The text is by Strictop and the pictures were among my very earliest attempts at PhotoShopping, hence apologies for their somewhat amateur quality. It is a bit of fun from a long time ago but Strictop and I hope you will enjoy it
Except for one thing, that is. The boy smokes. Despite all my efforts when he was a little kid to teach him how dangerous it is, and my own example of quitting smoking when he was very little, he picked up the habit in junior high school and has been unable or unwilling to quit. He’s 18 now and has already been smoking for five years!
I wonder if it has anything to do with his mother? She died in a car wreck when he was in first grade and it had a terrible impact on him. She was quite a heavy smoker and could always be seen with a cigarette between her delicate fingers. I’m pretty sure his smoking is hooked up with how angry he is at having lost her.
But, of course, no matter how bad he feels about losing his mom, and no matter how bad I feel for him, it’s no excuse to fuck up his own health.
I’ve tried everything I can think of to get him to quit. I’ve bribed him with money for not smoking. I’ve grounded him. I’ve taken away his car keys. I’ve yelled at him until I’m blue in the face! And nothing seems to get through to him.
It’s not like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to himself. He’s the first one to admit how stupid it is to smoke. He seems honestly to feel bad about how angry and disappointed his smoking makes me feel. He promises to quit. He even asks for help. And he does quit for a little while. But, he always starts up again.
So, I guess it shouldn’t have been any surprise when I came home and caught him red-handed, standing in the middle of the living room, with a cigarette in his hand! It was like he WANTED to get caught.
I blew my stack.
“Jesus-fucking-Christ, Rusty!” I bellowed. “You’re at it again!”
He didn’t say anything. He just stood there looking at me with those sad, resigned eyes of his as smoke curled beside him.
“Rusty! What Am I going to do with you!?” I had trouble controlling my voice as I removed the cigarette and dropped it hissing into an open soda can.
“Nothing I do seems to make any difference! I’ve nagged. I’ve pleaded. I’ve punished you for smoking and rewarded you for quitting. But, it’s the same thing every time! You promise to quit, and then start right back up again.” I was starting to feel angrier than I have ever felt in my life.
“It’s like you just don’t give a shit about yourself or about me!”
“B-but, Dad,” he stammered. “I try! Honest I do. It’s just too hard.”
“Too hard?” I exploded. “TOO HARD?! I’ll tell you what’s ‘hard!’ Watching your only son fuck up his health. THAT’S what’s ‘hard!’ Being lied to over and over by the boy you’ve raised by yourself, the boy you love more than anything in the world! THAT’s ‘hard!!'” I tried to put my arm around the boy, but he turned away.
“Aww, Dad,” he whined, “You just don’t understand.”
I was overcome by a mixture of tenderness and rage. And suddenly I knew what I had to do…
“Get those blue jeans off!” I thundered. The power of my own voice surprised me, and I was amazed at the effect it had on Rusty. His eyes kind of glazed over and he immediately undid the top buttons of his jeans. There was no hesitation. There was no protest. Just immediate obedience.
I pressed on, unwilling to lose momentum. “Go ahead and take those jeans ALL THE WAY OFF! I’m going to do something that I should have done when this all first started.”
Rusty slowly unfastened his jeans.
“You’ve had this coming for a long time, Son.” My voice was low and firm. Almost like he was hypnotized, Rusty stripped down to his boxer shorts.
“I’ve tried treating you like a grown up,” I continued. “I’ve tried everything I could think of to get you to stop smoking…everything except a good old-fashioned SPANKING!”
Before he could protest, I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over my lap on the sofa.
End of Part 1
(To be continued ………)
