Sunday, September 10, 2006

George Asks For It (M/m, F/m)

GuySpencer Home Page
© Guyspencer 2006

When I was a young man, we would graduate from high school andleave home. A lucky few of us left home to go to college, and the rest either enlisted in the military or got drafted. Today, life is very different. The draft is a distant memory, local community colleges have become a very good option, and housing is extremly expensive. These forces, and others, combine to keep children living at home much longer. This is a story about a delicate time that I missed, a time when you have one experimental foot in adulthood, one foot mired in childhood, and no money. All of the usual disclaimers apply. This is fiction intended for adults. If stories about spanking do not interest you, read no further. All characters, events, and places are fictional.
CopywrightGuyspencer, 2006. Comments welcome, even critical ones.

George Asks For It

Whistling happily, George parked his car in the drive and let himself in the side door of the home where he lived, his parent’s home, and the only home he had ever known. George was a handsome, talented, solidly built young man who had just graduated with honors from the Automotive Technology program at his local community college. It was late in the evening, and George had not bothered to eat since breakfast, so he headed straight to the refrigerator to see what he could find.

He was just dragging out sandwich fixings, when his mother appeared at his side and gave him a peck on the cheek. “We were starting to get really worried about you,” she said somewhat petulantly. “We expected you home before lunch, and we even held up supper for nearly an hour hoping that you would show up. I know that you are a grown boy, but you told us that you would give us some idea about what you are doing and when we can expect to see you.”

George tried to explain to his mother about how he had ran into a friend who needed a bit of help getting an engine into a custom rod he was building. It had turned into an all-day fabrication job. George had become so happily engrossed in solving his friend’s mechanical dilemmas that the entire day had slipped away.

George tried to explain all of these things, that is, but he could see that his mother just didn’t “get it”; she simply was not equipped to understand her son’s love of things mechanical. Just as his mom was asking him for the third time why she could not depend on him to do the things he had promised to do, Sam, (George’s father) walked into the kitchen and immediately asked George why he had not cleaned out the basement as he had promised twice he would do.

Torn out of his previously cheerful mood, and suddenly, unexpectedly on the defensive, something inside George snapped. George remembers what happened next as if he was standing outside his own body watching himself have a temper tantrum. His parents watched; alternately amazed, open-mouthed, understandably angry, and finally slightly fearful as George loudly spouted terrible words. In the process, he singled out his mother, calling her a “bitch”, and inarticulately concluded his little talk by telling both of his loving parents to “fuck off”. Finally George did something wise, he fled to his room.

To any casual observer, it would appear that George did not have a care in the world, but looks can be deceiving. Actually George was facing the toughest time of his young life. The nation was in the throes of a serious recession and jobs were scarce. George did not seem to have great job-hunting skills and so was having a very tough time converting his academic success into vocational success. In spite of his great personality and good looks, his love life was not progressing much better than his job hunt. Having no money and needing to live at home with his parents severely limited his dating prospects. Fortunately, George had a part-time job at a local fast food establishment, but his car payments took almost all of his paycheck. Often he had to bear the indignity of substituting his old bicycle for his car because of an empty gas tank or unpaid insurance. Tonight, all of these tensions finally bubbled to the surface and exploded in his (mostly) innocent parent’s faces.

As George sat red-faced in his room he gradually willed his galloping heart rate to slow down. Like a film clip of a national disaster endlessly running on the evening news, the terrible scene ran through George’s head over and over. At first, George found it easy to justify his anger, but as sanity slowly returned, he realized that his parents were blameless and the fault for his verbal explosion was all his. Further, George slowly began to realize that his parents had no legal obligation to continue supporting him; he was over 18 and an adult under the law. Where would he live, how would he eat? A million unpleasant questions trouped through his tortured and guilty psyche. An hour later, George’s parents almost timidly knocked on his door and were invited in to find him in tears.

Before confronting George, Sam and Dora (his wife) had talked. They knew that they must react to George’s behavior before it escalated into domestic violence, but they really had no clue as to specifically what they should do. They knew that it would be their right to put their grown son out of their house for good, but that did not seem necessary after only this one bad episode. What were they going to do? Wisely, having no clear idea what to say, they decided to start out by letting George do the talking. To their surprise, it did not take long for George to suggest a possible solution to their problem.

They walked into George’s room, and Dora instinctively sat down on the bed next to her weeping son and put her arm around him. Sam found himself hovering awkwardly, and finally pulled the desk chair near the bed, sat silently, and awaited developments. It was George who finally broke the silence: “I guess you two are really mad at me.” “We were at first” Sam answered after a moment’s thought, “but now we are mostly just concerned about you and wondering what we should do about this.”

George was amazed at what came out of his mouth next: “ can sp...sp...spank me if you want” he blurted, “but please give me another chance and don’t make me leave. This will never happen again; I promise!”

Perhaps George meant his offer to be a mere symbol of his sorrow and guilt over his behavior, something that his parents would immediately dismiss out of hand, but he had presented to Sam a promising solution to his dilemma that had somehow failed to occur to him before. Yes! Here was the promise of a memorable, hopefully effective, response to his grown son’s misbehavior; something that could be accomplished quickly and would have consequences far less inconvenient for their son than being kicked out of the house.

“Are you serious about this George?” Sam asked, “If so, I think you mother and I might like to explore that idea further”. George gulped and stalled a moment before looking at the floor and mumbling, “I guess so”. “No George”, Dora said, “That isn’t near good enough. Perhaps you haven’t really thought this through, would you like us to leave the room for a few minutes while you think about it?” George suddenly realized that a quick punishment was the best outcome he could hope for under the circumstances. His mind made up, George looked his mother straight in the eye and told her, “No, I am serious; I am willing to be spanked for my actions”.

There was a long pause, while all three considered the implications of George’s offer. Sam finally broke the silence; “It has been a long time son”. It truly had been a long time since George’s last spanking. George was certainly no stranger to the parental lap; but by 15, George had grown taller and stronger than his father. As their son did not seem to react well to spankings at that age, Sam and Dora had quietly substituted a more non-physical discipline strategy. When George turned 18, his parents assumed that their spanking days were over for good. Now, even though George was legally an adult, spanking suddenly seemed like a useful option again.

Sam probed gently, “You realize that now that you are 18, we have no authority to spank you unless you specifically give it to us?” “Yes sir, I am doing that now” George replied. Dora decided that she needed further clarification, and asked; “Is this authority just for this one time or is it for as long as you are living under your parent’s roof?” George gulped again, he was getting in deeper and deeper; “It means as long as I am living under your roof,” he finally agreed.

“OK” Said Sam, “that’s clear enough, but we need to be sure that we agree on a few details; your mother will chime in here if I forget anything important or if she wants to further discuss anything I say.” George gave a slightly nervous nod.

“First; as always, you will have no say in the details of your spanking, and you must agree to submit to the very best of your ability. You will adjust or remove your clothing if ordered to and you will assume and attempt to maintain any position you are ordered to until we decide that your punishment is complete”. Wide-eyed, George agreed.

“Second; you must not blame your parents in any way for your punishment, even when your bottom hurts like someone had used a blowtorch on it!” George solemnly nodded his agreement.

“Third; you must understand that we are talking about an adult’s punishment, something that you can expect to be much harder than a child’s punishment.” George gasped at the thought. “Let me explain” Dora interjected, “When you were 10 years old, you were caught shoplifting: What happened to you?” George had no trouble remembering; “I got the hairbrush on my bare bottom”. “Yes exactly” exclaimed Dora, “What would happen if you were caught shoplifting today?” “I guess I would go to jail” George replied. “Right again!” Dora said, “When you become an adult, the consequences of misbehavior get larger”. With only a slight lack of enthusiasm, George now agreed to Sam’s third point.

“Do you agree to everything we just talked about?” Sam asked carefully. “Yes Sir” George replied. “Do you still want to go ahead with this? Do you want time to think about it?” “I am ready sir” George replied. “Then there is one more thing” Sam said softly, “be sure that you understand that your parents love you so much that it hurts and we really want you to succeed in life and we intend to help you until you do succeed...which you eventually surely will.” New tears welled up in George’s eyes and he choked out an incoherent acknowledgment. Spontaneously, Sam jumped up and reached his arms out to his son and gathered him in a hug, which was quickly joined by Dora. At that moment, Sam realized that it had been entirely too long since the three of them had participated in what had been a bit of a family tradition throughout George’s childhood– the three-way “family hug”.

The three of them shared a long moment together. The two parents heard a distinct sob from their son, followed by a few sniffs. It was Dora who finally found her voice when she sensed that her son had regained his composure; “Your father is right about how much we love you and how much we want to help you and especially to help you succeed, but right now I think that the three of us agree the that best thing for you is a red bottom.” There was a long silence, Sam was suddenly afraid that his son might take this moment to back out “Yes Ma’am, the boy finally said, I guess you are right”

“OK”, Sam said almost reluctantly, “Lets get this behind us” “sit down and remove your shoes.” George plopped his soon-to-be-red bottom down onto his bed, and obediently unlaced his heavy shoes, tucked them under the bed at his feet, and looked expectantly at his father for his next command. “You may stand, remove your belt, and hand it to me”. George’s mouth worked like a fish, but finally he found the necessary muscles to obey his father’s command. He stood and his hands reluctantly went to his waist to unfasten his heavy mechanic’s belt. The room was filled with the tiny pops as the supple leather was pulled past the belt loops. George held the weapon out to his father, who accepted it solemnly.

“Now, undo your pants and push them all the way down to your ankles” Sam ordered firmly. (Sam thought it best that his strong son’s legs be encumbered to minimize his movements, he figured that George’s heavy dungarees would do that job well.) While being careful to keep his briefs from being pulled down along with his tight pants, Sam unenthusiastically complied with his father’s order. Sam looked at his son appraisingly, “that shirt is hanging a bit too far below your waist, and (he sniffed) it smells a bit like transmission fluid; it needs to go”. Obediently, George removed his shirt and dropped it to the floor.

“You will now apologize to your mother for the name you called her and ask her if she would please prepare your bottom for the belt.”

Instantly stepping into her role, Dora sat on the edge of the bed and pointed at the floor directly in front of her. Meekly, George shuffled into place. “Are you all ready to start your punishment?” Dora asked. A tear rolling down his cheek, George said “Yes Ma’am”. “I don’t think so” Dora responded. “Something is in entirely the wrong place.” Remembering this routine from his youth, George knew exactly what she was talking about and blushed furiously. In a slightly softer voice, she bore in; “I have seen everything that you’ve got thousands of times, just get them all the way down.” His face now as red as a spanked bottom, George pushed his briefs down to meet his pants and then straightened up quickly, his hands and arms forming a “V” over his privates. Except for his watch and the pants around his ankles, George was as naked as the day he was born.

Sam instantly corrected his son, “George! You said you were going to cooperate; are you or aren’t you? Still red-faced, George dropped his hands to his sides, in the process giving up all semblance of his personal modesty. The error of Dora’s recent comment about how many times she had seen “everything he had” was instantly obvious to her. She actually had not seen her son naked for the last several years and there had been some important changes over that time. In particular, she noted that her future daughter-in-lay (whoever she turns out to be) had an E-ticket ride waiting for her! Her son had grown to be very well endowed!

“OK George” Dora said, “we seem to have you all ready now; what do you have to say to your mother before we begin?” George tearfully stammered out a satisfactory apology to his mother and was finally invited across her lap. Almost gratefully, he settled himself in, the upper half of his body supported by the bed, his toes digging into the carpet, and his bottom in exactly the proper place for correction.

There were certainly conflicting emotions tumbling through George’s head at that moment, but if he were able to be completely honest with himself, he would have silently admitted how comforting it felt to once again be in this juvenile position cradled across his mother’s lap and how good it felt to once again be given definite parental limits with safe, sure consequences if he were to test them. He was particularly comforted by the certainty that true forgiveness was only a few minutes away, (albeit a few minutes of memorable pain). A boy can’t grow up all in one day, and a significant part of George was happy to once again be his parent’s child if only for the few minutes that it took them to correct his recent terrible behavior.

Without further formalities, Dora started spanking her son’s bottom as hard as she was able. Almost immediately, other changes that had taken place in the last few years became increasingly evident. George had certainly become bigger and stronger and (for lack of a better term) harder, but Dora had suffered through a bout with breast cancer and had never regained her full strength. After about three minutes of determined hand spanking, the twin mounds of George’s rear were distinctly pink, but it was obvious that George was not suffering. As the spanks rained down on his bare bottom, the young man was dry-eyed and barely squirming. Frankly, spanker and spankee both felt a little silly.

Seeing Dora start to breathe heavy from her almost-futile efforts, Sam told her to rest for a minute while he “found her some help”. Although he initially intended to go search the master bedroom for the long-unused spanking brush, Sam cast his eyes around George’s bedroom looking for inspiration. He found it on the desk. George was a natural artist, and there on the desk covering a few well-done drawings of custom cars was a scattering of drawing tools. Sam’s eye was instantly drawn to a substantial 18" clear plastic ruler. He picked it up; experimentally swished it through the air, flexed it, and then slapped it against his own hip with a loud cracking sound that noticeably startled his still-prone son. “I think this will do fine” he said, handing the ruler to his wife.

Now it was Dora’s turn to experiment. She slapped the new weapon against her palm a time class=Section3>
or two and then hefted its weight. Her next step would normally have been to try it on her own thigh just as Sam had, but her very large son now covered her thighs. Seconds later, that same large boy bucked impressively as Dora experimented on the first thigh she found within range. Satisfied with her new tool, but deciding on a cautious approach, Dora worked on the previously untouched backs of her son’s legs with short but fast strokes of the ruler. This treatment immediately captured George’s full attention. It was clear that he was hurting, but doing his best to stay in position with just a slight involuntary wiggle and squirm that coincided with the ruler’s blows. As the backs of his legs took on a patina that was slightly darker than his pinkish bottom, a groan or two escaped the boy’s lips.

With the boy’s legs finally painted the proper color, Dora paused to consider her next move. She waited until her son finally looked back questioningly at her and asked him “are you ready to finish this George?” Not really knowing what was on her mind George simply answered, “Yes ma’am”. “OK” she responded, “the next few swats are going to be very hard and then the rest is going to be up to your father. Get your arms under you so you won’t be tempted to reach back”. George obeyed, pulling in his arms, clasping his hands under his chest and pressing his face down into his bedspread. Bracing himself for what was coming, he acknowledged his mother’s command with a muffled “OK Ma’am”.

Dora raised the ruler high and said the word “You” loudly as she brought the ruler down on the fullest part of George’s right buttock. George Bucked but made no other response.

“Will”. The ruler came down hard again, landing just above the angry red rectangle left by the first blow. George sucked in a huge breath.

“Never”... (Swat) George bucked again and made an inarticulate choking sound as the ruler made contact with his left buttock for the first time.

“Call”... (Swat) One hand escaped from under the boy and started to snake its way back to his bottom, but then returned to its proper place before Dora could react.

“Your”... (Swat) The boy wiggled and made a sound suspiciously like a sob. This swat cut directly across the cleft, with the end of the ruler cutting into his right cheek, making an especially impressive mark.

“Mother”... (Swat) By now, the boy had finally figured out that a specific message was being imprinted on is brain by way of his bottom.

“A” ... (swat) George bucked extra hard as the ruler wandered down near his sit spot.

Dora raised the ruler high over her head...

“BITCH” ... (SPLAT) The boy roared as Dora brought the ruler down in a whistling arc with all of her strength.

“AGAIN!” ... (SPLAT) “Please Mom” the boy cried as the ruler slashed down for the final time.

“Did you get that message?” Dora asked. “Loud and clear” the boy groaned. “OK” Dora said, “Get up and give me another hug, and then your ass belongs to your father”. With real tears in his eyes, the boy regained his footing and gave his mother a long hug while he sobbed new apologies into her ear. As they finally disengaged, he surprised her by saying “Thank you mom, I had that coming”. While ruefully rubbing his marked and throbbing bottom, he shuffled around to face his father expectantly.

As George had been leaning over and hugging his mother, the father had been treated to an unexpected close-up view of his son’s well-marked bottom. Sam suddenly found himself having second thoughts about his plan for the rest of George’s punishment. Perhaps he didn’t really need that terrible belt to properly correct his son? Those last swats had been far harder than simple “warm-up spanks” and Sam rationalized that he could easily finish the job on his son’s bottom with just that ruler. But no, George was expecting the belt and this was no time to be changing the plan. The belt was exactly what his son needed and that was what he should get! Sam picked up the belt, gripping the buckle and wrapping the leather twice around his hand to choke it up to the proper length.

In a voice that sounded way too gentle to be coming from a man who was about to severely strap his son, Sam said;“Just turn around and face the bed son”. Sam picked up a pillow, handed it to his son, and gave him careful instructions: “I want you to make sure that your family jewels are pulled all the way forward where this belt can’t possibly reach them, and then I want you to roll this pillow and place it under your hips as you get into position across the edge of the bed. I want your bottom to be raised nice and high so that this belt can properly do its job.” Blushing, the boy reached down and adjusted himself, accepted the pillow, and then assumed the proper position for his imminent strapping. Even with that pillow raising the big boy’s scarlet bottom high for his father’s attention, his knees nearly reached the carpet.

“Are you listening son?’ Sam quietly asked. The boy nodded. “First of all, I want you to know that it is perfectly OK for you to cry; this is really going to hurt and I know I would cry if it was my bottom getting strapped with this heavy belt.” “Second, for your own good, I need you to try really hard to hold your position and keep your hands way away from the target area. The better you hold position, the quicker we will be done”. To the parent’s surprise, their son offered a suggestion; “Uhh Dad?” “Yes son?” “If...If I reach all the way across the bed like this, would it be OK for Mom to hold my arms for me so I can’t reach back?” Sam nodded at his wife, and without another word, Dora moved to the other side of the bed and pinned down her son’s outstretched arms, circling her fingers firmly around his thick wrists.
As soon as Dora nodded that she was ready, Sam let fly with the first stroke. George heard a high, brief sound like a mosquito, followed by the sound of leather impacting his own bottom. It seemed to take an amazing amount of time for the agonized message to travel from the impact zone on his left buttock to his brain, but travel it did. George bucked and howled, his pants-tangled feet came high up off the carpet and then pounded back down. Sam’s aim had actually been a bit off, he had intended that first stroke to cut across both mounds exactly at the fullest part of his son’s bottom, but he hit just a bit short. Now George’s left buttock had a livid belt mark, but the right side was untouched except for a small spot right at the middle where the belt tip had painfully dug into the cleft. Having accidentally learned a new technique, Sam repeated the stroke one belt-width lower on his son’s left buttock after waiting about 15 seconds for that first stroke to properly sink in. George roared and bucked again. Sam was amazed at how much the leather made his son’s muscular buttocks jiggle. The boy had reacted even stronger to that second stroke, howling, jerking, and twisting. Dora nearly lost hold of her son’s strong right hand.

Realizing that her hands were not strong enough to keep control of her son’s strong arms, Dora raised her hand for Sam to stop. Quickly she climbed up on the bed and trapped her son’s arms between her thighs, and then bent over and grasped his shoulders firmly. She nodded at her husband, signaling that it was OK for him to continue with his duty.

Taking his time to plan his next move, Sam decided to even things out by landing two hard blows on his son’s nearly untouched right buttock. Again the belt sang through the air. George cried out with each blow, but with the calming weight of his mother’s arms on his shoulders did not move quite as much as before. Encouraged that his son’s movements were under control, Sam delivered a series of ten strokes. These were quicker than before, and with significantly less force, because he directed them to the tender, less-padded regions below the sit-spot. Sam noted with parental satisfaction that George was finally sobbing continuously. (This was an unannounced goal of Sam’s, who had sensed that his son needed the emotional release of a good cry.)

Dora was whispering calming words in her son’s ear, but paused to look up encouragingly at her husband. Sam moved back up to the fuller part of his son’s bare quivering bottom for his next strokes. Switching back to his original pattern of hard strokes with the 15-second pause, he gave class=Section5>
his son a full minute’s worth of punishment on his right buttock and switched hands to deliver another minute’s worth on the left. Sam could see that his son was just about at his limit, crying and howling continuously.

He waited a full minute for the boy to recover a bit. “OK George; do you hear me?” Sam asked. Finally George found his voice, “ sir”. “ I want you to be thinking of exactly why you are getting this spanking…are you doing that?” “Yes Sir,” the boy sobbed. “I am going to give you the hardest swats now, but there are only going to be six of them and then we will be done. You will ask for each one. We can be done in 30 seconds or 30 minutes, it will be up to you. Are you ready?” “I...I...I guess sir” the boy sobbed.

“OK,” Sam said ominously, “then just say ‘One Sir’ and we can begin”. The boy hesitated a moment and finally croaked “One sir”. The belt whistled down and landed with a resounding “splat” across the fullest part of the boy’s bottom. The boy screamed and blubbered a moment before he managed to choke out “Two sir”. The belt fell again, landing slightly higher. The boy reacted the same way again, but now took slightly longer to recover his voice, “Three sir”. Sam did not disappoint, the third cut was easily the equal of those that came before. The boy’s shoulders were shaking with the release of his pent-up emotions. The boy finally screwed up the courage to blubber “Four sir” and Sam slashed the belt down at an angle that cut across the previous stripes at a 45-degree angle.

At this point it was obvious that George was just about done, Sam decided to cut his son a bit of slack by getting the last two strokes over quickly. These last two strokes, calculated to leave bruises that would be felt every time his son sat down for the next few days, both landed in exactly the same place; at that tender dividing crease where buttock abruptly turns into leg.

Oblivious that his ordeal was finally over, George continued to cry like a baby for several minutes while his mother comforted him and his father hovered uncomfortably. A few minutes later when his son was finally gaining a bit of control, Sam pulled the boy’s pants and underpants free of his feet, dropped them on the floor, and helped his naked, wet-faced son to his feet. The boy experimentally rubbed his bottom for a moment, and then surprised and delighted his father by giving him a big hug, accompanied by teary apologies and thanks. “You might feel like a spanked kid right now” Sam said proudly, “but what your mother and I see is a young adult who was man enough to take responsibility for his actions. We are both proud to have you for a son and you have a place here as long as you need a pair of parents.”

A few minutes later, George found himself alone, lying face-down in his darkened bedroom having been tucked into bed with only a single sheet over his swollen, throbbing bottom and still able to feel the wetness of the good-night kisses from his parents. George had been thoroughly spanked, thoroughly forgiven, and thoroughly reassured that it was OK (for now) for him to keep one foot in adulthood and another safely in his childhood. Yes, there was a superficial and temporary pain in his neither regions, but a far more important hurt in his heart was a distant memory.

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Anonymous Anonymous said...

More parents should use the old fashion way of discipline for children living at home.

2:01 PM, March 15, 2008  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

spanking in my family was done by my father. mother went to her bedroom and cried for my sister and i when we got whpped. the bathroom was used for the punishment and the door closed. i was told to remove my pants and underwear and get over his knees. i then had to admit my misdoing and then the spanking was administered with a large smooth backed wooden hairbrush. the sting soon had me crying .

2:46 AM, April 07, 2008  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

spanking in my family was always done by my father. mother retreated to her bedroom and i went into the bathroom followed by dad holding a large wooden smoothback brush with a long handle. i was told to bare my bottom and get over his knees. sitting on the toilet seat i was told to say why my bottom was going to be tanned. then it started. after ten strokes i started to cry from the pain but it continued until i really was screaming and pleading for him to stop. it finally ended and i went ptomptly to my bedroom, shut the door and laid face down rubbing some lotion i kept in my table next to the bed. it took a long time to recover and when i went down for dinner no mention was made of the can rest assured i never again repeated my misdoing.

7:15 AM, September 08, 2008  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

There is considerable merit to this family discipline story. I liked the idea that the teenagers' buttocks belong to the parents as long as the teenagers live with the parents. Every boy or girl should be aware of this when living at a parents' home. Too many teenagers and parents forget this vital truth. I also see value in that this story has no pornographic or sexual element. Only the discipline aspect is considered, from Christian perspective! Families and societies would be much healthier if a harsh and consistent discipline were taking place in every home!

9:03 AM, October 26, 2010  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Very interesting, and wonderful family dynamic portrayed in this story, although extremely implausible. Reading this made me really feel for George, yet remain unsympathetic to him. The more I read, the more I began to desire being in his place. It would have added an interesting dimension if George had offered to help his mother, by finding, then offering her a more suitable item than the ruler, then acknowledged, and sympathized with her cancer.

This is a wonderfully written piece of literature.

12:28 PM, May 08, 2014  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I really enjoyed this story. I find the idea of an older child asking for punishment to be very interesting and I liked reading your version of it

3:03 PM, February 04, 2015  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I did a similar thing at 19 with my pastor/boss & his wife. I was the night supervisor at the church's shelter, and I flaked one night to go on a date. I told the Mrs it was a babysitting gig. I ended up getting drunk & my date called me a cab & gave the address to the shelter, and a very concerned (and pissed off) pastor's wife had to have a resident help her drag me to my bed, then SHE slept on the FLOOR in my bedroom to make sure I was okay & that my job was covered. I was miserable & could tell that my bosses were hurt & had no idea what to do about me. That evening when they were about to leave for the night (in the hands of an elderly volunteer), I asked to speak to them privately. I tried to apologize, but the pastor said "no, you've been like a daughter to us since you started going to this church at 14. You surprised & disappointed me, but your actions aren't uncommon for teenagers these days. We were worried, but you're an adult. You called & asked us to cover your job, you did what you wanted, then you found your way home." His wife added "I didn't have to help you to bed or stay in the room with you, I CHOSE to do it because I care about you. As he said, you're like a daughter to us."
I felt even worse at that point. She sacrificed as a MOTHER would, for an irresponsible and insensitive employee who had lied to her, shamed her business, and left her holding the bag. She felt there was no need for my apology? Eyes on the floor, I said "you been better to me than my own parents sometimes were. You been there for me, helped me & made me feel valued when nobody else did. You said yourself I've been like a daughter, & you've treated me as such for the past four years or so. I DO owe you both an apology, & a lot more. I know what my parents would have done, no matter my age, if I lied to them & came home drunk - never mind blowing off my responsibilities. But what would YOU do as parents if your teenager did to you what I did?" Without hesitation, the Mrs said "if our son as a teen acted this way, we would wait for him to sober up then he would have a very sore backside when we were done discussing his behavior. But you're an adult, and NOT our child. We have no right or desire to treat you like a kid."
I looked up said "I acted like a kid, and you responded like a mother last night. I abused you & broke your trust. As an adult, as a friend or employee I don't know how I could ever hope to earn it back. So I ask you, please treat me as a daughter NOW as you did yesterday. I hurt you, lied to you, humiliated you in front of our clients, & was immature & selfish & stupid. Please, I give you permission to punish me like your own teenager." The Mr said "you're not a CHILD. Even if we were to agree to treat you as our daughter in this matter, it would be our ADULT daughter." I spent the next half hour restating that I had acted like a child and was more comfortable being punished like a child than like an adult. We finally agreed on a course of action. Since they would spank their 17 year old for underage drinking and for lying about his whereabouts, we agreed that I would get the same, as a subordinate living under their roof and knowing those were the rules. As an adult, it would be a bit more severe a spanking than that of a minor. As for the broken trust and unprofessionalism, I would be on restriction until I showed the ability to act appropriately and in a trustworthy manner.

6:19 AM, November 05, 2016  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

So I was demoted from night supervisor to an assistant. They had five volunteers from the office staff and congregation take turns doing my main job, and I was basically their probie. I had to follow the same rules as the residents, but I could go into employee only areas and would be disciplined differently for some infractions, until I proved I was mature and responsible enough to gradually earn back my job.
Long story short, the Mrs helped me stay in position while the pastor blistered my butt and thighs VERY thoroughly, and then I spent six months like a long term shelter resident who had special duties.

6:19 AM, November 05, 2016  

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