He was late. Again. I sighed. I checked my watch one more time, hoping I'd read it wrong, knowing that I hadn't. 1 a. m.
I walked to my room and I pulled out the list of rules we'd agreed on.
Rule 3 - Curfew. 11 p. m. Sunday through Thursday nights. 1 a. m. Friday and Saturday nights. Nick will be at home, inside the house, by this time. In case of emergency, Nick will call and explain his situation.
'Okay,' I told myself, 'don't panic. You can give him five or ten minutes. He'll probably be pulling up any minute. Or he'll call.' I checked the phone, it was working. Fine, I just have to wait.
I walked the hall, looking at the pictures on the wall. Baby Nicky, bald as a billiard ball with his big blue eyes. Two years old, his blond hair practically white. Six years old, two great big dimples and no front teeth. Seven years old, his first year in cherub choir, so serious in his little white choir gown. Nine year old Nicky, the last year on Santa's lap. Eleven year old Nicky, holding a trophy almost as big as himself, he'd been voted MVP of his baseball team. Thirteen year old Nicky, starting to get a little lanky, stretching out, longer legs, no belly, round little baby face on an awkward skinny body. Fourteen year old Nicky, the first year of high school, the earring he'd campaigned and begged and pleaded for finally glinting in his left ear. Fifteen year old Nick, looking cool, no smile, probably trying to look _s_e_x_y. Sixteen year old Nicky, leaning proudly against the hood of his own car, wearing nothing but shorts and a smile. He'd been washing it, for maybe the third time that week when I snapped that. He had grown into a handsome kid. God, please let him be okay.
I checked the time again. 1:25 a. m. Should I start calling the hospitals? 'No, Dylan,' I told myself, ' don't be paranoid. He's just late, he's not hurt. He's fine, he'll be here any minute.'
I flipped on the T. V. Just in case there was a report of a horrific accident. 'Alright, he's going to have to be punished. He knows that. He knows I'll take the belt to him. He knows he's earned it. So why isn't this working the way it should? This is the fourth whipping this month, and he got it twice last month. He probably would have gotten more if he hadn't been grounded for three weeks. The house has been nothing but a detention center for almost a year now. He isn't happy, I'm not happy. He's starting to get surly and resentful now and then. I'm starting to feel like all I ever do is punish him and it isn't helping. Something has got to change around here. Maybe it's time to up the strokes. Fifteen? Twenty? Would that get through to him? Or is that too much? I don't want to beat him black and blue, I just want him to pay attention, like he used to. Why is it that when he was ten I could take down his shorts, pull him across my knee, and just give him enough swats to be slightly pink, and he'd be bawling his head off, clinging to me and apologizing, and when it was over he'd be good as gold for weeks, but now I smack a belt across his bottom eight or ten times, and he walks away, then does the exact same thing two nights later? I love him so much, how can I get back the happy boy I had before?'
I heard his car. "Thank you God!" I said aloud. I switched off the T. V. and went to stand at the door.
He pulled to a stop. It took him a while to open the door. He knows what's coming. After a few more minutes I heard his footsteps on the walk. He hesitated in front of the door. Poor kid. Dragging it out isn't gonna make it any easier, Nicky. Do what you have to do and let's get this over with.
Finally, he turned the knob, opened the door and walked in. He wasn't looking at me so he missed the immense relief that crossed my face at seeing him all in one piece. He closed the door and wouldn't look at me. He didn't speak either. He was scared, I could see it. Good Lord, he was still such a child. Maybe I was giving him more freedom than a boy can handle? Maybe that is the root of the problem? Finally I spoke, I kept my voice calm.
"It's past your curfew, son," I said.
"I'm sorry, Dad," he told the carpet.
I gave him a chance to explain. "What happened?"
"I just lost track of time," he said to his shoes.
I smiled. I was proud of him that he didn't lie. "Party was that good, huh?"
He didn't laugh. I suppose I wouldn't if I were in his place either. He shrugged. Time to get tough. "We agreed on this curfew, Nick."
He fidgeted. I waited for him to answer me. The uncomfortable silence stretched. "Nick?"
"I know, Dad, " he mumbled.
'My God, boy, do you realize I was losing my mind here, wondering what happened to you! What the hell are you doing, trying to give me a heart attack? . . .Whoa, Dylan, pull back there, you can't say THAT, you're the DAD, remember? We don't freak out on the child that way. Now how do I want to word this?'
"You know that it worries me when you should be here and you're not."
"I'm sorry, sir," He looked up at me, finally. There was remorse in his eyes. "I really am, Dad." That voice, he was such a sweet sweet kid.
I wanted so much to put my arms around him and hug him and never let go. I love this kid, I gotta do right by him, no matter how hard it is. I put my hand on his shoulder and tried to make him understand why this was so important. "Do you remember what we said about keeping your word?"
"Yes sir," he answered, but he didn't mean it. I'd lost his attention already. He'd probably say yes, sir to anything right now.
I tried to reach him again. "Son, when you grow up you are going to HAVE to be punctual, dependable and keep your word EVERY SINGLE TIME, do you understand that?"
He nodded. He wasn't listening, just agreeing. I sighed. It was obvious that he couldn't focus on me. Maybe it was the spanking he knew he had coming. May as well give it to him. I reached out and squeezed his shoulder one more time before I took off my belt.
Yep, that was what he was waiting for. He was transfixed, he couldn't take his eyes off my belt as I removed it. He swallowed convulsively and, as had been happening for a while, he got an erection. I never mentioned it. I thought it would just embarrass him. When he grows up he'll understand that it is a normal reaction to any excitement at his age, whether it was happiness or fear. I remember those days. I smiled to myself. 'Oh Nicky, this is such a confusing and difficult age for you, isn't it baby?'
I doubled up the belt in my right hand and took his upper arm in the other. I walked him toward the couch, like always, then I released his arm. "Bend over, Dominic," I said, time for his full name now. I had given him the dignity of walking to the back of the couch and bending over on his own since he was fourteen. But now, watching him, I wonder if maybe that is too much to put on him? Maybe I should be guiding him? He positioned himself, giving himself a little friction to maybe take the edge off of his hard-on. He looked over at me quickly, I pretended not to notice. I couldn't blame him, after all. I gave him two minutes to wait in that position. Time to get adjusted and to think about his situation, hoping something would sink in, and maybe we wouldn't have to do this again for a while. He was getting scared now. His bottom was tightening in his jeans, he was trying to brace himself for the pain. I walked over and stood behind him. I patted his rear. He relaxed and I started the spanking.
I pulled back and let the first stroke fall. His head came up and he sort of bucked against the couch, but he didn't make a sound. Stroke two, I heard him take a deep breath. At least I knew he was feeling it. He'd tightened up again, I waited for him to let go and sent a third smack across his buns. He cried out then, but it was muffled, he'd kept his lips shut tight. 'Good,' I thought, 'now I am getting through.' But he took the next spank silently, though his little fanny was trying to pull itself through the other side of his belly button. I took a swing and gave him one more, before switching sides. I gave him about twenty seconds before I landed the first stroke form the opposite side.
"OW!" he cried. I was happy to hear that. He needed to let it out.
I whipped the belt across his cheeks again, "EEYOW!" He was really dancing his hind end around now. I could hear tears in his voice.
The third stroke, the eighth of all. "OW OW!!!" His hand let go of the cushion, but he grabbed it again. Good boy, he knows better than to try and cover himself during punishment. I decided to give him two more and make it an even ten.
WHACK* "OOOOH!!" "CRACK* "OUCH!! OH!!!"
I laid the belt down on the couch next to him. "Aaaaoooo", he sobbed. He sniffed and tried to stop crying. He knew not to move until he was given permission. After three minutes, I thought he sounded like he was recovered enough to stand.
"Okay, Dominic," I said. "You can get up now."
He gingerly got to his feet. I noticed that his hard-on was gone, also a perfectly natural reaction. He swiped at his eyes quickly, probably hoping to hide his tears from me. He made his hands into fists and kept them straight at his sides, keeping himself from easing his aching buns, no doubt, though why, I don't know. I had the urge to rub away the pain myself, the way I used to after a spanking when he was small. But I didn't. Not this time. Maybe next time. I was forming a list of changes in my head as I watched him. But that could wait until tomorrow. We were both tired. It was time to finish this punishment and get some sleep. I knew the next part would shock him, hell I knew it would piss him off, but that was just too bad. That's what you get to do when you're the Dad. He was the kid, and he'd have to get used to it.
I opened my hand and held it out to him. "Give me your keys."
Yep, there it was in his eyes. Stunned. I had definitely caught him off guard with that. But he knew I meant business, so he pulled his keys out of his pocket. He was trembling when he gave them to me. I put them in my back pocket. "You won't get these back until you earn them back, son, understand?"
Ah, there was the anger, I knew it wouldn't be far behind. Lord, he was so much like me sometimes it was scary. He dropped his head before he could do anything to anger me, though, and just nodded his understanding.
'I know it's hard, little one, you'll be okay. Dad's here for you.' I reached out to him and tilted his chin up. He raised his eyes to look at me curiously.
"Things are going to change around here, Nicky, and those things are your behavior and your attitude. You've really been pushing the boundaries lately, and I'm getting pretty tired of it, kiddo. It's time that you got put in your place and Dad's gonna do it."
I guess that didn't sound too good to him. He panicked. "What Dad? What'd I do?"
I stifled a smile. I couldn't help it. He was so _d_a_m_n_ cute sometimes, I couldn't stand it. I put on the firm father voice. "Nicky, you know the rules. We've talked about them, we've negotiated them and you still break them."
"Dad, I'm sorry, really, I promise I'll never break curfew again." Never break curfew again? Was he TRYING to make me laugh? I just shook my head at him.
I guess the pain must have gotten to him. He put both hands on his rear and rubbed it hard, bouncing up and down on his heels. "REALLY Dad, I SWEAR!"
I had too look away from him, but I couldn't help but laugh. What I wouldn't give for a video of that. This is the big sixteen year old who thinks he can stay out past 2 a. m.?
He got mad then, he stopped himself and put his hands back at his sides. He was this close to stamping his feet. I wanted to get him to bed before he did something we'd both regret.
"Nicky, it's way past your bedtime. Go upstairs, take a shower and go to sleep. We'll talk more in the morning." I pulled him to me and kissed his forehead.
But he just couldn't drop it. Did I mention he can be too much like me sometimes? "But Dad," he started, "what do you mean about-"
I wasn't in the mood for a long discussion with a cranky belligerent boy. Before he knew what was happening I'd twisted him around and delivers a sharp swat to his seat with my hand. He literally jumped. "OUCH! DAD!" he complained.
I looked him right in the eye and gave him his orders, so there would be no more discussion. "Upstairs. Shower. Bed."
Tears filled his eyes, he regretted talking back to me, I could tell. He turned toward the stairs. Then, oddly, he turned back. I didn't say anything, waiting to see what he'd do. He turned back toward the stairs. 'Good boy' I thought. 'Just obey Dad and everything is going to be a lot better.' But then he stopped and just stood there, looking at the stairs. I was about to call his name when he suddenly turned and walked, well practically ran to me, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and then turned back and thundered up the stairs.
He kissed me goodnight. I smiled. God, I love that kid. I decided to let him get settled, then I'd go and do something I hadn't done in years. Tuck him in and wish him sweet dreams. Then I work on my plan for tomorrow and how to give him better guidelines, and tighter boundaries, so that he wouldn't have to be so confused and scared. He wouldn't have to flounder around, locking horns with me, trying his best to figure out how to be a man. He'd know he was still my little boy, and that it was okay.