In Fanny's Genes js@smilingwithteeth.com I'll never forget the first time Donna walked into my life. The Internet was in its infancy, and I was posting on a message board when I used to be a member of the Prodigy service. I replied to a letter of Donna's and that started it all. The romance, the spanking good times, the dating, the falling in love, the wedding, the honeymoon, and finally, those fateful words of, "Kevin, I'm pregnant!" I remember those wonderful feelings I had when Donna shared the news with me. I was going to be a daddy. Now, I was a daddy to many ladies in the past, but that was roleplay. As someone who always loved spanking, being a daddy was my specialty. But now, this was not just play. This was real life, and my real life was about to change. Doing as most fathers to be have done, I purchased several books on parenting and how to be a good father. I didn't want to screw this up. I wanted to be the best dad in the entire world. So, paddle, hairbrush, cane wielding "daddy" was going to have to become diaper changing, hugging and holding, real life daddy. OK, I knew it would be tough at first, but darn it, I was going to do it. The one question I often pondered, was, is spanking hereditary? I remember engaging in many online discussion threads about that topic, but never really could come up with any proof to support either point of view. Nine months of hell was the pregnancy. Donna always loved to be spanked, but for those months while carrying the baby, that's all she could think of. Some women want to eat strange food combinations, or all of a sudden they will love a food they've always loathed. I knew that Donna's craving was for more spanking, and by the 4th month of her pregnancy, I was getting blisters on my palms from all the spanking play. I never thought there could be too much spanking, but I was beginning to see that perhaps even spanking should have its limits. This was a strange pregnancy. Finally, the big day arrived. Donna and I drove to the hospital with Donna suffering from the strangest contractions I've ever seen. Her entire body would tense up, then she'd lean over and scream, "Spank my ass you mother fucker!!! This is all your fault" Not wanting to risk her killing me, I did as instructed. Trust me when I tell you, it was not easy driving with one hand, while spanking my pregnant, about to give birth wife, all the way to the hospital. Finally, we got to the hospital and as the doctors greeted us at the entrance, my wife started insisting that they spank her. Thank the good Lord above that the doctors were in such a hurry; they didn't even pay her much attention. During her labor, I was repeatedly ordered to smack her behind. Donna seemed more intent on getting spanked, than having this baby. I'd never experienced anything like it before in my life. One of the doctors there was a friend of mine, whom, believe it or not, I had met on the Internet, in a spanking chat room. I confided in him about Donna's strange behavior, and he did seem concerned. He asked me if I had ever seen the movie, "Rosemary's Baby," and I told him no. He just shook his head and said, "Rent it." Ten hours after it started, Donna finally delivered the baby. I'll never forget the first few minutes after the birth. The doctor noticed that the baby wasn't breathing, so she gave the baby a slap on its bottom. "Was it gas, or did she just smile?" I heard myself think. Her little bottom turned this deep shade of red and the redness would not go away. The doctors were mystified about this. Donna and I just kept remarking about our babies little red fanny, and thus her name was born. I also found it funny that the song, "Fanny Be Tender" was playing just at the time of her birth. I remember laughing at that, but also feeling another emotion. Was it one of dread? Fanny was a different kind of child. During her infancy, every time we would change her diaper, she would start rubbing her bottom and in some cases, even smacking it. The baby would then laugh hysterically. Donna and I were getting really nervous at it all, and we even decided to turn vanilla for a while. OK, it didn't last all that long, but we wanted to set a good example for the baby. From the time she could walk, Fanny was naughty. There is no other way to put it. She is my daughter and I love her, but the truth is the truth. The kid was a brat. Now, I read all about the terrible two's, but this kid was setting new records for misbehaving. I did all I could to keep her from killing herself. She would run away while we had her out in the street, she often would show an interest in playing with electrical wires. I mean, everything that was a no-no, Fanny was intent on doing. I often would spank Donna for Fanny's misbehaviors, so at least I got something out of the deal. As fanny got a little bit older, she would do things that caused me to stop and wonder about her. Once, she got up and announced that she was going to play with her dolls in the street. When I said, "Young lady, you stay on the sidewalk," the little imp walked over to me and said, "Oh yeah, what are you going to do to make me, daddy?" Don't let anyone tell you that time outs work. I gave Fanny more time outs in one year, than the Los Angeles Clippers are forced to take during an entire basketball season. If anything, she only behaved naughtier, if that was possible. I also thought it was strange that this little girl always would take a crayon and color the seat of her pants, and even her panties red. This was quite shocking to me, and when I asked her why she was doing that, her answer was, "Because no one else will." Then she added, "Care to prove me wrong on that one, daddio?" I calmly walked into the kitchen and took about 4 Valium. Most little girls played with dolls. Now, I know that this is true, after all, many of my friends had little girls of their own. I often wondered why mine played with wooden spoons? The first time I tried to teach her how to play ping pong, she handed me a ping pong paddle, turned around, bent herself over and said, "Let's test out your forehand shot, pops." I'm not even going to tell you what it was like trying to teach her to play paddleball at our local summer beach club. Did you ever hear of a child who insisted upon being sent to Catholic school, so long as (to put it in her own words), "they are very strict there?" I once found a list that was left under my pillow of all the states that allowed corporal punishment in their schools. Yes, the handwriting belonged to my daughter Fanny. Donna and I had discussed this at length and finally decided to call her bluff. So, the little loveable brat wanted to be spanked, OK, we'd show her what a real spanking was like. All we would have to do is wait for Fanny to be naughty, which, if past performance was any indicator, should take about five minutes. Fanny came walking toward me, asking me if she could raid the liquor cabinet. Finally, I said to her, "Ok, you are 11 years old and you've been asking for a spanking since, well, since you were about two minutes old. Now you are really going to get it." I waited for a while. I waited for Fanny to start crying. Surely she would apologize and promise to be good. I swear to you, this kid was smiling with her teeth. I took her by the arm and gave her a few hard swats to her jean -covered bottom. She laughed and said, "Oh, your wimpy hand is no match for my jeans." I removed her jeans and swatted her bottom again and again. She seemed to be enjoying it, but that is not possible, or was it? "OK miss, I've had enough of you," I said to her, as I lowered her white (but red in the seat of course), panties. I started smacking her bare bottom again and this time she opened her mouth. "Yes!!! I thought to myself. Finally, she is going to promise to be good. Finally she will understand that a spanking is no joke. Finally she will.." "What's the matter daddy, you are not going to take me over your knee?" I was thunderstruck. I was shocked. I fainted dead away. I awoke in the hospital with my wife Donna seated beside my bed. I told her of this scary dream I had, all about how spanking can be hereditary. As my eyes darted around the room, I saw Fanny sitting there along side Donna. Fanny was holding something in her hand. "What does Fanny have there?" I asked Donna. Donna took a deep breath, and held my hand. "It's a hairbrush Kevin. She won't put it down." Since I was already in bed and in a hospital, the fainting spell was easy to have. So, take heed from this tale, all you spankos out there. I say that yes, spanking is in the genes, especially when my little girl always seems to color her jeans, red. Donna and I are doing the best we can. Oh sure, we play when we can, after all, once a spanko always a spanko. It's just that we have to be very careful not to let Fanny hear us. I remember Fanny's English teacher calling us and informing us that each week, the kids engaged in an exercise called, "Tell us about it," in which they have to stand before the class and speak about anything they wanted to. Fanny, at age 9, decided to talk about what a "safeword" is and why it's important. Does anyone have any extra Valium? The End © js@smilingwithteeth.com "Otkforu" not to be reposted without permission