. I want to live with you, Dave," Bobby said now crying lightly.
"You miss your mom and dad, don't you Bobby?"
"Yes, I miss mom and dad. I still cry a lot about that. They weren't around much to guide me. I suppose I wandered around a lot getting into trouble. I'm old enough to know that I can't bring mom and dad back. I have to start a new life now. You're my best hope, Dave. Please take me!"
"Yes, son," the sound of that word was a little easier now. A tear welled in my eye. "When we get home, I want you to go to your room and think until dinner. You won't be punished until after dinner. You have plenty of time to rethink the choices I gave you. Time to think about your punishment. And time to think what kind of boy you want to become."
The rest of the ride was in silence. After getting home, Bobby went to his room obediently. I went to my den where I found my answering machine full of calls. I returned some but not others. I had different calls to make.
First I called my gay friends to tell them of my new life or new predicament. They were shocked. They laughed. All supported me except one who said I was nuts. "A 19-year-old gay boy would be fine," he said. "But a 13-year-old kid, Dave, you're nuts."
Second I called my straight friends with kids. They, too, were shocked. They were very supportive suggesting "family" get together and picnics and other outings. They gave me tips. They gave me contacts to call and all wanted to meet Bobby.
I told both my straight and gay friends my intention to use corporal punishment on Bobby tonight. I got a mixed reaction there. It ranged from absolutely not to whip his ass to punish him very hard. I told them I intended to go through with it. Those who were against sighed and urged restraint on my part. "Don't over do it," they said.
I was going to e-mail other friends for advice but decided to save that until after Bobby went to bed for the evening.
There's a chest in my garage that contains a collection of BDSM toys and gadgets that I've used with friends for certain play times. I took a 12-inch leather strap from the chest. I got an erotic excitement looking at the stuff. I have not used these things in a month. But this stuff is not appropriate for Bobby. I had a momentary fantasy that maybe in six years, if we're still together, I might have some fun with it and him. That's assuming he'd be interested. Lot's of confusing and conflicting thoughts were running through my mind. I tried to erase those thoughts.
It was 6:30 p. m. and time for dinner. I had a left over roast, some fresh vegetables, a salad and light desert ready. Just warm it up.
I went to Bobby's room. He was laying face down on the bed listening to his boom box turned down softly. I suppose he didn't want to play it loud risking some kind of anger from me. I said hello and sat down on his bed beside him and gently massaged his back. He looked up at me. I could see that he had been crying. "It's time for dinner, Bobby. Let's go."
He got up and followed me to the kitchen. I suggested he call his Grandma and tell her about his day. He looked at me in disbelief.
"Bobby, she's concerned about you and your welfare. Call her. Tell her about your day. You don't need to be too specific. But you are in trouble and are going to be punished. Tell her about some of our plans, what we talked about on the way home. Remember, you still have a choice to leave, even avoid your punishment, if you wish."
I picked up the phone and dialed. Barbara answered and I said, "We had a very interesting day, Barbara. Here's Bobby. Let him tell you about it."
Bobby reluctantly took the receiver and softly talked to his Grandma. He told her he took something that wasn't his, avoiding the word steal. He said I was going to punish him but didn't mention a whipping. No word was said about the police. Then he got excited and said things about joining sports and going places with me. He said he missed her and loved her. He hung up the receiver.
We sat down to dinner, which was spent mostly in silence. I broke the silence by asking what sports he liked. He said he was interested in soccer and baseball. Then he opened up more asking me about places we could go together for fun. Questions and more questions were asked. I began to sense that he didn't want the dinner to end, because he knew what was coming later. We finished the meal and I said it was time to cleanup and do the dishes. "I'll do the cooking, Bobby. You do the dishes. That's one of the rules."
He took his sweet time doing the dishes. He was maddeningly slow and awkward. The kid didn't have a clue how to load the dishwasher properly. I have to teach him these basic things, too, I thought. Wow, I have to talk to my married friends about Parenting 101, fast.
The cleanup was done. I'm a neatness freak who wants everything spotless, in its place, organized and structured. My gut feeling was that this kid is sloppy, among his other faults. We're going to have some basic training to go through or I'll be a nut case by the end of summer.
"Bobby, it's time for your punishment. Go to the family room and wait for me. I'll be there in about five minutes." He looked at me with his mouth open and eyes open wide in fear and shock, but he did as he was told. Quietly he walked to the family room and just stood facing the massive stone fireplace.
I returned to the family room with the leather strap. It's designed for one purpose, spanking. The 12" strap is a quarter-inch thick, tapered at one end like a handle. The other end is about three inches wide with the leather cut back three inches forming two eighth-inch thick sheets. When smacking bare flesh, it makes a fine, loud slapping sound. It also stings like hell.
"Bobby, turn around. Take off your shirt, socks and shoes." He looked at me and was trembling, but he slowly did what I told him. "Now take off your shorts." He obviously did not like this one bit. He stood there wearing only his white briefs.
I sat in the middle of a very long sofa. "Come here, Bobby, and stand in front of me." Slowly he walked to the couch and for the first time glanced down and saw the strap. His eyes were wide, mouth open and a horrified look on his face.
"Please, please, Dave, don't whip me. Is there some other kind of punishment you can give me? Please, please!"
"No, son, not this time. Lie down across my lap." I took his left hand and guided him toward me. His eyes were glassy. As he lay across my lap, I repositioned him so that his left shoulder and head were on the couch. His ass was on my right leg, and his legs were dangling to the floor. My left hand was firmly holding the right side of his back at the waist. I took my left hand and pulled his briefs down, off his legs and threw them on the coffee table.
"Dave, please don't pull off my shorts. I'm naked." He lifted himself with his left arm and tried to turn his head to see his predicament without much success. "Dave, oh _s_h_i_t_, no!" he cried out.
"You're off to a bad start with that kind of language, son." I took the strap and with force landed a loud WHACK on his right butt.
"Ooooo, Jesus Christ! Oh, _f_u_c_k_! That hurts like hell, Dave!"
"I don't want language like that coming out of your mouth, Bobby."
WHACK! "OUCH!" WHACK! "OUCH!" Two beauties on his left ass cheek.
"Now tell me you won't use that kind of language and you're sorry."
"I WON'T USE BAD WORDS, I PROMISE, DAVE! PLEASE STOP! I'M SORRY!"
"Those three lashes were for the language, Bobby. Now we'll start your whipping for your bad behavior today."
"WHAT? I THOUGHT THIS WAS IT, THE END. OH, GOD, THERE'S MORE!"
"You bet there's more, son. A lot more."
I thought, the youngest person I've spanked was a 22-year-old young man in consensual play. This is a new experience for me. I'm going to start out slowly and somewhat softly spanking his ass with my hand. Gradually I'll increase the hardness of each spank, slowly building the heat in his ass. I keep a steady rhythm, not too fast. That way he'll feel each smack and let it soak into his flesh. When his ass is sufficiently warm and red, I'll switch to the strap going slow and easy while keeping a rhythm and gradually build each lash to a higher intensity.
"Bobby, you're going to get 40 lashes, 20 with my hand and 20 with the strap."
"OH, NO! PLEASE, DAVE, NOT THAT MANY. CUT IT IN HALF, PLEASE!"
"Not a chance, kid."
I started the spanking, one cheek, then the other, then both cheeks, keeping that rotation. Bobby was not lying still. He was squirming all over my lap, his ass cheeks moving to the left, then to the right, up and down. He was an easy and inviting target. His firm, well- rounded butt was an easy mark. His cries and sobs were soft as I spanked him. They became louder with the intensity building after each spank. I counted out loud each spank. It was a rhythm that went 1 AND 2 AND 3 AND 4......I was finished with the 20 spanks. I rubbed his ass. It was very warm and very red but no marks.
"ARE WE FINISHED?" he pleaded. "MY ASS IS ON FIRE, DAVE." He tried to turn his head to look at me.
"You're using another word I don't want coming out of your mouth."
"WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO CALL IT? PLEASE DON'T WHIP ME FOR THAT ONE WORD, JEEZE!"
Trying not to laugh, I said, "OK, I'll let you get by on that one. Now comes the strap. The first 10 lashes over my knees. The next 10 while you stand in the corner of the room."
"OH, GOD, SAVE ME, PLEASE. YOU'VE GONE MAD, DAVE."
The first five strap lashes were not all that heavy, but they sure sounded loud and threatening. Bobby continued his "cute" little wiggle dance across my legs. I found it funny, but I wouldn't tell him that. The rhythm was the same as the hand spanking. Bobby moaned, groaned and was crying softly. He was breathing heavily. After the first five lashes, I relaxed and rubbed his ass. It was hot, but there were no marks.
"YOU'VE STOPPED. DOES THAT MEAN WE'RE FINISHED?"
"Nope, son, now come the next five." This time I build the intensity with the tenth being a beauty that landed squarely across both cheeks.
"Oooooo, I'M DYING. I'M ALREADY DEAD. PLEASE, DAD, I'LL BE THE BEST SON YOU COULD EVER HOPE FOR."
I wondered if I heard correctly. "The best son." Is that what he said? This kid has got me going from being a "Dave" to a "Dad" in two short days. How the hell could this be happening to me? Dads are supposed to be kind, loving creatures guiding and teaching their sons, playing with them. In my two days with Bobby, all I've been doing is yelling at him, setting down rules and whipping his ass. How on earth could this kid begin a transformation in his mind to move me from Dave to Dad? It can't be that. He has to be confusing me with his father. Although, I never thought Nick, when he was alive, would be doing this to his son. It's possible, given the kid's ability to get himself into trouble.
"Now, Bobby, comes the end of tonight's punishment. Stand up and go to the corner of the fire place."
He stood up and rubbed his eyes of tears. I handed him a tissue. He walked to the corner rubbing his reddened ass. I was very surprised not to hear more pleas to stop. Maybe he just wants to get it over with and get to bed.
"Bobby, place your hands above your head with your palms on each wall. This will be your final 10 lashes."
Not a word from him. He did look back over his shoulder to watch me. Eyes wide and mouth open, he still had that terrified look. I was beginning to have some pity for him. Maybe I had been too harsh. I decided to go a little easy for the first eight lashes. As I whipped him with the same rhythm as before, he sort of danced from side to side, occasionally lifting one leg then the other. The last two lashes were a little hard, one on each cheek. He yelped loudly.
During my play times with friends, they or I would consider tonight's whipping very light and nothing more than an erotic massage. But they're a lot older and more mature. Bobby's a kid and must find this painful and humiliating beyond belief.
I threw the strap on a chair and said, "Bobby, we're finished. You've been whipped and punished. Turn to me."
He turned around and hugged me very tight. His head rested on my chest, and he was crying softly. I massaged his back and then hugged him tight trying to comfort him. After a moment, I lifted his head back by his chin and gave him a kiss on the forehead.
"I love you, Bobby."
"I love you too, Dad er Dave. I deserved the punishment. Please forgive me. I probably will get in more trouble again; I always seem to. I don't want to disappoint you. Please keep me with you."
Those big blue eyes and that _d_a_m_n_ angelic face just blew me away for the umpteenth time. Suddenly he must have realized his nakedness, because he ran from me to the coffee table and grabbed his shorts and put them on in lightening speed. Inside me, I laughed.
"Don't worry about me keeping you, Bobby. We have a lot of learning to do together. And a whole lot of things to do to prepare for your life here. Hey, it's nearly 9:30. Your bedtime. Grab your things and get to bed. Brush your teeth, first." He quickly ran to his room with his clothes.
I put the strap away but not in the garage chest. I think I'll be needing this a lot in the times ahead. I put it in a drawer in one of the family room's chests. Then I walked down the hall toward his room. Bobby had finished brushing his teeth, but I saw him with his shorts down trying to look at his butt in the mirror. It was red, very red, but there wasn't a mark on him. I'm sure there will not be any bruising. I have had a lot of experience at whipping and spanking scenes and parties. As a Top or a bottom, I know what it takes to create some sort of damage. Nevertheless, this is the first time I've whipped a kid instead of an adult.
When Bobby saw me looking at him, his face turned as red as his ass. This time I laughed and said, "Don't be embarrassed; we all do it."
"You mean this has happened to you?"
"Sure, Bobby, lots of times. Believe me, you got it light; I've had it a whole lot harder. Now get to bed. Remember, there's another spanking in the morning, and then we have a lot of business to accomplish."
"Wow! I can't believe you've been whipped this hard. I know you said I'd get another spanking, but I thought, hoped, that you'd go easy on me tomorrow."
"No chance, kid." I followed him to his room and tucked him in. Naturally he was lying on his stomach, not his back. I rubbed his ass gently. He didn't mind that at all. I kissed him on the left side of his face.
"I love you, son, good night."
"I love you, too, Dad er Dave, good night."
He fell asleep quickly. I left the door ajar and went to my room. I, too, was exhausted. I felt a need for some _s_e_x_ual release. There's no one around to be with now that Bobby's here. So, I did what I know how to do best when I'm alone. Then I fell asleep.