This is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.
I can’t believe it’s only been six months. There’s a part of me that is grateful You’ve changed my appearance so drastically, Son. At least I can go out in public without ex-friends and ex-colleagues noticing me. The beard and all the beef helps a lot, but I hate the way You dress me up and force me to act when You take me out, Son. It’s humiliating. No one really believes I’m Your dad.
But I say it, loudly and proudly wherever we go. Why does that get You off so much, Son? It’s perverted and twisted, and I hate it so much. Like yesterday at the Waffle House, when I refused the menu and said, “I’ll let my hot Son order for both of U/us. He knows what’s best for His dumb ole dad.” Why does that turn You on? And why is it starting to turn me on?
It never used to. I don’t know when it changed. It probably started when You took all the polos and sneakers out of my closet and replaced them with stupid t-shirts and boots. I felt different when I put those clothes on, Son. Older. Stronger. Sexier.
The beard was a game changer too. I never had the guts to grow one before. When You told me to quit shaving, I wanted to object, but the words just wouldn’t form, couldn’t form. Honestly, Son, I was grateful You overrode my will the way You did. I was never going to be anything but a mild-mannered corporate drone for the rest of my life. Living vicariously through online role play seems so shallow in comparison to my life with You now. Now I get to live my life out loud as Your dumb, meathead dad. I hate it, and I love it. I want You to stop, and I never want to go back to the way I was. I’m humiliated and exhilarated.
I’m Your dad.
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