by Swan, Tarn
I arrived home to discover my misdeeds had caught up with me. School had finally done an ET and phoned home. I rowed with my mother about it, taking my unhappiness about Trevor out on her and telling her it was none of her business whether I went to school or not. I was old enough to make my own decisions and I was sick of being told who to be and what to do. Then I did the teenage thing and took myself off to my room, slamming the door behind me saying I wanted to be left alone. Mum obliged, but dad was a different matter. He had no intention of indulging my Garbo inclinations.
As soon as he got home from work he was put in the picture about my errant activities. To say he was displeased was an understatement. Marching into my room he demanded an explanation. After several hours of brooding over Trevor and worrying about school I was ripe for a blow out. I told him much the same as I’d told mum, only a little more forcefully. Unlike mum he didn’t accept it without comment. He said, on the contrary, what I did was very much his business. My behaviour clearly showed I was in no way old enough or mature enough to be making independent decisions.
I told him I didn’t give a damn what he thought, and as far as I was concerned I’d said as much as I was prepared to say on the subject. I was going out. I then attempted to push past him, only to be grabbed by the collar, turned smartly around and smacked several times on the seat of the trousers. It was a tremendous shock. I hadn’t been so much as swatted since I was about twelve. He again demanded a full explanation for my behaviour and suddenly, to my absolute horror, all my mixed up emotions came tumbling out. In fact I came out, to dad, but mainly, for the first time, I came out fully to myself. I was Tarn Swan, homosexual.
After a stunned moment of silence, dad swallowed hard and said, “are you seriously telling me you’ve deliberately missed a fortnight of vital education to follow that loser Ledbetter around, like a love sick puppy dog with its tongue hanging out?”
My entire body grew hot with shame and embarrassment. It wasn’t how I’d have chosen to describe it, but I suppose it was a fair enough assessment in its own way. What really upset me though was him seeming to view two missed weeks of school as being more important than what I’d just disclosed about my sexuality. I was insulted. I’d expected something more and said so.
His reply was blunt. If I thought for a second what I’d just told him somehow made my behaviour excusable, I was sadly mistaken. I’d better understand I was in deep trouble. I told him I didn’t give a shit about being in trouble. He could fuck off and leave me alone because it was obvious he understood nothing. I don’t know who was more shocked by my attitude, him or me. I’d been a fairly equable teenager up until that point.
In retrospect I was very scared. I was standing on the threshold of the rest of my life, wanting to step forward, but also to go back to the safety of childhood with all its ignorance about bigger matters such as self-identity and sexuality. My behaviour was challenging dad, daring him to do something, because I was frightened and I didn’t know what to do.
He responded. Sitting on my bed he hauled me over his knee saying I was a silly little boy and he’d be damned if he’d see me throw away all my good potential on an adolescent crush that could come to nothing. I was going to have to learn to direct my affections where they stood even half a chance of being reciprocated. He then proceeded to give me the hardest spanking of my entire life. As his voice scorched my ears, so his hand smote every inch of my backside until I thought I would never be able to put my bottom in contact with a chair again.
By the time his hand stilled I’d learned several valuable lessons: never bunk off school for two weeks to bum around causing irritation to good people while endangering your forthcoming exam chances, never tell your father to fuck off when he’s already mad at you, and finally, thinking you’re too old for a spanking is a rather ghastly mistake.
When it was over and I was allowed up from his lap, I wrapped my arms around his neck sobbing my fear and unhappiness into his shoulder. His arms came around my waist and he hugged me tight. Once I’d calmed a little he took my tearstained face between his hands and fiercely told me he loved me very much and was proud of me. It was then I realised he was crying almost as hard as I was. Even now I’m unsure whether he was crying because he’d punished me so hard, or whether he was crying because his only son had just disclosed he was gay. I suppose I learned another lesson that afternoon, never underestimate your parent’s willingness to love you.
Dad informed me I was grounded for a fortnight and then sent me off to bed. Mum, her eyes suspiciously red, came in and told me I’d got exactly what I deserved for playing hooky from school for a fortnight indeed. Despite my protests she insisted on washing my face with a flannel, as if I were about five years old, then she brought me hot chocolate and chocolate digestives before kissing me goodnight. My sister Maryann opened my bedroom door, stared at me as if I were a specimen in the fishmongers window, then rushed in, hugged me and rushed back out…taking one of my biscuits with her I might add.
There I was, almost sixteen, newly self-defined as gay, having just come out to my family who probably didn’t quite understand, but who would never condemn or reject me, a family who still loved ‘me.’
Feeling faintly cheated at not being dramatically disowned and cast onto the streets, I shed a few more tears, blew my nose, drank my hot chocolate, ate my biscuits, then, feeling oddly at peace, curled up under the covers and slept for twelve solid hours, never once dreaming of Trevor.
Nothing was going to be quite the same again and nothing was going to be easy, but I would adapt, somehow. Dad had done what I needed him to do. The spanking served not only to punish my actions, but also let me know he was still in charge when it mattered. Strange as it sounds he gave me back control of my life by ironically taking charge of it again, at least until I found a stronger foothold. I settled down at school, passed my exams with flying colours and generally got on with living life and growing in self-awareness and confidence.
Okay, that’s the end of my personal trip down memory lane. Let’s get back to the case of the overdressed, uninvited wedding guest.
Twinkles soon emerged from his bedroom again, handbag looped over his arm, nose presumably powdered.
“Let’s go then, we mustn’t keep the virgin, ha-ha, bride waiting now must we, or she’ll go past her use by date?”
Happily un-closeted as gay for quite some time, it was time I un-closeted myself as something else…a man in charge when the situation required it. My first act as such would be to put my naughty boy’s lady half, Miss Stardust, firmly back in the closet, at least for a day and also teach her creator all about consequences. I cleared my throat. “We’ll go when you’re suitably attired. Get changed please, Jonathan.”
He pulled a face, batting his lush eyelashes, “ooohh, Jonathan is it? It must be a very formal wedding we’re going to if we’re using Sunday names!”
“Get changed.”
He gave me a look of mock sorrow. “Oh dear, don’t you like my dress? I thought it was just so right for a wedding, but, if it’s not to your rather conservative taste, I’ll go see if there’s one you might like better in my wardrobe.” He headed back towards the bedroom, and then halted, turning to look over his shoulder at me, “you can come peek if you want to?” He trotted off and there it was again - the wiggle and flounce clearly stating I’m defying you, what are you going to do about it? He was challenging me, daring me. I responded.
Quickly following him into the bedroom I thrust him onto the bed, pushing him onto his back, ignoring his theatrical squeals. Grabbing hold of each foot in turn I whipped off his high heels and flung the aside. Taking his hand I then yanked him back up, telling him to get his clothes off.
Smoothing his dress in an exaggerated fashion he gave me a breathless and superlative gay simper. “Tarn, sweetheart, you’re quite the rough Viking today. I know I look ravishing, but isn’t sex supposed to come after the nuptials on a wedding day. We mustn’t break with tradition now,
must we?”
“I’ve had enough, Jonathan, more than enough.” Removing my jacket I draped it over the dressing table stool. “Get those things off.”
Recognising I was in no mood to play, he plonked himself down on the edge of the bed, legs splayed in a most unladylike fashion, his simper degenerating into a scowl. “Fine, I won’t go then, you can go on your own. I hope you have a lovely time. You might even get to shag the best man if he gets drunk enough.”
“You’re going.” I stabbed a finger at him, “for one thing, you’ve been catered for, and very expensively.”
“If I can’t wear what I want to wear, then I’m not going. Stuff the expense. It’s not mine, so I’m not bothered.”
I was fast losing patience with his selfish attitude. “You’re going, Jonathan, and you’re going to dress appropriate to the occasion, as we discussed. We agreed: mascara and a touch of clear nail polish, nothing more.” I reached for his hand, yanking him to his feet again, “now take those things off or I’ll take them off for you. I mean it, Jonathan.”
“I hate it when you call me Jonathan.”
“Are you going to do as you’re told?”
He stared at me and I steadily stared back. Dropping his gaze, he began to undress, flinging the Chinese dress and jacket across the bed. As soon as he’d taken everything off, wig included, I sent him to remove his makeup.
When he came back into the room, face scrubbed clean, his own short brown hair slightly damp at the front I reached for his hand, pulling him down beside me on the bed, quietly asking. “What the hell was that all about?”
He shrugged. “I just wanted to dress up. You’re supposed to dress up for weddings. Why should girls get all the fun?”
I sighed, slipping an arm around his shoulder, pulling him against me, “apart from anything else, you’re not being fair to me. I’m not trying to crush your sense of self. We talked about the reasons why it wasn’t appropriate for you to dress up on this occasion, didn’t we?” He nodded and I prompted. “Tell me what they are?”
He rolled his eyes and began to chant: “it’s a straight wedding, the chances of there being any other cross dressers are slim. Me dressing up would make me stand out and would upstage the bride and today is her day to shine, not mine.” He took a deep breath and continued: “also, her parents are conservative Catholics, there’ll also be a number of elderly relatives and small children there, and it’s only good manners to behave in ways that suit the occasion and the majority of the people attending it…blah, blah, blah-de-blah.”
I ignored the blah, blah, recognising it for the defence mechanism it was. “What did I say I’d do, if I arrived to find you dressed in anything less than appropriate attire?”
He looked at me and blushed, but said nothing, so I answered my own question. “I said if I got here and discovered you’d disregarded everything we talked about, and broken your promise, I would put you over my knee and give you a good spanking.”
The roses in his cheeks bloomed a deeper shade of red. He examined the backs of his hands in minute detail, “but you didn’t really mean it, you were just joking, or trying to scare me, right?”
I shook my head. “I’ve told you before, several times, I’m of the opinion you’d benefit from some discipline, so no, I wasn’t joking, far from it. Is that why you staged this, to test me out, to push and see whether or not I’d follow through on my word?”
He shrugged, and then raised his head and looked at me. His beautiful gold brown eyes were filled with a mixture of bravado and anxiety, flecked with a touch of excitement. “Are you going to follow through?”
“Yes, I am. I don’t make empty threats, and I’m warning you now, discard any idea this is going to be fun. I’m going to discipline you properly. We’re not talking playful sexy pats, this will be the real thing and you’re not going to like it.”
The excitement vanished from his eyes, “there’s no need, Tarn, really. I’m sorry I messed you about. I was being a selfish sod.” He made to stand up. “I’ll get dressed properly, I’ll…TARN!”
Taking his wrist, I quickly pulled him forwards over my knees, securing my left arm around his waist, bringing my right palm down hard on the seat of the satin boxer shorts he was wearing. He let out a shocked little gasp and I quickly followed the first smack with a second one. “I told you what I expected of you today, yet I arrive to find you’ve done exactly the opposite. I’m not impressed.” I rounded the number of spanks up to a quick six then stopped.
“Is that it, is it done, can I get up now?” He reached an optimistic hand back to rub his bottom.
I calmly broke the bad news to him, “no I’m afraid not, that was merely a warm up.”
“But I don’t like it, Tarn.”
“You’re not supposed to like it,” I said gently, “that’s the point of a discipline spanking. It’s not a bedroom tease with a sex payoff.”
He let out a squeak of alarm as I lifted him and pulled his shorts down, baring his bottom, before rearranging him over my thighs. “I gave you a clear warning about the consequences of disobeying me on this matter. You agreed to abide by my rule, so you have only yourself to blame for the position you’re now in.”
Raising my hand, I brought it down hard on his buttocks, which were already pink from the smacks I’d given him over his boxers. It made a loud noise, far louder than my hand contacting his shorts had done, and he jumped with fright. I brought it down again and he yelped. The third spank brought a stronger response and the fourth found him trying to wriggle off my lap. Anchoring him more firmly, I set about putting some genuine heat and sting into his behind.
Discipline was a subject we’d skirted around for quite a while. I’d threatened to spank him once or twice when he was being particularly trying, and had even given him some half serious, half playful swats, telling him he needed taking in hand. I suspected it was a notion he rather liked. He’d been forced to be in control of his own life from a young age, before he was ready. I think the idea of handing over aspects of control to a person he trusted was one that appealed to him.
I also suspected he was naturally submissive by nature and in me had finally found someone he wanted to be submissive to. I think I’m a natural Dominant and in him had found someone I wanted to be dominant with, not in a pure bdsm sense you understand, that’s a different arena, though there might be some similar elements insofar as a power exchange is involved.
There’s a mistaken concept that submissive people are by definition weak, but it’s untrue. Self-aware submissive’s are actually strong people and they’re submissive by choice, not out of inadequacy, inferiority or fear. They don’t let anyone and everyone dominate them. It has to be the right person. The emotional and sexual chemistry has to be right. It’s the same for a Dominant. They’re not bullies. They don’t want to govern everyone. It has to be the right person. There’s a huge amount of trust involved in the transaction, from both parties. Two people might not even realise they have these elements to their personality until they meet and the spark ignites. I think that’s what happened between Twinkles and me. We were so right for each other.
Twinkles was not enjoying the consequences of the situation he’d set up. As promised, I wasn’t being playful. I slapped his backside hard and fast, intending to leave him with no delusions about what getting a spanking really meant. He’d given up on gasps and suppressed squeals and was thrashing his feet around while lustily yelling loud enough to waken the dead. I only hoped the neighbours were out. He began wailing apologies, saying I could stop now, as he’d had enough.
I paused, told him I appreciated he was sorry, but when it came to discipline it was for me to decide when he’d had enough, not him. Then I resumed the spanking, turning his bottom a shade of hot red from hips to the point where his buttocks met his thighs. He suddenly stopped fighting against me and began sobbing. I stopped the punishment. Helping him to stand I pulled up his boxers and then pulled him into my arms to comfort him. He w
as shaking like a leaf, and so was I.
Giving someone a discipline spanking can be as intense an experience as receiving one. I was in as much need of comfort as he was. I took mine from the fact that after what I’d done he still wanted to be close to me, still wanted me to comfort him. He wrapped his arms tightly around me, burying his face in my shirtfront. I soothed him until the tears ebbed away and he was calm again. Taking his hand I led him to the bathroom and bathed his face. I then sponged and smoothed my tear damp shirt and took him back into the bedroom. Opening his closet I picked out a suit, shirt and tie and began to dress him.
“You look beautiful.” I slotted a black leather belt through the tabs on his tailored trousers and buckled it and then smiled, “you are beautiful, and sexy.”
He smiled back at me, “thank you, so are you.” The smile faded a little. “I’ve never been to a wedding. I had a cousin who got married once, but I had German measles and couldn’t go.”
I kissed him, “you’ll enjoy it, I promise. Weddings are the last bastions of glamour in the straight community. I’ll be right beside you, so there’s nothing to worry about. We’re going to have a lovely day together.”
He reached a hand back to rub his sore bottom, a slight frown on his face, “is it a buffet or sit down reception?”
“Sit down meal I’m afraid,” I gave him a sympathetic hug. “I’m sure the soreness will soon wear off, it isn’t permanent.”
Picking up the Chinese dress and jacket from the bed, I put them on hangers and put them back in the closet. Then I helped him on with his suit jacket, tweaked his tie, and we were ready to go.
As a postscript we did indeed have a lovely day. Twinkles was in his element, commenting on the outfits worn by other guests and admiring the beautiful elaborate frocks worn by the bride and her entourage. Rather worryingly I found myself taking an interest in the details on the bridal veil, as well as the little sequins adorning the train. Both Karen, and her best friend, Sue, who was chief bridesmaid, had already promised Twinks he could try on their full ensembles at a date to be arranged. He couldn’t wait.
