Date: Sat, 23 Feb 2002 17:28:48 -0500 From: Tom Cup <tom_cup@hotmail.com> Subject: Tommy Series (Growing Up - Revised) Chapter 2 Copyright 2000, 2001, 2002 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado Corporation. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive, Florissant, CO 80816 This is a fictional story involving alternality sexual relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ************************************************************************ Tommy By Tom Cup Part 2 Growing Up CHAPTER 2 The week passed far quicker than I would have liked. There was a strained atmosphere whenever Mom and I were in the room together. Dad, of course, was clueless to the potential problem. We were sitting silently eating our breakfast when Mom cleared her throat and said, "Stan, we need to discuss something." Dad folded the newspaper, placed it neatly in front of him, and looked at Mom. This meant; `You have my full attention.' Mom continued as if I wasn't sitting in the same room, at the same table, with them. "Tommy," she said, "is insisting that he is not going to Dr. Richards' today or every again for that matter." Now Dad turned his gaze to me, which meant: `Explain yourself, young man.' "I don't need to go there," I stated flatly. "That is not for you to decide," Dad retorted. "I'm not going," I said defiantly Dad gathered his paper and stood up calmly saying, "Yes, you are." I spent the rest of the day in my room. Keith wasn't allowed to see me and I watched the clock tick off the moments until final confrontation. When the knock came at the door and Mom's voice said, "Time to go," we both knew my response: "I'm not going." The door opened and Mom stepped into the room. I was lying on my bed facing away from the door but could hear the frustration in her voice. "Thomas James," she said, "I want you to get up right now. It's time to go!" I turned slowly to face her. The tone of my voice was flat and calmer than I thought it would be. "I told you," I said, "I am not going back there. Ever." Mom opened her mouth as if to say something, closed it and opened it again before saying, "OK," and walked out of the room. I could hear the muffled voices of my parents as Mom told Dad of the incident that had just occurred. I sat calmly on the edge of my bed and waited. It didn't take long. "Come in," I responded to the knock at the door. Mom opened the door but did not enter the room. "Dad wants to see you in the den," she said opening the door wider to signal now. As I entered the den, Dad motioned to me to close the door behind myself. He sat behind his desk with his hands folded in front of him. I stood in front of the desk. "What's this about disobeying your mother? And before you answer, Thomas, know that I am at my limit." I knew what he meant, of course. But I really didn't care. Something had changed in me. Maybe it was at that moment that I really understood that I was growing up. I was willing to suffer for what I believed. "I'm not going," I repeated. Dad reached down with his right hand and slid the bottom drawer open. When his hand reappeared, the paddle was in it. He calmly laid it on the desk. He looked sternly at me before saying, "You have two choices: turn around now and get in the car with your mother or assume the position." I was trembling. The last time I was paddled was almost a year before. I had been out playing, throwing rocks at nothing in particular when I accidentally broke a neighbor's window. I had cried like a baby saying it was an accident and how sorry I was. I had begged Dad not to spank me. "Please Daddy, please," I had cried, "I'll never throw rocks again, please." He had spanked me anyway and the next day I went out and threw rocks in anger because he had not listened to my earnest pleas. We stared at each other for what seemed like ages. He stood up slowly and said, "OK, drop'em." I unfastened my belt, unzipped my jeans, and let them fall to the floor. Then I turned and knelt over the stool and waited for Dad to position himself. "I won't cry," I thought to myself, "no matter what. I won't cry.' The first whack took me by surprise. "Count them off!" Dad ordered with anger in his voice. "One," I grunted. Then, the next one hit. "Two." "Are you changing your mind?" he asked. "I'm not go.... Three!" "We can go at this all day," he said striking me again. "Four." And on it went. I never got more than my age plus three. When he got to fifteen I thought it was over. I hadn't shed a tear. My anger over the unfairness somehow put a wall between the whipping and me. "Have you had enough?" Dad asked, "I suspect you will do as you are told?" I looked over my shoulder at him still bent over the stool and heard the anger in my own voice, "I'm never going back!" He hit me again for that and kept at it not waiting for me to count anymore. I grabbed the stool and braced myself as best I could. The thought that he might kill me had just entered my mind when the door opened suddenly and Mom screamed, "Stan! That's enough!" Dad was caught in mid swing. I heard the paddle drop to the floor and I opened my eyes. "Oh, God, Stan," she said and reached for me. I jerked away from her reaching down to pull my pants up. "The boy won't listen to reason," Dad tried to explain. I had backed myself to the den doorway as they now fought about the rules for spanking me. I stood there for a moment glaring at them before I screamed, "I hate you both!" and ran to my room slamming the door. ************ I was lying on my bed when Mom came into the room. My ass was throbbing from the paddling and felt unbelievably hot. "What are we going to do, Thomas?" she asked. I didn't turn around to face her. "I don't know," I whispered. "Honey," she said, "We only want what's best for you." "Beating the shit out of me is what's best for me?" I screamed whipping myself up on my bruised bottom and wincing from the pain. Mom was visible shaken and started to cry. "Oh, Tommy, Tommy," she cried shaking her head, "What is wrong with you?" "Me?" I screamed, "Me! What's wrong with me? I'm not the one that just beat the shit out of someone! I hate you! I hate you both!" She was still shaking her head, "You don't mean that Tommy. I know you don't mean that." But at that moment I did. When Mom called me for dinner I said I wasn't hungry. Dad said he wanted me to come out and join the family for dinner but Mom said it was Okay; that if I didn't feel like eating, it was fine. She left a plate in the oven for me. I got up and went to my bathroom, and took off my pants and underwear. My ass was so sore, and looking in the mirror I saw the purple and blue bruises. I could also see the outline of the paddle where the edge had caught me. There were blisters in some spots. I locked the door and, at last, allowed myself to cry. I woke to Dad's voice. I had fallen asleep in the bathroom curled up on the floor. "Let me in Thomas," he was saying. I reached up and unlocked the door not bothering to cover myself. Dad opened the door and looked down at me. "Come to beat me again?" I jeered. He shook his head, "I'm sorry Tommy. I lost my temper and I'm sorry. Are you hurt bad?" "What do you think?" I shot back, "You tried to kill me!" "Let's not get dramatic, Tommy," he responded, "I wasn't trying to kill you." I moved and positioned myself so he could see what he had done to me. It had the effect that I wanted. "Shit!" he cursed, "Maureen!" Mom was at the bathroom door in a matter of moments. "Oh my God, Stan," she exclaimed and ran over to me pulling me into her arms. "I'm so sorry baby," she kept saying rocking me in her arms. Dad sat on the side of the bathtub and held us both, joining in the chorus of "I'm sorry." It was the last spanking I would ever get, and I never had to go back to see "the Dick." Mom ran the bath for me and helped me into the warm water. She hadn't bathed me since I was five or six but I let her anyway. She had been right that the warm water would help. Dad went out to get "something to put on it" and was back by the time I was done soaking in my bath. He was just getting back as Mom was leading me into my room. I laid on my bed and let Mom put the ointment on my bruised ass. It helped a lot and soon I had drifted off to sleep. ************************************************************************ You'll find my newest writings at http://tomcup.iscool.net. I also recommend visiting these sites: Boyztown - Gay Pictures and Stories http://www.boyztown.net Girlztown - Lesbian Pictures and Stories http://www.girlztown.net Eroscities - Featuring the writings of Richard Dean http://www.eroscities.com Alternative Lifestyles of Youth - Advice, commentary and Youth Related Stories http://www.anysexuality.com All my best, Tom Cup "Why is it that the words we write for ourselves are so much better than the words we write for others?" Sean Connery as William Forrester in the film "Finding Forrester."