Subject: Repost: Fledgling (sp,M/F,con)
From: Kfry2k@aol.com
Date: 21 Feb 1999 16:46:40 GMT
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction dealing with adult subjects. If you are not of legal age stop reading now. Any resemblance between the characters in this story and persons living or dead (except for noted celebrities is purely coincidental.
"Adam & Eve, on a raft, burn `em!" the melodious voice cried, strangely out of character.
Mickey Willis sat in a corner of the end booth, his chin cradled in one hand. Sounds and smells of the diner swirled around him, the clattering dishware and hum of voices just about drowning out the jukebox. Mac's Diner always smelled the same, greasy hamburgers & strong coffee, frying eggs & bacon, a whiff of coconut custard pie. Mickey wished for a piece of that pie, but didn't dare ask. Instead, he watched his mom move about her tasks, clearing tables, bantering with the customers, serving food with plates stacked up both arms. She was a natural at everything she did, Mickey thought to himself, and really pretty. Showing quite a bit of knee, her waitress uniform fit in all the right places, accentuating her natural beauty. The plain white shoes she wore didn't diminish the shapely beauty of her long legs, just like the practical hairnet couldn't spoil the vibrant sheen of her shoulder-length blonde hair. At thirty-six, she was in the flower of womanhood, doing everything she could to raise her son as a single parent.
Mickey took a sip of milk as he watched her, catching her eye and not failing to note the hint of annoyance that crossed her face. She could convey such disappointment with only a look, he thought, staring glumly down at the well-worn surface of the table top before him. One hand went to his right eye, gently touching the area that had become a remarkable black-and-blue. Wincing, he looked down at the folded slip of cardboard in front of him, frowning even more deeply at the thought of the effect it would have on his immediate future. Things blurred around him as he recalled the afternoon's events.
* * *
"Ahhh, phooey!" the kid said, his face inches from Mickey's. "My old man said that your father just took off and left you!"
"Did not!" Mickey shrieked back, "My dad was a war hero!"
"You're full'a beans!" the first kid said, drawing himself up to full height, "My dad was in the Army, and he never heard of your old man!"
Ringed in by the other kids, the pair glared at each other for a second, and then Mickey's temper got the better of him. He jumped on his adversary, flailing wildly with both hands. The other kid hit back, and soon they were rolling on the ground, kicking and punching.
"Fight! Fight!" the crowd yelled, bringing more kids and eventually a teacher to the scene.
"Here, Here!" the teacher shouted, grabbing the two boys by their collars, pulling them apart. "What's all this about?"
Both boys showed evidence of the conflict, with Mickey sporting the beginning of a shiner and his opponent a fat lip and bloody nose.
"He said my dad was a bum!" Mickey panted, eyes wild, still trying to get at the boy.
The teacher shook him, saying,
"Stop, enough!" Then turning to the other kid, he admonished him,
"Jerry, you owe Mickey an apology."
"Awwww, Mr. Martin, my dad says.." the boy quoted lamely, now not so antagonistic.
"You father is wrong, Jerry. Michael's father was a bomber pilot, a good one, shot down over Germany." The man said, with a sympathetic look at Mickey. "He got a medal, too, a Silver Star."
"Gosh!" the boy said, now looking ashamed. "I - I'm sorry, Mickey, really. I didn't know." He looked on the verge of tears.
Making the boys shake hands, the teacher sent them on their way, warning them that any more fighting would get them in real trouble.
* * *
"Finish your milk, Michael, it's time to go home." Mickey started as his mother broke into his reverie. Slipping his jacket on, he took his mom's hand as they left the diner.
"`Night Mac!" she called, noting with a wry smile that Mickey held the door for her, being extra polite.
"Goodnight, Mad." The grizzled diner owner and cook rasped back, his voice thickened by years of chain-smoking & scalding coffee.
The old `40 Ford convertible was showing its age, rust spots appearing here and there, the once tight canvas top now sagging. Maddie refused to let go of it, and was now saying to herself, "Well, they're coming back in style, why sell it?" There was a deeper reason, too, one she had a harder time dealing with. She and Mike had gone everywhere in this classy buggy, and whenever she got into it she hugged the past to her like a comforter.
They drove along the coast road in silence for a time, Mickey looking more glum with each passing minute. Finally, Maddie broke the spell.
"You know what you're in for when we get home, don't you?" she asked him, glancing over at his slouched form. He was growing so fast, she thought, waiting for his answer. Seemed like just yesterday she cradled him in her arms. Now he was twelve, and becoming a handful. If only Mike were here.., her thought trailed off.
"Yeah." He said simply, his frown deepening as he pictured the spanking she had in mind for him, her hairbrush stinging his bare bottom until he couldn't sit. Despite his inherent stubbornness, his eyes misted a bit, his lower lip quivering.
"Do you know why?" she asked, her eyebrows lifting, voice a little sharper.
"I'm not supposed to fight." He admitted lamely, looking down at his lap.
"That's only part of it, Michael. Your report card's a mess," she exclaimed, referring to the folded piece of cardboard he carried, "and without good grades you can't hope to be like your father."
Mickey's frown deepened, his head sinking lower as he fought against the tears that swelled in his handsome brown eyes. They were a carbon copy of his dad's, something that gave Madeline a very hard time when he looked pleadingly at her.
"As for fighting, young man," she went on, beginning the pre-lecture lecture, "you have to learn that you can't solve everything with your fists."
Wheeling the Ford into the drive, Maddie shut it off and sat for a tired moment, not looking forward to the challenge ahead.
"Owwwww! Mickey! Stop! Ouch! Owwwwww!" she yelled, squirming across Mike's lap as his hand swatted her bottom through her silken panties. Her lovely white skin changed quickly to a blushing tint, deepening with every spank. Inside, her whole being quivered with delight, every delicious stinging whack intensifying the excitement she felt. A slight pause, and then the feel of Mike's fingers tugging her panties down, baring her bottom completely. The spanking continued, firm palm to bare skin, increasing the sting, making her writhe and kick her lovely legs in the air. A well manicured hand, its nails painted a brilliant red, moved toward the target area, seeking to interpose itself between the sturdy hand that spanked and her glowing behind. Halfway there, it was deftly intercepted by another sturdy set of fingers and held fast. It was a ritual often repeated. As Maddie's bottom was set ablaze by her husband's crisp spanks, the hand acted of its own accord, and was invariably prevented from completing its mission, grasped helplessly in Mike's left as the spanking continued unabated. Maddie found that even more exciting, and actually looked forward to the point of no return, the place where she really began to give herself to her man, body and soul. A shiver ran through her body.
"Mom, are you okay?"
Her son's voice brought Maddie back to earth, jerked into the present reality. It was doubly difficult, knowing what faced her inside. Every time she had to spank the boy, she felt weird about it. Knowing that it was exactly what he needed, that there was no substitute at times for the effectiveness of a sound spanking, yet having to deal with the inescapable fact that part of her enjoyed it. She loved him dearly, at least as much as she had loved his father. For that reason, she always managed to steel herself to the task at hand, putting her own deepest feelings on hold and doing what needed to be done. Composing herself, she replied,
"Yes, Michael, I'm fine." Looking at him, she searched the warm brown eyes, seeing concern but no actual fear. He knew she loved him, and trusted her with all his might. What was to come would be painful, but necessary, and he seemed to understand that.
"I'd be much better if I didn't have to do what I'm going to in a little while." She added, reaching out to rumple his full head of brown hair.
Mickey blushed a little, hanging his head, annoyed and embarrassed. "I know, mom." He said awkwardly. "I'm sorry."
Opening the door of the bungalow produced a frenzied attack of black fur, wet lapping tongue and wagging tail.
"Champ!" Mickey said affectionately, nearly overwhelmed by the black Lab's greeting. The dog bounded around him, almost knocking him down.
"Good Boy!" he said, wrestling with the animal, rubbing his fur and trying to avoid the flashing tongue.
"Better put Champ outside for awhile." His mother advised. Very protective of the boy, Champ got too excited when Mickey was being punished, and could be a handful. Anyway, Maddie thought, why put him through it? The less he saw, the better. She looked through the mail, in the hope of finding something urgent to delay the inevitable. Just bills, nothing new, no reprieve, she mused. Might as well get it over with. Mickey returned from putting the dog out, coming to stand before his mom as if waiting for some official word of sentence.
With a deep sigh, Maddie finally said,
"Go get your pajamas on, and wait in your room. I'll be along in a minute or two."
Mickey swallowed hard, his eyes beginning to shine from imminent tears.
"Okay." He whispered, turning away. Maddie gave him a light swat on the seat of his corduroys. He didn't look back.
Feeling a decade older than she was, Maddie rose tiredly and went to her bedroom, sitting at her dressing table. Mike's handsome face smiled up at her from its home in the 8X10 frame, eternally youthful, the vibrance and love apparent in his eyes. Taken in uniform, the portrait pictured Mike at his best, the rakish tilt of his garrison cap still giving her the same thrill of excitement she had always felt in his presence. Several small photos of them together, in happier times, were stuck into the bottom and sides of the frame. Memories of a golden life; gone, but never forgotten.
Removing the hairnet, Maddie shook her full brilliant mane, taking the well-worn hairbrush from the dresser and running it through the golden strands, tilting her head as she brushed. Then, holding the brush close to her chest, she gazed at herself in the mirror, assessing the damage the years had wrought. A few wrinkles, eyes a bit less clear, an indefinable worn look, kind of like the Ford convertible. The hairbrush felt familiar and solid in her hand, and soon it would be used in a less traditional sense, one she was acquainted with from both perspectives.
"Learned your lesson?" Mike asked, giving her another swat, making her buck from the smart of it.
"Uhhn-uhh." She challenged, daring him to further action, her tear-filled eyes looking at him over her shoulder.
"No?" he said, amazed at her brazen courage. She knew what would follow.
Standing, he picked her up bodily, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Heading toward their bedroom, he warned her,
"Well, we'll soon see about that, young lady. It's the hairbrush for you, and I mean good and proper."
Maddie kicked in delight, half crying and laughing, scared to death about the coming sting of that big wooden brush, but deliciously excited at the prospect. Sweeping the brush off her dresser, Mike turned her bodily across his lap as he sat on the bed and flipped her filmy dress up out of the way, disabling her right arm. Twin mounds of crimson flesh stared up at him as he prepared to darken their color. Maddie felt the brush strike, burning like fire, making her kick and howl. Spank after spank landed on her flaming bottom; she heard herself bawling like a child and begging him to stop, but not really wanting him to, no, not wanting that at all. Soft caressing fingers told her the ordeal was over, her passion rising like a firestorm, sweeping all before it in its single, seething frenzy. Coupled with her husband, his urgent, deep thrusting carried her onward, the heat in her backside augmenting the flames within, fusing them together in a welded bliss of love.
Trembling, Maddie raised the brush to her forehead, leaning against its polished surface as if to wish Mike back into existence. Fighting back tears, she realized there was one more bit of pain to deal with before she could rest.
Mickey sat on the edge of his bed, looking sorrowful. She saw his eyes widen involuntarily as she came in carrying the hairbrush. Sitting next to him on the bed, Maddie cradled the brush in her hands, waiting.
"Mom?" the boy asked, looking up at her, those brown eyes just boring into her soul. He continued without her answer,
"Would dad have spanked me?"
Maddie bit her lip, considering her reply.
"I don't know, Michael. Yes, I think he would."
She didn't have to tell Mickey what to do. Getting slowly off the bed, he walked around to her right side and pushed his pajama bottoms down, turning across her lap without a word. Maddie settled him in place, and then said,
"I want you to promise me something, Michael."
He waited, mumbling an assent, his bottom feeling the coolness of the air, anticipating the fire to come.
"I want you to stop daydreaming in school. It's fine to have a dream, but if you stop working, you'll never catch up to it."
"And," she finished, "I want you to stop fighting. Some things are important enough to fight for, and some aren't. You need to know the difference."
"But, mom," her son said, righteously, "that creep called dad a bum!"
"You know that's not true. And it doesn't matter what he thinks." Maddie lied, finding it harder to raise the hairbrush and begin. Mustering all her resolve, she finally whapped him smartly on one cheek, following it a split second later with an equally sharp swat on the other side. He squirmed and twitched, but made not a sound. Two red marks had appeared where the varnished wood had struck. Sighing, Maddie put the hairbrush to work for real, knowing that the message had to be crystal clear, that it had to hurt past the point where he could write it off.
After a dozen crisp spanks, the brave youngster's threshold was eclipsed, and the first cry escaped from his lips. Maddie spanked with deliberation, watching as his young buns got redder with each swat.
"Ooooh!" he squeaked, the dam breaking. "Owwwww! Mom, pleeze! Oww! I'll be good, I promise!"
Now the tears came thick and fast, his nose beginning to run as the smarting sting became too much to bear. Legs kicking, his free hand held firmly in his mother's left, the boy writhed and cried as the hard wooden hairbrush taught its bitter lesson, a lesson that would be remembered for the next day or two, every time he sat.
The spanking was taking its toll on Maddie, too. Becoming more excited with each passing moment, she came close to stopping prematurely several times. It took all her determination and strength to persevere, continuing to spank until she was certain the message had been received, loud and clear.
When it was finally over, she let Mickey up, his bottom flaming red, eyes watering uncontrollably along with his nose. Without looking at his mother, he threw himself face down on his bed alongside her, bawling unashamedly at the terrible fire in his butt. Maddie let him be, realizing how badly his budding masculine pride had been damaged. Trembling like a leaf in a windstorm, she retreated to the solitude of her bedroom, touching the picture on her dresser, murmuring,
"Oh, God, Mike. I wish you were here." The tears came like a sudden spring torrent, flooding out of her as she sobbed for her lost love, and for the life they had hoped to build. Part of that life lay smarting in the next room, probably hating her for punishing him.
The last rays of sunset crept through the blinds, striping the bedclothes with muted gold. Shadows lurked in the corners, and a small table lamp glowed dimly on the nightstand. Maddie peeked in, then entered quietly, a tray of milk and cookies in her hand. Mickey was lying half on his side, face angelic in sleep. She set the tray down softly, leaning over to kiss her boy on the hair. Stirring, he rolled partially onto his back, wincing a bit as the sore area rubbed against the rumpled quilt.
"Brought you a snack." She said, covering his hand with hers, half expecting it to be drawn back. It wasn't. Instead, it gripped hers with a slight squeeze, a little boy squeeze that contained more love than all the hugs in the world. Maddie kissed his head again, and rose to leave.
"Love you, mom." He said, the brown eyes working their magic once more.
By some superhuman feat, Maddie got her voice to work.
"I love you, too, Mickey." She said, then, not trusting it to say anything more, blew him a kiss and left.
Maddie second-guessed herself for many years, wondering if she was doing the right thing by spanking the boy. Always in control, she made sure that she was driven by principle, and not desire. Years later, when her son had grown into a fine man, she came to realize that real love is being able to hurt someone when necessary, to help them grow.