Why I Did Not Go Home for Christmas
|by Y Lee Coyote|
Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 26 Dec 2011
The following story is fiction about a man who is spanked. The story contains scenes of spanking. If these subjects are offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.
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I had graduated college last June and was fortunate to get a great job only a few hours away from home. To make things even better, I discovered that I loved city living and quickly made friends. One, Pat, was delightfully close and definitely a keeper. The folks wanted me to come home for Thanksgiving but with the commercial madness I could not get away. It wasn't like the sweatshop days of a hundred years ago with the boss posing a sign "If you don't come in on Sunday, don't come in on Monday" «http://designarchives.aiga.org/assets/images/000/021/103/21103_lg.jpg» but I had to work the entire time. I was glad that the folks understood.
A month later the issue again reared its ugly head. The folks wanted me to come home for Christmas. They even said I could bring Pat. "Come on Saturday, share all of Christmas with everyone and then go home on Monday. You can even take the train and not have to worry about the long drive for we'll pick you up at the station." (They meant the commuter rail station not the long haul one, of course.) I though long and hard about it. It would be wonderful to be back with the big tree (dad always got one that marked the ceiling) and mom's special Christmas dinner. It would be nice to see my little siblings even though they are not so little since Kenny is already a junior in high school. No more having to pretend that I still believed in Santa not to disillusion him.
The trouble was that since I was ten things were not always so rosy and fun and nice. The folks could not understand that we kids were growing up and it was necessary to change. Yes, we always got great goodies under the tree but each year the price was higher and higher. Not monetary inflation, but emotional pain and suffering. By the time I was eighteen, I hated Christmas at home.
This year I wanted to spend it with Pat and share stares into eyes and spanks of joy since we both switch). If I hadn't had Pat then I would have gone home and made them happy. But if Pat was there it would be terrible disaster. I had told the folks in advance I was not coming but had a friend deliver the following letter on Christmas Day.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I am NOT coming home for the holiday. I've decided to spend it with Pat and my other friends here in the city. Yes, I know you said that Pat was welcome but that is the problem. Christmas is not the joy that it was before I was ten. Until then it was always great. We had the great big tree with lots of room under it for terrific presents and great dinners and trips to mall and other places for fun. Many times grandma and grandpa were also there although sometimes they visited our cousins.
Alas, it was not always wonderful. I don't mean that spanking I got when I was ten and knew that Santa wasn't real. I certainly deserved it for trying to convince Kenny of the fact. Perhaps if you had talked to me before I would have understood. But you treated me like a baby although after the spanking I was mature enough to understand.
That wasn't the problem. Maybe pictures of three little boys in red footed pj's with one button undone are cute but not when the oldest is twelve or eleven or even ten especially the one showing the red oval from the wooden spanking spoon. I begged you not to but you insisted that my grandparents would love them. When you finally stopped, you had to have the last one with me on the mantle to embarrass me with everyone who came to the house – especially my friends. When you stopped that, you showed them off in the album to everyone.
Even when there was a wonderful ending like when Kenny did that song in the pageant which he lovingly dedicated to me but I heard it with a hot red tail fidgeting on the hard wooden benches in the church hall. But I was eighteen and just telling me to be there like I was ten was not right. Surely you could have told me that there was a good reason to go to that corny event rather than just being despotic about it.
I'm sure you will also enjoy that picture of thirteen year old me on Santa's lap even though you can't see how red my bottom is. I feel sorry for the poor elf who practical got a hernia pushing me down the chute.
Sometimes I wonder if I should have spanked you to get you to understand YOUR naughtiness like you did to me.
So, I'm going to spend the holiday here in the city with Pat and our friends. We'll have a party on Christmas eve and go caroling – hopefully in the snow – and then to Midnight Mass. Pat and I got reservations at one of our favorite restaurants for a real Christmas dinner. They'll have all the trimming, we won't have to do the dishes and I won't turn red with embarrassment when you show all those old pictures and tell those ever-so-cute stories. We have all the good stuff and I won't miss the unpleasant things.
Do have very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Your loving son,
* * * * * * * * * *
It was wonderful spending the holiday with Pat and our friends without even a hint of embarrassment for anyone. And that includes the cute elf at the party whose bare butt everyone gently spanked for good luck which was sort of like rubbing the Laughing Buddha's tummy. Everything went as planned until I returned to my apartment with Pat after dinner. The plan was to snuggle up with a movie and then play in the bedroom. The message from my folks on the phone changed the plan. Mom was sobbing as she spoke saying that she and Dad never understood me when I complained thinking that I was just being a wilful boy and that they were terribly sorry and regretted it all. Pat insisted that I explain what this was all about.
Pat was not satisfied with my story although conceded I had been provoked. "You have acted as badly as they have." I was lectured, "Just like a petulant little boy." Then the stinger. "Get the hairbrush."
Moments later I was over Pat's lap with my pants and boxers about my ankles. Recently, this was always for fun and games but today it was not. SPANK! The hairbrush crashed into my bare, unprotected right butt cheek. Then again on the left side. Pat told me that it left two pink hand-sized ovals. Dozens of hard spanks combined to turn my bottom into a major pain center like it had not been since I was fifteen and took the car out on the street. It was so intense that I cried like a baby. When Pat was done, I was a very well spanked boy regretting my naughtiness.
A half hour later I called my parents. We all apologized and made peace. Only then did we cuddle up to watch the movie and then to the bed
© Copyright A.I.L. December 26, 2011
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