Boys and Men

The difference between men and boys are the price of their toys. It is a shame that when we grow up we have to give up the things that make us who we are and put on this persona of who we will become. The problem is, we will only become that persona after several years. So for a long time the boy/man wanders around not knowing who he really is. He after much bumping of head eventually morphs into the persona he becomes, puts aside his boyish mannerisms and like the humble caterpillar becomes a moth.

What happens when, due to circumstances totally beyond his control, the man morphs into a boy, almost over night. Suddenly the love of his life has to become his mother, not only that, the boy informs his wife/mother that he has had the most frightening dream. In the dream the boy/man annoys the w/m and she like a mom takes her husband/boy over the maternal lap and using a variety of different implements changes the colour of his ass not satisfied until it resembles a shade of purple with tinges of black and blue. His behaviour becomes almost angelic to say the least. The mere thought of incurring the matrimonial wrath sends the man/boy into paroxysms of fear.

Having had a fascination for spanking ever since he was old enough to want attention and since he discovered that any attention was infinitely better than none he became a brat par excel lance and as a result getting spanked got him all the attention he needed. The down side was that due to the proverbial sitapon being in a state of heightened sensitivity. sitting was a painful exercise and that sleep was best attempted on the belly. Moms, aunts, big sisters girlfriends all got to play a part in the circle of life spank, cry or howl, tears, voicing of contrition and so on.
I was never interested in getting spanked from the father figure, personally I was shit scared of him so attention from him was highly unwelcome. Getting it from a female was and is a major turn on.
I walk around looking at women and see myself buck naked over their lap getting the skin of my ass fried to a crisp. I've been told to be careful of what I wish for. It could backfire on me.

I lost my mother early last year and that raised some ugly issues. Raised as I was in a pseudo catholic tradition, the importance of the mother in the Portuguese family takes on epic proportions, it was always stressed upon us that your mother was someone special as she was the one who bore you, you bonded by drinking from her breast. She suckled you, in her arms you were safe. To a child the mother is truly indispensable. Then the day you have her memorial service you get handed a copy of her last will and testament. In it you find that the one person who is supposed to love you, the one who held you in her arms and nursed you at her breast has with her dying wish forever banished you from her life. to her it is as if you had never existed. Why? I'll never find out. To think she travelled 8000 kms to visit her great grand children 4 months before her death, but could not acknowledge to the world that Malcolm Eduardo Monteiro is the youngest son of Jean Monteiro.

I want to put it on public record and to tell the world that I love you mom, I always have and I always will.