Monday, 21 July 2014

'Fireworks Follies' - Guest Fiction

Earlier this year I posted a story from ruteawakening. He's found his muse again and provided me with this delightful tale of a hot summer for one young man.

Bottle rockets. In the hands of spirited boys and teens the wicks of these aren't the only things that get set on fire!

I was visiting my former neighbors, a pair of twins, who had moved a year before to their grandparents' farm. 

We had purchased a boat load of bottle rockets with money we earned harvesting watermelons, shelling butter beans, and selling watermelons by the side of the road. 

The twins mom, Miss Becky, was not too crazy about the fireworks acquisition, but said yes because we had worked so hard. 

We fooled around with those munitions so much that it is a wonder that we all still have ten digits on both our hands and feet. 

The final straw occurred when we had a bottle rockets war and were shooting bottle rockets at each other.  We thought that we were out of sight and out of mind.  Unfortunately that was not the case. 

I could tell we were in big trouble.  The twins were sent to each of their bedrooms.  They had separate rooms.  Their older brother was out of town visiting relatives so I was sent to his room.  I could hear each twin receive their punishment in their respective room.


When Miss Becky came into my borrowed room, she asked me, "So Jacob, what should I do with you?" 

I was partly playing dumb and innocent and was a little confused by a parent so calmly asking such an open-ended question. 

"I don't know what you mean," I replied.

"Let me explain things to you,” she said.  “You never caused any serious trouble before.  You are smart and when we were neighbors you did a great job of helping the boys with their homework.  The twins have been asking me ever since we moved to have you stay up here with us.  I was very glad to do it because I believe you are a good influence for them.  However, today's decisions and actions are most unsatisfactory.  I must also add that your attempt at faking ignorance is quite disappointing.  By nine tonight, I need a decision from you.  I am sure you are aware of the punishment the twins received.  You can either take the same, or tomorrow morning we will go into town so you can catch a Greyhound bus to take you home.  The choice is yours.”  Miss Becky left the room to finish making dinner.

    Needless to say dinner was pleasant but rather quiet.  All three of us, the twins and I, did a great job of setting the table, clearing the table, and cleaning up the dishes.  The twins and their mom sat down in the living room to watch TV.  I went into the borrowed room of their older brother to think.


I thought first of all how I was too old to receive such a punishment.  I did like being given a choice.  I thought that was nice of Miss Becky.  The fireworks acquisition was my idea, and I had certainly helped talk Miss Becky into it by saying how careful we would be, but we weren't -- even before the bottle rockets war.  The bottle rockets war was my idea. (One thought I did not have was how bad a trip to the ER was when considering in the fact that the nearest resemblance of a hospital was over 30 miles away.) I also thought about the twins and how they were punished.  They didn’t get a choice. I thought about how if I went home, I would be acting like a big weasel in their eyes. 

I also thought about how in a sense they would be doubly punished if I were to be sent home in the morning.  Of course, I thought about how the twins would surely think I was a pu...."chicken".  Then I thought about my parents and all the questions they would have stored for me when I stepped off the Greyhound.  ‘How come you're back so soon?  Did you get bored?  Did you misbehave?  Do we need to call Miss Becky and find out from her?’  I made my decision and walked out into the living room.


"Miss Becky, we need to talk," I said, and it was not quite 7 p.m. because they were watching Wheel of Fortune in the central time zone.

Miss Becky ordered the twins to go outside and pull weeds in the garden.  They complied quickly and quietly.

"What's on your mind, Jacob?" Miss Becky asked.

"I've decided that I wanted to stay,” I informed her rather nervously.

"Well, good.  I was hoping you would say that.  We all have often said around here after we moved that you were the one that we missed the most.  I am glad to know our visit with you won't be cut short.  Well, Jacob, like my Daddy would say when you got a chore to do that you hate doing. The best thing to do is to get started. I'll meet you in brother's room."


I went into the room and just stood and probably shook some even as a tough (so I thought,) soon to be high school sophomore, who was nearly fifteen.  I had heard the twins' spankings.  They were loud, not the twins so much, but the sounds of their swats.  I was too distracted to count their swats.  I felt pretty confident that Miss Becky used some kind of paddle, but I could not tell. I doubted if her hand could make all that noise.

She walked into the room with the implement of doom.  It was a nicely varnished wood paddle.  I am guessing it was 12 to 18 inches in length and about two to three inches wide at the blade.  It looked like it was made to swing either two handed like when a school teacher or principal paddle a mischievous student, or for a mom to also use OTK on boys who make bad decisions.

"Jacob, I want you to understand that we are not doing this because I am mad or seeking revenge for anything that happened today.  I also don't blame you.  Each one of you made some terrible, dangerous decisions this afternoon.  You understand, Jacob?  You still want to go through with this?" Miss Becky asked.

"Yes.  Yes," I answered.

"Very well, then.  Take off your shirt.  Pull your jeans down to your knees. Now bend over the corner of the bed and then tuck your hands in up under the mattress where your hands are in between the mattress and box spring,” Miss Becky directed.

So there I was in my tighty whity Hanes with the white waistband sporting the red and black stripe in all their glory knowing that my butt was definitely going to match the red and hoping it would not match the black and blue.

"Jacob, it’s OK to cry, say ouch, and act like it hurts, but no cursing and no jumping around hoping for a miss,” Miss Becky informed me.


When I told my friends they thought I was crazy, but I swear that I could hear that thing whistle as it swing through the air.  It had no holes in it, thankfully.  I have no idea what kind of work it was made from, but I do know it was not made of Balsa wood, plywood, or pressboard. 

She smacked my butt hard with that paddle, which I nicknamed "The Humbler".  There was not a whole lot of variance with where it landed.  After swat four, my rear was burning.  When swat seven connected, the tears began to flow down my face.  “The Humbler’s” first swat took my breath away.  Numbers two through seven just kept connecting with that loud pop sound echoing throughout the room, and I would guess through the house.  I think she could either see the tears or hear me sniffling.  I was trying so hard not to bawl or cry out.

"Three more to go with the paddle," Miss Becky announced.

Those last three spanks I have to say were rather brilliantly delivered.  They all three landed about an inch or two lower from the first seven which both landed right in the center of my rear end delivering retribution to each cheek equally.  The last three nailed the sit spot perfectly and were administered super fast.  "Swat, swat, swat!  No more bottle rocket wars for you," “The Humbler" commanded.

I was in so much pain.  My rear was on fire.  I so wanted to pull my hands out from under the mattress but did not want to have the "Humbler" address that behavior as well.

"Jacob, I am going to put the paddle away and let's all hope we don't have to see this again during the rest of your visit.  I will be right back," Miss Becky said.


 While she was gone, I removed my hands from under the mattress and stood where I could feel the AC air flowing from one of the registers on the floor.  She stunned me with what she said when she got back.

"Jacob, the twins agreed to take their hand spanking at bedtime.  Do you wish to do the same?" Miss Becky asked me.

I had a definite WTF look on my face so Miss Becky went on to explain. "Sometimes for really bad behavior, a hand spanking occurs after the paddling.  You can either take your hand spanking now, at bedtime, or in the morning.” 

I was still trying to process the spanking customs of Miss Becky.  Less than two minutes ago, I thought I was done after number ten.  The smart thing to say would have been, “At bedtime, Miss Becky.”

Instead --- I said, “Don’t you think I am too old to be hand spanked?” That was not smart.

Miss Becky replied, “You’re exactly right, Jacob.” 

Then, she grabbed my ear.  I never had that done to me before.  My arm was held as I was taken to the CP area or over the knee of my parents but never the ear pulling.  I was ear pulled into Miss Becky’s (and her spouse’s room.  He was a truck driver and away a lot) and learned that she kept “The Humbler” tucked under their mattress at the foot of her bed. I struggled to keep up during the walk of doom for my jeans were still at half-mast around my knees.

With one hand holding my ear, she deftly retrieved what had to be the still warm “Humbler” from its resting place and guided me over her knee, which I complied for I had no intention of starting high school known as “One Ear Jake”.   She held onto my ear and blistered my Hanes brief rear end while stating, “I have been patient.  I will not tolerate backtalk plus such dangerous stupidity from someone who certainly knows better.”

I replied, “Miss Becky, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  Please let go of my ear.  I’ll put my hands on the floor and keep them there.  Please let go of my ear.” 

I was no stranger to being over a spanker’s knee.  I placed my hand on the floor.  While I was doing that, Miss Becky adjusted herself so that she had me in the “leg lock” position.  I was trapped and knew to keep my hands on the floor. 

She landed “The Humbler” right at the underwear line where the underwear leg ends and bare skin begins at least fifteen times. I was seriously crying and sobbing now. She laid “The Humber” down and continued with a hand spanking.  The hand spanks were rapid and landed almost totally on the thighs.  I swear I saw some of my tears hit her carpet.

She had a rhythm going that matched what I called her ‘Spank Chant’, “No more backtalk.  No more stupid fireworks.”  She landed a hand spank with each syllable.  She repeated her chant at least three times.  Then she stopped.

 I was still crying and apologizing for everything:  fireworks, bottle rocket wars, not setting a good example, the trouble in the Mideast, the Cubans high jacking the planes to Miami, etc.

“I’m sorry, too, Jacob.  Please get up and lie down on the bed.”

 I laid down on the bed on my belly hoping the ceiling fan would help cool down my sizzling buttocks.  She could have cooked breakfast on my butt cheeks. 

Miss Becky went into her bathroom and came back with a washcloth and wiped my face.  “I’m going outside to check on the twins.  You stay right here.”


I imagine their garden had never possessed such a minimal amount of weeds after that evening.  I heard the three of them coming in the back door.  Miss Becky was telling them to grab their showers and then change into their PJ’s so everyone could relax for the evening.

 One of the twins had to ask, “What about Jacob?”

Miss Becky answered, “He’s fine.  He’ll get his shower later.”

The same twin had to ask, “Are we getting spanked while Jacob’s in the shower?”

She replied, “If it’s OK with you, I think we’ve had enough of that around here for today. So will you two just take your showers, put on your PJ’s, relax, and then go to bed?”

They both replied, “Yes, ma’am!”

Miss Becky returned to find me holding the wash cloth.  I did not know what to do with it.  It had done its job cleaning up my face.  I was quite tempted to put it on my rear, but that seemed inappropriate.

“Jacob, if you want to go home now, I don’t blame you, and I’ll explain to the twins what happened and how it’s my fault not yours.”

I asked, “What do you mean?”

Miss Becky explained, “I over reacted to your hand spanking question.  I realize now that you were not meaning to be a smart aleck or backtalk me. You just asked a bad question at a bad time.”

 “Miss Becky, may I tell you something…maybe you’ll think we’re even after you hear it.  If you don’t, can the punishment wait until the morning?  I’m really hurting.”

Miss Becky replied, “Go ahead, Jacob.”

 “Well, two nights ago while everybody was outside during the cookout, I came inside to use the restroom.  When I got outside, you asked me, ‘What happened?’, and I told you I broke a light bulb. Well, that was not a light bulb.  I lit off a black cat firecracker in the kitchen sink.”

“Thank, you, Jacob, for telling me that.  I feel better, and we’re even as you say.  You do realize now that if you told the truth then that today may have been avoided.”  Miss Becky grabbed my and hand slapped the top of it pretty stoutly. “Jacob, before you go setting off any more fireworks inside of my house will you please remember that the heater and stove run off of propane gas?”

Miss Becky shook her head.  “Jacob, I still think you’re a good guy, but you and those fireworks are too dangerous.  Now, go gather up all the fireworks that you and the twins have and bring them to me.  I think we’ve had enough fireworks around here.  Don’t you?”

“Yes ma’am.”  I started to walk and realized that I still had my jeans around my ankles.  I fixed that problem.  I went into the spare room to put my shirt back on.  In five minutes, all remaining fireworks were turned into Miss Becky. 


We got to set off the rest of the stash two nights before I left under her husband’s, Mr. Ronnie’s, supervision. The next day we went to Shipwreck Island, a water park with plenty of cool water to relieve my still red backside.  The twins and I arrived in our bathing suits and left in our bathing suits.  We had no desire to use Shipwreck Island’s locker rooms so other patrons could see our crimson tushies.

From Spankart. Miss Becky lights some fireworks of her own.


  1. A very evocative tale of a poor decision by a young teen and it's aftermath. I also like the rationalization of the reasons his "choice" and his decision to accept his punishment. Worthy of an appearance in the series about a certain "Shop"... ;-)