Poor Communications

Written By: LJ

A DP Philosophy question posted on our WL Group: Have you ever felt that a punishment you had administered to your Brat, was either the wrong one or administered unjustly?


Hello. My name is Rowan Kincaide and I am sitting here at the computer with my friend, Jayson Stoneman.

After giving much thought to a request put to us by our partners, Darby and Riley, we have agreed to respond to the above question. We did not reach this decision easily. There was a great deal of wavering back and forth as we discussed whether or not we were comfortable sharing this aspect of our lives. However, having read the answers submitted by fellow Tops and being assured that our life-style was accepted and understood here, we’ve decided to go ahead and post our version of the events pertaining to what we consider the wrongful punishing of our Brats.

I trust you are still in favour of doing this, Jay?

Why not? Maybe someone will benefit from our mistakes. Mistakes, I might add that were a direct result of us failing to keep the lines of communication open and giving our partners a chance to better explain themselves. How about telling your story first, Rowan?

All right; the situation I’m thinking of happened rather early in Darby’s and my relationship. My newly acquired Brat of less than three months had neglected to keep up with his household assignments. As a result, he had earned himself an extra chore in the form of washing every window in the house. This was in addition to him catching up on the chores he had left undone.

It was on a Saturday morning when I handed him the list to be completed before my return and left for the hanger. I arrived home about four o’clock, parked my car in the garage and was just getting my briefcase out of the back seat when I heard a loud crash. Running into the backyard, I discovered the ladder had fallen against the side of the garage. Looking up, I saw Darby sitting precariously on the planter box right below the upper bathroom window, a roll of paper towels, numerous wads of used ones and a spray bottle of Windex lay on the ground.

My heart was in my throat as I quickly set the ladder within his reach, all the while wondering how long the perch he was clinging to would bear his weight. I offered words of encouragement as he stepped onto the nearest rung and watched him slowly make his way down. When he was within arms’ reach, I lifted him the last few feet to the ground, pulled him into my arms, held him tightly and waited for our adrenaline rushes to abate. Once our hearts were beating normally, I turned him towards the house. "Corner!" I ordered as I helped him on his way with a resounding wallop on the seat of his pants.

I shook the sting out of my hand, returned the ladder to its’ proper place, gathered up the cleaning supplies, retrieved my briefcase from where I had dropped it and headed for the back door. I found Darby pressing himself into one of our kitchen corners. In retrospect, I realize I should have given myself more time to calm down.

"Come here, Darby!" I ordered in a voice rougher than I normally use. I put down the articles I was carrying and pulled a chair away from the table. He turned and slowly trudged towards me with an expression of bewilderment on his face. "What the hell do you think you were doing, young man?"

"I-I…" he stammered and shrugged his shoulders. He seemed at a loss for words, something I didn’t have a shortage of.

Unfortunately, instead of talking the situation over with him, I went into action. I pulled him closer, undid his jeans, yanked them and his boxers down to his knees, and hauled him over my thighs. I then proceeded to administer a sound spanking, all the while telling him I would never put up with him taking such risks and endangering himself.

It was only after his cries had died down to intermitted sniffles and he was sitting on my lap that I began a two-way conversation. A conversation that I immediately realized should have taken place several minutes earlier.

"Why in God’s name were you on that ladder, Sweets?" I softly inquired as I rubbed gentle circles on his back.

"I was just doing what you told me to do. I was washing the windows."

"But, Darby, there is no need to be outside to do that chore because all the windows tilt inwards."

"Huh!" He bolted upright and stared at me as if I had grown a second head. "I didn’t know that!"

I was my turn to stare. I had assumed he’d washed windows before. Then I remembered during my ritual spring-cleaning a couple of months ago, I had done all the windows. As my ability to speak diminished, Darby’s returned in full force.

"I was only trying to get all the chores on the list finished before you got home ‘cause that’s what you told me to do. And anyway, I didn’t know we had a rule regarding the use of ladders." He glared at me accusingly. He was absolutely correct on both counts.

"I am so sorry, sweetheart," I whispered and set about trying to explain myself. "You can’t imagine how frightened I was when I saw you stranded up there. I don’t even want to think of what could have happened had I not arrived home when I did. Of course that doesn’t excuse my over-reacting the way I did. Can you forgive me?"

"I guess I can,” he smiled shyly through his tears. “I know you only punish me because you love me and care about me." He was being very magnanimous about the situation, considering the heat radiating from his still, bare backside.

"You have only given me that authority in regards to your breaking the rules we have jointly decided upon, Sweets, and even though you broke the rule about endangering yourself, there were extenuating circumstances." I stood him on his feet, helped him remove his jeans and sneakers, and grimaced at his hiss of discomfort as he pulled up his boxers. He gingerly sat down on my lap once again and wrapped his arms around my neck. "Had I known you were unaware of how the windows should be cleaned, Darby, I would never have spanked you. We probably could have settled for an essay written on the safe use of ladders."

"I don’t have to do an essay now, do I?"

"No, love, I think you’ve gotten the message. In fact, both of us learned a thing or two today. It would be a good idea, however, to consider adding ‘Don’t use the extension ladder when home alone!’ to our list of rules. What do you think?"

"I agree with it being a good safety precaution."

"Are we okay, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, we’re fine. But if you still feel bad about spanking me, maybe you could let me out of finishing my extra chore. Whadaya think?" he suggested in an impish manner, his eyes sparkling and his mouth turned up in a crooked grin. I couldn’t resist kissing him.

Did you let him off the hook, Rowan?

I did not! So you can just wipe that smirk off your face, old man, and get on with your story.

Old man indeed! My tale is similar to yours in that it too involved my acting first and talking second. It also occurred fairly early in our relationship.


Riley and I had been living together for only a few weeks when my parents asked if we would house sit and take care of my father’s maiden aunt for a week. They had won a cruise and neither my brother nor sister would be available to help out.


Everything went smoothly until the last day. Riley and I had spent most the morning tidying up and preparing a welcoming home meal. I had to pick up my parents at the airport before noon and Riley offered to clean the bathrooms and scrub the kitchen floor while I was gone.


An hour later, my parents and I walk in the back door just as Aunt Jessica was coming into the kitchen from the hallway. Her feet went from under her and she landed heavily on her left side. Naturally panic reigned supreme for the next few minutes until it was determined she hadn’t suffered any major injuries. By that time, we had noticed the kitchen floor had been flooded. The reason for this completely escaped us.


While my parents got the elderly lady upstairs and settled in bed, I turned to Riley and started requesting answers as to why we were standing in half an inch of water.


"I threw buckets of rinse water over it," he informed me. "I told your aunt to stay in the living room and not to come in here, but she didn’t listen to me."


"She probably forgot as usual. You know she is in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s, Riley. You’ve had to re-introduce yourself every time you’ve entered the house this past week," I reminded him. "Get this mess cleaned up! I’ll say our good-byes and put our things in the car. We’ll take care of this latest antic of yours when we get home."


I really didn’t see the need to talk things over. It was clearly another one of those crazy stunts Riley was used to pulling with his old roommates, Pete and Freddie.


"Was that the method you employed to do the floors where you’ve lived in the past, Riley?" I demanded as soon as we got in the back door.


"Yeah! It does a bang-up job and takes less time. Besides, it’s fun!" he explained.


"FUN!" I shouted. "My aunt could have very easily broken her hip, Riley!" I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Fun, be damned! "This is positively the last time you’ll be putting anyone at bodily risk, little boy!"


With that I manhandled him down the hall, into my study and over to the sofa. I sat down, roughly lowered his pants and boxers, hauled him across my knee and started blistering his bare-bottom. I can assure you my lecture was simultaneously blistering his ears. By the time I ended the spanking and had him sitting on my lap instead of laying over it, my hand felt like it was about to burst into flames.


He gradually calmed down enough for me to talk to him. Sadly to say, talking was something I should have done to begin with. Hindsight, be damned!


Right from the first of our discipline partnership, I had developed a habit of lightly teasing him to let him know it was over and all had been forgiven. This occasion wasn’t any different. "Next time you get the urge to swab the deck, babe, do the one out back." I gently admonished.


"That’s what my dad used to call it," he sniffled.


"Used to call what, Riley?"


"Washing floors. Every Saturday morning, he and Mom had a breakfast date. He’d always tell Corby and me to clean the head and swab the deck. He meant to complete wipe down the bathroom and scrub the kitchen floor. And we had better do it right or else."


"Exactly how did your father expect you to get the job done right?"


"By filling buckets with hot, soapy water, slicing them across the floor and mopping it up. You repeat it twice more with clean water to get it well rinsed before spreading on the wax."


God almighty, I knew Riley’s father and grandfather were ex-sailors, but it had never crossed my mind that they had passed down through the generations, the age-old method of cleaning navy style. Needless to say, unknown pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place and had I blown it.


I sat silently wondering how I could have done what I had, reacted the way I had. I’d been so sure and now I was mentally scrambling for a way to fix things. I cupped Riley’s tear-stained face in my hands. "Please, forgive me!" I solemnly whispered, even knowing my plea wouldn’t change things or make them right. Fortunately, Riley loved me enough to see beyond my faults and weaknesses. His words of ‘There’s nothing to forgive.’ proved his willingness to move forward and in that moment the bond between us was further strengthened. We both learned a lot that day and I have tried very hard never to repeat that particular error in judgement.

Our partners know we are far from perfect, Jay. Mistakes are made, learned from and forgiven. If we grown from these blunders, they have served us well. We can’t give up on ourselves or on our partners and the very special relationships we share with them.

Hmmm, I know you’re right! But it is still difficult at times to forgive ourselves, even though to do so is just as necessary as forgiving others.

From the sound of the back door slamming, I’d say our Brats have arrived. We better get this posted so we can go out and hear their thoughts on the movie they just saw. What do you say, old man? (I love goading him.)

Shut up, Rowan, and click send so we can share these lessons about poor communications.

The End.