Denial is that attempt we make to save face when avoidance fails us. The fantasy of being able to get away with something might be what drives certain people to keep wearing that facade that they can actually do it.
For a BabyGirl, the fantasy is that she’s able to fool anyone she wants. In reality, her Daddy isn’t fooled so easily. And denial will eventually lead to consequences.
On this day, Avery learns that the things which are best for her aren’t always the things she wants. And sometimes, denial doesn’t have to be a river in Egypt to flow.
Warning: This is Adult, Baby!
Part One – “Where Do You Think You’re Going?”
Avery tip-toed into the house as quietly as possible. Her Daddy sat on the couch, rubbing his forehead as if trying to contemplate how to deal with what had happened and what he needed to do about it now.
Whatever was on his mind at this point, Avery wanted to avoid all together. She knew all too well, but made as if she didn’t while quickly trying to pass through the room.
“Hi, Daddy. Bye, Daddy,” she said while breaking her tip-toed slink and shuffling into her bedroom in an attempt to hide the obvious.
“Where … do you think … you are going?” her Daddy asked.
“To my bedroom?” she suggested with an innocent tone.
“Why would you be in such a hurry to go in there?” he asked.
“’Cuz I’m really tired?” she stated with an even more innocent tone.
“Come back here,” he said with a calm tone as she fussed quietly at his request. “Come back here. Why are you hesitating?”
The truth of the matter was she didn’t want to admit that there was a problem because she was embarrassed to do so. And being made to face that truth was little upsetting for her.
But Daddy beckoned and she listened, still hesitant to say what had happened as she slowly backed into the living room, hiding the evidence and source of her embarrassment.
“You wanna tell me something?” he said in a manner as to get the truth from her.
“No,” she fussed like a little girl, keeping her back to him.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna tell me something?” he asked in a playful tone.
“I can probably all ready tell ya for ya,” he said, kindly.
“No,” she whined, tossing her arms back and forth, trying to distract herself.
He did his best to address this latest occurrence with playful humor, but it had become a source of frustration for him that she kept denying it was happening.
But perhaps the greatest frustration for him was that his BabyGirl had a problem and he couldn’t fix it. The powerless feeling was nothing he enjoyed. And maybe it was a combination of things that pushed him to a boiling point.
“Turn around,” he instructed.
She turned to face him, revealing the wet spot between her legs. Her jeans were soaked and there was no hiding it, but still the game of denial pressed on.
“Tell me what happened,” he said as she fidgeted. “Tell me … what happened.”
His demeanor made clear that he wasn’t going to back off from this issue anymore. And her reaction made clear that she still wasn’t ready to face it.
But she had no choice and she knew it.
“I had an accident,” she struggled to get out.
“What do you mean you had another accident?” he questioned. “This is the third one this year. You’re a junior in high school. You’re in 11th grade and you’re peeing your pants like a six year old.”
Spelling out the issue wasn’t easy for him, but she had to hear it. And he had to make it clear to her how unacceptable this was.
“Like a six year old,” he repeated.
“I couldn’t help it,” she said, traveling down the same river she had so many times before.
“What were you doing?” he asked, trying to get her to see how serious the matter was.
“I … was … busy,” she said, realizing how feeble her excuse sounded.
“Come here,” he said pulling her forward towards him.
“Let’s get these pants off you,” he said, unfastening the button at the front of her jeans.
“Why?” she quarreled.
“Because they’re wet and you probably would try to hide them and your mother would find them like a month from now, ransacking your room to get the laundry. And by then, they woulda been all gross and we would had to throw them out. Jeans aren’t cheap and we spent good money on them,” he said, sliding her jeans down her legs, having her step out of them and tossing them to the side.
She crossed her now-bare legs and listened to her Daddy’s lecture. Perhaps she knew at that point that the lecture would soon become more and that trying to get away was no longer an option.
“So, you … because you’re acting like a six year old,” her Daddy said, putting her over his knee.
Avery let out her little girl grunt of frustration. Yet again, another spanking awaited her, a repeated consequence of the river Denial.
“Let’s get these panties off, too,” he said standing her back up and sliding them down her legs. “They’re probably wet, too.”
“Can’t you just ground me?” Avery whined while stepping out of her wet panties as her Daddy tossed them to the side.
“No,” he replied, putting her back down over his knee again. “Because this is not grounds for grounding.”
And that’s when her spanking really got started.
“This is the actions of a six year old earning the punishment of a six year old. And a six year old gets spanked. Like that,” he said, delivering the first series of smacks, punctuating them with what he was saying.
His hand cracked across her bottom, stinging her skin to begin, but not yet so that she couldn’t endure the pain. Oh, but that was to come.
His strikes were designed to get the point across. From her left cheek to the right and then again, he explained to her the difference between a six year old, a two year old and a baby.
“But I’m not a baby!” she whimpered, realizing she had no proof that her actions spoke of anything else.
Each smack to her bottom was post-ceded with a twitch and whimper from her. His deliveries weren’t intended just to give her reminder of thoughts, but also of the body.
“If you act like a baby, you’re gonna be treated like one,” he stated. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she mumbled.
“Yes, what?” he asked.
She sighed for a moment that she had to say it.
“Yes, Daddy,” she mumbled out.
“That’s right?” he said as his smacks to her bottom became rapid in delivery.
She twitched at each.
“Are you done?” she asked with a whine as if her spanking seemed to be never-ending.
“No. I’m not done,” he answered abruptly. “Stand up.”
She stood up and he got off the couch.
“Stay right there,” he said as he crossed the room.
She covered her sore tushy with her sweatshirt. Now what was going to happen?
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