Cornflakes Crisis

I am going to frame myself with this entry, I know, but I guess that’s the reason why my Master demands me to sit here, think my behaviour over and put my thoughts down. Precious, I don’t question you or your order, but sure you are the one person on this planet who knows how hard this is for me. Sigh.

This morning, Sir and I went shopping, just the usual errands. At the check-out I took the things from tractor tape and put them back into the trolley. I saw John had added something I did not notice before, a package of cornflakes for children (very colourful package with a cartoon character on it). I am quite sure I blushed promptly, but I tried to hide my face behind my hair, so that Master would not notice. I told myself, perhaps John had bought them for himself, a weak attempt to avoid the unavoidable.

Back home, he asked me to set the table for breakfast, adding “you’ll need a bowl”. CRASH. In most situations I am able to keep calm and react like an adult should, but in that whole Dad-son-thing I am on the verge of what I can stand emotionally, which might explain why I reacted like I did. I started laughing first, then growing angry quickly. I said things I ought not say, while John of course remained centered and calm. After my first tirade he said “you’re acting foolish”, and even though I knew I did I began arguing again. He listened to me for a moment, but as my words grew rougher, he cam to be and hit me hard in the face. “Enough, son!” He said, I have been very nasty by cursing at him for treating me with those flakes and that I should down and write about my thoughts. When I’m finished, I may have something to eat. So, here I am.

I guess nobody ever reacted that freaky to a package of cornflakes like I did. I am sorry, Sir. I did not mean to embarrass you, neither me. It was awkward for myself.

So, what’s my point? It’s that you know about my fears concerning that Dad-son-thing. You know about my fretful nights, you know about the times I just cuddle up inside your arms, not able to talk about it. And Sir, you know that I can take a lot. I do not fear pain or punishment, but I do fear this kind of love and caring. It aims so deep, as I have said so often before. Nobody ever, in my whole life, did to me what you do. I do trust you. I love you. But still I fear what might happen if I give in to this. I fear my own thoughts, watching you as you stroke me or tuck me in. You know which thoughts I mean and I can’t write them down, forgive me. I think it might be immoral to mix love and lust with that Dad-thing. Am I a bad person to call my Lover Dad, as I have been misused? Will I be forgiven if I do so? Is it abhorrent? It’s so strange. You may hit me, you may fuck me like I’m useless, but if you are caressing towards me, I shake inside.

Sir, I wish to thank you for buying those flakes for me. I will try to show my appreciation in a good, humble way. Forgive me, please, Sir. It was very kind of you to treat me with them.


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