tonym

Tony Morelli IS My Papa

I live in an Italian section of the Bronx with my mother and my papa, Tony Morelli. Tony’s really my step-father, but my mom and Tony don’t like me to say that. Tony adopted me when he married my mom, and he considers himself my real father- even though I’m sixteen fucking years old and ‘papa’ is twenty-four!

My name is John Michael Anthony Morelli (it was Turner before Tony adopted me). The reason I have three names is because my mom didn’t know who my father was; she sort of had it narrowed to three guys. Don’t say bad things about my mom, she was just a little wild when she was a teenager. Anyway, the reason I’m even telling you this is because recently, Tony has decided that my third name, Anthony, is my real name, and he calls me Tony Junior, as if mom had named me after him. Can you believe it? And I have to answer to it. If I don’t, papa may get old-fashioned about it. (I’ll tell you about that later.)

Not only that, but he makes me write "Junior Morelli" on my school papers and tells all his buddies that my name is Tony Junior and now they either call me "Tony Junior" or just "Junior." For fifteen years everyone called me John or John Michael, now I have a father and my name is Tony Junior.

Now, I’ll tell you about the ‘old-fashioned’ thing. My papa comes from a big Italian family where the dad is the KING, and KING dad or KING papa expects his kid to do just what he tells him to do. About three weeks ago, I got this letter home from my school principal, just because I cut a few classes. When Tony found out he threw a major fit and (I’m ashamed to say it) spanked my butt.

‘What!’ you say, ‘I can’t believe a sixteen year old boy got spanked!’ BELIEVE IT!! My papa is one big guy, over six feet tall and with a weight-lifter’s body that makes Sly Stallone look like Woody Allen. He just flipped my ass over his major league knee, ripped off my pants and spanked SHIT out of my backside. And he didn’t just do it once. He had me movin’ from lap time to corner time like a yo-yo until I didn’t have any more tears to cry and my ass had no more colors to offer. When papa was done, yours truly was a very good boy. Hey, I gotta go, papa’s home.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tony Morelli loved being a papa. It made him feel taller than he already was. It made his chest hair curlier, it made the curly hair on his head blacker, it made his muscles bulge and it had made him decide to grow a mustache and goatee and smoke big El Profundo cigars. "All papas have moustaches," Tony told his buddies at the gym and all papas smoke cigars.

"And what about your little boy, Tony Junior?" blond Dominic asked, as they two men sweated over enormous weights. "Does the boy respect his papa?"

Tony grunted as he heaved 200 lbs up to his chest. "He better respect me!" Tony lowered the weights and waved one hand in the air. "Hey, Dom, the boy don’t respect me....(Tony nodded his head decisively)....he don’t sit down so good! Junior knows that papa is a little heavy-handed."

Dominic laughed and so did Nick and Rocco.

Nick grabbed his sweat-short clad butt and danced around in clumsy immitation of a spanked youngster.

"Tonight, when you come over to play poker, you’ll see," Tony said. "Tony Junior obeys his papa."

"He’d better, eh, Tony?" Rocco said.

"Or papa will wack his little hienie," Nick added.

"You’d better believe it," Tony said. The four men laughed, sweated and lifted more weight.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Tony Junior," Mrs. Morelli called, "I need you in the kitchen!"

Mrs. Morelli, still a very attractive woman at thirty-two stood at the foot of the stairs and called her son. Her blond hair was pulled back in a pony tail and she wore an old-fashioned apron and high heel shoes.

John Michael Anthony Morelli opened the door of his room. "What ma?!"

"Come down. I need some help with the snacks."

"Ma, I’m doing homework," the boy called.

"Liar," Mrs. Morelli said, "I listened before, you’re playing video games. Now get down here before I tell your father."

John Michael slammed out of his room and thudded down the stairs. A voice boomed from the living room. "I don’t want to hear a horse coming down my stairs! Junior, you hear me?"

John Michael lifted his eyes to the heavens, "Yeah, papa. I hear you!"

From inside the living room, John heard the voice of his father’s friend Nick say, "Hey, Tony, he doesn’t sound so respectful. Are you gonna teach him?"

"Come in here Tony Junior," the first voice boomed.

John Michael looked at his mother. She nodded to him. "You heard your father, go ahead."

The boy walked into the living room. A bridge table had been opened and four young men, rippling with muscles sat around it. Hovering five feet off the ground was a thick cloud of cigar smoke coming from the giant stogies clamped in the corner of each man’s mouth. All the cigars were big, all had gold bands and all were expensive.

Tony Morelli took the wet end of his El Profundo from his teeth and pointed it at his son. "You!" he said. "Come right over here next to me!"

Two of the men, Dominic and Rocco looked at their cards so as not to further embarrass the boy. The fourth, Nick, grinned and watched unabashedly. He chomped on his cigar and blew out a cloud of smoke.

John Michael (aka Tony Junior) walked slowly to the side of his father’s chair. Tony Micelli adjusted the strap of his black tank top and scratched at the chest hair that came up to his neck. Then he put one big hand on the top of his son’s head. The hand turned the boy so that he was looking directly into the man’s face.

"Were you being disrespectful just now, son?" Tony asked.

The boy’s face reddened, but his voice was even when he answere, "No, papa!"

Tony Micelli looked at his friend Nick, who chortled, then back at the boy. "Okay," he said. "Don’t let me catch you being disrespectful or else." Tony put his cigar back in his mouth and then took hold of his son’s shoulder with one hand and slid the other hand down the back of the boy’s elastic-waisted shorts. John Michael clenched his buttocks as the man’s big hand gripped the boy’s bare bottom. "Or else you know what!" Tony said. He gave his son’s backside a threatening squeeze and withdrew his hand. "Okay, scoot butch," he said, and he helped the boy on his way with a brisk spank to his seat.

John Michael’s face was red as the smack shot him halfway across the room. Making his face even redder, was Nick’s laughter which Tony silenced with, "Hey, Nick, shut up and play cards."

In the kitchen, John’s mother was putting pretzels, chips and bottles of beer on a tray. She hardly glanced up when John entered the room. "Get some of that cheese dip from the frig, your dad loves that with chips."

John grudgingly got the cheese dip and practically dropped it on the tray. His other eyeballed him. "Don’t do it, mister," she said. "Your dad had a hard day at work and he wants to have a nice relaxing evening. Don’t come at him with an attitude or there’ll be trouble. Here," she said, pushing the tray toward John Michael, "carry this in to your father, and be nice! Don’t just put it down, serve it to the guys. Be a helpful son!" She smiled and patted John Michael on the back. "C’mon," she said, "don’t be a pill."

John Michael pursed his lips, trying not to give in, and picked up the tray. "Maybe they’ll share one of their cigars with me," John punned.

"Oh, just go," his mother said laughing and she pushed him out of the kitchen.

When John Michael entered the living room, he found the men standing around the coffee table where Tony is offering an open box of cigars. John watches them peel off the cellophane bite the end of their stogies. The boy studies how they do it and how they spit the bit of tobacco into their hands and then drop it in the ashtray. Then he watches Tony strike a big safety match and hold it out to the men’s cigars. The men held their cigars in their teeth with their hands on their hips and swaggeringly puffed their cigars until the tips are glowing.

Tony lights his own cigar one-handed and the chomps it into a corner of his mouth and talks around the cigar band. "Okay, back to the cards!"

As the men resumed their seats, Tony saw his son standing with the tray. "Hey, Tony Junior, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Guys, let’s give my son a round of appreciative applause for bringing us some grub!"

The three men clapped and, as John carried the tray toward his dad, Dominic gave the boy a playful smack on the rear end. "You’re starting to fill out, Junior," Rocco said grinning. "Hey, Tony, when are you bringing Tony Junior back to the gym again, so we can work on his arms a little."

Tony looked at John Michael and messed his hair, "How about next week, champ? If you get all your schoolwork done. Tony worked his cigar to the other side of his mouth. "No more letter, capeesh!"

John Michael turned red. "Uh huh," he said, and then hastily added, "....uh, yes papa."

Nick snorted and muttered, "Oh yeah, respectful!!" Then puffed his own cigar and studied his cards intently.

John Michael heard the remarks, saw his dad’s fair cloud over and hastily said, "Papa, do you want me to serve the snacks to everybody?"

Tony’s face relaxed a bit and he took the cigar from his teeth, blowing smoke up at the ceiling light. "Yeah, kid that would be great."

John walked around the table, as the men resumed their game, and put a pottle of Michelob next to each player. "Hey, Tony, when are ya gonna loosen up and let your son have a brew?" Rocco asked.

"When your nuts drop off," Tony responded (he never used bad language unless he was very angry or with his cronies), "he dopey, I don’t give alcholol to children."

John Michael colored, "I’m not a child," he muttered from between clenched teeth.

"What was that, Junior?" Nick asked.

John Michael looked at the blond crew-cut man. Why was he riding him?

"Nothing....." John said.

"I don’t know, I thought I heard you have something to say," Nick pressed.

"So," Tony said loudly, "what did you say, Tony Junior!" He was using his "I think you better answer me right now" voice.

John put a beer next to Dominic, "I just said, ‘I’m not a child’. Papa, I’m sixteen, that’s not a little kid."

Tony chewed his cigar, "You’re a little kid!" he said definingly. Then he added, with real warmth - looking directly at the boy, "Hey, Junior, you’re my little kid. Okay?"

John Michael nodded. "Okay papa," he said. Tony looked at him another moment and smiled around the stogie. John Michael tingled. Sometimes Tony was okay.

John Michael continued serving the snacks and then, as he was passing Nick, the man said, "Hey, thanks a lot Junior," and gave the boy a resounding wallop on the backside. Nick grinned and shrugged when John Michael dropped the tray and spun around. "Hey kid, I’m playin wittchya!"

"You stupid fuck!" John Michael hissed, and he flew at Nick. Nick was not as big as Tony, but he was an athlete and stood six foot one. He grabbed John Michael in a bear hug which frustratingly pinned the boy’s arms to his side.

"Hey, kid, take it easy. I said I was playin’"

"You weren’t playing, you asshole!" John Michael raged. He kicked back as hard as he could and caught the big blond in the shins with the back of his sneaker.

Suddenly, Tony Morelli was there and Nick’s arms were flicked away from John Michael. Tony shot Nick a narrow-eyed look and then turned his attention to his son. "What is the matter with you?" he said. "You have been asking for it all evening. Is that what you’re doing, ‘asking for it?’" He held John Michael by both arms and shook the boy. John felt his father’s strong fingers digging into his arms and winced.

"Come on, Tony, lay off. He did it on purpose." John turned his head to glare at Nick, but Tony took his face in one hand and turned it back in his direction.

A mist of cigar smoke hit John as Tony talked at him from around the stogie that was still clenched in his teeth. He spoke in a low, deep voice that meant that this was between him and his son. "You, get upstairs to my room, and I’ll be up in a minute, and if you do any of that door lockin’ routine, you will be one sorry kid. Now you, MARCH!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It’s me again, John Michael alias Tony Junior. Want to know where I am? Shit, I’m ashamed to tell ya. I’m standing in a corner of my dad’s bedroom. Sitting right behind me in a chair is my papa. I’m not allowed to look away from the corner or touch my behind...and let me tell you that ain’t easy. Right now my ass feels just like about a million hornets stung it all over; top, bottom, sides under, even inside. It’s so sore, it even hurts when I move my legs. Shit, my pa has got to have the heaviest hand in the fucking Bronx. Oooh.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Surprise! It’s not Junior talkin’. It’s me, his papa. My name is Anthony Morelli and I’m sitting here behind my son who’s got some serious thinking to do.

I thought it was only fair to give you a father’s side of what happened after I sent the kid up to the room.

Look, I know that the kid describes me as Mr. Muscles Between the Ears, but that’s a lot of gar-bazh! When I married Junior’s mom, I knew that this boy was in trouble; eveyone in the neighborhood knew he was in trouble. But ya know what? I liked the boy right off. I’m a good judge of people.....I grew up in a big Italian family and believe, me, I know all types. My son is one of the good ones. He’s a little confused because of not having a father and his mother having to work so she couldn’t straighten him out when needed, but he’s a good one.

Yeah, my papa was very strict with me. When I got outta line he whipped he naked with a razor strap. I wouldn’t tell the kid this, but sometimes my old man left he bleedin’ and unconscious. CHILD ABUSE! CHILD ABUSE! I heard ya, but it wasn’t what you think. I went through a rebellious time and did things that scared Jesus outta my pop, so he took it out of my skin.

I would never hurt the kid, not like that. But I don’t want him ruined, so I try to set an example. I work, I don’t fool around with other ladies, I don’t do bad stuff (okay the smoking isn’t the best habit....but it ain’t the worst. Admit it!) and I love the kid. I love him just like he was my own....and he is my own. That’s why I adopted him. I don’t want him confused. I know I have to be patient. Give him love, give him discipline, give him time. But he needs a father, not a plastic action figure, so I’m it, and I try to do what’s right.

I know that Nick pushed the kid a little, but, hey, the boy asked for it comin’ in with a bad attitude to begin with.

When I went upstairs to deal with it, I decided that I had to be clear with my son about what I expected from him, so I knew it was going to be a hard session.

When I got into the room, Junior was sitting on the edge of the bed. He stood up when I came in. I looked at the boy and closed the door behind me and locked it.

I took the chair out from my desk and put it right in the center of the room, so the kid would understand that this was a serious moment - Center Stage, if you know what I mean. I sat down in the chair.

"Come over here, son," I said, I waved him over. The boy had that look that worries me. His brows all low and his mouth set in a hard line. He came within about three feet of me, but I decided that wasn’t good enough. I opened my knees wide and pointed to the spot between them. "Right, here Tony Junior!"

With a face like a plum tomata, the kid shuffled into the spot.

I held his arms, but not hard, just firmly. "What ya did was wrong, son," I said. "You asked for it. I know Nick pushed you, but he woudn’ta done it if you had come in different in the first place. You know what I was gonna do. I was gonna have you join us and be with us. I’d like to have my son with me, with my friends, but nobody wants a squirt! You understand me, kid?!"

"No," the boy answered. His mouth softened a bit, but it was only because he put on his pouty look.

I shook my head. "You think you’re a whole mess a stuff, don’t you, Junior. You don’t have anything figured out right. Ya think I wanna punish you...."

"Then don’t!" the boy interrupted.

I held up one finger. "If you interrupt me, even one more time, I will give you a smack across your mouth that you won’t forget until your grave... Do you believe me?"

The boy nodded.

I took my right hand, reached around, and smacked him a good one on his butt. He shot forward into my arms.

"OW!"

I stood him back up and he grabbed his tail.

"You answer me with respect," I said. "When someone loves you, you answer them with respect." The boy glared at me. "Don’t burn me up with your eyes, son, I said ‘I love you’ and I do, but that doesn’t mean I let you act like an animal."

I reached for his belt and looking him in the eyes, undid it. I kept looking straight at him, letting him know that he wasn’t to struggle with me, and undid his zipper.

"I’m gonna give you a spankin’ Junior," I said. "I’m gonna take your pant down, put you over my knee and smack the daylights out of you. Then we are going to have a serious talk about a lot of things. And if you don’t listen, we can keep doin’ this. My dad said that there’s a connection between a boy’s hienie and his ears and if you just keep wackin’ the hienie the ear wax comes shootin’ out sooner or later."

I tugged down my son’s jeans to his knees and let him stand there a minute just like that. "You not only treat your mother and me with respect, but you treat all adults with respect. That’s how you get respect. I’m not talkin’ about bein’ anyone’s bathmat, you know I don’t stand for that myself. I’m just talkin’ about good old respect. Do you understand, son?"

I gotta say I was surprised, almost fell outta my chair, when the boy looked at me with some tears starting in his eyes and nodded. Thought my heart would break. I wanted to stop right then and there and just hug him and say, "Forget it!" But I knew I had to be strong, so I did both things. I grabbed the kid and pulled him against my chest, with is jeans sagging down to his sneaker, and held him close for a minute.

My own eyes misted over when I said, "I love ya son. I’m spankin’ you because I love you. I want you to know that."

Then I stood the boy up, saw the tears moving down his cheeks and decided to get it over with. I grabbed the waistband of his briefs and took them down to his knees. Then I took ahold of him and put him down in my lap.

I moved him around a little, until I got him just right with his butt over my knee and his hands and feet up off the floor. I wanted the kid to feel little, to feel like I was his daddy and he was my little boy. Maybe I could make up for the time I wasn’t there when he was little.

"OKay, son, here it comes. This is for having a bad attitude."

I opened my hand and lifted it up over my right shoulder.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Right away, Tony Junior starts kicking and howling. I feel him grinding his little pecker against my knee, squirming to get away from the lickin’. I put my left hand against the top of his back and press him right down.

"This is for rolling your eyes around and not being respectful when people spoke to you."

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

The boy started bawling. I could see his eyes clamped shut and his mouth gaping like a cave. What came out of it was a combination of a yell and a long drawn out sob.

Then he started pleading with me.

"No! Papa! Stop! Please! Oooh, shit! My butt! Don’t hit me anymore daddy. Ooow!"

"This is usin’ bad language to Nick and right now!" I said sternly.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Believe it or not, I really had to pull the boy close to my body and press down to keep him in place. That kid was bucking like a calf with a branding iron pressed against its rump. (smile) Well, I guess my meathook hand felt just about like that.

"This is for raising your hands to a grown up! Don’t you ever do anything like that!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

The kid thrashed his feet as much as he could with his jeans starting to slip over his sneakers and waved his arms around. He howled pretty much non-stop.

"And this is because I love you and don’t want you turning out like a animal!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

After the second of the last whacks, the kid just about collapsed. He stopped kicking, stopped struggling and just went limp on my lap. Even his yelling turned silent. His mouth was still open wide, but I couldn’t hear any sound coming out of it.

I pick Junior up off my lap, stood up and held him in my arms for a minute. I patted his butt (Jeez it was hot - I really landed it on the kid), until he calmed down. Then I carried him into a corner of the bedroom and stood him there with is face to the wall.

"Don’t move and don’t touch your hienie," I instructed.

Then I took my chair and moved it right directly behind him. I picked up my hairbrush from my dresser and sat down in the chair.

I tapped Tony Junior on his Sunset Strip butt with the back of the brush. "I just want you to know what I’m holding, champ. I’d hate to use it on your cherry behind, but I will if we don’t come to an agreement.

I sat behind my son not saying anything for about fifteen minutes and you know that’s a long time for a boy with a red, bare butt, standing in the corner, to have no communication.

I looked at that red behind and those still heavin’ shoulders and thought, "Jesus Christ, let me reach this kid. Let him know that I care about him!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

No! I don’t like standing here with my butt sticking out and feeling like someone held it over a campfire. And I don’t like my father sitting behind me with that darn brush in his fist. He’ll use it too, if I don’t behave.

I’ll say one thing. My dad cares about me. Yeah, I know I didn’t let him know that.....but I guess I know that he does. How do I know.....not from his beating shit out of my ass. Not from that......

He’s gonna talk to me now about everything.....if I can only let go of this hard knot in my stomach.

He’s taking my arm and turning me around to look at him. Oh shit! He’s cryin’. My papa is cryin’.

"Don’t cry, pop! Don’t, I’m sorry (sob). I’ll try pa......"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sometimes a sixteen year old can sit on his father’s lap and just let himself be rocked. Sometimes it’s a really good thing.

(Please let me know if you liked this story and if you’d like to hear more about the Morellis. - Sandy.)