Report Card
I was dreading the fact that today I was going to get my report card. I knew it was going to be bad. Especially in English, Ms Icetwat was on my case and I feared I was getting an F. She walked towards me smug and handed me my report card: Math D, History B, Geography D, and English F! Fuck I knew I was in trouble then.
This was 1953 and we lived in a small rural town in California. Even thought the main industry was agriculture my dad was an attorney and worked for the County. We lived in a nice 4-bedroom house near downtown. Not like there was that much a downtown. It was just a narrow street with a general store, the bank, the pharmacy, and a couple of bars.
I was 14 years old then and walked home to and from school. It was about a 15-minute walk. That day 15 minutes felt like hours. I walked home slowly, got in the house. “Jeff, is that you?” My mother asked. “Yes mom.” I headed out to my room and sat down. It was just before 3 PM. I lay on my bed in the small room looking at the ceiling dreading what was about to happen. The afternoon sun was filtering through the white lace curtains. I could not sleep worrying about what was going to happen when dad came home. Around 5:30 I heard a knock on the door; it was mom. “Jeff, I am going to get groceries. Do you need anything?” "No" I said knowing there was trouble to come that evening.
My dad was a giant of a man, way over 6 ft and closing 270 lbs. He had been a football player, played on the line both offense and defense. He always had the same routine when he got home. He hung his coat and took off his necktie. He sat down on the big chair in the living room and lit up a cigarette started reading that morning’s paper. Even though he did not talk much he demanded respect just by his presence.
Around 6 PM or so I heard the kitchen door creep open it was dad. He came and I could hear the heavy steps of his wingtip shoes on the wooden floor. My heart froze because I knew that he knew today was report card day. It was probably the best thing to do to give him the card and get it over with. I had never had an F on my report card and I got grounded before just for having Ds. That was not often either. It was not my fault Ms Icetwat was a mean witch.
I walked in the living slowly trembling a bit. An F, I didn’t know how he would react. There he was sitting on his chair still wearing his medium gray gabardine trousers and white business shirt. The trousers were pleated and baggy with a high waist. A shiny narrow belt held it up. The light from the window was illuminating his round ruddy face and red hair some of it had turned gray made him look fearsome. He looked up from the paper and unceremoniously asked, “Did you get your report card today?” “Yes dad…” I replied and started to tremble. I walked slowly towards him looking at the floor. I could feel him looking at me. I handed him the report card and looked at him. He did not look at me; he got the card and looked at it.
Then I saw a scary transformation my dad kept on looking at that card. His face started to turn red and I could see some of the veins pop up on his forehead and neck. His face looked even rounder than I had ever seen before. All of a sudden he stood up, looked at me and asked with a booming scary voice “What is this son?” I was too terrified to reply I just kept on looking at the rug on the floor. All of a sudden he bolded towards me and grabbed me by the arm. I did not dare to say anything. Then he dragged me towards my parent’s bedroom. My heart started to beat off my chest. I was never allowed in there, it was their space. Terror coursed through my body.
He dragged me through the door and closed the door. The room was simply decorated. In addition to the bed there was a dining room chair on a corner of the room. He grabbed the chair and put it in the middle of the room. Then he grabbed my pants by the belt and pulled them down so hard that I didn't even feel it go down. I was surprised and looked down embarrassed. I did not want to be in front of dad with my pants down. I joined my knees trying to hide myself from him. He grabbed me by the arm and sat on the chair then he manhandled me over his legs like a rag doll. I could feel his warm powerful legs under my bare skin.
Then I saw stars when he stroked my ass with his hand for the first time. Then again, and again. I had my body tensed up because I thought I was going to hurt less if I did that. Then he hit me a few more times. At this point I did not know what felt worse the pain or the shame. If felt his heavy warm hand strike my ass a couple more times, then a pause then a couple of times more. The pauses were the worse part because I did not know when he was going to strike me again. That is when I gave up.
My body went limp d****d over his massive legs. I felt his legs shift under me and he took a deep breath. The striking changed; he started to move his hand slowly in circles on my sore ass for a while before he stroke. I did not know when he was going to strike but when he did there was a weird strange sensation coursing through my body. I felt the pain and at the same time my senses sharpened. I felt the warmth of his legs, he fabric of his trousers, the faint smell of after shave mixed in with cigarette smoke, the texture of his hands and his deep breathing.
The strange sensation intensified with each stroke and he was taking longer and longer between strokes. I wanted him to strike me; I deserved it. I should have studied harder, I did not deserve to be his son. He stroke me a couple of times more. Then right before he stroke me the last time while he was circling my ass with his huge warm hand I felt a rush all over my body, like shivers or something. I lost my breath for a minute. I could feel his breathing change as well; it was deep as if he wanted to suck in all the air in the room at once, then he held his breath in. I felt his legs tense up again and him quake as he stroke my limp body one last time. Then he just sat there, his massive meaty warm hand resting on my ass. He was breathing as if he had just finished running. I guess he got tired or calmed down because he stopped striking me. I lay there over his lap while his breathing started to calm down. I did not dare to move and was embarrassed, whimpering, tears of pain and shame dripping to the floor.
Then he stood me up. I was standing in front of him still with my pants down ashamed looking at the floor. I had my knees together trying to hide myself from him. “Pull your pants up boy,” he ordered and I obeyed. “Go to your room.” I was looking at the floor the entire time. Then I looked up while turning to leave and that is when I saw it. His pants had two separate large wet spots one on his thigh about half way up from his knee and another up on his left leg below his fly. I got just a glimpse of it because he turned his back to me quickly. It was just a fraction of a second but that image stuck to my memory. I obeyed his order and left my parent’s bedroom.
I walked to my room in a daze. When my mother called me for dinner I walked slowly to the dining room. Dad was already sitting at the head of the dinner table and I noticed that he had changed his pants to jeans.
After dinner I went back to my room and the memory of what happened kept on playing over and over again. I could not stop thinking about my pants being down in front of dad, the feeling of his hand striking my bare ass, and the rush that almost made me faint.
That is when I realized I could not wait for when I got the next report card. I got detention in school because I told Ms Icetwat what I thought of her. Next quarter I brought him the report card. It had two Fs in it. I was trembling when I handed the report card. I felt fear and excitement at the same time. He looked at the card, still sitting on his favorite chair, the smoke billowing from his cigarette on the ashtray. He looked at the card for quite a while. I stood nervously and anxious in front of him. Then he looked straight into my eyes. His beautiful blue eyes looking straight into my eyes. I can’t explain his expression. He looked as if he were sad, even remorseful. His gaze cut into my soul. He handed me the report card back and headed for the kitchen without saying a word. He got a glass from the cupboard and a pitcher of filtered water from the fridge. He slowly poured the water in the glass and drank his gaze fixed through the window about the sink to the backyard. Then he stood there with both hands on the sink and his head down. I turned around and went to my room.
From that day on I only brought home straight As. When I finally graduated from law school years later he looked me right in the eye, his blue eyes red with emotion and gave me a big hug. “I am proud of you son.” He said fighting back tears.
This was 1953 and we lived in a small rural town in California. Even thought the main industry was agriculture my dad was an attorney and worked for the County. We lived in a nice 4-bedroom house near downtown. Not like there was that much a downtown. It was just a narrow street with a general store, the bank, the pharmacy, and a couple of bars.
I was 14 years old then and walked home to and from school. It was about a 15-minute walk. That day 15 minutes felt like hours. I walked home slowly, got in the house. “Jeff, is that you?” My mother asked. “Yes mom.” I headed out to my room and sat down. It was just before 3 PM. I lay on my bed in the small room looking at the ceiling dreading what was about to happen. The afternoon sun was filtering through the white lace curtains. I could not sleep worrying about what was going to happen when dad came home. Around 5:30 I heard a knock on the door; it was mom. “Jeff, I am going to get groceries. Do you need anything?” "No" I said knowing there was trouble to come that evening.
My dad was a giant of a man, way over 6 ft and closing 270 lbs. He had been a football player, played on the line both offense and defense. He always had the same routine when he got home. He hung his coat and took off his necktie. He sat down on the big chair in the living room and lit up a cigarette started reading that morning’s paper. Even though he did not talk much he demanded respect just by his presence.
Around 6 PM or so I heard the kitchen door creep open it was dad. He came and I could hear the heavy steps of his wingtip shoes on the wooden floor. My heart froze because I knew that he knew today was report card day. It was probably the best thing to do to give him the card and get it over with. I had never had an F on my report card and I got grounded before just for having Ds. That was not often either. It was not my fault Ms Icetwat was a mean witch.
I walked in the living slowly trembling a bit. An F, I didn’t know how he would react. There he was sitting on his chair still wearing his medium gray gabardine trousers and white business shirt. The trousers were pleated and baggy with a high waist. A shiny narrow belt held it up. The light from the window was illuminating his round ruddy face and red hair some of it had turned gray made him look fearsome. He looked up from the paper and unceremoniously asked, “Did you get your report card today?” “Yes dad…” I replied and started to tremble. I walked slowly towards him looking at the floor. I could feel him looking at me. I handed him the report card and looked at him. He did not look at me; he got the card and looked at it.
Then I saw a scary transformation my dad kept on looking at that card. His face started to turn red and I could see some of the veins pop up on his forehead and neck. His face looked even rounder than I had ever seen before. All of a sudden he stood up, looked at me and asked with a booming scary voice “What is this son?” I was too terrified to reply I just kept on looking at the rug on the floor. All of a sudden he bolded towards me and grabbed me by the arm. I did not dare to say anything. Then he dragged me towards my parent’s bedroom. My heart started to beat off my chest. I was never allowed in there, it was their space. Terror coursed through my body.
He dragged me through the door and closed the door. The room was simply decorated. In addition to the bed there was a dining room chair on a corner of the room. He grabbed the chair and put it in the middle of the room. Then he grabbed my pants by the belt and pulled them down so hard that I didn't even feel it go down. I was surprised and looked down embarrassed. I did not want to be in front of dad with my pants down. I joined my knees trying to hide myself from him. He grabbed me by the arm and sat on the chair then he manhandled me over his legs like a rag doll. I could feel his warm powerful legs under my bare skin.
Then I saw stars when he stroked my ass with his hand for the first time. Then again, and again. I had my body tensed up because I thought I was going to hurt less if I did that. Then he hit me a few more times. At this point I did not know what felt worse the pain or the shame. If felt his heavy warm hand strike my ass a couple more times, then a pause then a couple of times more. The pauses were the worse part because I did not know when he was going to strike me again. That is when I gave up.
My body went limp d****d over his massive legs. I felt his legs shift under me and he took a deep breath. The striking changed; he started to move his hand slowly in circles on my sore ass for a while before he stroke. I did not know when he was going to strike but when he did there was a weird strange sensation coursing through my body. I felt the pain and at the same time my senses sharpened. I felt the warmth of his legs, he fabric of his trousers, the faint smell of after shave mixed in with cigarette smoke, the texture of his hands and his deep breathing.
The strange sensation intensified with each stroke and he was taking longer and longer between strokes. I wanted him to strike me; I deserved it. I should have studied harder, I did not deserve to be his son. He stroke me a couple of times more. Then right before he stroke me the last time while he was circling my ass with his huge warm hand I felt a rush all over my body, like shivers or something. I lost my breath for a minute. I could feel his breathing change as well; it was deep as if he wanted to suck in all the air in the room at once, then he held his breath in. I felt his legs tense up again and him quake as he stroke my limp body one last time. Then he just sat there, his massive meaty warm hand resting on my ass. He was breathing as if he had just finished running. I guess he got tired or calmed down because he stopped striking me. I lay there over his lap while his breathing started to calm down. I did not dare to move and was embarrassed, whimpering, tears of pain and shame dripping to the floor.
Then he stood me up. I was standing in front of him still with my pants down ashamed looking at the floor. I had my knees together trying to hide myself from him. “Pull your pants up boy,” he ordered and I obeyed. “Go to your room.” I was looking at the floor the entire time. Then I looked up while turning to leave and that is when I saw it. His pants had two separate large wet spots one on his thigh about half way up from his knee and another up on his left leg below his fly. I got just a glimpse of it because he turned his back to me quickly. It was just a fraction of a second but that image stuck to my memory. I obeyed his order and left my parent’s bedroom.
I walked to my room in a daze. When my mother called me for dinner I walked slowly to the dining room. Dad was already sitting at the head of the dinner table and I noticed that he had changed his pants to jeans.
After dinner I went back to my room and the memory of what happened kept on playing over and over again. I could not stop thinking about my pants being down in front of dad, the feeling of his hand striking my bare ass, and the rush that almost made me faint.
That is when I realized I could not wait for when I got the next report card. I got detention in school because I told Ms Icetwat what I thought of her. Next quarter I brought him the report card. It had two Fs in it. I was trembling when I handed the report card. I felt fear and excitement at the same time. He looked at the card, still sitting on his favorite chair, the smoke billowing from his cigarette on the ashtray. He looked at the card for quite a while. I stood nervously and anxious in front of him. Then he looked straight into my eyes. His beautiful blue eyes looking straight into my eyes. I can’t explain his expression. He looked as if he were sad, even remorseful. His gaze cut into my soul. He handed me the report card back and headed for the kitchen without saying a word. He got a glass from the cupboard and a pitcher of filtered water from the fridge. He slowly poured the water in the glass and drank his gaze fixed through the window about the sink to the backyard. Then he stood there with both hands on the sink and his head down. I turned around and went to my room.
From that day on I only brought home straight As. When I finally graduated from law school years later he looked me right in the eye, his blue eyes red with emotion and gave me a big hug. “I am proud of you son.” He said fighting back tears.
il y a 3 ans
