My Son, the Soldier

Some time ago, my Mario came home for a visit, While he apparently appeared normal, there was an undertone about him I could not place.
Now as his mother in all but by birth, I know Mario. Something was wrong, I knew it, don't ask me how, I simply knew it.

Over the next few hours and days I pressed him to tell me what he had on his mind, I did not feel that threatening him with a spanking would be the right thing to do, although in hind sight it would have worked.

I had to take the boys back to school  and Mario came with me, we spoke very little until after dropping the boys at the hostel. It was late and we went to a restaurant for a meal. During the meal we spoke and Mario although reticent at first began to open up. It was only after I explained to him that for the previous 4 nights I had spent practically the whole night soothing him and calming him down as the horror of the experience tormented him afresh.

Mario started to explain, saying the dreams had started a little while after he had de-mobilized, following a stint in the army reserves.
Combat situations play havoc on a man, some men change totally, become morose, withdrawn. Others retreat into an almost catatonic state, The veteran hospitals can offer some help but often the person has to endure the horror of combat alone.

I tried to soothe him but Mario remained adamant he carried some of the blame because he volunteered for some of the more dangerous missions, it was one of these missions that was responsible for his current dilemma. 
The patrol had been ambushed and in the first few seconds had lost half the men, a very large enemy force had trapped them in a narrow valley and although friendly air cover had been called in the result of the fire fight had left 15 dead and 4 wounded. Mario and a friend were the only ones to come out unhurt.

I asked him if he had gone for any help, the reply was no, it would make him look a coward. the following mission they had gone in to action all guns blazing and wiped out the whole camp. Going through the debris, he came across a young boy, about 12 years old, the child had taken a round in the belly and was bleeding out, Mario called for a medic but their own medic had other problems and could not spare the time to care for a wounded boy. Mario sat with him until he died. I told Mario he needed to forgive himself and that I thought a spanking from me may just be what he needed to forgive himself.

"Mom you can't be serious,  am a grown man, surely I am too old for that." I reminded him of the prank he pulled and got away with, how the guilt of not being punished gnawed at him until he came clean. How good he felt after he received his spanking for the prank.He was quiet after that, I watched him, the tell-tale biting of his lip, told me he was weighing up the pros and cons of a spanking.


I think from here on I had better let Mario tell the story.

The question is often asked, when exactly does a boy become a man.? To be fair I think that it depends solely on the man concerned. As we get older, we find that society expects us to conform to certain norms and behavioural patterns.

We finish school and find that we now have a new set of criteria to attain, new goals to score and above all, we now are adults so we have to behave like adults. Parental care and guidance largely end and suddenly you have to cope with what ever comes your way.

Some like me have grown up away from the parental home; others lived in their parents’ home. With my birth parents, I mostly did as I pleased, mostly because they were old and no longer had the drive or energy to cope with a mischievous teenager, my dad was ill and my mother devoted her time to him; however, that changed when I came to live with mom. She is not my real mother, she is a friend of my mothers who took me in and showed me a different aspect of what a mother is. Her name is Marta Van Rensburg, a divorced mother of two, her own children and me, her adopted son. My name is Mario.

I first met mom shortly before my 14^th birthday when my mother volunteered my services around her house. We became friends and forged a bond that today several years later and many spankings later keeps’ us together as mother and son.

The first spanking I received from mom was for smoking, I think it was a spur of the moment spanking, mom saw me cigarette in hand and promptly proceeded to blister my butt using a 2” wide wooden ruler she had in her VW combi. She dragged me to the car, opened the side sliding door and bent me over while she, using that ruler, blistered my butt. It was the hardest spanking I had received until that time and I promised never to touch a cigarette again. Like all children who promise not to be naughty ever again I did and my mom repeated the lesson, only the second time round mom not only laid into me using her hairbrush, she followed up the spanking with a whipping using switches cut from the willow tree growing near the river bank. It was a classic outdoor spanking and after that lesson I never touched a cigarette again I figured that if mom cared enough for me so that she spanked me then she was someone very special. When I moved in with her and her sons David and Grant, I started calling her mom, initially at her request, although I had no problem honouring her in this manner. When she got my parents to make her my legal guardian she really did become mom to me.

When I finished school I like all young men in South Africa received my call up to the army. Two years is a long time to be away from home, so I really missed her and my two brothers.

I did get to come home for breaks and once prior to deployment to the border, (The border between SWA, now Namibia, and Angola) for a seven day pass.

I also went home following deployment in the border. My first day home, we spent reacquainting and as I spent time with mom and my brothers, I felt the pressure of the previous 18 months growing and getting worse.

I think mom noticed the stress I was suffering but to her credit, she did not mention it while my brothers were in earshot. The first two days of the leave went by at breakneck speed; the nights however were a different matter. The Friday afternoon mom asked me to accompany her to drive to Pietersburg, around 100 miles away. It was the boys’ weekend to visit their dad and after we dropped them off mom and I headed for home. We stopped in Tzaneen, a town about half way home for dinner. It was during dinner that mom at last asked me what had happened to me while I was away.

I tried to fob it off saying it was nothing, mom countered by telling me not to lie to her as she knew when I lied.

“Do you remember the stunt you pulled in matric, the one with Beverly’s brassiere and knickers? Do you remember what I said when you finally owned up to me.”

“Mom was that before or after you gave me a hiding for doing it? If you mean before, it was something along the lines of; you deserve this and I will continue punishing you as long as you misbehave. If it was after then I was more than likely crying too much to really listen to you”.

“It was after son, and maybe I should smack you for not listening to your mother.” She smiled and reached out to grip my hand, she squeezed me as she said, “My darling I am your mother and even though I did not give birth to you, I know you better than you could possibly know or understand. So son I know you have been having nightmares, I have seen your sheets in the morning, and I have sat and held your hand whilst you have been tossing and turning as you relived whatever horror you went through.

Little by little, bit by bit, mom coaxed me until I broke down and began to tell her what I had seen and done. I pushed my plate away from me and asked mom if I could have a beer, she smiled, signalled the waiter and ordered the beer. I sat there and for the next hour unburdened my heart to this wonderful woman who had become so very dear to me. Mom would have made a damn good shrink as she said very little but slowed me to do the talking and I think that began the healing process. We finished our meal and drove home. As we drove home, mom continued to prompt me as she sensed the flow of healing slow down. That night for the first time, the dreams were muted and although I threshed around in my bed, I did not wake in a cold sweat. Unbeknown to me my mom had heard me again and had sat for much of the night holding my hand. As the vivid terror passed I eventually slept deeply and satisfyingly.

The next morning as mom and I ate breakfast she mentioned that I had had a bad dream again and that she felt that in order for me to complete the healing process I had to forgive myself for the things I had done, even though those actions were done under orders.

I was at a loss “Mom I am not sure what you mean. It is all very well to say that I must forgive myself, but to do it is more difficult.”

“Do you remember what it took when you pulled that prank at school, how you were going around feeling guilty because you had done something wrong, you knew it was wrong and until you got punished for it you did not rest”

“Yes but that was because I knew what you would say when you found out, and when you did in fact find out I got a good hiding. If memory serves me I could not sit comfortably for nearly a week, my butt was so damn sore”

“You had better watch your mouth young man; you know I don’t allow profanity in this home.”

“Sorry mom I didn’t mean anything by it, are you saying I should get a spanking in order to make me feel better?”

“What I am saying is that maybe, you will feel better with yourself if you get to be a little boy even if it is only while you are over mommies lap getting your fanny blistered. You always feel better once you have had a good cry. You know mom has forgiven you and that once you do it is all over. Until you forgive yourself, you will not be able to go on from here and the dreams and nightmares will not go away, they will continue to torment you. You lack direction, my love and guidance will give you that direction again. I will always be here to give that direction and my hairbrush will help you learn the lesson it teaches.”

I trembled with a sense of dread, I was now sure, that mom was going to blister my fanny, and the fact that I had to ask was a new development.

Mom said that she would leave it up to me, she would not bring it up again but if I wanted, I could come to her bedroom after 8pm tonight and take it from there.

The rest of the morning went by in a flash; it seemed no sooner had we packed away the breakfast dishes that we were in the kitchen preparing lunch. I had spent most of the morning out in the garden enjoying the solitude and the tranquillity, mom wisely left me to my own devices and as I pondered on what we discussed I saw the logic in mom’s argument. It had been a long time since I last was spanked and it did seem as though I had no direction anymore.  A spanking would give me direction as I would have to reluctantly ask for it, then subject myself to going over mom’s lap, allowing her to remove my trousers and underwear and then she would hit me repeatedly with what ever implement she chose until I broke down and cried. The rest of the day passed in pretty much the same vein and as we, prepared dinner there seemed to be a sombre mood in the house.

I was unable to eat much and pushed my food around in my plate, mom ate and then together we washed up the dishes, “Mario, I am going to my room now I feel like reading, if you need me you only have to ask.”

With that, she got up and walked though the house to her room leaving me to my thoughts, her invitation uppermost in my mind.

For the next 30 minutes, I sat at the table, rooted unable to move. All my doubts, insecurities came to the fore. Eventually I got up and slowly, as a condemned man walked through the house until I came to my moms closed bedroom door. Taking a deep breath I knocked and heard mom say, “Mario, you may come in, the door is not locked” I opened the door and walked in, mom was sat in an easy chair near her bed. This room was the safest room in the house. This room was also the place where mom would take us to spank land, where she lovingly taught us wayward kids to mind her.

I walked up to her and kneeling in front of her said, “mmom, I am so sorry, I feel so very lost, all I want is to be your boy again, I don’t know what I need but I trust you to know” having said that I broke down and cried. She gripped my head in her small hand and forced me to look into her eyes. “In a few moments we are going to deal with your behaviour these past 18 months. Once we have done that you will feel better within your self. You have told me much about what you did, is there anything you missed. That you haven’t told me about?”

Her eyes seemed to penetrate though my soul, searching out all my secrets, haltingly I spilled the beans about the days and nights spent drunk and the Russian roulette played with a .38 special revolver. Mom took in this news quite calmly, although her eyes opened wide as I told how we played with a revolver loaded with one round, how we spun the chamber and put the barrel to our head and pulled the trigger, then drank some more. Her lips pursed then when I was done mom said, “Stand up.” She got up and walked to the bed, where sitting down she said that since I had grown so much she felt that my going over her lap would be too difficult for her to manage. “I want you to lie over my legs with your upper body on the bed and your hands under your chest.” As I began to lower myself onto her lap, she stopped me, “do you normally get a spanking with your trousers up?” “No mom, I don’t” “Well then what are you waiting for then Get those trousers around your ankles and be quick about it.”

I stood up and quickly removed the offending garments, however for my forgetfulness SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK to back of my exposed thighs. It stung a foretaste of what was to come.

As I lay down again, ensuring I complied with all the instructions I received I shivered in anticipation and a small pang of fear. I do not mean fear in the sense of been afraid of mom, but fear in that this spanking promised to be a very memorable one. This was not to punish me, for I had done nothing wrong. It was a spanking to purge all the demons accumulated, in the theatre of war along with all its horrors, which was why I was scared.

Mom raised her hand high and brought it down with a crisp flick of her wrist, SMACK it landed in the middle of my butt, not overly hard it none the less stung. I grunted as the sting from that first spank rose to a point where it began to get uncomfortable. Just as it peaked SMACK, a second spank landed directly on top of the first one, it too peaked after around 7 or 8 seconds. The skin near those two spanks began to change colour, turning slightly pink. SMACK SMACK, two more landed in quick succession, one below and the second above the initial two spanks. The sting grew until it now reached the point where it became painful and I groaned in dismay.

SMACK SMACK SMACK, three more in succession, this time all three landed on one cheek as mom began to branch out. SMACK SMACK SMACK. All on the opposite cheek.   Now I became more vocal and said “Oww mom it hurts…” “OF course it hurts son, it is a spanking, and it is supposed to hurt.”

“Mom, please I don’t want this spanking. Please don’t spank me so hard.” “You know when I spank you Mario that I and I alone decide how hard or how long you get spanked. You know you need this so hold on my boy, it is about to get much worse.”

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK. A flurry of spanks rained down on my upturned bottom. Now I began to groan and yelp. The discomfort had reached and past the stage where it was bearable and I began to sniff and cry out with each spank. Mom concentrated on that special place, just below my ass proper, sometimes landing three or four hard spanks on the same spot. This magnified the effect and added to the sensitivity of that area caused me to rapidly lose concentration and the resolve to remain stoic.

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK

By now, my ass had reached a bright shade of pink, the surface of my butt reached boiling point and I think you could have fried an egg on the surface. With out realising it my right hand had tried to cover my butt in a vain attempt to protect it. “Move that hand young man,” said mom as she immediately began to spank my thighs. SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK.

This fresh attack had a dramatic reaction, as mom slapped the back of my legs, the pain caused me to arch my back, the nerve endings sensitive, and pain quickly caused sobs to burst forth. With out missing a beat mom grabbed the wayward hand and gripping it tightly forced it and my arm up into the small of my back. At the same time mom opened her legs and allowed my torso to drop between them. This allowed her to entrap my legs pinning me further.

The spanking slowed and then stopped; looking back at mom, I saw her reach for her trusty brush. I gasped when I saw it and cried out to her appealing to her love for me. “Mom, please not with the brush, mom, I’m sorry, please I’ll be good I promise. I don’t need this hard a spanking so please mom I’m begging you.”

Mom looked at me and with a pat of the brush on my already sore bottom said to me, “Mario when a boy says he doesn’t need a good spanking, he invariably needs a much harder spanking than he thinks he needs. Hold on my boy this is really going to hurt”. With that, she raised her hand up high and the spanking recommenced CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK. This new volley of spanks really sent me into overdrive but there was nowhere for me to go for mom had secured me. I yelled at the pain, my lungs expelling the air inside them as my screech of utter shock changed into a keening wail by the third spank. Recognisable speech changed into a blubbering interspersed with great gut wrenching sobs that seemed to come from deep within my psyche. No longer did I care about anything other than the burning sensation spreading across the lower reaches of my ass. CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK and another volley sent me even further into spank land. It was as if a thousand pins were pricking my skin. Now I howled and literally screamed as the burning intensified even more. Mom put down the brush for that volley was the last and the hardest.

For an hour, I lay and sobbed, the pain causing barriers erected by war to come crashing down. My butt had begun to turn blue in colour, mom sat there, my upper body supported by the bed but my lower body supported by her lap. She touched my shoulder and very gently said to me, “Mario, can you hear me?” In between crying and sniffing, it took me about 30 seconds before I could formulate and answer. “Yes mommy, I’m sorry mommy, please mommy don’t smack me anymore.” “Mario, I’m not going to spank you anymore, certainly not tonight. I want you to try get up now. I know you are sore and mom is sorry she had to spank you so hard tonight”

In slow stages I managed to get up, I grabbed my butt trying to hold it tenderly for the pain was still so great that tears flowed freely as I stood up. Mom got me to lie down again, first pulling the sheets so that nothing could further hurt me. She left to the bathroom returning with a bottle of arnica cream.

When mom returned she found me where she left me, my bottom already beginning to turn purple. I flinched as mom covered my butt with the cream; my butt throbbed with every heartbeat, my breathing ragged and shallow as I struggled to recover from the spanking I had just received. Great gut wrenching sobs emanated from the pit of my stomach. Once mom finished spreading cream all over my butt, she scooted to the top of my bed and sat against the headboard. She urged me into her arms and sat there gently rocking me, as very exhausted; I slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep.