Parents. by strictsir

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My name is Dario. I am the only son of my parents. I had a wonderful childhood. I was a good and decent son. I studied well and the teachers never complained about me. My parents were more friendly than authoritative towards me. I received gifts from them that I dreamed of. I had a regular weekly allowance. Many children would like to have parents like mine.
I was over 11 years old when I started noticing the parents of my friends and found that their parents were very strict with their children. I realized it for the first time when I was with my classmate Kai. His father got angry with him, he had to take off his pants and shorts and then got his bare bottom with a belt from his pants. The spanking ended when Kai's ass was completely red. His punishment continued by kneeling against the wall. I felt sorry for Kai and I felt sorry that my father had never spanked my bare ass. I would like to try it at least once.
Other classmates are sick like Russell, they had younger siblings that they had to attend to regularly and could not go to the playground with us. His mother used to say: Russell duties first, fun second.
There were also those whose parents didn't have much money to buy them new clothes, so they went around dressed in what their older siblings used to wear.
I grew up in the 70s and that's why boys didn't like barbers. Every boy wanted to have the longest hair possible. Several of my friends had conservative parents who did not allow them to wear long hair. My friend Pablo lived in the house next door. We agreed that he would come to us. I waited for him for about an hour when he arrived and started apologizing: Dario, I'm sorry I'm late, but my father ordered me and I had to go with him to the barber. I saw that he wasn't lying, because his hair was as always very short after returning from the barber shop. One summer his father had all his hair cut off. When he came to our place, my father complimented his haircut and asked him which barber had cut his hair. Pablo blushed and answered: I go to the Stanley barbershop with my father. It was a barbershop where boys were afraid to go for a haircut. The barber was very strict and did not like long hair on boys' heads.
This is how I carefully perceived other strict practices in the upbringing of children in the immediate vicinity. The older I got, the more excited I got about parents humiliating or punishing their children. I often fell asleep excited with the idea that I got into another family and had to do only what my parents allowed me to do, that I was being physically punished.
Over time, I started making up stories and wrote them in a Book of Stories called: My Bad and Strict Parents. I wrote them as if I were experiencing them myself. Then I excitedly read these stories. The first chapter was about spanking my bare ass. The second chapter was about how I had to help my parents every day and I had almost no time left for my interests and entertainment. Another very exciting chapter was the stories about forced short haircuts in old-fashioned barbershops. I had another chapter written in which there were stories about how my parents didn't buy me anything new for clothes and I had to wear what was already small for my older brother.
It was just before Christmas in 1974 and I was 14 in a month. I was writing a new story in my Storybook when my friends came over and I went out with them.
After returning home, my father was different. He started yelling at me that I was 10 minutes late for dinner and I was old enough to know the time. He dragged me to the room, took off my sweatpants and shorts, put my head between my legs. I felt extremely excited. But that passed quickly. My father started beating me on my bare ass with a wooden spoon. The pain was unbearable, I started crying and screaming. I wanted to break free from my father's grip, but he held me tightly. When he finished and my ass was on fire, he sent me to the wall to kneel down. I was crying and rubbing my ass with my hands.
When my father called me into the kitchen, my mother was crying. My Book of Stories lay open on the table. I almost dropped out. I realized I forgot to put it in my secret place. My parents were very angry with me for portraying them as very bad and cruel parents in the stories. I apologized to them for that. Well, my parents didn't return the Book of Stories to me, and my father put it away.
I slept on my stomach at night, my butt still hurt with every movement. In the morning, in the mirror, I noticed purple marks from a spanking on my ass.
It was Saturday morning, December 21, 1974. My friend Pablo, who lived in the house next door, came to see me. My father told him to come in an hour, because I'm going to the barber with him at 9:00. I said: Father, I can go alone on Monday morning to our Unisex barber shop. I will have time to do a little hair treatment right before Christmas. Father insisted: You will not go with me now! Pablo said he would come later, said goodbye and left.
When we walked out onto the street, I couldn't understand why we were going in a different direction than my modern Unisex barber shop. After 10 minutes of walking, I spotted a spinning pole in the distance, marking the Stanley Barber Shop. I timidly told my father. I hope we don't go to that outdated barber shop. Dad said we were going to Stanley barber shop and warned me to behave myself if I didn't want to get another beating. He reminded me that I should thank the barber for the haircut. He noted that Pablo also goes here with his younger brother and his father. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, but at the same time I was excited and I felt a hard cock in my pants. I also asked my father to get just a little haircut.
After arriving at the barbershop and greeting each other, I saw that there was only one barber's chair and a 60-year-old barber in a white coat was chasing an elderly man. In one corner was an old solid fuel stove in which the barber kept the fire going. Sitting on the waiting wooden chairs were 5 elderly men and a mother with 3 small boys aged about 5 to 8 years. My father and I sat down on the wooden waiting chairs. They were very hard and it was uncomfortable for me to sit on them with a sore ass from the spanking. In front of the waiting chairs was a low table on which there were several newspapers and magazines. Several old, yellowed pictures of men with short haircuts hung on the walls. After the barber finished cutting the older man, his next customer was the youngest of the boys. The mother gave instructions to the barber about how to cut my boy's hair. That's when the boy entered the barber shop with his father. The boy was about a year older than me. The boy's father sat down next to my father. The boy had relatively short hair, his ears were visible, his forehead was high and it did not even touch the collar of his shirt. Both our fathers started talking as if they knew each other well. During the conversation, the father of the unknown boy began to explain something to my father, pointing at the boy's head with his fingers. I looked carefully at the barber shop gradually. When I looked again at the barber's chair, the oldest of the boys was already sitting there, and the two younger ones had already been cut. I watched the boy as the barber cut about 15 millimeters of his hair. All 3 boys ended up leaving with the same short hair.
While the barber was cutting other customers, I tried to listen to the conversation between my father and his neighbor on the waiting chair. But the man sitting next to my father was almost always talking and I couldn't hear him very well. When the barber called another one, my father grabbed my hand and said: Dario, run to sit with the barber. I did as he told me. My heart was pounding with tension and excitement. The barber threw a large white sheet over me and fastened it tightly around the shirt collar. He asked: What shall we do with this child? I was angry at the humiliation of being treated like a little child by the barber. Father called from the waiting chair. Dario needs a decent Christmas haircut. Cut it like the 3 boys. In the mirror, I saw the mischievous smile of the boy on the waiting chair. I regretted not taking a better look at how the boys were cut.
The barber combed my hair. He pushed my head forward, took the electric clippers, placed them under the hair on my neck. When the scissors made a sound, my penis started to harden with excitement. The barber moved them from the neck to the back of the head. He tossed the first 18-centimeter cut hair on the sheet. He gradually continued to cut the hair on the nape of his neck. The barber's hand was heavy and held my head tightly. The barber tilted my head to the right. He put the scissors to his cheek and ran them across the temporal bone to the top of his head. He continued to pursue the left side of the head. He did the same on the right side of the head. When the barber started cutting the hair on the top of my head, I saw in the mirror that I had no hair on both sides of my head, and the remaining hair was only 6 millimeters long. In the end, I only had 3 centimeters of hair left on the top of my head. He dampened the hair on the top of my head, combed it forward, and cut my bangs at a gentle angle high above my eyebrows. I could see almost my entire forehead.
The barber took the finer electric clippers, tilted my head to the right side and started cutting along the temple bone, then bent my ear and made a giant arch above my ears where I was left with 3 millimeter stubble. The door to the barbershop opened and I felt a cool breeze on the shaved back of my head. He continued cutting across the nape of the neck and ended up on the right side of the head. The barber finally replaced the scissors with finer blades. He made a slightly smaller arch above the left ear, leaving me with only a small 0.5 millimeter stubble. It gradually continued through part of the back of the neck and ended on the right side. The barber adjusted the transition from small stubble to the top of the head. When he brushed the hair from the sheet with a whisk, he moistened my neck and around my ears, and applied white foam there, which he slowly scraped off. He wiped the remains of the foam with a towel. He massaged the oily liquid into the hair on the top of his head and combed the hair. Before the barber freed me from the sheet, I finally had a chance to see myself in the mirror. I couldn't believe how small my head was when I had this trendy very short haircut. I had hungry 4 centimeter arches above my ears. Before I got up I said, Mr. Stanley, thank you.
An older boy replaced me in the chair. I, on the instructions of my father, sat in his place on the waiting chairs. The barber asked the boy's father if he could cut his hair like mine. His father looked at me, thought for a moment and then said: Yes, cut him like that too. The boy turned to his father and said in a low pleading voice: Please no.
I wanted to listen to what our fathers are still talking about. An elderly man entered the barbershop. The waiting chairs were occupied, so my father invited me to get up and stand sideways against the wall. I stroked the back of my head, but I had no idea how I was cut there. As I stood by the wall, I had a good view of the barber's chair, so I carefully watched him cut the boy. Before finishing, I saw that on the back of his head the barber had shaved his head about six inches above his shirt collar.
Before the boys left, the father said: We only come here on Saturdays between 9:15 and 9:45 and then we said goodbye.
We arrived home around 11 o'clock. When my mother saw me, she first flinched and then said that I had a nice haircut. She said I should go see Pablo. When I took the cap off their head, did he not believe his eyes? Where did they scalp you like that? I said: At the Stanley Barbershop. He gave you a shorter haircut than he gives me.
So I experienced how great humiliation it is when a big boy is forced by his father and taken to the barber. Then he orders the barber how to cut my hair. I looked in the mirror and put the other so that I could see the sides and the back of the head. The excitement was so great that it turned into an erection.
But I couldn't bear the ridicule from my friends, classmates and cousins when they saw me with a haircut.
After reading my short stories, my parents punished me by beating me, cutting my hair and canceling my pocket money. Now I didn't have that much money and if my parents gave me any money, I had to earn it by working. It was a great life test for me.
For Christmas, I found a big package under the tree. I waited impatiently to unwrap it and wondered what my parents had bought me. When I opened the package, I couldn't help but cry. I got used briefs, shirts, pants and sweaters from older boys, which my mother asked from their parents. I felt very humiliated and ashamed.
I apologized to my parents for what I wrote and asked for their forgiveness. I want to take it all back.

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