Blossoms

It took a moment, but he opened the door, a warm smile on his lined and ruggedly handsome face, and a steaming mug in each large hand. "Chris, so glad you're here," he said, as he opened the screen and handed me one of the mugs. "Get in here, young man, before you freeze."

I took the mug from him, and then brushed past into the warmth of the living room. I looked around, re-familiarizing myself with the room. The fireplace was blazing away cheerfully, and the leather sofa was piled with quilts and woolen blankets. Soothing, and comforting, that was the perfect way to describe it, and I should have been on my way to relaxing, but I hadn't relaxed since... well, the last time I had visited.

He walked over to the couch and moved the stacked blankets to one side, then patted the cushion beside him, as I stood there shifting from foot to foot. There was always a small sense of embarrassment when I came to visit Frank, a barrier of self-consciousness that I had to overcome every single time we got together.

"Come sit down, son, Dad needs to talk to you."

I was pleased, as usual at him calling me son, and even though it was hard to admit, I secretly loved to call him Dad. I smiled a little, trying to relax so the knotted muscles in my neck and shoulders would stop aching, then walked over and sat down beside him.

Bringing the mug to my mouth I savored the heat and sweetness of the cocoa he had made for me. It had been his wife's recipe and I think it brought him pleasure to make something for me that she had made. Kind of a way to keep her memory going, or something like that.

Sipping at the chocolate, I looked over top of the mug at him, and was glad that I seemed to have his full attention. "This is wonderful," I remarked, partly because I knew it would make him happy, and partly because it was true. The steaming chocolate was the highlight of my day, as sad as that was.

He took a drink from his mug then set it on the coffee table in front of him. "You seem depressed, Chris. What's been going on this week?"

I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve, realizing I still had my coat on, and then sighed, a deep coldness gripping me inside. "It's been rough," I said honestly, without feeling sorry for myself. "Mom's getting worse. She can't remember much of anything anymore, and we have to watch her all of the time. She left the burner on under a pan of soup and then went out to garden, yesterday. If I hadn't smelled something burning there might have been a fire." I felt a cold lump in my throat as I spoke, simply telling him the facts, without expounding on the way it felt watching Mom change into a helpless invalid that I could barely recognize. I shrugged a little and then forced a smile. "Steve's maintaining. His T-cells are low but haven't dropped for the last month, so that's a good thing."

"Have you thought any more about finding some place where your mother could be cared for by professionals, Chris? We talked about it last time and I asked you to consider it," he said gently.

I nodded. "I have considered it, Dad," I murmered. "But, I can't do it. Not now. I just don't feel right about it."

"There may come a time when I tell you to do it, son. What will you do then?"

I set my mug on the table to join his and then leaned against him slightly, feeling sort of small all of a sudden. "I've always done what you told me to, I said quietly," My voice sounding monotonous to my ears. I was getting tired of talking about the things I had to deal with and worry about all the time. I needed to feel something, not to talk, but things were rarely that simple with Frank, so if talking was what he needed than I would talk.

"We'll see how it goes," he said as he reached over and began helping me out of my coat. "You told me on the phone you needed a hard spanking, because you felt numb. I'm always glad to spank you, Chris, you know that, but there are other things I can do for you that might help too. We've talked about massage, before. What do you think about that?"

I looked down at my hands feeling a little embarrassed about having to explain it to him again. "I know you prefer to spank me for "punishment"... and I'm sorry if I'm being selfish for asking you to do this, but-"

"NO! You're wrong about that, Christopher. I just told you that I was glad to spank you any time. Are you having a hearing problem today, son?"

I couldn't tell if he was trying to turn my words into an excuse to enact a punishment scene, which was certainly his right if he chose to do that, but I answered quickly anyway, hoping I sounded respectful enough. "No Sir, but I guess I'm trying to say that I don't think massage is intense enough, when I feel this...dead inside."

He looked at me for a long minute then stood and picked the mugs up from the table. "Undress then, Chris, and I'll be right back."

I got up and stood before the fireplace and pulled my sweater over my head, then unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it on the hearth. As I did so, I could feel a fluttering of anticipation in my belly. Kicking my trainers off, I began to unbutton my Levi's.

Soon I was nude and feeling very vulnerable. I picked up the clothes I had discarded and folded them, hoping that Frank would be pleased that I had thought to do that without his telling me, but in the back of my mind there was still a nagging guilt that I hadn't agreed to the massage, when he'd brought it up.

Frank came back into the room a few minutes later, and came over to me and pulled me into a strong embrace. I could smell his aftershave, as I rested my head on his shoulder. He ran a calloused palm from the nape of my neck to the middle of my butt. "I'm going to switch you," he said barely above a whisper as he cradled the back of my head in hands.

At the unexpected words, my heart raced and I felt my legs grow weak. I held onto him even tighter as I tried to come to terms with my most hated and feared punishment implement. I would rather--much rather--he used the cane on me, instead of the whippy switches that grew on the apple tree in his back yard. He only used those occasionally, when we were both turned on enough that we could both handle the intensity, and I sometimes had marks when he was through with me. I was a little surprised that he wanted use one now.

"But, it's winter, Dad," I could hear a note of pleading in my voice. I licked my lips quickly and looked around, the room suddemly seeming more vibrant and colorful than it had a moment before. My anxiety grew as I tried to think of an alternative, and then a perfectly reasonable excuse entered my mind. "You know, the switches will all be dead and brittle. They just won't work good."

He released me from his strong embrace, and smiling softly, took me by the hand and led me to the kitchen. Lifting the blinds, he pointed out the window toward the apple tree.

I was amazed at what I saw. In the dead of winter, surrounded by other trees which lay completely dormant, stood the small apple tree, and it was in bloom!

Tears filled my eyes, and they weren't tears of fear or anxiety at the prospect of a switching. They were tears of amazement, and while I stared at the bold white blooms, standing out in vivid relief against the dark February sky, a small spark of hope grew in my heart. "How is that possible, Dad?" I asked in wonder.

He shrugged, seeming as mystified as I was, and then pulled a pocket knife out of his jeans. "Watch me while I cut a switch for you," he said and then disappeared out the back door.

I watched him as he walked around the tree and examined the thin shoots which were growing out of the darkened branches, and even with the fear of how those shoots would feel across my butt, I couldn't stop staring in wonder at the blossoms.

He had wrapped me in a blanket which was covered in a pattern of evergreens, and I was lying in front of the fireplace on some soft cushions. I felt his knees touch my side as he knelt down beside me, and then shivered slightly as he unwrapped the blanket a little leaving only my bottom uncovered. I felt chill bumps rising on my skin as I lay there waiting. At the same time I tried to clear my mind of everything except the whipping that was coming. My heart thudding uncomfortably in my chest, knowing I would soon experience some relief.

There was moment when I wanted to back out, just like there was every time I came to visit Frank, but I struggled through it, knowing that I had asked for this, and that he was doing me a favor.

I really hated the switch. The harsh pain didn't warm up my skin like his calloused hand did or even the ping-pong paddle he sometimes used when we were just playing around. The switch hurt in a bad way, and left me stinging and itching for the rest of the day.

I turned my head and started to tell him I'd changed my mind, when the image of my frail mother as she wandered around my and Steve's house, seeming to search for something, but never seeming to find it, came to me, and the nearly simultaneous image of my formorly strong partner's face flashed into my mind and I turned my head wearily back around and waited for the whipping to begin. I needed release from my place of darkness, and even though a switching wasn't what I had expected or really wanted, it was what Frank had chosen for me, and so that was how it was going to be.

"Everything is going to be all right, son. Dad's here with you."

Before I had a chance to respond to his words, I heard a slight whistling, and felt a searing thin line of pain across both cheeks, as the switch hit and then wrapped slightly around my hip. A white burst of light bloomed behind my closed eyelids while I gripped at the blanked which coccooned all but my bottom.

The pain was magnificent in it's realness and clarity, even though I hated it, and I let out a small yelp. Frank didn't pause at the sound, but continued to lash my exposed and tensing butt.

The occasional wrap around the edge of my hip made me hiss with pain, but I knew the whipping was a gift of sorts from Frank to me, and I tried to remain still and take what I had asked for, and what I so desperately felt I needed: pain, real and sharp.

"I'm here with you," he said, his voice harsh from exertion but the tone still caring.

I opened my tear-filled eyes then, and though I could make out nothing but blurred shapes and colors, I could feel myself coming alive. Frank was there with me, he was giving me what I needed, and the realization made something unravel inside of me. I exhaled, and with that exhalation came total clarity. I was no longer trying to navigate through a fog. I was right there, in Frank's living room getting my ass blistered my the man I completely trusted to understand why I needed it to be that way.

After a few more whistling lashes, I suddenly unclenched my fists from the blanket I desperately clung to, and twisted in agony. "It hurts a lot now, Frank! it hurts too much!" And then as if a flood gate opened I began sobbing, deep, lung wrenching sobs.

"It's all right," he husked out as he continued whipping my butt, not pausing in raining down the stinging blows for one second. "It's all right."

The pain blossomed, completely enveloping my entire being, obliterating both the present and the past. I wasn't just in pain, anymore... I was pain itself. My tears changed to those of cleansing relief, when he fianlly stopped, because I realized I was still capable of feeling, after all.

I was just zipping up my coat when he came over to me and embraced me once again. I sniffed a little, and smiled into his shoulder as I rested my head there. We stood like that for what seemed a long time, and then he released me and walked with me to the door. I walked slowly, gingerly, my butt swollen and still visciously stinging. When he opened the door a cold gust of wind hit my face, but I was able to lift my head and meet the wind.

He squeezed my arm and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "Call me when you get home and let me know how you're doing."

I smiled. "I will, and thank you, Frank. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He held a few apple blossoms out to me, and I took them, stuffing them into my jacket pocket, and then headed toward the car.

Are you going to be all right, Chris?" He called after me.

"Yes, Dad," I called back as I gave him a wave over my shoulder. "I'll be all right now," I said, knowing that I would be able to cope with my life, meeting the problems head on, at least for a while.

And as I got into my car, I looked at him standing on the porch and waving, his solid presence reassuring me, and I hoped that someday I could give him a gift as precious as the one he had just given me.

copywrite © 2005 Tris