Awww Mommmm!
One cloudless day in 1970, two miles above the flat plains of Texas, George finally found himself alone. He howled into his oxygen mask in pure exultation. His jet, a Convair F102 interceptor, was ancient as warplanes go. But George didn’t mind. It was a real jet fighter plane, and he was finally a real fighter pilot. Never mind that he had graduated low in his class at flight school. The only important thing was that he had graduated.
Some say that George had only won his position in the Texas Air National Guard because his father happened to be an important Congressman. For sure, he was a playboy and an unenthusiastic student. But none of that mattered to George right now, because he was free!
For the first time, his commanding officer had allowed this new pilot to take a plane without a flight instructor, or a wingman, or even assigning him a specific task. So he decided to try what many “young and dumb” pilots do early in their flying career, buzz his home.
He glanced at the chart clipped to his knee as he flew in the general direction of home. From up there everything looked different, so he first looked for major landmarks. He saw the lake with the town nestled next to it.
He knew that little town, and many of the people in it. He stared at the used car lot where he had carelessly purchased his very first car, an incurable lemon. “I wish this plane had one o them-there nu-cle-ar weapons,” he mused, “That would show that bugger.”
Next he found the railroad track that pointed in the general direction of his parent’s ranch. Finally oriented, he found the small blacktop road that led to a smaller dirt road. Then he spotted the dot that was his parent’s ranch house.
Pushing the throttle to make the jet engine roar, he dived towards the ground. His windscreen filled with Texas terrain, terrain scattered with objects that suddenly bloomed much larger. One of those “objects” was the ranch house, which he centered in his view.
The F102 was a marginally supersonic jet fighter designed in the early 1950s. Among the most rigid rules that had been drummed into George at flight school was that you never allowed the plane to go supersonic near any inhabited area, lest the sonic boom cause damage. With his fixation on the rapidly approaching home, George failed to notice the airspeed needle slipping into the red area. As he zoomed over the ranch house, he cackled, “Hehehe”. It was a chuckle that was to become known worldwide in future decades.
-------------------------
-------------------------
Except for the huge grin that split his face, his return to base and landing were routine. He even managed to land without blowing out any tires. He left the plane with the ground crew and swaggered off. In the headquarters building he signed his flight documents with a flourish. The enlisted men had to service the airplanes and would be required to spend the night at headquarters. But rank has its privileges! George was an officer, albeit a very junior one, so he was allowed to leave as soon as his paperwork was complete.
Shortly later, still dressed in his flight suit, George jumped into his Mustang convertible and headed for the ranch. As he drove, he cackled at the joke he had played on his mother. His chest puffed out in pride. It was as if he were the first pilot who had ever thought to buzz his house! Of course, he was totally oblivious to the devastation he had caused.
-------------------------
Back at the ranch, Maggie, the family’s loyal housekeeper came running to check on Mrs. Bar and to view the mess. Thinking fast, she called some of the ranch hands to help clean up the broken glass and crockery, and to nail plywood in place of the shattered picture window. As they worked, Mrs. Bar plotted her revenge. Together they quickly cleaned up the house. Seeing a family eruption brewing, the men quickly disappeared the moment the job was done. Maggie prepared to do the same, but first she asked her employer if she needed anything else. “Just one thing,” Bar said in a determined voice, “Find the bath brush and leave it on the coffee table.” With a sly grin, Maggie obeyed the order before leaving for the day.
-------------------------
In his new sporty red convertible, an appropriate car for a real fighter pilot, George retraced his way back to the family ranch. Only now he had to follow roads rather than invent his own route as he had done in the airplane. Finally he saw the big lake and the familiar little town. He stopped for gas to allow the locals a chance to admire him, his flight suit, and his new car. As the young gas station attendant filled his tank George asked in his most modest voice, “Did you notice that jet fighter a couple hours ago? That was me.”
“Oh,” the kid said, “So it was you who tore up Mrs. Bar’s house? You could hear the sonic boom from here.”
“Sonic boom?” George asked, “There was no sonic boom.” But suddenly he wasn’t so sure. He got a familiar twinge in his gut. He considered a strategic retreat, perhaps a night back at National Guard headquarters. Finally, he decided to go home and face the music.
-------------------------
Most folks called George’s mother “Bar” or “Mrs. Bar,” but George knew her as “Mom” or “The Enforcer.” That second nickname was replete with true meaning to George.
As he neared the ranch house, he found himself driving slower and slower. Finally the inevitable happened, he arrived. He was relieved to see that the only visible damage to the house was the plywood over the former picture window. He flushed as he saw his mother framed in the front door, hands on hips.
He gulped as he parked and reluctantly emerged to face his mother. “What were you thinking?” she hollered. “Do you have any idea how many new pilots kill themselves in front of friends and family doing stupid buzz jobs? When I heard that bang I thought you were dead!” At that, a tiny crack appeared in the steel of her face. A tear appeared in one eye. She quickly blinked it away and grabbed her wayward son by the ear.
“Get that stupid flight suit off and stick your nose in that corner mister!”
“Awww Mommmm” he whined. But after due reflection he also obeyed. Financially speaking, George hadn’t yet found his way into the adult world. He still depended on at least intermittent largess from his parents, so defying “The Enforcer” wasn’t in the cards.
Moments later, George stood with his nose in the corner dressed only in his white briefs.
Barr let him stew for several minutes before she walked up behind him with that potent bath brush in her hand. She put the handle into the palm of his hand. Immediately he knew what it was. George was all too familiar with that brush.
“Hold that brush over your head,” she ordered. “Hold it with both hands!”
“Awww Mommmm” he moaned, “I’m way too old for this sorta stuff now. I’m a commissioned officer and everything.”
“I think your actions today indicate otherwise.” The lady spat out those words without the slightest trace of compromise in her voice.
Seeing no alternative, George obeyed the order. He raised the bath brush above his head and held it with both hands. He knew from previous experience what would happen next.
With his hands safely out of the way, Bar grabbed George’s briefs and skinned them down past his knees. They fell to the carpet. The words escaped his lips one last time, “Awww Mommmm.”
In a much milder tone than before, the lady reassured her son, “I promise you that we’re alone in the house. This is just between you and me. I’m your mother so I’ve seen everything you have thousands of times before. You know that you need and deserve this, so step out of those undies and let’s just get it done. OK?”
There was a long silence as she waited for his answer. Finally he sadly nodded.
Just a few minutes later, they were sharing a sturdy armless chair. She sat, but he was in that time-honored position across the matriarchal lap. His bottom quickly turned red as that horrid bath brush did its painful work.
Mrs. Bar’s objective was simply to spank some sense into her semi-wayward son. Your idea of the success or failure of her endeavor likely depends on your own personal rear view of history.
That said, it seems fair to allow George to speak for himself:
"We need to counter the shockwave of the evildoer by having individual rate cuts accelerated and by thinking about tax rebates." Oct. 4, 2001
"I can't tell you what it's like to be in Europe, for example, to be talking about the greatness of America. But the true greatness of America are the people." July 2, 2001
"I didn't grow up in the ocean—as a matter of fact—near the ocean—I grew up in the desert. Therefore, it was a pleasant contrast to see the ocean. And I particularly like it when I'm fishing." Sept. 26, 2008
© Guyspencer 2013
posted by guy at 6:51 PM
5 Comments:
My mother-in-law first saw me in my birthday suit over my wife's knee on my 50th birthday and wanted to wish me a happy birthday too, and over her knee I went and has been spanking me ever since. markiee
I thought George pronounced if "nu-kyew-lar"
I would give my two front teeth to see W paddled on the bare. After what he did to America, I suggest a daily paddling.
Hope we won't have to wait too long for the Donny story, although that's too easy, as he's whining like a baby already. And the visual is getting more unpleasant by the minute as I think about it, so maybe a bad idea. But still...
Butt naked in prime position for a good old-fashioned spanking by mum
Post a Comment
<< Home