I was sentenced to 8 - 14 years, good time parole depending, for beating my nephew.
Not that he didnt deserve it, mind you. He was a snotty kid, and came to live with me when he was 17. Well, Id had enough of his attitude, and when he mouthed off to me that last time, I pulled him into his bedroom, jerked off his clothes, and paddled his ass good with a hairbrush, then strapped him just like my dad did to me.
He cried and carried on like a pussyboy, and after he got through begging, please, uncle, ple-e-e-asssss-e! Dont spank me anymore, ple-e-e-e-e-assssssse!, I threw him over my knee and finished off his spanking with a fierce hand-spanking on his bruised, swollen buttocks.
He ran away the next day, and two days later the cops came and arrested me. It was a nightmare from then on out. I was thrown in jail, and then sent to a correctional facility awaiting trial, where I was sodomized by all the non-white inmates for having short eyes, then when I went to the state pen, it happened all over again, except that I was strapped regularly by the guards because they said I liked it.
Now I cant live anywhere, each town has my record and chases me out, my life is hell, and Im branded an abuser. All for spanking that little _s_h_i_t_ass - but it doesnt matter, because now my life is different, and I can never spank a boy again. Welcome to the 21st century, I guess. The shrink says Im a sick man, and who knows, maybe hes right - who gets off spanking men except a sicko? I just know my head is all screwed around about pain and daddy love, and how pain equals love, and that cant be right, can it? The shrink says I equate pain with love because my dad beat me, and I wanted him to love me so much, that I got into it in my head, and then _s_e_x_ became beating and beating became love and love became spanking. Jeez, I guess I must be a sick _f_u_c_k_, how can beating be love?
Now, I just move from town to town, a branded _s_e_x_ offender. As soon as I come to a town, the cops already know my record, and soon enough, a couple of em pay me a visit, and beat the _s_h_i_t_ out of me - its their word against mine. After a broken bone or two, I usually move on, living from trailer park to motel to trailer park. I still like to read the stories, but believe me, the reality is different.