Dear Greyson,
Thank you for your letter. It clarified things. You’re an honorable man who is trying to do the right thing, and I respect that. I just can’t sit back and watch you stomp out the flicker that has formed between us. I don’t want to just be someone who walks around the house when you’re not home, nor do I want to draw a line that keeps us apart. I want you to keep your promise, but sometimes promises are interpreted in a way that blinds us to the ambiguity.
There’s something I need and you’re the only one who can give it to me. You know I grew up without a father, and yesterday was the first time it felt like I had a Daddy. I don’t think you would be dishonoring my father’s memory by taking
on a role he never had. I need—discipline. I need rules with consequences that make sure I follow them. I’ve lied to you, so I’m going to come clean. What you do with this confession is up to you. All I can do is write it out and put the letter where you can see it.
Everyone believed I was a good kid, but that was a matter of perception. I was a good kid because I didn’t get caught most of the time. It was a label I didn’t deserve. My mother was disconnected after my father died and she didn’t really pay attention to what I did. The few times I got in trouble were because I seriously screwed up. My Box of Shame is that—things I’m ashamed of, but I never got the punishment I deserved for anything I did because I was a very good liar.
The test I cheated on? I left those notes under my book intentionally. I planned to cheat. I would have gotten away with it too, if the teacher wasn’t so nosy. I cheated on several tests without getting caught, and my arrogance finally caught up with me. The fire alarm? I pulled it on purpose, and it wasn’t because I lost a bet. I actually won the bet, but Amanda chickened out. I almost got in real trouble for that one, but a few crocodile tears and pretend remorse made them go easy on me. After all—I rarely got in trouble. I was a good kid. The picture you saw of me smoking? Amanda didn’t steal the cigarettes from her father, and she wasn’t a bad influence. It was the other way around. I stole them from her father while I was staying over one weekend. I pressured her into trying it—and I took the picture. It wasn’t just once either.
I told myself that I was going to be a different person when I got to California. I was going to work hard, do well in my classes, and earn everything on my own merits. I want to keep that promise, but I won’t be able to do it without guidance. I didn’t even manage to drive your Porsche once without breaking the rules. I won’t text and drive again, because I understand the risks, but if I’m left to my own devices—and you ignore me—who knows what kind of trouble I might get into?
By the time you read this, I’ll be upstairs in bed. I’ll be waiting for you to come up to my room and punish me. I’ll probably regret these confessions if you do, but I know exactly what I deserve. I’m not asking you to violate your promise to my father—I’m asking you to uphold it. I need you to be the Daddy I’ve never had. I won’t kiss you. I won’t try to push what we have beyond what I deserve. I just need you to make sure I’m able to keep the promise I made to myself. Help me be a better person—give me the guidance and discipline that is required.
-Chrissy
I folded the paper in half and wrote Greyson’s name on the outside of it. I assumed he would check the table to see if I had read his letter when he got up—after that, everything was firmly in his court. I was giving up control. I was coming clean about lies that I had even convinced myself were true. I did that pretty often growing up. If I had a Daddy like Greyson, my ass would have been bared and spanked at least twice a week—well, until I figured out that I needed to actually follow the rules to avoid going over his knee. I doubted that my good girl perception would have been an illusion after he blistered my bottom a few times.
He might actually kick me out when he reads this letter. I have to risk it. I don’t want to go back to Chicago as a failure, but I don’t want to be one in California either…
8
Greyson
I was in a foul mood when I woke up. I wanted to lash out at someone, and I even started looking through my phone to see if anything was fucked up at work. Unfortunately, Lauren had everything under control, so all I could do was be angry at the air I was breathing. I showered, put on my clothes, and walked down the stairs. I was curious to know if Chrissy had read the letter, but I was actually afraid to even check. I poured my heart into it and quelled everything inside me until the words were right. She got the finished version. There were a half-dozen copies in the trash can that weren’t right.
I had to press the reset button. There was no other choice.
I languished in what happened between us after Chrissy locked herself in her room. I wasn’t angry at her. I was just disappointed that I didn’t see it coming and push her away before she kissed me. I regretted letting things progress that far. I kept losing my grip on the door in my head, and I took things too far. I let myself linger in the wrong moment until it consumed me. Her lips against mine were like a slap in the face—not because I didn’t want to kiss her, but because I realized just how wrong it was when I felt them. At least it was done—there was no turning back. I walked into the dining room and saw the letter where I left it—except it wasn’t my letter. My name was on the front of it.
She wrote me a response… Okay, I guess I have to read it.
I poured a cup of coffee that had been brewing since I woke up and hit the button on my phone to start it. I was definitely going to need some caffeine in my system—it would go well with the thoughts of an eighteen-year-old girl that I took advantage of. I expected it to be a flurry of scalding emotions hotter than the coffee I was drinking. I deserved it. I was the one who let her believe that something could happen between us—I was the one who kept refusing to slam the door the way I needed to and stay on the right side of the line.
Here we go…
I unfolded the letter and started reading. It started off well, but when I got to the part about her lies, my jaw fell open. It wasn’t just a letter—it was a confession. Everything she had told me about her Box of Shame was a lie. My mind started replaying the conversation in my head—she wasn’t just a liar; she could look me in the eye and laugh as the dishonesty poured out of her lips. My jaw was no longer hanging open when I got the last paragraph. It practically hit the floor and rolled across the room. I dropped the letter on the table in front of me and stared at it. I couldn’t believe what I had read. I had to read it two more times just to make sure that I wasn’t imagining it.
Holy shit.
I wanted to stand my ground and maintain the position that I claimed as my permanent one when I wrote my letter to Chrissy. I just didn’t know how that was possible after reading her letter. She even found a way to turn the promise I made to her father around and blast me in the face with it—like I would be breaking it if I didn’t take action. Chrissy needed a Daddy. Everything I had suspected was true, but it was much more complex than what I saw on the surface. She didn’t just need a spanking; she was a good candidate for the cane—not that I would ever use that on someone. I sugar coated the truth about her father—she sugar coated her lies. She fed me what I wanted to hear—while maintaining an air of innocence.
She’s not a good girl at all. There’s a she-devil hiding behind those curves…
There was no way I could just ignore her cry for help. My need to protect and look after her collided with what she needed, which was discipline. She needed rules with consequences because she had never lived in that kind of world. Calling me an old man and asking to be spanked—it was bratty behavior begging for a firm hand. I was going to have to give it to her. I could bottle my feelings and stay on my side of what was going to be a blurry line. I could be the Daddy she needed me to be.
If she’s waiting upstairs for me, then I guess I need to go show her what it’s like to actually be punished—and she won’t be wearing those pajama pants when I do.
The letter made me develop a whole new level of respect for Chrissy. She was able to see her needs and actually ask for them to be fulfilled. My letter didn’t deter her. It might have quashed the kiss, but it didn’t take away her need. I finished my coffee and picked up the letter. I found my place on my side of the blurry line as I walked up the stairs. I wasn’t going to pursue a romance with her—I was just going to keep the promise I made and look after the girl that needed discipline. I hoped I could find a way to keep one door shut while another one stood wide open. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was what she truly needed from me.
“Chrissy?” I put my hand on the doorknob and turned it—the door was unlocked.
She rolled over and looked at me. Her eyes immediately went down to the letter and I saw her tremble. She knew why I was there—I knew what I had to do. There was no confusion about that. I closed the door and walked to her bed. I still had to proceed with a little bit of caution. She was asking me to really spank her—and I would—but I had to make sure that I didn’t really hurt her in the process. I had to take her past her limit—to the point where the pain made her cry, and then I would find out how sorry she really was.
“It seems that you’ve been a very naughty girl.” I tilted my head slightly. “I don’t even know where to start—but let’s discuss the lies.”
“I told the truth…” She pointed at the letter.