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? 

“Breakfast at Waffle House” by rpavich is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

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. 

Want to read more works like this? Send Me a tip as a way to help support this and other writing endeavors.