The Viper
Navy Chaplain Lt.
Dan Morse was a contented man as he sat in Wilma Hutch's bedroom with
Nancy, Wilma's 16 year-old daughter, splayed across his lap. Well,
he was contented but not entirely satisfied. Wonderful as the
prospect was of spanking Nancy's bare, firm and pristine buttocks,
Wilma herself was his ultimate target.
As always, Chaplain
Morse acted the part of a moral and upstanding man. Also, it's fair
to say that having been caught smoking, Nancy honestly deserved this
spanking and should actually benefit from it. Since Wilma's husband
was deployed on a submarine and not available for the job, Wilma had
requested Chaplain Morse to punish Nancy. Of course, it had been the
Chaplain himself who had planted the idea that it took a male
authority figure to properly apply discipline to teens!
As he normally did
in these situations, he had sat the mother and daughter down in the
living room to deliver a sanctimonious little talk. Today's talk was
intended to impress on young Nancy the dangers of smoking and the
Biblical command to obey her parents. Skilled at imparting guilt
feelings to his flock, he had managed to bring Nancy to tears (and
into submission) without raising his voice or actually scolding her.
That talk, and the following prayer, left the pretty young girl
feeling not only guilty, but anxious to feel the self-forgiveness
that only comes from bawling her way through a sound bare-bottom
spanking. Indicating the living room windows, the Chaplain suggested
that they retreat to the privacy of the Hutch's master bedroom.
Solicitously opening
the door and then stepping aside, the Chaplain followed the two
females into the bedroom. As he did, his eyes were mostly on the
mother's bottom. Since Nancy's flowering body also made a fetchingly
shapely package, his eyes also caressed that young bottom.
The two adults had
discussed Nancy's punishment in advance, so Wilma knew her part. As
agreed, Nancy wore a loose skirt. The Chaplin sat on the edge of the
bed, and then pulled Nancy across his lap at an angle, her face
resting on the bed, her long legs dangling to the floor. As the
Chaplain politely averted his eyes, Wilma reached under Nancy's skirt
to draw her cotton panties down to her calves. That done, she lifted
the back of Nancy's skirt high, uncovering a perfect pair of
youthfully flowering buttocks.
Wilma stepped back
respectfully,“She's ready Chaplain.”
Trying to muster an
appropriate blush, he looked down at Nancy's shapely orbs, not
missing her firm thighs. With practiced but firm gentleness, he
pressed firmly on her back, effectively pinning her slim torso into
place.
After a few words to
ensure that the girl was both prepared for her punishment and
remembered her sin, he raised his hand high. Feeling the motion,
Nancy cringed her buttocks in unhappy anticipation of the coming
sting.
-------------------------
Bunker Point Naval
base was a modest submarine base located at the end of a swampy
peninsula on the eastern seaboard. Lt. Morse was the base's sole
chaplain. Single and in his late twenties, Dan Morse had at first
been disappointed at the base's lack of eligible women. With no
nearby towns, there were few local women to date. Worse, most female
base staff were enlisted, making them untouchable for a commissioned
officer like Lt. Morse. But Dan's wandering eye noticed the hundreds
of “submarine widows” living on the base while their husbands
deployed far away on their subs. Gradually Chaplain Dan Morse
figured out ways to benefit from this abundance of unguarded
womanhood.
In the military
manner, Dan took care of his body. He was wide-shouldered, blessed
by natural good looks and with a pleasant and sincere visage.
Behind his back, the ladies called him “Chaplain Hunk”.
-------------------------
Chaplain Morse
preached a gospel that was long on family values and parental
discipline, but one that was slanted in a very male-dominated way.
Repeating certain Bible passages, he constantly asserted that the
husband must lead the family. By extension; in the absence of the
husband, some other male authority figure should step in. In
Biblical times, these authority figures were uncles or family
patriarchs. However, since every couple at the base had been
transplanted from elsewhere, family male authority figures were in
short supply. It was exactly this bit of logic that gave the
Chaplain so many bottoms to spank, and potentially carnal access to
so many unguarded wives. You see; without specifically saying so, he
offered himself as that necessary “stand-in” male authority
figure.
Steeped in military
machismo and traditional Navy conservatism, sailors swallowed this
male-dominated version of the Gospel “hook, line & sinker”,
and none seemed to recognize the dangers that it might present.
Wives, mostly young and short on experience, accepted it in
surprising numbers. Perhaps the Chaplain's handsome and “hunky”
body had something to do with that?
The Chaplain's
specifically advised that it was acceptable for mothers to punish
younger children, but spanking teens was a father's job. If the
father wasn't available, the job was best accomplished by a male
authority figure. But since grandfathers and uncles were absent in
this community of military transplants, some other trustworthy person
must be substituted. The Chaplain never directly nominated himself
for that job, but he was often asked, and he never declined.
Since half of the
base's submarines were deployed at any given time, there were always
plenty of Navy wives without a handy male authority figure, so Dan
Morse was sometimes a busy man. Although he secretly preferred to
spank girls, an equal number of boys found themselves bare-bottom
across the Chaplain's lap. A teen's gender mattered little to Dan,
because his main target was always the mother!
How did he get to
the mothers? His main weapon was always guilt. He had only to make
the mother feel responsible for the discipline problems of her
children. The cure for the “submarine widow” mother's
shortcomings was always a private bare-bottom spanking delivered by
the Chaplain! Could there have been sexual improprieties in the
overheated moments following those private bedroom spankings? More
on that later.
-------------------------
Back in Wilma
Hutch's bedroom, we left Chaplain Morse with his hand high, prepared
to deliver the first swats to young Nancy's bottom:
Dan Morse was a strong man, and a man who preferred to do things his
own way. Even when spanking a teen boy who matched his weight, he
preferred to use only his hand, which was always up to the task. In
fact, few spankings required his full strength. So today he easily
spanked Nancy to genuine tears.
For her own part, Nancy was savvy enough to know that there was no
advantage is holding back, so she allowed the growing sting in her
increasingly-red behind to quickly transport her mind to “spanked
girl land”. As spanks rained down on her bottom, she struggled,
kicked, jolted, screeched and begged, doing everything you would
expect from a girl who was suffering through a memorable spanking.
At first her hands desperately grabbed the sheet as she bawled into
the mattress. But finally, in desperation and of their own accord,
those hands felt their way south, searching for a way to assuage that
fearful bottomly sting. Her left hand was foiled by the immovable
bulk of Dan's torso, but her right hand sneaked towards its target
until Dan firmly grabbed it, pinning it into the small of her back.
He made that interception in a practiced manner, barely missing a
spank in the process.
It's amazing how a person can split attention at times like this: As
Dan spanked, he seemingly gave his full attention to Nancy's
bouncing, roiling bottom, yet somehow he found time to muse about
underwear!
You see, it occurred to him that males, except for some athletic
activities, never think about their underwear. They wear boring
briefs or boxer shorts. Females however, choose their underwear
carefully for the occasion. From experience, Dan knew that for the
occasion of a spanking, most teen girls choose the thickest, most
full coverage panties they owned. Usually that meant white cotton,
often somewhat baggy. Perhaps optimistically, they wore them even
knowing those panties would be coming down, and therefore couldn't
possibly offer protection.
So as Dan glanced below Nancy's frantically jerking knee hollows, he
wasn't surprised to see white cotton panties bunched there. As
expected, Nancy's kicking stretched the panties to their limit, yet
kept her thighs tethered together, protecting her modesty. But in
those instants when her legs clapped together, the panties briefly
loosened, allowing gravity to take it's toll. Therefore Nancy's
panties gradually fell down towards her ankles.
Ironically, had the girl worn more revealing, filmy, and tighter
panties, they probably would have remained stuck to her upper calves
like a large rubber band.
So as Dan spanked, and as Nancy kicked, fluttered, pumped and twisted
her legs in response, the inevitable happened, her panties first
reached her ankles, and then one foot finally slipped free.
Unrestrained, Nancy's thighs periodically flew open, affording Dan
fleeting glimpses of parts of Nancy's anatomy which which are
traditionally viewed only by doctors and husbands. He noticed that
those parts were framed, rather than hidden, by Nancy's sparse young
pubic hair.
Having enjoyed a good eye full, he turned to the mother and feigned
embarrassment, “Nancy is inadvertently showing a bit much, please
hold her ankles together for modesty while I finish off her
punishment.”
Willingly, Wilma sat on the bed with her hip almost touching Dan's,
and then cradled Nancy's feet firmly her lap. With her torso pinned
firmly over the Chaplain's lap, her hands restrained, and her feet
immobilized by her mother, Nancy was totally helpless.
Using rapid, solid spanks, San started just above Nancy's knee
hollows and spanked his way up the backs of her already-reddened
thighs as Nancy bawled piteously. Once reaching the top of her
thighs, he gave her sit-spots special treatment, peppering them with
spanks that were distinctly harder than before. As he worked on
those sit-spots, her voice again climbed the register from a sob, a
squeal and then to a shriek. Finally she quieted, either from
exhaustion or acceptance.
He paused, “Nancy, I'm about to finish off your spanking. No more
smoking, and you will obey your parents from now on; promise?”
She blubbered, “Yes sir.”
Except for a series of juttering gasps, she took his final flurry of
almost full-force spanks silently. Her bottom bounced and wobbled
from the force. The adults kept her restrained, but her fight was
gone.
Suddenly the spanking was over. Nancy's bottom would heal in scant
days, but hopefully she had learned a lifelong lesson. Time would
tell.
Dan flipped down the girl's skirt and helped her to her feet.
Sobbing, she rubbed briefly through her skirt and then climbed into
her mother's lap for a last apology and a final cry. Dan always felt
awkward during these moments. Being human, his impulse was to
comfort the girl, but that wasn't his role.
As Chaplain Morse waited out the aftermath of Nancy's punishment, he
noticed something significant sitting on a bedside table; a pack of
lady's cigarettes and an ashtray fouled with lipstick-stained
cigarette butts. He licked his lips in anticipation.
With Nancy finally calmed down and back on her feet, Chaplain Morse
gave her a quick squeeze and then dismissed her after a few last
words of reinforcement. The girl left for her room, leaving her
panties forgotten on her parent's bedroom floor.
Chaplain Morse turned to Wilma Hutch, “Do you think that you set a
good example for your daughter?”
Wilma looked at him wide-eyed, “What do you mean?”
He indicated the evidence, “Does your husband know you smoke?”
She gasped when she saw where he was pointing. Why hadn't she hidden
the evidence?
“No,” she admitted, “he forbids it.”
She looked at him, pleading for understanding, “But things really
build up in my head when he's gone, smoking relieves the stress.”
Chaplain Morse spoke formally but not unkindly “Mrs Hutch, I want
you in my office at ten tomorrow for a serious discussion.
Meanwhile, think seriously about your parenting and your obedience to
your husband. I'll see you tomorrow.”
-------------------------
The Chaplain's assistant, Seaman Apprentice (SA) Mike Edwards was
sitting at his desk in the Chaplain's outer office when Wilma Hutch
showed up for her ten o’clock appointment. He knew enough about
his boss's activities to know that he had disciplined Mrs Hutch's
daughter yesterday. Mike had detected a pattern to the Chaplain's
activities, so he had a shrewd idea why the pretty navy wife was
here.
Only recently out of boot camp, Mike's white sailor suit had two tiny
stripes on the upper sleeve, denoting his lowly enlisted status.
When Wilma noticed an odd look on the young man's face as he escorted
her into his boss's presence, she put it off to the usual awkwardness
of a love-deprived sailor in the presence of a pretty woman. SA
Edwards closed the inner office door and returned to his desk.
The Chaplain wore his handsome navy uniform, with the two golden
stripes on his lower sleeves that showed his officer rank, full
lieutenant.
By now, Wilma guessed the outcome of her “talk” with the
Chaplain, and the thought gave her butterflies deep in her tummy.
She knew that the subject would be her smoking, and that Nancy's
recent spanking for smoking was partly her fault for setting a bad
example. Truthfully, her husband would spank her bottom beet red if
he discovered that she had smoked in his absence.
She wasn't disappointed! The Chaplain tore into her for “leading
her daughter into sin” and for disobeying her husband's orders. A
fair man, he listened carefully as Wilma detailed the pressures on
her while her husband was deployed. Once accustomed to regular
attentions from a loving husband, it's difficult for a still-youngish
woman like Wilma to sleep alone every night. This, and many other
pressures had led to her embracing an old smoking habit.
-------------------------
As they talked, Mike sat at his desk on the other side of the door.
The Chaplain's office was at the rear of the chapel. Frankly, that
office had certain design deficiencies. Mike's sharp young ears
could hear some of the conversation in the inner office. Wilma's
high voice carried well, but his boss's lower voice not so well.
Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) when lecturing someone like
Wilma, Chaplain Morse tended to lapse into the cadences of a
preacher, emphasizing key words. Thus Mike could decipher certain of
his boss's words, such as, “smoking...disobedience...
From this, and from previous experience, Mike suspected Mrs Hutch's
fate; his boss would spank her like he had spanked her daughter!
For her part, Wilma also guessed what was in her future. There were
whispers between Navy wives, so Wilma knew that “Chaplain Hunk”
tended to take wifely discipline matters into his own hands. As the
meeting continued, her stomach churned. Part of her was afraid, but
another part was excited: She had finally won the full (if only
temporary) attention of “Chaplain Hunk”!
As typical for Chaplain Morse, the meeting ended only when he had
piled so much guilt on Wilma that she bawled in despair. That's when
she agreed (as he knew she would) to be spanked by him. The chapel
couldn't hide the noise of a spanking, so it would happen in Wilma's
own bedroom...at 1300 hours that afternoon. That would give him time
to be gone before Nancy returned home from school.
As usual, the meeting ended with Chaplain Morse reciting a
sanctimonious prayer, begging for heavenly assistance to help Wilma
see “the error of her ways”. Then he dismissed her to “go home
and prepare for her punishment”. With mascara smeared and tears
still running, Wilma swept past the young assistant on her way out
the chapel door.
-------------------------
Wilma arrived home in time for a light lunch, which she hoped would
settle her churning gut. Chaplain Morse's instructions hadn't been
totally explicit. He hadn't directly said that she was to be spanked
naked, but she got his meaning clearly enough. Besides, friends of
hers had been through this, and she had secretly thrilled at their
stories.
He had explained, “A child's spanking is always non-consensual. Oh
that child may submit obediently and not argue, but basically a child
has no choice. For that and other good reasons, we respect that
child's modesty by removing only necessary clothing.”
Then he came to his real point: “An adult, on the other hand, must
consent to be spanked. No consent, no spanking! Therefore it makes
sense that an adult should consent and humble themselves 'all the
way', holding nothing back.”
So she knew what to do. She showered, dried herself thoroughly, and
then covered herself with a bathrobe, and then nervously waited the
last few minutes. Doubtless he would arrive precisely at 1300.
As she waited she wondered, did she do this on purpose? Perhaps
unconsciously? Was it guilt? It would have been easy to hide her
cigarettes and ashtray so that Chaplain Morse couldn't have
suspected, yet she hadn't. Why?
-------------------------
Sitting in his office, Dan Morse looked at his watch, 12:45. He
donned his billed hat and straightened himself to present a perfect
military appearance. As he left, he informed his assistant that he
would be gone “for a while”.
Watching him disappear out the door SA Edwards thought, “The viper
is about to strike again”. Being young and having been raised by
strict and Godly parents, Mike understood spankings better than he
would have preferred; but what happened after one of Chaplain Morse's
spankings? Still virgin and unschooled in sexual matters, he could
only guess what depraved things his boss must do to those poor Navy
wives in those vulnerable minutes after their spankings.
Everything was close on this navy base, so Dan walked the three
blocks to Wilma's house. With military regard for time, he knocked
on her door at precisely 1300. Navy housing is compact, so three
other wives noticed Dan. Two of them correctly guessed the
Chaplain's errand. Any doubt disappeared when Wilma's
across-the-street neighbor spied Wilma's bathrobe as she opened her
front door for the Chaplain. Yes, word would zip around the informal
wife’s network, but it was no big deal. Wilma was hardly the first
wife to be spanked by “Chaplain Hunk”. A few wives would feel
sorry for her, but most would envy her.
-------------------------
To set the proper mood, he sat Wilma down for another talk. After a
prayer, he escorted her into her bedroom and closed the door behind
them. Deliberately, he removed his hat and jacket. He was now
“dressed for action”.
He sat on the bed in the same position as before, looked at her
meaningfully, and patted his lap.
Wilma was so nervous that her teeth chattered. She felt like she
could pee, but had wisely emptied her bladder at 12:57. He hadn't
ordered her to, but she knew what was expected. She unbuttoned her
robe, and shyly shrugged it off.
Dan's manhood went from firm to painfully rigid the moment Wilma
emerged from her robe. She had firm breasts, shapely thighs, a flat
belly, and luxurious hair “down there”. To hide her front she
quickly bent over his lap, where she felt a distinct hardness against
her left hip. She thought, “he likes me!”.
Naturally, Wilma's bottom-high position allowed Dan to ogle her
posterior at close range. Wilma was no centerfold bunny, but to
Dan's eyes her bottom, hips and thighs certainly passed muster! From
behind, her waist seemed even smaller than from the front view.
Perhaps responding to some childhood memory, Wilma put her right hand
in the small of her back, offering it to be restrained. He accepted,
wrapping a big hand around her wrist.
Her face was in the mattress, which had already absorbed some tears,
but she turned her head to sob an apology for her behavior.
His response was surprisingly kind, “I appreciate that”, but then
said, “Ready?”
She nodded into the mattress squeaking something unintelligible.
He raised his hand, and brought it down rapidly to her right buttock.
Before she could gasp or squirm, he gave her left buttock the same
treatment.
Soon he found a brisk tempo. Despite herself, Wilma tried to squirm
under the rapidly increasing sting, but found that Dan had her torso
firmly pinned. Without realizing it, her legs became mobile. As her
feet levitated off the floor, her thighs opened, affording Dan new
views to ogle and new vistas to spank.
Dan was in his glory. The view of her roiling bottom and churning
thighs was a fantasy come true. Her throes hurt his rock-hard penis,
while simultaneously stimulating him pleasantly.
Wilma wailed piteously, eyes shedding genuine tears. Dan spanked her
thoroughly; buttocks, sit spots, backs and sides of thighs, and even
a few opportunistic shots to the inner thighs, but he didn't spank
her as hard as he had spanked Nancy. His goal for this spanking was
to trigger a much-needed emotional release in Wilma, to give her a
believable punishment, and to have some enjoyment for himself in the
process. He had no desire to spank anyone severely. Besides, if he
hoped for a return engagement, severity wouldn't be in his interest.
So finally it was over. Having been spanked to a bright pink hue in
all of the aforementioned areas Wilma sobbed loudly. He held the
distraught woman over his lap for several minutes, allowing her to
regain her senses. He spoke soft forgiving words, telling her that
her punishment was over.
This is when his fingers started wandering! As his digits wormed
their way towards their target, he spoke soothingly and logically.
“Not just anyone is allowed to do this, but I'm a professional and
you are totally safe with me. Nothing will happen to hurt you, so
just relax and let your brain carry you to some secret erotic place.
It's okay! It's just a massage, and you need this.”
At first she stiffened, but then her thighs relaxed and parted to
allow access. He dipped into her natural lubrication, and then
carried the magic stuff to her nub. For a single man, he showed
amazing talent. Soon she was gasping and moaning her way through her
first orgasm since her husband's deployment.
Still holding her down, he allowed her breathing to return to normal,
and then repeated her “massage”. This time she spread her thighs
wide and thrust her red bottom up towards him. Soon her buttocks
were plunging as she worked her way towards her second climax, her
movements stimulated Dan almost over the edge...almost. Finally
Wilma recovered from her second orgasm, and Dan helped her to her
feet. True to his personal code, he made no sexual advances towards
her, not even a single hug or kiss. Wilma knew what this must be
costing him, and she had heard whispers from other wives about what
to do about it.
Without asking for permission, she unzipped him, undid his belt, and
unbuttoned his pants.
She growled, “If it's okay for you to do me, then it's okay for me
to return the favor. This could get messy. You might wanna push
those pants down and pull up your shirt.” After spreading his
precom around the head of his impressive member, she expertly rubbed
his penis with her soft hands. Sooner than she expected, he
stiffened and gasped. Knowing the symptoms, she searched frantically
before grabbing a pair of her own panties from a bedside table, with
she used to catch the ensuing tsunami. Wilma's quick action saved
them from a sticky mess.
“I'll be right back,” she promised. True to her word, she
returned with a damp towel to clean him up. That done, she
reverently caressed his now-shriveled appendage. Before he could
object, she impulsively ran her tongue over his glans. Almost
instantly his tool again reported for duty. She grinned, “You gave
me two orgasms, so I owe you one more.” This time she favored him
with an expert tongue-twirling blow job. He dutifully tried to warn
her just before he exploded, but her only answer was “mmpfffff”.
Once the carnal deed was done, there was no cleanup necessary.
Just like after the spanking, Dan would allow no hugs or kisses. He
wanted no emotional complications to develop. He took liberties, but
never would he have actual intercourse with another man's wife.
Only a few minutes later, a fully uniformed Chaplain Dan Morse
marched out the front door of Wilma's house as if nothing had
happened. And in a way, nothing had, except that Wilma's stress
problem was alleviated, and she wouldn't be tempted to smoke again;
at least not soon.
Of course, after that session Chaplain Morse was pretty de-stressed
himself!
It was truly a win-win situation, both Wilma and the Chaplain had
profited from their private encounter.
Yes, most folks would think it wrong, but Wilma's smoking had been an
early symptom of a growing problem. Had it continued, her husband
might have come home to some serious Wilma-caused marriage-straining
problems. So now Wilma had avoided possible disaster and was back on
the right track, doing well in both her parental and wifely roles.
-------------------------
Chaplain Morse's unusual methods were generally known around the
base. Many people on the outside would think what he was doing was a
terrible thing, but in the insular confines of this little Navy
community those methods worked. The submarine service is known as
the “silent service” for a good reason: Instinctively, navy
people seldom talked directly among themselves about the Chaplain's
methods, and never with an outsider!
Some wives were totally honest with their husbands about any private
encounters they had had with the Chaplain, while others kept a
discrete “don't ask-don't tell” silence. To a man, every
deployed sailor on the base would prefer that his wife have a
harmless mini-fling with the trusted Chaplain rather than to lapse
into real infidelity. (But honestly, should the Chaplain visit their
own wife, not all of those sailors wanted to hear about it.) So even
though the situation was gray, arguably the Chaplain was hardly the
“viper” that Seaman Apprentice Edwards thought he was.
In fact, largely due to the Chaplain's disciplinary methods, this
little isolated submarine base had little of the teenage delinquency
that infests some navy communities, plus it had a tiny divorce rate.
-------------------------
Being new to the military, Seaman Apprentice Mike Edwards still had
much to learn about navy ways. He was a religious person, who sprang
from a religious family in a religious small southern town. His
life's ambition was to pastor a church. To this end, he had spent
one glorious year in a college Divinity program. Unfortunately,
financial pressures had forced him into the military. He planned to
save his Navy pay so that he could resume his Divinity studies and
eventually become an ordained minister. The Navy had assigned him
here to serve on the base staff, where he had initially been
delighted to land a job as the Chaplain's Assistant.
But Mike still had much to learn, and had found his job a big
disappointment. He thought that he would be an Assistant Pastor,
helping Chaplain Morse with his flock and helping him lead them to
the “true word”. He had also imagined himself having long
debates with the Chaplain on deep religious theory. Perhaps the man
would even see things his way! But as it happened, the Chaplain had
a network of lay leaders to help him with his flock and he saw the
mentoring of those leaders as an important jobs. Further, Chaplain
Morse had little desire to debate religion with a young man who had
barely started his religious education.
Like everywhere in the Navy, in the chapel the junior person did the
lowliest jobs. So rather than serving as an Assistant Pastor, Mike
served as the Chapel's toilet cleaner, receptionist, coffee maker,
and Janitor. He thought it all beneath him, and totally unfair.
That's part of the reason he disliked his boss. The other reason was
that Mike was brought up with a rigid moral code. So as he gradually
became aware of the Chaplain's unusual methods, he increasingly
disapproved, thinking, “something must be done about this”.
-------------------------
By a miscommunication, the Base Commander's wife appeared in the
chapel office to see the Chaplain at a time when he wasn't there. So
she talked to the nice young sailor to make a new appointment. Just
before she turned to leave, Seaman Apprentice Edwards nervously
cleared his throat and spoke up.
“Umm ma-am? Something's heavy on my heart. I've been praying
about taking it to the newspaper, but I think the Lord has brought
you here to hear me.”
Thinking of her husband's career, the lady's eyebrow's shot up,
“Newspaper?” She croaked, “We must never tell the newspaper
about military matters.” In a conspiratorial voice she explained,
“Military secrets you know, people go to military prison for that.”
He gulped, “Goodness ma-am, I hadn't thought of that. Truly, you
must have been sent here for a reason. Will you hear my story and
then advise me what to do?”
She stared owlishly, “Yes son, let's have it.”
“Chaplain Morse is a viper,” he wailed. “I don't know what
he's doing with our Navy wives, but surely it's something immoral.”
As he told everything he knew (which happily wasn't much) Mike failed
to notice the woman's mouth tighten into a small white line.
Yes, she knew about the Chaplain's methods. She didn't exactly
approve, but one couldn't argue with results, nor with the esteem
that everyone held for him. On the other hand, she couldn't have
this young man running around flapping his jaws.
But the Navy has ways of taking care of such problems.
“Leave this in my hands,” she said as she left the office, but
her mouth still formed that thin white line. “Stay in your
barracks this evening, we may...err...need more information.”
That evening, two husky sailors from Base Security appeared in Mike's
humble barracks. They had written orders for him, and plane
tickets. After ordering him to immediately pack his sea bag, they
drove him two hours to the closest commercial airport, and personally
put him on a plane. He had several more flights ahead of him over
the following days. At each terminal he was met by military security
and held incommunicado until his next flight.
-------------------------
Tired, confused and badly needing a shower, Seaman Apprentice Mike
Edwards finally landed on Guam, a dot of land in the middle of the
Pacific. There he again found himself assigned to base staff. This
time though, there was no interview with the base Chaplain.
Strangely, the man never seemed available to talk with him. Rather
than the chapel, he was assigned to the base sewer plant.
For the rest of his navy career Mike spit-shined the sewer plant's
brightly painted pump room and machinery. His boss was a grumpy,
grizzled Chief Machinist Mate whose vocabulary consisted mostly of
curse words, but who was obsessed with making Mike keep that sewer
plant as sparkling as a new ship's engine room.
Mike never did figure out what he did wrong.
It bears repeating: The Navy has ways of taking care of problems like
Mike. For that matter; if Chaplain Morse ever becomes a problem, the
Navy is capable of making him disappear also.
posted by guy at 6:18 PM
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