Over the course of the summer, Tod kept a faithful schedule of visiting Manclub. And in that span of time, I saw him flourish. He was less and less the brooding, uncertain, second-guesser, and more the confident, forward thinking young man I knew him to be. He even took on a kind of swagger; cracking jokes, teasing his sister Candace - albeit, affectionately, and just generally feeling the power of being an upright, virile man.
After his times with Jason, we would talk, and these became something like therapy sessions. For both of us, really. For, while I felt it was important for Tod to articulate the feelings he experienced there, I found myself gaining more insight into my own relationship with Jason. All in all, Tod had opened some new and tantalizing doors into that! As usual, we met in the den, and I will relate a recent debriefing here.
He arrived home late. It was after two when I heard the tires on the gravel drive. Tod could see the light on in the den from outside, and he came directly there.
"How'd our boy treat you, Tod? Have fun?" I said, handing him a brandy.
"It was very good, Dad. Really. He did his assigned work, and he'd clearly put time and effort into it. I was pleased with him, and I let him know." Tod said, rising momentarily to remove his jacket.
"And what exactly..."
"Oh. The assignments. Well, I'm a little embarrassed by it."
"Come on, Tod." I encouraged, "We're not keeping secrets, are we?" I said, tongue in cheek.
"No. No, of course not." he said, smiling. "Well, one part of it was to write a poem."
"Really? Well now, aren't you the academic." I said, and we both laughed at that.
"Yes, really." Tod said, with mock emphasis.
"Any particular topic?" I asked, continuing our playful sparring.
"The assignment, Dad, was to write a poem to my penis, if you must know."
"A sonnet? An ode? Any special form?"
"All right, all right!" Tod said. "Stop ribbing me!"
"Okay. Sorry. I couldn't help myself. Actually, it sounds rather intriguing. Do you have it with you?"
Tod reached for his jacket on the adjacent chair, and produced a page from one of the pockets. He unfolded it.
"To Mr Tod's Penis." He began. I settled back into my chair.
Face to face we meet,
Your single, knowing eye upon me.
I am made small in your presence,
lost in the breadth
of your infinite power. Who am I?
Your warm shaft
carries its languid pulse
to the plump, lolling head.
Will my lips caress it? Will I be so blessed?
My prayers go up
to the man above, pleading
"Sir, may I?"
Tod folded the paper, tucking it into his shirt pocket.
"Well, now." I said. "I'm impressed. I mean, I don't know the first thing about poetry, but that sounded... very sincere, I'd say."
"I had him read it to me while kneeling before me. That made it even cooler." Tod said, clearly delighted with how it transpired.
"Very good, Tod. You're digging into the psychological part of all this and, as they say, 'there's gold in them thar hills.' " I said, chuckling.
"It turned me on in a big way, Dad. No kidding. It was like my dick was superior to him, like it was a person all its own. I'll bet if it could talk, he'd do whatever it told him to do."
"You could always learn ventriloquism." I said, straight-faced, and Tod doubled over.
"Hey, anything goes!" he said, and no truer words were ever uttered.
"You said 'assignments', Tod. What else was there?" I asked, keenly interested to learn what else my creative son had cooked up.
"The other was another poem." he explained, "This one was to describe his life before and after he became your slave." he said, and I was pleased that I had been, even incidentally, brought into the picture.
"Can I hear it?" I said, but even as I asked, Tod was looking through his jacket, finally finding the pocket that contained the other verse.
