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#Post#: 20651--------------------------------------------------
18 December 2020 - I"ll Be Home for Christmas Chapter Thre
e
By: Jack Date: December 17, 2020, 5:11 pm
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HTML https://i.ibb.co/HF1yRwd/Illbehometitle2.jpg
HTML https://ibb.co/TvpGJjL[/center]
Chapter Three
I knew from the start that making this trip to take my nephew to
my brother’s house for Christmas was going to be a challenge. I
thought the challenge was going to be making my stops on time,
hoping we didn’t run into bad weather, or have to violate any
driving laws to make it on time. I never expected the biggest
challenge would be not killing Gavin before we got there.
Honestly, Gavin and my cousin Rory (which makes him Gav’s first
cousin once removed or something like that) are great kids, and
I enjoy spending time with them. I’m not ready for kids of my
own, but it’s nice to hang out with them from time to time and
just enjoy some simpler things.
A truck is not a great place to do that though. I’d talked to
Gavin a bit about being teammates on this trip when I first made
the offer to him. It was really kind of hollow, though. With a
little luck, I’d be able to drop him off Wednesday night, so it
was only going to be about a five day trip. Of course, there’s
no way he could help drive, and even teaching him to use my
Garmin would take more time than it would be worth.
I guess, to be honest, I’d mostly been thinking of Gavin as
cargo on this trip - maybe companionship. I just hadn’t thought
he’d be a pest.
Maybe I was wrong to spank him Saturday morning. No, I wasn’t
wrong. There’s no question he deserved it - he and I had very
specifically talked about what he needed to do, he’d promised me
he’d have it done, and he needed to understand that not
following instructions, not keeping your word, has consequences.
But was spanking a twelve-year old boy the best way to do that?
Was that the reason he was being a little pest?
I don’t think it was. Despite the fact that his little butt had
been deep red before I let him up, his attitude had seemed fine
by the time he’d cleaned up and dressed.
He’d been a little surprised that I’d been in my car, as we
loaded his bags, but this close to home, it was a lot easier to
park the truck for a bit and get around. As we were going
through the McDonald’s drive-thru for Egg McMuffins, coffee for
me and soda for him, he’d asked if he’d ruined our schedule. He
actually seemed worried, so I reassured him we were okay, and
explained about how the law worked for trucker’s schedules. We
could drive up to eleven hours a day, but only seventy hours in
eight days, but since I was taking Christmas off, and since I’d
just taken a day off in Baltimore on Thursday, then only driven
six hours yesterday, we actually had almost all the time I could
drive to get there, which should be plenty of time.
He’d been listening and asking questions, so I’d gone on to
explain about daily working maximums after the day had started,
and about mandatory breaks.
By that time, they had our breakfast ready, and we were too busy
eating to talk more, until we got to where I’d parked my truck.
We got his stuff loaded, I showed him how to do a pre-trip
inspection, then we got in.
I could tell he was a little… underwhelmed by the
accommodations. I’d warned him things would be a little snug,
but it honestly had everything I needed: a good sound system, a
nice bed, room to store my things, a microwave, toaster oven,
and refrigerator, a TV, a bottle for when I couldn’t find a rest
area, an auxiliary generator so I could keep the air, heat, and
electricity running when I was stopped… Not exactly all the
comforts of home, but it got me where I needed to be.
The first leg of our journey was to Indianapolis - a relatively
short three hundred miles I normally figured about fifty miles
an hour, which accounted for breaks and gas stops, allowed for
traffic and detours, and padded the run time just in case.
Once we were on the road, we just talked for a while. I was
more than interested in finding out how school had been going
for him, since I knew he’d run into a few troubles for a bit.
Of course, most of the names meant nothing to me, but he was
very energetic about it all, and it was nice just to listen and
know he’d been doing mostly okay.
After a while, as the conversation died away, I put on a
playlist with music I thought he wouldn’t mind too much - mostly
classic rock from the 90s. He almost immediately put on his
headphones and started playing some game, so I figured we were
okay.
The drive to Indianapolis was smooth. About the worst problem
was that I hadn’t really thought of feeding the kid while we
were on the road. He managed to dig around and find enough to
keep him from starving though. Well, that might have been the
worst. That, or when he realized he was going to have to pee in
a bottle.
Indianapolis was easy. The warehouse wasn’t busy on a Saturday
afternoon, and they managed to get us unloaded in less than an
hour. Then across town was just a drop and hook, and it
actually took more time to pick up the paperwork than the load.
I was pretty sure we were safe on the hours for the trip, but I
also knew it was better to leave some in case you really needed
them, so I thought we’d stop just outside of St. Louis and get
an early start in the morning. I showed Gavin how the Garmin
worked, then called ahead to a travel plaza where I’d stopped
many times before to reserve a slip for us. When I told him it
had a Denny’s, he mumbled something about a sizzlin skillet,
which I took as his nod of approval.
When we arrived, I told him we were going to shower first. He
was a bit reluctant. At first I thought it was because he’d
already showered that morning. I explained to him that you can
never tell when the showers will be busy, or how long you’d have
to wait, so it was best to get it done early, instead of waiting
for the morning. He still seemed recalcitrant. Once I dragged
him inside, and he saw the showers were actually private rooms,
rather like nice hotel baths, I realized it must have been
shyness, because he perked right up.
I was a bit worried about the sleeping arrangements, but he
seemed okay with it. I did make sure to relieve my tensions in
the shower, since it wouldn’t be appropriate with him in bed
with me, no matter how soundly he might sleep. I had a brief
thought about mentioning that to him. I thought back to that
morning, and he’d looked like he was adolescent, but not very
far along. After just a couple of moments of reflection, I
decided that wasn’t a can of worms I was going to open.
After dinner, we were both pretty tired. We undressed,
stretched out on the bed, and I picked up my book. He plugged
his phone in to charge and went back to his game. I’d been a
bit worried about him keeping me up, but apparently our long day
had caught up with him, and he was asleep before I was ready to
even turn out my reading light.
My alarm was set for five the next morning. Even though it was
Sunday, I wanted to get on schedule, which usually meant getting
through the city before traffic started.
I wanted to wake Gavin before we left, so he could use the
bathroom to wash up. As I was dressing, I was debating if I
should do the pre-trip inspection or go do my own stuff, then
wake him and do the inspection while he cleaned up. He derailed
the argument by saying ‘good morning’.
He was a bit slow moving and groggy, but he was dressed and
inside before I was finished. I bought a couple of sausage dogs
for my breakfast, as well as some extra drinks and snack foods
for him, then made sure he had money to get breakfast for
himself. I was planning on letting him join me at the pump, but
he actually made it out before I was finished with the pre-trip.
“I almost left my backpack in the bathroom,” he admitted
sheepishly.
“Why did you take your backpack in the bathroom?”
“I wanted to brush my teeth,” he replied.
“You can’t just put your toothbrush in your pocket?”
He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, just
enough to stick his tongue out at me.
Live and learn I guess.
Even after he washed his breakfast down with a Coke, he wasn’t
exactly wide awake, and he just watched videos for a while. By
the time the sun came up, he’d snapped out of it, and we talked
for a while, mostly about places I’d been, and the good and bad
points to being a trucker. After a while, the conversation
lagged, and he retreated back to his games.
We made Kansas City by 10:30. We talked a bit as I explained
that our drop was in Kansas, but then we’d have to back track
for a pick up in Missouri, which he thought was awfully
interesting, and he spent some effort watching for the state
line.
We left Kansas City behind us by 1pm, and Gavin discovered
something that many people have learned before him: Kansas,
especially in the winter, can be boring. I’m not going to say
that the first sight you see, after leaving Kansas City, is the
Rockies, but it sure seems that way sometimes. At least his
different devices seemed to keep him distracted, and I was used
to this kind of drive.
The best thing about it was, even though the six hundred mile
trip was scheduled to take twelve hours, the speed limit was 70
mph, and I had no trouble opening it up on that stretch of road.
No, things did go pretty smoothly at first. It was Monday when
things started going bad.
Everything started about the same way they had before, with a
half awake Gavin taking his backpack into the bathroom to get
‘cleaned up and presentable’. He took a little longer this
time, but he was waiting at the fuel island when I pulled up.
The real problem came about 9:30 that morning, when we pulled
into Limon, CO and found a wreck that blocked the I-70, Hwy 24
interchange. A truck had turned over, and the entire thing was
closed while they did clean up. There wasn’t an access road at
that point. They hadn’t even managed to open a lane when we
reached it, and we were stuck there for over an hour. That used
up all the extra time I’d built in for my dock appointment.
Worse, Gavin’s phone beeped at him, and he couldn’t find his
charger. I could hardly help him look, but there weren’t that
many places to check anyway.
“It must have fallen out of my backpack when I was getting
cleaned up.”
“Why did you even take your backpack in this morning?” I asked,
feeling like I was repeating myself.
“I needed my brush and stuff, too,” he countered weakly.
Yeah, that doesn’t seem like the end of the world, but it didn’t
take me long to consider how, every time he and I had run out of
things to discuss, he’d retreated to his gizmos. I let him try
my chargers, but they didn’t fit. I suggested he try the
charger for his tablet, and he assured me it did fit… which is
why he only had the one. I assured him that travel plazas all
carried chargers, so we’d get him a new one that evening, which
didn’t do much about the now.
We managed to talk for a while, until he finally gave in to his
urges and logged onto his tablet.
Part of it was probably my fault. He’d left about five percent
power on his phone, in case of emergencies, but his tablet was
running low as well, by the time we reached Denver. The fact
that traffic was heavy for early afternoon, there was
construction, and I missed my dock time did nothing to make my
temper more even. His repeated hints that we could stop and get
him a new charger then, rather than waiting weren’t exactly
helping.
At least I could put him in the back and let him watch TV while
we were waiting for the next dock to open. I did feel a bit
better after double checking my schedule and being sure we could
make Boise without me having to do anything illegal.
On the other hand, as comfortable as my driver’s seat was, I
would have preferred to stretch out while we waited for them to
unload. I just felt that giving the two of us a bit of
separation was worth a slight bit of discomfort, so I leaned my
seat back after fetching my book, and tried hard to ignore his
occasional murmured complaint.
I guess I wasn’t trying hard enough, because, after the third
complaint I heard of ‘not fair’, I sat my book down, remembered
how compliant he’d been Saturday morning after I’d finished
warming his bu‍tt, and tried to think of something in the
truck that would make a good paddle.
Then I stopped myself.
What had I been? It’s hard to remember exactly. Was I twelve,
the same age as Gavin was now? I thought of him standing before
me, nak‍ed, and pictured my own body when it looked much
the same. Had that actually been at Christmas? It must have
been a holiday, because I remember it started when Mitch was
home for a holiday, so it could have been. Considering Mitch is
nearly eight years older than me, I could very well have been
twelve.
Whatever the time, I do remember that I was kind of put out
because Mitch decided - quite rudely, in my opinion - that he’d
rather spend time with his old friends than with his (pesky)
little brother. I made my feelings about that known often and
rather loudly. I think the real problem was, after Dad let me
know my opinion had been heard and logged, I continued to make
it known.
Would you believe it was a shock to me when he calmly strolled
over, took me by the shoulder, and escorted me to my room.
Yes, it definitely was Christmas, because I remember what he
said.
“Your brother’s going to be home for Christmas for several
weeks. I happen to know he plans on spending some of that time
with you. At least he will, if you don’t make him hate the
idea. In the meantime, I think I’ve talked with you before
about the fact that the world doesn’t revolve around you. I
think what we need here is an attitude adjustment. Get your
pants down and bring me the paddle.”
I guess I’d kind of known where he was headed. I mean, it’s not
like Dad took me to my room often, but I still felt the need to
point out exactly how unfair it was.
“Unless you think you’re ready for the strap.”
My mouth shut and I turned to shuffle towards my dresser, making
sure to drag my feet, so he knew how mad I was.
I mean, the paddle was bad, but….
I’d never actually felt the strap. The thing is… Well, you have
to understand that, with Mitch being eight years older than me,
he was also huge in my mind. Not as big as Dad - I mean, he
still isn’t as big as Dad, since Dad’s a bit stockier than us.
Mitch was still huge to me, though, to the point that it kind of
surprises me now when I see him, and I’m reminded that we’re
actually the same height.
That didn’t matter, though. What did matter was those dim
memories from my childhood, when I was maybe five or six years
old, and my big brother - my huge, brave, muscular big brother
was next door, in his bedroom, being reduced to a howling,
mewling mess by Dad and that strap.
I hadn’t felt it yet, and I had no desire to start now.
I pulled the paddle from my underwear drawer and took it back to
Dad. He took it quietly when I handed it to him, then just
stared at me. I sighed, undid my belt and fly, and shoved my
jeans down past my knees. I looked up at Dad, but he did that
damned eyebrow thing, so I sighed, shoved my boxers down to join
them, and laid myself across his lap.
He rested his hand on my butt. It was so big that it nearly
covered both cheeks at once. I relaxed a bit, not feeling the
paddle, and expecting he was going to chew me out a bit, but his
hand came up and smacked back down.
Dad always started the same way - slow and methodical. Even
though his hand was big enough to cover my whole rear, he always
kind of raised his fingers and mostly used the palm to cover one
cheek at a time, which not only really stung, but it made the
pain kind of sink in and last a while.
I never saw much use in trying to tough it out. We both knew
that Dad’s hand was a lot tougher than my butt. It didn’t take
long at all before I was yelping and ouching and begging him to
stop.
He didn’t, of course.
Slow and methodical didn’t last long. Every smack landed a bit
faster, and I’m sure his hand must have looked like a blur as my
butt must have looked like it was about to catch fire. I don’t
know when I went from yelping to sobbing to really crying, but
the tears were flowing down my face as I stared at the floor,
and my hands shot behind me. Dad’s large, hard hand slapped
down on my small, tender hand, which didn’t feel any better than
him smacking my butt had, and which only made me cry louder, but
didn’t stop me from trying to protect my aching bu‍tt.
Dad quit as suddenly as he began, and for a long moment, I just
laid there and cried.
As I slowly got myself under control, Dad patted my rear.
“Like you’ve been told, David, your brother is a young man now.
He loves you, and he wants to spend time with you, but he has
friends of his own, and plans of his own. Your mother and I
love you, and we enjoy you being around… Most of the time. What
you need to understand is, the world doesn’t revolve around you,
and no one wants to put up with your constant whining and
complaining because you don’t get your way. Do you understand
that now?”
“Y-y-yes, sir,” I rushed to assure him.
“And you understand what happens when you can’t control
yourself?”
“Yes, sir,” I said again, nodding.
“Good, and you know what’s going to happen if we have to have
this talk again anytime soon?”
To make the answer clear, that paddle suddenly rested on my
a‍ss.
“I do, Dad. I do.”
“Good,” he replied, lifting the paddle just long enough to give
me one smack with it.
I moaned, and took a deep breath to start crying again, but
found myself on my feet again so suddenly I stumbled.
“Very good,” he said again. “Why don’t you put this up then?”
He handed me the paddle.
I wasn’t feeling at all modest right then, and took the paddle
from him without thought of my exposure.
“Now, I think your mom said something about baking sugar
cookies. Why don’t you put that away, clean yourself up, and
come help?”
I nodded, grateful that I’d apparently been forgiven.
I shook my head a bit. Had I really been grateful? Was it just
that Dad stopped when he did? Was I grateful that I’d been
corrected and was forgiven? Or was I really just resentful?
It’s easy to remember things, but harder to really remember
feelings that had gone with them.
If I gave Gavin an attitude adjustment now, would he understand?
Would it help him do better in the future? Or would it just
make me feel better?
“Uncle Dave?” Gavin suddenly interrupted me.
Preparing myself for another complaint, debating if making
myself feel better might be reason enough, I responded.
“Yes, Gavin?”
“I found my charger.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Where was it?”
“I guess it fell back behind the bed.”
“I thought you said you looked there,” was all I could think to
say.
“I thought I had. I thought I’d unplugged it when I got up this
morning. I guess I just unplugged the phone from it, and the
cord kind of worked its way under the mattress, I guess when I
was getting up.”
I felt like pointing out that if he’d really looked, he could
have saved us both a lot of hard time. Before I could open my
mouth, Gavin had something else to say.
“Sorry, Uncle Dave,” he added sheepishly.
It was getting hard to sustain my ire, and it suddenly got
harder when my phone chimed. A quick look showed a text that
they’d finished the unloading, and we could pull up, shut the
doors, and get our paperwork.
“Good timing, I guess,” I told him. “We’re about ready to get
back on the road.”
#Post#: 20652--------------------------------------------------
Re: 18 December 2020 - I"ll Be Home for Christmas Chapter
Three
By: Zyngaru Date: December 17, 2020, 8:31 pm
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Thank you Jack for another wonderful chapter.
It brings back a few memories. I drove Tractor-Trailers for a
few years, in-between Charter Bus jobs. I prefer sleeping in
motels to truck sleeper berths. I also don't care to drive
vehicles that bend in the middle. Hahahahaa. So Motorcoaches
fit me better. But this story does bring back the memories of
being on the road, driving across country, back and forth,
delivering loads here and there.
So far. Gavin is being a normal 12 year old. But I can see how
he would get on an adults nerves, especially an adult that
doesn't have children. Even when boys are being good they can
still grate on your nerves. Especially in confined quarters.
So, sooner or later Gavin is going to get that spanking. We
know he is going to both hate it and love it at the same time.
I'm thinking in a situation where another boy about his age is
close enough to know what is happening and Gavin knows he is
listening to it, if not watching it.
Yep. Look out Gavin. It's coming, you just don't know when.
#Post#: 20670--------------------------------------------------
Re: 18 December 2020 - I"ll Be Home for Christmas Chapter
Three
By: Adric Date: December 19, 2020, 2:11 pm
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Great story part with a very realistic feel. As I was reading
this, I thought of two ways a trip like this could go. In one
of those ways Gavin is a pest and Dave fusses at him and leaves
it at that. Gavin never really realizes how much of a pest he
really was and he messes up Dave's schedule and otherwise makes
Dave wish he wern't there. So the next time an opportunity like
this could come along, it doesn't come because Dave just doesn't
want to put up with it. Gavin loses out without ever knowing he
lost out or why.
The other way it could go is the way it did, that Dave spells
out his expectations and makes it clear to Gavin that they are
important - important enough to spank him for it if that's what
it takes to drive home the importance. Gavin gets the message,
accepts the spanking, and keeps his pest impulses under control
enough that Dave is glad to have him along on some future trip.
So it seems okay to me that Dave is willing to spank. If Gavin
really gets the message then he has done both himself and Dave a
favor.
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