Daniel 2 (And Huck, Too)

(THIS STORY BEGINS IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE ENDING OF DANIEL 01.)

I’m not sure how long I held the boy, but I saw no reason to rush things. My indecision had let him in an insecure place, and I’m sure he was just enjoying a physical show of the security I’d just promised him. The only move I made was to stand up long enough to swing him around to sit in my lap. Rushing would have been a bad deal, so we just sat there quietly until he finally released me. Once he seemed to have settled down enough to talk, I brought up the related subjects.

"I’m not going to try to talk you out of this, Daniel. It seems like you’re a really good kid, and I think you’re going to fit in here pretty well. However, I do want you to understand exactly what you’re getting into. If you move in with us, I’m going to treat you exactly like I do any of the other boys."

I paused for a minute, and he looked at me with a bit of uncertainty, before finally saying, "You mean spankings?"

"Among other things. We have rules here, and I expect you’re going to learn them and obey them. You’re not going to get away with blowing off school, which I think you’ve been doing. We’ll assign you some chores, and I’ll expect you to take care of them. When you get in trouble or don’t do things you’re supposed to, you’ll get spanked. From what you and Quinten said, I’m a lot more strict than your dad. Think you can handle that?"

He nodded with enough nonchalance that I was a bit worried.

"I’m not kidding, Daniel. I don’t think you’ll find my spankings funny."

"I know," he assured me. "Ryan talked to me about them a bit. He says you spank like forever when you give one."

"And that idea doesn’t bother you?"

He shrugged, still seeming not to worry about it.

"Are you that well behaved, Daniel, that you don‘t think you‘re going to get a spanking?"

He shrugged again.

"Do you like getting spanked or something?"

"No!" He protested, and I think he might have blushed, though it was hard to tell with his skin tone. "It’s just…." He stopped and took a minute to gather his thoughts.

"Ryan told me about how you spank. It sounds like you spank a lot like Rob— you know, Quinten’s dad?" He paused again to make sure I was following, then went on. "I was really serious the other day when I said his dad had spanked me a lot. Me and Quint have been friends since kindergarten and we’re eleven now. I’ll bet Rob’s spanked me like twenty-five times. Maybe more! It’s really embarrassing when he pulls down my underwear, and I always get scared when he makes me lay down on his lap. He’s only used the belt on me once, but that thing hurts like a mother fu…."

"Watch your language, mister," I warned him with a snap of casual menace. I think he colored again.

"Sorry. I just mean it hurts really bad. His hand’s bad enough, and I cry every time he spanks me. The thing is, he told me all about how guys sometimes screw up and need something to remind them to behave and how they need a clean… erm, a clean…."

"Slate?" I suggested.

"Yeah, they need a clean slate so they can start fresh. Right?"

I nodded and waited a minute before I continued. "Okay, if you understand that, I think you’ll get along here just fine. I want you to know that I’ll spank you when you need it, but it will never be because I don’t like you or I’m mad at you. I haven’t known you long, but I already like you just fine."

He smiled at that.

We sat there for a while longer, talking about the way I ran the house, about the rules and what I’d expect from him, about the three strike system for chores and how he’d be able to keep track of what he had to do, and about things I did besides spanking—like the occasional corner time, extra chores, or even restrictions.

After a while, the talk turned to other areas, and we ended up moving to the living room, where we’d be more comfortable. We negotiated his allowance and talked about his schoolwork. He was a little ticked off that I don’t believe an eleven year old needs a cell phone, or a television, computer, or video game system in his bedroom, but was happy enough that he’d be getting a bike even though Christmas was just past.

We talked about where he’d be living. Daniel liked Huck and Ryan both, but they were used to sharing. After a bit of consideration, I decided the best way was to send some of Corey’s stuff to his mom’s and move the rest in with Marcus. The two of them were best friends, and Corey spent a lot of time in his room anyway. Cal was my oldest downstairs, so he’d get Corey’s old room, and Daniel could take over that one. He nearly went into shock when I mentioned taking him furniture shopping. I had to explain that all the kids had gotten furniture, clothes, and whatever else they needed when they’d moved in, and it being the day after Christmas didn’t change that.

Finally we took a break for snacks, and I called Karen to make the arrangements. She sounded happy, but not too surprised to hear from me. I’m sure the first thing she did was to pay off Maggie for the bet (Mags later admitted she’d won five dollars by my adopting the kid). Karen also called the police and arranged for me to talk to Daniel’s dad.

Moving the boy in was no big deal. Marcus and Corey didn’t mind sharing, and Caleb was excited about getting to go upstairs. While some of that was going on at the house under Chris’s supervision, I went to the police station to make a few arrangements with Mr. Chavez. When I was through with that, we grabbed some bags and boxes and went back to the Chavez apartment so Daniel could pack up all the rest of his stuff, as well as grabbing a few keepsakes from the rest of his house. (The rest of the apartment was split between junk and stuff that got packed up and put in storage for Mr. Chavez.)



Daniel wasn’t the only thing going on at that time, however. Huck was having a hard time, and I couldn’t figure out why. Maybe I should say Huck was giving a hard time, and not just to me. To be fair to the boy, I think he was suffering from a bad case of visitation whiplash. The problem wasn’t that he didn’t want to go places, but he didn’t want to leave. The only place Huck didn’t actually care about being was at his mom’s, which was where he lived.

Huck loved his mom as much as any other boy ever did. It was just that his mom only lived a ten minute bike ride from me. There was one boy at the apartments with whom Huck was pretty good friends, but his best friends were Ryan and a boy they both knew from school, Tony Marcotte.

When school had let out for Christmas vacation the previous Tuesday, I’d picked Huck up separately from my other boys, who were riding home with Chris. Huck and I swung by his place, picked up his duffle bag, and hit the highway. I knew he didn’t want to be going—that he wanted to be at my place, eating freshly baked sugar cookies with the other boys. I even stopped at Jack in the Box so we could get a couple of eggnog milk shakes, but (contrary to some people’s beliefs) ice cream doesn’t solve every problem.

I wish I’d been able to let him stop and spend some time with my kids, but they’d gotten out of school at 2pm that day, and I really needed to get to Dallas and back before the highways turned to parking lots. He wanted to hang out with his friends and play, but my own kids had a lot of things going on for which I had to prepare and be there. I didn’t begrudge giving Huck a lift but needed to get it done in a timely manner.

By the time we reached Mesquite and pulled up to Patrick and Rose’s house, I thought he was over it. Trent must have been waiting for us because he came busting out of the front door as soon as we pulled up. Trent grabbed Huck’s bag from the back and led him in, the two of them talking about sports and what they had planned for the evening. Rose had come out to say hello, and after giving Huck a peck on the cheek, spent a few minutes talking to me before I insisted on being back on the road.

I knew that my brother Jason, Huck’s dad, would be picking him up the next afternoon so Huck could spend a little time with his grandpa. Huck would then be spending the next several days with his dad, which had him slightly ticked off. He enjoyed his time at his dad’s house and had some friends there but didn’t like missing the sleepovers at my house. I’d talked to the boy and tried to convince him he’d do a lot better to concentrate on enjoying the things he was getting to do, rather than being upset by what he didn’t get to do, thus keeping him from enjoying both of them.

I next saw Huck again on Christmas Eve when Jason showed up with his family in tow. Dinner went great and everyone had a good time. Huck had left his duffle bag in Jason’s car, so he went off, wrapped in his Christmas pajamas, wearing sneakers and a coat and carrying a bundle of loot, to be dropped at his mom’s house before Jason went back home.

As soon as Huck got dropped at his mom’s, it was back in the car for him, and he had to try to sleep in the back as they made the four and a half hour drive to Tulsa to visit her family. Robin, Huck’s mom, hadn’t even been able to get the day after Christmas off. The best she could do was get an afternoon shift so they at least didn’t have to make another all-night drive. Also, possibly because of the time Huck had already spent away, she didn’t want him to spend the night with me, so she picked him up when she got off work that day, after 9pm.

I’d wondered if Huck was upset by Daniel. I thought the kid must feel on the outskirts of the family with the way he was moved around. I’d tried to explain to him that he got shuffled around, not because no one wanted him, but because everyone wanted him; but I was never sure he believed it.

After a bit, I decided that Daniel probably wasn’t the problem. We’d done some basic work on getting ready to move on Christmas Day, but it was the next day that most of the work actually was done, and Huck chipped right in there. Which isn’t to say that he wasn’t occasionally rude to Daniel, it’s just that he was being a little rude to everyone. The other boys tolerated it, like they would if one of their brothers was in a bad mood. I’d already had a talk with him once when he first arrived. Bryce, being Bryce, had grabbed Huck’s arm almost as soon as he walked in the door, trying to drag him off to show him all his new toys. After all, the twins were at their grandma’s, and Bryce was lonely and bored. With the twins out of town, the only person Bryce would have been happier to see would have been Barry (who’d been there to see the new stuff opened, anyway). While Huck was usually fairly tolerant of the younger kids, this time he jerked his arm away from Bryce and snapped at him, which had me on edge right away.

I asked Bryce to excuse us and suggested he go help Daniel decide how he wanted to lay out his room, then Huck and I had a little talk. I pointed out to him that even if you’re not feeling especially good or if something’s bothering you, it doesn’t give you the right to treat other people badly. I tried to point out that even if you are feeling bothered by something, if you treat other people politely, that will actually help you feel better, sometimes at least. I’m not sure he bought that. I gave him a chance to talk about what was bothering him, but he wasn’t interested.

As soon as I’d decided how we needed to rearrange things, I’d called Marcus and Corey to double check with them. They had no more problem with it than I’d expected. When Cal and Tommy came home from visiting their mom, Cal was very excited that I thought he was old enough to move upstairs. Still, with Marcus and Corey both gone, there wasn’t a lot we could do to start. Mostly I helped Cal clean and organize his room, then did some of the same for Corey’s.

Marcus came home the next morning, and we started really getting things done. By the time Huck showed up, we had the two older boys’ rooms combined and were moving Cal upstairs. As soon as that was finished, we gave what was about to be Daniel’s room a thorough cleaning, then I used leftover brisket to fix everyone sloppy joes (chop the brisket and an onion, simmer it in barbecue sauce, serve over toasted buns—the kids love it), and let them go play. Daniel wanted to play but kept going back to the computer so he could look at the Rooms-to-Go Kids online catalog, which is where I planned on us starting our shopping the next morning.



On the morning of the 27th, I dragged my rear out of bed barely past my normal time—much earlier than I really wanted. Robin had to be at work at 8am, so I knew she’d be dropping Huck off early.

Huck has never really been what you’d call a morning person, but this morning was different. Instead of out-of-touch and half-asleep, he was back to being surly and borderline rude. He jerked away from his mom when she tried to kiss him, and barely muttered something that might have been interpreted as ‘bye.’

I offered to let him go back to bed, but he said, in a not very polite way, that he wasn’t tired. Still trying to be understanding, I took a deep breath and offered to fix him breakfast instead. He accepted but was so grudging about it, you’d have thought I’d threatened to force feed him gruel if he didn’t accept.

"Go wash up," I told him.

"I don’t need to."

"I don’t remember asking your opinion, Huck. Go wash up." My patience was straining its leash like a ticked off pit bull, but I was trying hard to keep my voice even.

"Why?"

I took a second to breathe deeply while flipping the bacon before responding. "Do I need to remind you that ‘because you were told to’ is reason enough? However, just for reference, since the last time you even had a chance to wash your hands, you’ve left your house, gotten into and out of your mom’s car, then come in here. Even if your hands aren’t dirty, it’s still a good idea to wash them, especially with all the colds going around this time of year. Now move."

I felt very virtuous, having explained my reasoning to him in a way that would have appeased a health teacher. His slouching past me, like he was on his way to a beating—which was actually pretty accurate—didn’t bring me down much. What did bring me down was the fact that he came back about ten seconds after I heard the toilet flush in the half bath.

Huck came back past me, aimed at the breakfast nook, when I stopped him.

"Let me see those hands, mister."

I know Huck wasn‘t quite eleven, but I would have sworn he was several years older, considering the surliness he was able to put into the simple gesture of raising his hands after I’d asked him again. I didn’t have to look long or hard to spot the evidence that I’d expected.

"Go wash them, Huck."

He glared at me and tucked his hands in against his side. "I did."

"No, you didn’t. Now get back in there and wash those hands," I said, turning him and landing a swat on his rear.

As he took a slow step back towards the bathroom, he muttered, not quite far enough under his breath, "This is a bunch of bullshit."

I’d had enough deep breaths for the morning. I moved the frying eggs to another burner and turned that one off, then stepped towards Huck. He suddenly realized he’d screwed up but had been dragging his feet too much, and I caught his arm even as he started trying to get away from me. As soon as I had a grip just above his elbow, where I could hold him firmly without having to squeeze too hard, I spun him around to face me.

"That’s it, mister. I’ve given you every chance and you keep blowing it. Now I’m going to wear you out."

Normally the boy took his spankings as well as you could expect from a ten-year old and better than a lot of them. This time he was fighting like a wildcat, struggling to get away from me. I got him halfway across the dining room before he dumped over a chair, trying to hold on to it. I’d more than had enough and spun around to face him, dropping to one knee, so his eyes were a bit above mine, and grabbing both his arms, pinning them to his sides.

"I don’t know what’s wrong with you lately, John Michael, but I’m fed up with it. You’re obviously unhappy with someone or something, but we talked about that yesterday. You’ve been doing your best to make everyone else miserable and it’s not fair to us, and it’s really not fair to yourself. I was willing to put up with it and try to let you work your way through it. What I’m not going to put up with is you back talking me, disobeying me, lying to me, and cussing. I’ve given you every chance, but you’ve got this coming, and fighting is just going to make it worse. Do you understand me?"

The fight had suddenly gone out of the boy, and his eyes had dropped. Staring at the floor, he nodded. I stood up and led him to Barry’s room with no more resistance. He walked with me across Barry’s room, heading by instinct for the other boy’s desk, but didn’t resist as I detoured, not until he saw me reach towards the dresser and pick up the brush.

"No, Uncle Jack. Please not the brush! I’m sorry!"

I knelt down again, this time not holding him. "I’m sorry, too, Huck, but yes. I tried to talk to you yesterday, but you didn’t want to talk, did you?"

He shook his head.

"Did you mind me when I told you to wash your hands?"

He shook his head again.

"Did you lie to me when you told me you’d done it?"

A brief, hesitant nod.

"Did you cuss?"

Another nod.

"Then I think the brush is just what you need this time."

A tear escaped his eye and tracked down his cheek, but he didn’t say anything else and didn’t resist as I led him towards the desk. He took the brush when I handed it to him, then stood quietly as I turned the desk chair to face into the room. I took my seat, and he was docile as I stripped him, not complaining or even questioning that I was removing all his clothes rather than just lowering his pants and briefs.

Once I had the boy stripped down to just his briefs, I had to sit back a moment and admire him, as well as pondering the fact that my dad’s family must have very strong genetics. Not only has there never been any question that Matt, Jason, and I were brothers despite having different mothers, but Noah, Barry, Huck, and Shea pass for brothers, as well, despite a few differences among them.

Huck was a good looking boy, with the dark brown hair, blue eyes, and fair skin that run in our family. His hair was getting a little long, enough so it had brushed past the collar of his shirt and had fallen down over his forehead when I’d pulled the shirt off. At a couple of months before his eleventh birthday, the boy was lean and firm, but not exactly skinny. His belly was flat, but not inward or rippled, and I knew that his recent season in football had only firmed up his admirably full bottom. As I slid his briefs down, I noticed again that he was also going to be an early bloomer like most of our family. While he was still mostly a little boy and probably hadn’t noticed it himself, he was starting to get a little more length, and his sac was starting to loosen up and droop just a bit. As I had him step out of the briefs, I looked up and couldn’t help but think about one thing he was lucky enough to have picked up from his mom—he’d missed the rather broad Wells’ nose.

Once he was naked, I took the hairbrush from him, then looked at him until he met my eyes. "I think you already know what you did wrong, don’t you, Huck?"

He nodded, slowly, sadly, and reluctantly.

"Do we need to talk about it anymore?"

He shook his head, then, at my gesture, stepped around to my side. Huck has never actually lived with me, but up until Barry moved in with me, Huck had probably spent at least as much time with me as Barry had, and I’m sure he’d received at least as many spankings. He placed himself easily across my lap, knowing not just exactly where I wanted him, but that it was better to just get things over with. As soon as he was in position, I adjusted my legs to raise his bottom, then went to work.

The brush is a dreaded instrument, not just because each swat stings more, but because it’s not as big as my paddles so it takes more swats to cover the same area. Huck has almost always tried to take his spankings well, but he couldn’t stop himself from jerking around a bit as even the first smacks fell on his tender rear. I started with four swats down the very center of his bottom, tracking down his crack, before giving six to the inside of each cheek, then five more to the outside, before adding a final three to each mild, little dimple.

Trying to take it well or not, the brush was more than the boy was used to, and he was yelping and kicking, squirming and trying to get his hands behind him. I stopped long enough to pin his right hand behind his back, took a firmer grip on his waist, and kept going. Before I finished his bottom, he was already crying hard and loud, but that didn’t stop me from paying equal attention to his tender thighs.

The brush was small enough that I fit three swats down the outside of each leg, three more down the center, and a final three down the especially tender inner thigh. He was howling and bawling before I finished, still squirming and wiggling, but too sore to kick anymore, though his feet were still gyrating like he was trying to swim off my lap.

I felt bad for the boy, but any of several things he’d done would have earned him a spanking, and I wanted to make this memorable for him, so I placed a last few random swats on each cheek, before counting out a final ten swats, back and forth, to each sit spot. He was on the edge of hysteria when I dropped the brush behind me and lifted him up.

As soon as I held him, the boy clung to me miserably. He kept saying something over and over, and it took me a minute to understand it. ‘I’m sorry,’ I expected, but he was also begging me, ‘Don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me.’ It broke my heart, but it also made me realize why all the fight had gone out of him like it had.

John Michael had been named after his grandfathers, but by the time I adopted the twins, we had a lot of Johns in the family. Because of his penchant for not wearing shoes, his father had occasionally called him Huck, but I used it all the time, and it had stuck until even his mom used it. For me to call him John Michael must have scared him worse than any spanking I’d ever given him.

I held the boy tightly, letting him cling to me for a minute, while I assured him that I did and always would love him. After a long moment, I let him go because I was sure I knew what he really needed right then. As soon as I broke our hug, he began a belated fire dance, gently rubbing his reddened cheeks while I turned down the spare bed. As soon as that was done, I picked Huck up and tucked him in. Turning just a bit, he kissed my cheek as I kissed his, and I rubbed his back and bottom for another minute until his eyes closed.



The boy’s sobs quickly deepened into sleep. He was going to feel miserable when he woke, and I decided to leave a damp rag and a glass of cold water for him. When I opened the door to Huck’s room, however, I was caught by surprise: Daniel was standing there, staring at the door to Barry’s room. The boy looked more than just good, he was lean and boyish and beautiful in nothing but a slightly snug pair of Fruit of the Looms. The look on his face wasn’t beautiful, though.

"Was that…" I could hear him gulp before he continued, "Was that Barry?"

"No, Barry’s not home yet. That was Huck."

"What… what did he do?"

"C’mere, Daniel. Let me explain a few things to you."

I thought he was going to flinch away from me for a second, but he stood there, nervously, as I dropped my arm around his shoulders and led him back to the kitchen.

"Want some juice?"

"Yes, please. Apple?"

I nodded and poured it for him, getting myself a glass of grape, before I trashed the congealed mess of eggs I’d been cooking for Huck and started again.

"Even as big as our house is, you’re usually going to know when someone’s been spanked. Sometimes, like just now when I’m using a different room or if it’s in the office, you might not know who it is, but normally you will. Even if you don’t know who it is, when I’m finished spanking a boy, you’ll probably be able to tell he’s been spanked for a while afterwards. Make sense?"

I glanced behind me and he nodded, then sat the glass down and answered, "Yes, sir."

"The thing is, you’ll probably know when someone’s been spanked, and they’ll probably know when you get it. There’s no help for that, and it’s just part of life. On the other hand, WHY they got spanked is between me and them. That doesn’t mean they can’t tell you about it, and it doesn’t mean you can’t ask them. What it does mean is that, if I find out you’re pestering somebody about why they got spanked or teasing them about it, you’ll find yourself over my lap real quick, and I won’t say a darned word if they want to tease you a bit afterwards. Clear?"

"Crystal," he quickly agreed.

I finished cooking breakfast for him but could tell he wasn’t finished with the conversation yet. After a bit, when he’d not yet asked, I encouraged him a bit.

"You’re new in the family, Daniel. You can ask anything you want. The worst thing that will happen—as long as you’re polite about it and don’t cuss—is that I’ll tell you that you shouldn’t ask that and why. Did you have another question?"

He nodded, took another drink, licked his lips, then finally asked, "Was that a regular spanking?"

"No, that was not a regular spanking. You saw the paddle in Ryan’s room?"

He nodded.

"That would be a regular spanking. Huck has been pushing his luck, and this spanking was for several things, so I used the brush, which is a lot worse."

He was looking a little pale, so I tried to reassure him.

"Daniel, I doubt any eleven-year-old boy could live here and not get a spanking sooner or later. However, I can almost promise you that if you don’t want one, you’ll never have to get a spanking with the brush. So, you still want to live here?"

He looked startled at the question but quickly reassured me, "Oh yeah! Especially, if I don’t have to get a spanking like that one."

Realizing that his idea of have was a little bit different from how I’d meant it, I sat his breakfast in front of him and tried to explain that I’d meant he could stay out of that kind of trouble, before the poor kid got a brutal and disappointing surprise.





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