"Dillon, would you like to explain why there is a hole in our kitchen wall?" Gary asked, as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen
"What hole?" I asked, trying to act innocent.
"Do not play me for a fool, young man. Explain to me why there is a hole in the kitchen wall!" he almost shouted at me as he stood pointing at the wall, for some reason I hadn't noticed that he had started clearing the decorations from the kitchen, but, then, it's been two days.
I still tried to act as if I hadn't known about it, and I gave him a surprised look, and went over to where the hole was, and looked at it. "You'd better tell the landlord we've got termites," I told him. Before I knew it, I was facing the kitchen corner, with a handprint across both cheeks.
"Alright, Brat! Stand there until you are ready to tell me how that hole got there!" he said, as he left me standing there. I could hear him mumbling stuff to himself, as he cleaned up the room. "Termites, my aunt fanny! I can't believe this; eyes forward, young man!" He said `young man;' he's only a few years older than me, I thought, as I focused my eyes on the Navaho tan paint. He went past me, into the living room, and I heard him piddling around, doing this and that.
"Gaaaaaaary, " I whined at him, after an hour (ok, five minutes). I hated standing in the corner.
"Are you ready to talk?" he asked; I only nodded. I knew this was not going to end well; he hated it when I throw temper fits, as he calls them. He came over and led me to the chair in the living room. As he sat down, he pulled me down onto his lap. I snuggled close to him, with one arm around his neck, playing with the little curl at the nap of his neck, and picking at the hem of his t-shirt with the other hand.. "Talk or go stand in your corner," he told me.
"It was your fault," I told him. Yep, that's it; always try to blame the top. I thought, as I looked into his eyes, he is not buying this.
"How was it my fault? He asked, tapping my noise.
"Because you didn't call and let me know you were going to be late," I told him, trying not to let my bottom lip quiver.
"I didn't have time," he told me.
"You couldn't have had David call me?" I told him. "I bet David called Allen to tell him." I was pulling at straws.
"I don't know about that, but next time, I will call, or I'll have David do it," he said. I let out a deep breath, and laid my head on his shoulder, hoping he would forget about the wall. "However," Damn! He didn't, "that doesn't explain the wall," he said, turning my face to see him.
"I got pissed because you were late, and I threw a can of pears at it," I told him.
"I thought so," he said, as he shifted me a little. "We've talked about your little fits, and throwing things, have we not?" he asked. I only nodded. "Up; sweats down," he told me, as he helped me off his lap. I just looked at him. "Do you need help?" he asked. I shook my head this time. "You, my boy, are in for a very serious paddling," he told me, as he waited for me to lower my sweats. "Besides the tantrum, you lied to me," he said. I could feel the tears sting my eyes, as I lowered my sweats. Gary never paddled me before on the bare butt; he usually just pulled my pants tight, and went at it; but this time, I knew I was in for it.
Once my sweats were down below my knees, Gary helped me lay across his lap. When he had me in position, held me down, then I felt him shift. He puts the paddle in the magazine pocket on the side of the chair, when he's going to use it. Usually, it lives in a box on the top shelf over the closet in the hall. I took a deep breath, when he laid the paddle on my ass. "Why the paddle?" he asked me.
"Because I threw a temper fit, and they are not allowed," I told him. When he lifted the paddle off my butt, my hand shot back. "Move your hand," he ordered.
"But why bare?" I asked; I was almost in tears.
His arm came under my chest and he helped me up. Then he moved over, and I slid down between him and the arm of the chair. "Because I've paddled you before, over your pants, and it's not sinking in that `I will not allow temper fits," He told me.
"But I don't want you to," I told him. I know it sounded childish, even to me; but, hell, it was my ass on the roaster.
"You lost that choice, love," he told me. As his arms wrapped around me, he held me tight, and let me get used to the idea of my first paddling on the bare butt. "You ready?" He asked. I shook my head `no.' He turned a little, so that we were somewhat face-to-face, my legs were still over his legs. He gently rubbed his thumb over my cheek, to wipe away the tears that fell.
I took a deep breath, and sat back. "Ready," I told him; well, I thought I was. Gary helped me across his lap again. This time he didn't wait; he just started to paddle. After the first few smacks, I gave up on being quiet, and started to let him know that it hurt. It only took a few smacks, for me to realize that he was serious, and he wanted my temper fits to come to a stop. "Gary, stop please! I'm sorry!" I yelled, after each smack; but he didn't. This lesson was going to be learned, even if he had to burn it into my butt. I did my best to get my ass out of the way, but he just pulled me closer to him.
I finally gave up on him stopping, and went limp over his lap. I felt his one leg go up a bit, and the other one go down. The last of the swats I got was the hardest; two were on the under curve of my butt, and the last two were on my thighs. I screamed, and tried my best to crawl off his lap, when they landed. When the swats stopped falling, I didn't try to get up; I just laid there and cried. His fingers gently scratched up and down my back. When I was able to, I slid down to the floor. My weight rested on my hip; then I laid my head on his knee. I was crying so hard, I was unable to catch my breath.
I felt Gary slide down to the floor with me. His arms came around me, and pulled me close to him. Then he gently pushed my head to his shoulder."Shhh, it's ok," I heard him tell me, as he rocked me. "Babe, come on, calm down; easy breath; that's it, deep breaths; let it out slow; come on, you can do it," he whispered. My body shook with each sob, as his hand gently rubbed up and down my back. But with his gentle voice along with the rubbing, I started to settle down. Now, all I did was hiccup and sniff. "Come on, don't suck snot; blow," Gary said, as he handed me tissues. I blew my nose, and then buried my face into his shoulder. "I love you; you know that, right?" he told me, and I nodded my head into his shoulder. His lips touched my cheek. "It's alright, love; we're alright," he told me. We sat there . . . I don't know how long. Gary just gently rocked me, and gave me butterfly kisses on the side of my face, then he would gently rub the side of my face, or gently rub my head; his hands never went to my ass to rub it. I let out a deep sigh.
I got a kiss to the nose. "Better?" he asked; I nodded. "Up; my legs are asleep," he said, as he pushed me a little. It took me a few minutes to stand, and then I helped him up off the floor. "Go wash your face, love," he told me. I did, and it felt good to have a warm washcloth over my face. I tried to sit on the pot, but jumped up! It's not going to happen to soon, I thought, as I leaned against the sink. I tilted my head back, and laid the washcloth over my eyes. I just stayed there for a minute. When my eyes were no longer felt puffy, I headed back into the kitchen to help finish cleaning up the decorations.
"Oh, Gary! No, please no! I won't lie anymore!" I whined, when I saw him standing with his little brown bottle and a spoon. I opened my mouth, when his eyebrows went up. That stuff was the nastiest stuff I ever tasted. No wonder he never swears or lies; his mom had an antidote that worked better than any my mom tried. I stood there for five minute with that shit in my mouth. Gary watched the clock, and when it was exactly five minutes, he let me spit it out; but I could not rinse. I even tried to scrape the stuff off my tongue with my teeth, but it did no good; I could still taste it.
I saw Gary shaking his head. "You, my boy, have a week to fix it, and it comes out of your money," he said; I just looked at him. "Problem?" He asked. I just shook my head. I have seen my dad fix holes in walls before; it could not be that much trouble. I can go by the construction site, and see if I can get a scrap piece of sheetrock.
After Gary went back to work, I tried to fix the hole, but it was a pain, since the hole was between the studs. I had to replace a section of sheetrock. I got pissed, and grabbed the first thing I could lay my hand on I spun around, but when my butt hit the table, I gasped, and put the saltshaker down. `Maybe the lesson was learned,' I thought. I gave up, and asked one of the guys that live in the complex if he had a friend he could get a hold of to help me, and for fifty bucks the hole got fixed. When I told Gary I was going to have to repaint the whole wall to get it to match, he decided to repaint the entire kitchen, which we did together on his next day off; he paid for the paint.
Note to other Brats: If you are going to throw something in a fit of temper, make sure the thing you throw will break and not what it hits.