I awoke at my usual time of 6:30. I put on my running shorts but no shirt then went to my exercise room between my bedroom and the office/den. This is a great room with French Doors leading to the pool. I have a treadmill, weight lifting equipment, stationary bicycle and assortment of other items. The floor is carpeted and three walls have wall to wall, floor to ceiling mirrors. I work out for about a half hour.
At 7:00 I went to Bobby's room and found him still asleep lying there blissfully on his back. Maybe the soreness of last night's whipping had worn off. I quietly sat on the bed and just stared at him. Even in sleep, the kid's _d_a_m_n_ cute. In the five minutes or so of sitting there, I was thinking of all the things we have to do together, all the preparations we have to do to make his life meaningful and fun for this summer. Finally, I gently nudged his shoulder and said:
"Bobby, it's time to wake up."
He mumbled something and rubbed his eyes. Eyes awake, he looked at me and said, "Good morning, Dave."
"Bobby, remember you have another spanking to go. Turn over on your stomach." This time, surprisingly, there were no moans and pleas. He just turned over and said, "Jeeze."
I pulled the sheets off the bed. He was naked, which surprised me. His ass had only a faint glint of redness and no marks. I wasn't surprised by that at all. He stretched himself out straight with his arms above his head dangling over the top of the bed. There was no coaching on my part to tell him how to position himself. He seemed totally submissive and prepared to receive this spanking.
I repositioned myself so that I was sitting on the bed with my back to him. With my left hand, I firmly held his waist. With my right hand, I began the slow, easy rhythm of the spanking, starting lightly and building to intensity. I spanked one ass cheek, then the other, then both. I was going to give him 10 spanks, with the last one being the hardest. Bobby moved his hips side to side with each spank, sometimes lifting his butt up slightly. There were no loud cries coming from him. He just softly said, "Ouch," "Jeeze," and "Oooooo." With the last spank, the hardest on both cheeks, he cried out, "Oh, man!" And then a sigh of relief as he breathed out deeply.
"We're finished, son"
"Thank God for that," he said.
He lifted himself up slightly, resting on his elbows. He took one hand and rubbed his ass. Finished with that, he rested himself on both elbows then turned to look at me and said, "Now what, Dave?"
I was standing over him looking down at him. I said, "It's time to do your exercises."
"My what? Exercises?" with a perplexed look on his face.
"We have not unpacked your bags. Where are your running shorts?"
"Yes, I unpacked yesterday afternoon. They're in the top drawer of the dresser."
I opened the drawer and said, "You mean this red pair?"
"Yea, that's all I've got. They're a little short for me. Mom bought those sometime when I was 12. I've sort of outgrown them."
"Well, we have some shopping to do, son." I took the pair and handed them to him.
"Put these on for now. You don't need a shirt; we're going to exercise."
"OK, but I can't get up with you here. I'm naked."
"Oh, don't be so modest. It's not like I haven't seen you before. You're no different from anyone else. Come on, we have a busy day."
"Oh, Jeeze!" He got up, put them on and followed behind me to the exercise room.
"Wow, man. What a cool setup. I didn't know you had all this stuff, Dave."
I worked him out for about a half hour, a little on each device, so he could get a feel for everything. Another time I'll teach him a routine. We finished and went to the breakfast nook.
"Read the newspaper, son, while I cook breakfast. Start with the main news section and go through the paper page by page. Read all the headlines. I'll give you a pop current events quiz while we're eating. We're going to talk about the news of the day."
He gave me a look that seemed to say, "We should be doing cool things, fun things, this is nothing but school junk." But there wasn't a word from him that he wouldn't do it.
During breakfast we talked about current events that he could comprehend, which didn't seem to be much. The discussion never got off track. We were focused, talking and with me explaining things he didn't understand and why they should be relevant to him.
Following breakfast, it was cleanup time. No objection from him. He did his chores a little faster this time. The only moaning and groaning came when I had him redo some cleaning to my satisfaction.
He was all questions, non stop animated talking about the things we were going to do today. There was never a mention of the whippings.
I was trying to be positive about the boy, hoping that we could have a lot of fun together, learning and growing. Every day can't be a punishment day for him, I hoped. But, there would be some rocky days ahead.
Bobby looked at me with those big blue, sparkling eyes and that broad happy smile with dimples. What a neat looking kid, I thought.
A month later
Bobby has been with me a little more than a month, and not once have I had to use corporal punishment on him, except for that one incident at the beginning of our relationship. He has been an excellent boy for whom I'm very proud. He has been playing in a soccer league but is only a so-so player; he's not had much training or experience at the game, but he's learning. Summer school has been very rewarding, however. He has picked up on math, science and English skills lost from his poor academic showing in the past. Teachers and tutors have been working very hard with him. He's enjoying school and his many friends. In fact, he has become very popular.
I have been anointed, "Dad," a move up from Dave, all at Bobby's insistence. He has adjusted well since his parents perished in that horrible automobile accident last Spring. He says he wants a dad and needs one and insists that he be my "son." He wants me to give him a "mom." But I can't, I'm gay.
I have been openly gay for many years. I'm now out of the closet with Bobby, too. My gay and straight friends all said I should come clean to him. But for some reason I can't explain, it was very painful for me to tell him the truth. I wasn't sure when and how to do it: how much to explain, how detailed it should be, how much he would understand, if he would be confused or even angry with me?
Bobby has met all my local gay friends and knows they are gay. How did he know? The kid point blank asked them at parties. I am very happy that one friend took time and patience to sit with Bobby and explain "_s_e_x_ual orientation" and the confusion it can mean to young people. Because this friend has had extensive experience dealing with teenagers and young adults — male and female — with their questions, their fears, anxieties and apprehension about telling parents, friends and others. He was able to put things in focus that Bobby could understand. He was able to tell Bobby things he needed to know but not so much to overwhelm him. If Bobby had more questions and wanted to go to the next level of understanding, my friend said he would gladly help the boy.
One day, Bobby asked me point blank, "Are you gay, Dad?"
"Yes, son, I am."
"I accept that and thanks for being honest with me, Dad. But, Dad, part of me says I wish you weren't gay."
"Why, son?"
"You can't give me a mom. I can't have everything I want, I guess. But one thing makes me very happy, Dad, I have you."
"Thanks, son. I'll be back in a minute." I left the room for my den, sat and cried with happiness.
It took me about a week to become fully adjusted to being called "Dad" about every other sentence from his lips. Me, of all people, a "Dad." I laughingly but nearly decked a very good friend of mine for calling me "The Old Man," "Daddy," and, of all things, "Pops."
With help from one of my female friends who has kids, we have collected a minor wardrobe for Bobby, but there still are more things to get. Bobby now has a computer in his room that I'm helping him to learn. I've bought him a collection of reference books for his studies but no TV set. I limit the TV time to newscasts, documentaries, The Discovery Channel and occasional movies that I believe are appropriate for his age. About the only punishments for misbehavior he has had recently is the loss of TV viewing and video games. He hates losing those privileges.
Last week we celebrated his fourteenth birthday with a bash that included 60 of my gay and straight friends and their families. That 60 people did not include the 20 teenagers and youngsters that joined the fun. I have a 5,500 square foot house on an acre and a half of flat land overlooking the mountains and city. The huge backyard was plenty of room for all to have fun. There are a gigantic pool and spa, a park-like setting of gardens along with tennis and basketball courts. The party lasted from noon to midnight. Bobby and I were exhausted, and we went to bed quickly after all had left. Although I had the party catered and valet parking, there still was a cleaning crew that came the next day, to bring the house and property to the spotless, orderly, structured state that I want.
I had a casual business meeting today that the participants wanted to continue past 4:00. I said, "No, not a chance, I have to be at my son's soccer match at 4:30, and I never miss a match." I drove to the field in time despite the bad traffic on the horrible Southern California freeways.
As soon as Bobby saw me, he jumped up and yelled, "Dad, Dad, Dad, I'm over here!" He ran to the chain link fence jumping up and down, waving his arms frantically in the air. He was so _d_a_m_n_ cute in that soccer outfit, sparkling blue eyes, broad smile with dimples, tousled hair waving in the wind.
I was walking quickly to the chain link fence. Bobby was still jumping up and down, yelling, "Dad, Dad, I get to start play. Isn't that great?"
"Yes, son, that's great. I'll be watching every second and rooting for you and the team." We clutched fingers through the fence. He was so excited, because he sometimes did not get a chance to play at all. He's not one of the team's best. After Bobby went back to his teammates, jumping excitedly all the way, I found his coach and thanked him for starting Bobby.
"No problem, Dave. He's a good kid and has been working hard. It's time to give him a chance to prove himself. I want all the kids to play the game."
I took my place in the bleachers with the other parents, still a little unsure of myself as a "parent." Nevertheless, I was becoming _d_a_m_n_ proud of my new lifestyle and responsibilities.
It was a great game. We were all jumping up and down, screaming for our boys with lines of encouragement. Bobby scored two goals during the game, and I was going wild with excitement to the point my voice was almost hoarse.
With the game over, the kids were all jumping up and down with excitement, hugging each other, patting themselves on their backs and butts. Finished with that the boys ran to their families. I was standing by the field. Bobby came running toward me, jumped up on me with arms around my neck and legs around my waist.
"Dad, we won! We won! And I made two of the winning goals."
I was overwhelmed with pride and excitement for my son.
Following the field celebration, I treated all the players and parents, coaches and fans to pizza at a local restaurant. It was great fun for all and for the shop's owner. He asked me to come back often with the team. I'm sure I more than made his profit for the month.
On the way home in the Ranger, Bobby was non stop talk with excitement, repeating himself often in variations of phrases and sentences. Bouncing about in his seat, I allowed him to raise the volume on the radio slightly more than usual to listen to his brand of music that I'm trying to get adjusted to. I was happy for him. I deeply love him and want the best for "my son."
In a few days, unbeknownst to the two of us, his behavior would get a little off course and a bad Bobby would emerge. Too bad, but life can't always be joy and sunshine, even for good boys we love. He would have to be put back on the course that's right for him and that he knows is right for himself.
Friday was a day in the high 90's in mid July, I was laying nude on the chaise lounge by the pool in our backyard, swimming occasionally to cool off, listening to great jazz on the outdoor stereo and reading a good book. I like having that golden Southern California tan and try to keep it year round. My peace and quite was about to be disrupted.
"Hi, Dad! Want something cool to drink before I come out?"
"Please, son, bring me a diet Pepsi."
Bobby returned with a tray of soft drinks and snacks, setting it down on a table beside his and my lounges. He was wearing a thong bikini I had especially made for him. The suits in the store where I shop for swim wear did not have one small enough for a 14-year-old.
He was very reluctant to wear a Speedo bikini I bought him let alone a thong bikini. But he got used to the idea when he frequently saw me in them. During my pool parties this summer for my gay friends, he always saw the guys wear these suits, with some going nude. These men are all good looking, tan, and some with very muscular bodies. At first I didn't want him to be at these parties, but I couldn't always keep him away. The parties would start in the afternoon and go on to early or late evening. This is Bobby's home and he certainly has a right to be here whenever he wants.
When he first saw a party, he stayed in his room. That's not fair to him. He wanted to use the pool in the summer. It's his pool, too. So I encouraged him to come out and meet these nice people. He had met them before but not under seminude or nude conditions.
"Son, you liked these guys with their clothes on. They're the same people with their clothes off. They won't attack you. You don't need to be afraid."
It only took two pool parties for him to join in with the fun. He lost that adolescent self-conscious attitude quickly and wore his bikini. In fact he lowered the top of the bikini almost as far as possible without taking it off. He looked _d_a_m_n_ _s_e_x_y for his age in that suit. My friends commented and Bobby blushed but didn't raise the suit to its normal height.
He was the perfect host, too. He walked around talking to people, often carrying a tray of drinks and snacks. He listened to their conversations and asked questions but was never a pest. When topics turned to him, he became animated and very enthusiastic talking about himself and his new life here with me.
I had some strict rules for my gay friends at pool parties when the boy was present. In fact they made their own rules: (1) No body hits on Bobby in a _s_e_x_ual way; (2) No _s_e_x_ual play around Bobby; (3) No foul language or suggestive talk around Bobby. My friends are intelligent, well-educated, talented, sophisticated and mostly very successful people. The others would be shocked, disappointed and really jump on any guys that misbehaved around Bobby. They all love him.
At my last pool party for these friends, Bobby wore his new thong bikini. I was surprised but pleased that he felt so comfortable with his body. Most adolescents his age would not be so inclined. Needless to say, Bobby was a hit with my friends. None teased him; it's not their style. They complimented him in a way that he felt pleased and comfortable with himself and very much at ease.
This Friday afternoon with the two of us alone in the backyard, I hoped we would share some quiet time together. But I guess he had other plans for my quiet afternoon listening to jazz music. He quickly changed the CD player to his Rock music and turned up the volume to what I thought was 5,000 decibels of earsplitting noise.
"Please turn it down, son, you're creating a minor earthquake and making me go deaf."
"Oh, Dad, you're such a pain when it comes to listening to great music like this; it has to be loud to enjoy. Let's compromise. How's this sound, Dad?"
"Not a whole lot better, but I can suffer through it, hopefully."
"Dad, let's get you some earplugs."
"Where did you get that CD, son? I don't remember buying it for you."
"Oh, ah, let me think. I borrowed it from a friend, Dad. You know, Steve has lots of neat music."
"Did you put on suntan lotion, son?"
"No, Dad, I wanted you to do it."
He laid down on his lounge and stretched out. I sat beside him and put on the lotion. When I do this to people, I give a body massage at the same time. I am very good at giving a massage. I took some training. I started at his shoulders and very gradually worked my way down his body. I paused at his lower back and bare buttocks, and gave the area special treatment that everyone seems to like. I then started at his feet and worked my way back up to his buttocks, massaging both legs inside and outside. When I reached the inside of his legs at the buttocks, I could feel he had an erection. That's when I stopped. He has a beautiful, sensual body. I'm no pedophile, and I don't ever want a relationship with him other than father and son. I guess I got a little carried away with myself, and I felt guilty, even ashamed.
"Thanks, Dad. That really felt good. I almost fell asleep."
How could the kid fall asleep with that _d_a_m_n_ music blaring? I guess he and I will never come to terms peacefully on that _f_u_c_k_ing stuff he calls music.
He then jumped into the pool, creating a giant splash that landed on my body and my book. My body, I didn't mind. But the _d_a_m_n_ book. I did mind that.
"Bobby, don't jump into the pool when you're close to other people. My book is all wet."
"Sorry, Dad, I wasn't thinking. I'll jump from the other end of the pool or the diving board."
So much for my quiet afternoon, sunning, listening to great jazz and enjoying my book. I'll turn over and sun the front of myself and rest my eyes. Maybe, with God's help, I can block out that _f_u_c_k_ing music.
I must have dozed off for a moment. When I readjusted my chaise lounge to sit up, there wasn't a lot of splashing, jumping and diving coming from the pool. But that _d_a_m_n_ music was still blaring. Bobby was lying on his raft naked, sunning himself, floating back and forth around the pool. The kid learned not to like tan lines on his body when he looked at me with no lines. He had seen himself in a mirror a week or so ago with a very white ass but a great looking tan elsewhere. Now, the boy is tan all over.
Bobby has a perfectly proportioned body and a face that is so beautiful. I enjoyed watching him float naked back and forth. I quietly got into the pool and waded toward him. His eyes were closed. I got to his raft and flipped it over, dunking him into the pool.
"OK, Dad, that's a call for war!"
Water splashing everywhere, wrestling, throwing a ball at each other and anything spontaneous we could do to have fun. Then the _d_a_m_n_ phone rang that we keep near the pool. What a _f_u_c_k_ing nuisance that phone is when it rings while you're having fun. Instead of letting it ring to the answering machine, I jumped out of the pool and answered the call.
The call was from Gerald, the father of Bobby's friend Steve. Gerald sounded angry, frustrated and very pissed off. Listening to Gerald, I walked to the side of the yard where I could hear more clearly, away from the _d_a_m_n_ music. The more I listened to Gerald the angrier I got. Now I was pissed off. It seems that Bobby, Steve and two other boys have become a gang of "Rich Kid Thieves." I told Gerald that all of the parents and kids would have to meet together, the sooner the better. Gerald agreed to get back to me quickly as soon as he could arrange a time and place for everyone.
My beautiful, quiet day with my son was _f_u_c_k_ing ruined. I saw Bobby swimming and having a great time with himself in the pool. That would be ending soon! I went to my room to get dressed.
Standing by the pool, I stared down at Bobby. He finally noticed me.
"Why did you get dressed, Dad? We were having a lot of fun."
"Bobby, get out of the pool and come inside."
The boy had a worried look on his face. He jumped out of the pool and put a towel around his waist.
"Dad, what's wrong?"
"I want to ask you some questions, son. Let's go!"
He followed me back to his room.
"Where are your CD's, son?"
"They're in this drawer, Dad, why?" He opened the drawer and showed me twenty units.
That seemed reasonable to me. I drove him to the store a few times so he could start building his collection. I wanted him to find an eclectic selection of music to broaden his tastes and not just "junk" music. I disapproved of some of the lyrics on some CD's and wouldn't buy them.
"Is this all you have, son, nothing more? You better be honest with me!"
The boy had a worried look. He looked around the room nervously. Glancing back at me, his body language and eyes seemed to be saying: "I better come clean, or I'll be in deep _s_h_i_t_ trouble."
He sheepishly opened a larger drawer that must have contained a few dozen CD's. He wasn't looking at me, just the drawer and the stuff in it.
"Where did you get these? Be careful how you explain it to me."
"Well, ah, well, Steve, Joey, Adam and I collected these. Not all at once, Dad, just over time."
"Is the collection you kids gathered all in this drawer? Do the other boys have an equal collection? Or are they allowing you to be the caretaker of the stuff?"
"We all have a similar collection, Dad," he said softly.
"OK, how did you boys manage to collect so many? Did you trade things with other kids to get them? Did you boys buy all this stuff? Or, did you boys steal them? Be honest with me."
"We stole them, Dad," now in an almost inaudible voice.
"Speak up louder and look me in the eye."
Bobby looked at me with glassy eyes and in a louder but trembling voice said, "We stole them." He then looked away from me.
I took a very deep breath and began counting to myself slowly up to 20: 1, 2, etc. What am I going to do now? All of this has to be corrected and fast. Some hard time punishment is definitely in order. What kinds of punishments and for how long?
"Son, you have no idea how deeply disappointed I am in you. You have hurt yourself. You have hurt me very deeply. I feel betrayed by what you have done. What about respect, trust and honesty. Don't these things mean anything to you? Saying "sorry" doesn't cut it anymore. You have to be punished for this big time and must learn from this that it is very wrong. "
Bobby just stood there looking at the floor with nothing on but the towel around his waist.
"Explain this to me, son. All of you boys have very wealthy parents. You are rich kids. If you had asked me to buy you a hundred, three hundred CD's and video games, I would have done it. You can have anything you want. Money is no object. But I'll be _d_a_m_n_ed if I'm going to raise a spoiled rich kid. Although I can easily afford to buy you anything you want, you're not going to be spoiled; you'll have to work for some things. I won't allow you to have the entire world all at once. Why? Why, son, would you steal something that I would buy for you? Why?"
"I don't know, Dad. There's no explanation I can give. The four of us got together and one thing led to another. Maybe it was the thrill."
"The thrill? Will you do anything dishonest and illegal just for the thrill?"
"No, sir."
"This is the second time in some six weeks that you have been caught stealing. This pattern of behavior has got to stop. Do you realize that?"
"Yes, sir," he said, still looking at the floor.
"How are we going to stop it?"
"Give me a whipping, Dad, a hard one. I'm ready now."
"That kind of punishment is for starters, son, but there are different kinds and more to come. Go to the family room and stand in the corner with palms high on each wall."
The kid quickly did as he was told. Tears were streaming down his face. He took off the towel and stood in the corner, naked.
I took the strap from the chest's drawer and walked over to him.
"How many am I going to get, Dad," he said sobbing and trembling?
"You're going to get 25."
There was no objection from him. This time I did not start softly and buildup. I used the same rhythm as before, but I began with hard lashes. One ass cheek, then the other, then both were whipped. I made Bobby count out clearly and loudly the number of each lash.
His waist and ass jerked from side to side, lifting a leg now and then. He gave out a few "Ouch's" but no pleas to stop. His ass was bright red when I finished. I noticed what appeared to be a few welts.
When I finished, Bobby just kept standing there. He made no attempt to rub his ass, which must have been burning like hell. He was crying softly.
"When Steve's Dad arranges a meeting with the other parents and boys, we are all going to meet together to discover what happened and what the next steps will be." Bobby bowed his head, which was now blushing almost as red as his ass cheeks.
"Go to your room, son. No phone calls. No music. Just think."
He ran to his room. I sat at the table in the breakfast nook and just stared out the window. I have never been more disappointed or disgusted in my life.
I called my attorney, told him the story as I knew it and asked for advice. I was ready to throw the book at Bobby, send him to Juvenile Hall.
"Dave, we need more information: the value of the merchandise; where was it stolen? ; how did they do it?; was it planned?; was it a prank? I'm your business attorney. I have a good friend who does criminal law and is very experienced in juvenile crimes. I'll have him call you this weekend when you have more information. Meanwhile, keep me posted."
"Thanks, Albert."
I called Betty Barney a very close psychologist friend. I told her the story and how I had just punished Bobby.
"Dave, you know I vehemently oppose corporal punishment. That kind of behavior on your part could land you in trouble with the authorities. Then Bobby would have no one. He needs you and your love and understanding.
"I deal with many troubled kids: youngsters to teenagers. I can help Bobby, if he wants help and is willing to cooperate. We have a 12-step program similar to AA and others. It works. These kids meet in small groups for about six weeks. I work with the groups and individually. Bobby must face the consequences of his actions and take full personal responsibility for them. Dave, bring him to see me as soon as possible, even this weekend. I'll make available whatever time is necessary."
"Dave, you are an extremely wealthy man. You can buy him out of trouble. Don't do that! It sends the wrong message to him. He must go through this as someone who takes responsibility for his own actions. Also, Dave, I want to meet with you one on one to work out this corporal punishment issue. That's important."
"Thanks, Betty. I will not buy him out of this trouble. I want you, Bobby and me to meet as soon as possible. I'll talk to you soon. Thanks, again."
That evening Bobby and I drove to Gerald's house just a couple blocks from our home. Well, it's not a house. It's a mansion. I stopped at the driveway entrance and rang the intercom.
"It's Dave and Bobby, Gerald."
In a few seconds, the 12-foot wrought iron gates slowly swung open, and we drove up the winding driveway to this humongous French traditional mansion bathed in lights. It's a beautiful place inside and out. But it's not my style, too _d_a_m_n_ big and formal for my tastes. I almost bought something like this four years ago, but I'm glad I didn't.
All parents and boys were seated in Gerald and Anna's Library. Each boy sat next to his parents on a red leather sofa. The four sofas were arranged in a square with a large marble table in the middle. The parents looked at each other solemnly. Each boy just looked down to their laps, with no eye contact with anyone.
Bobby was a little restless. I knew that sitting was not too comfortable for him just now. Strangely, I noticed that Steve was doing the same thing. I wondered to myself if he didn't get an ass whipping a short time ago, too. All of the boys had red eyes from crying. Each was quietly sobbing now. They were scared as hell.
All of the stolen articles from each boy were placed on the marble tale. It was a far larger number than I thought. Each parent was shocked at the quantity of goods.
We found out that the items were taken from four different stores over a period of a week and a half. The boys took a bus to a target store, split up their roles and craftily stole the stuff. They split the goods according to their own tastes. The value of the items was somewhere around $800. No boy admitted to being the leader or the one who thought up the idea. Each boy agreed that saying "sorry" would not be enough. They agreed they should be punished for their actions.
The parents were in unison that the boys were spoiled "Rich Kids" out for a thrill. They're in big trouble for what could have easily been bought for them just for the asking. No boy could explain the "thrill." We all had to nudge our kids to talk louder so the group could hear. They wanted to whisper while looking at their trembling hands or the floor.
Each parent had already talked to an attorney. I suggested that they should go to Juvenile Hall. Bobby turned and looked at me in horror, mouth open and eyes wide.
"Throw the book at them."