He always despised the nanny state. What he wanted was a daddy state.
He wanted a big, strong father figure to tell him what to do. And like any good boy, he would dutifully obey.
He wanted Daddy to beat up the people he didn’t like; to mete vengeance on his enemies.
“Don’t you talk bad about my daddy,” he screamed at them. “He’s gonna beat you up.”
Sometimes, late at night, he imagined his daddy punishing him, too.
“Spank me harder, Daddy”, he heard himself sobbing, his bare cheeks quivering in the air. The pain was just part of Daddy’s love for him.
He liked Daddy to control him so he didn’t have to make his own decisions. Life is hard, and he didn’t want to think for himself. He certainly didn’t want to accept responsibility for anything.
Whatever he didn’t like, Daddy would fix for him. And if anything went wrong, he could pitch a fit and blame Daddy for it before running back into his arms in tears.
He despised Mommy and wanted Daddy to beat her down. He knew Daddy hated that bitch as much as he did — Daddy said the only thing vaginas are good for is fucking and birthing.
He wanted to join in while Daddy skullfucked Mommy. In his fantasies, he’d scream, “Shut up and let me cum on your tits”, while Daddy slowly choked her to death. That would show her who’s boss.
Now, Daddy’s fading into oblivion, and the truth of a life spent in darkness is coming to light. Turns out Daddy’s a demon: an empty, narcissistic husk who doesn’t give a single fuck about the boy — and never did.
Baby boy denies it, of course. He’s doubled down on his defense of Daddy because he’s too fragile to accept what everyone else already knows: that Daddy is a monster far worse than any of his childhood nightmares.
If no one else will tell him the truth, then I will —
Daddy isn’t coming back, baby boy. And you were always on your own, anyway.
