A Comedy of AR's

Chapter 63
Freaky Friday (9) – Sammantha’s Bath

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After an adequate rest period, I reached under and lifted up the naked child by his butt.  Then I walked a few feet and set him down on the chair in front of his student desk.

“Why am I here?” he queried.

“You lost the challenge, Sam.  Now you have to admit who controls your penis.  If you don’t, then I guess we’ll have to start all over again … kicking your balls, spanking your ass, and jerking you off.”

The boy lowered his head and mumbled, “Fine … you do … you control it … Can I go now?”

I gave him a quick answer.  “No.”  Then I opened his side desk drawer and took out a sheet of notebook paper and a pencil, and placed it on the desktop in front of him.  “Fill it up, Sam … I want your thoughts on what happened today, specifically about our relationship.”

“Why?”

“This is your punishment for running away from home without telling me, and leaving me in the lurch to be worried sick about you.”

The boy whined, “But I thought the kick to my balls was my punishment.”

“Sam, that was your punishment for calling me a cunt.”

The boy became quite animated and spread his arms apart.  “Then what about the spanking?”

“That was your punishment for smashing a shoe in my face.”

“But the spanking hurt a lot worse!  That wasn’t proportional,”

“Sam, the essay involves no pain at all … and your alternative is diapers, so make a choice.”

The boy shook his head and mumbled, “Fine,” only he dragged it out like ‘Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine’.

I turned and advised him, “While you’re doing that, I’ll prepare the milk and water for your bath.”

The boy protested again with a question, “I still have to take a bath?!”

I lectured him sternly, “Sam, if I hear another complaint out of your mouth, then I’ll prepare the bath without milk … and you know what that means.”

I heard back from him, only sound effects.

“Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

When we had earlier discovered that a bath of 50 percent milk and 50 percent water had no effects on age regression, it saved us a lot of money and space in the refrigerator.  The mixture was too hot right now, so I took the pots off the burners and let them sit.

Then I heard a call from out of the small bedroom.  “Mom, I’m finished!”

I took the cue and went into Sam’s bedroom, wondering if he had really cooperated.

The nude boy spun his chair around and held up his paper.  He also had an advisement for me.

“Mom, you should know that I sent the top part of my letter to ‘Boy Stuff’ Magazine to complain about you.”

I snorted, “Does that rag still exist?”

The boy sounded very proud of himself.  “I signed up for the online version and sent my letter to the ‘It’s Not Fair’ column.  People should know how mean you are to me.”

I held my chin.  “Why, that’s very clever, Sam … Let’s take a look.”

I picked up the sheet and perused it.  The handwriting was very neat, like a girl’s.

Dear It’s Not Fair,

My name is Sam and I’m an eleven year old boy.  Today was the first day with my new step mom and I already hate her.  She should be in a Disney movie because she would be so perfect as a wicked stepmother.

I hate the way she bosses me around all the time.  I hate her for making me go to bed at 8:30 pm.  (All the kids my age get to go to bed later than that.)

I hate that she insists on giving me a bath.  I’m eleven years old and she shouldn’t be seeing me naked.  I think the only reason she does it is so she can wash my penis.

I hate that she makes me drink only milk and never allows me to have soda.

I hate that she took my laptop computer away because she’s afraid that I would look at porn.  I never look at porn.  So she gave me a cheaper laptop with parental controls on it.

I hate her for wanting to take away my ear stud, just because I let two girls at school pierce one earlobe.

I hate her for spanking me really, really hard, just because I slapped her face with a shoe.  The spankings hurt way more than the shoe.

I hate her for kicking me in my balls.  I’ll bet I won’t be able to have children when I grow up.  She kicked me just because I called her a cunt.

Today started out as the best day of my life, and my step mom ruined it.  Just because she’s bigger than me doesn’t make her better.  I hate her.  I hate her, I hate her.

In conclusion, I hate my step mom.

It’s not fair!

With much hate,

Sam

Dear Mom,

In addition to everything above, I would like to add the following complaints:

I hate that you drive my Porsche as if it were your own.

I hate that you took credit for saving the life of the cop’s son, when it was really me who did that.

I hate your threats to pour water on me.

I hate you for using my strong female body against me.

The only thing I like about you is that I have your penis and I’m not giving it back.  Just because you’re bigger than me now doesn’t mean that you should rule over me like a tyrant.

I may be smaller right now, but you need to understand that inside this smaller body is a fully functioning mature adult. Other than needing an occasional car ride, I am totally capable of being independent of you. 

In conclusion, I hate you.

With much hate,

Sam

I read both letters a second time and commented to Sam, “I appreciate your honesty.  You may hate me … but I love you.”

“You don’t love me,” he sassed back.

“Your wrong, Sam … Administering discipline is how parents show that they love their children.  If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t care what you did.  I would just let you run around like a wild animal like you did today and just say ‘oh, okay, do what you want, whatever makes you happy ...  I’ll just look the other way’.”

The boy offered no response, so I continued.  “Did you really email the top letter to Boystuff Magazine?”

“Yes.”

“Well, let me know if you get an answer back.  I’d be interested in reading what they have to say.  Anyway, it’s bath time now.  Would you like to come to the tub voluntarily?  If not, bunny rabbit has a dog leash that I could fasten around your penis and testicles and then I could take you for a walk to the tub.”

Sam stood up, but he kept his head down … and his steps toward the bathroom looked more like a prisoner on his way to death row.  In addition to his ego, his tool was deflated too.

“Just take a seat in the tub, Sam, and I’ll be right there.”

I went to retrieve the first hot pot and brought it to the edge of the tub.  “Take a touch test, Sam … hot, cold, or perfect?”

The boy put a hand in the liquid and pronounced it, “Okay.”  So I poured the whole thing in and he splashed it on his body to get used to it.  Then I retrieved the second pot and advised him to close his eyes.  He did, and Niagara Falls came down on his head.

With his big head of hair, I squeezed out a lot of shampoo to get him started and used my fingers to work it in.  “Let it sit for awhile, Sam, while we get your other parts.

I used body wash on a face cloth to continue on his chest.  It felt so nice to touch him all over …  I was touching my own boy body.  Then I started into my ‘bathtub speech’.

With a low key voice, I said, “Sam, I was thinking about what you were saying earlier today … about you wanting more independence from me.  And I think you made some good points … so I’ve been thinking about sending you off to an all-male boarding school.”

The boys head shot up.  “What?!”

“Well, think about it … You said that since you’re a boy now, you want to do boy stuff.  And what better opportunity for doing boy stuff could there be other than a school exclusively for boys?”

“But I don’t want to do that, Mom.  Most boys are jerks.  And I’d still have the water problem.”

“I’ll tell the dean about your ‘allergy’ and I’m sure they’ll make the appropriate accommodations for you.”

Sam was alarmed.  “But what about my job as a psychologist?  What would my patients do?”

“That’s exactly the point I was thinking about when I was doing the grocery shopping today.  Well normally, I would have taken you with me to help with the shopping, but after awhile, I realized that I didn’t need your help.  In fact, I don’t need you at all.”

The boy was becoming more concerned as I moved around to wash his back.

“Mom, what do you mean ‘you don’t need me’?”

“Well, remember this morning, we got pulled over by the police officer?  He was about to write me a ticket, but then he identified me as Sammantha Adams and tore it up.  And the more I got to thinking about it, the same would happen with all your patients.  They would accept me as the real Sammantha Adams, and I could seamlessly step in and take over your career.”

The boy raised his voice to a new level.  “But you don’t know anything about psychology!  You don’t have a PHD.  You would be a phony!”

I shook my head.  “Sam, you’re over-stating your abilities.  It’s just not that hard of a job.  The first time you see a patient, you say ‘What brings you in today?’  And no matter what they tell you, your second question is ‘And how does that make you feel?’

He looked up at me through the suds covering his eyes and retorted, “Mom, there’s a lot more involved than just that.”

“Sam, a psychologist only needs to do two things … to be a patient listener, and show lots of empathy … and you said yourself that I have more empathy that you do.  I’ve read your book ‘Freak: A Journey of Self Evolution’.  There’s a lot of good ideas there to give positive re-enforcement and encouragement to your patients.”

“You can’t do that,” the boy complained.

“Sure I can, Sam.  If I read a couple more psychology books, I could just step right in and be you.  Everyone will accept me as Sammantha Adams … and what do you make a year?  I figure it’s about 200 thousand dollars.  That’s a pretty good buck here in Buffalo.  So why would I keep you here, hanging around, eating the food, and doing nothing?”

“Mom, I had this idea that I could come onto the remote sessions as an avatar.  You would talk first and explain that a lot of people feel more comfortable talking to a young boy rather than an adult.  Then the screen would go black, and when it came back on, I would be in the seat and the patients could talk to me.  I think it could work.”

I scoffed, “Sam that is total bullshit.  You’re a little boy.  No one is going to look at a little boy and say ‘Wow, that’s a doctor of Psychology with a PHD’.  After a few patient sessions, I’ll be as good as you, if not better.”

I gently washed his penis and concluded, “Sammantha, I just don’t need you anymore.”