A Matter of Trust

Good Morning.  I know this is being posted later than usual and it is a retread but there is a reason.  Being pretty busy last week, I saved Sunday for writing a post and new story.  Life had a different plan - I was down and out yesterday and slept most of the day.  Ergo, a retread this am.  Feeling more like myself and I'll try not to procrastinate this week and get a story penned earlier.

Me and the boys walked in the door after practice.  My husband, Jake was supposed to be home but, as usual, he wasn’t.  Jake was a Police Detective and to say his hours were erratic would be putting it mildly.  We live in the suburbs but Jake works in the city – a relatively large metropolitan area and usually does shift work.  When he’s on a case, sixteen hours a shift is not unheard of.  He’s exhausted by the time he does get home.  The boys and I will get a hello kiss and a cursory how are things going if we happen to be around, and then he’s off to bed. Most times, he’ll set an alarm that allows him enough time to grab a bite to eat, get showered, dressed and back into the city for his next shift.

                                                                               

He’s an absent dad and husband but it is something I knew about him when we married, so to complain that he led me astray would be a colossal lie.  And, as you can imagine, being the family of a police detective, lying is not allowed – ever.

I’m Wendy Thomas and I want you to know right up front that I love my husband.  I don’t love his work or his obsession with work, but it is what it is.  I’ve learned to live with it and I’ve tried to pass that onto the boys.  They’re not always accepting of the fact that their dad doesn’t attend baseball games, or school plays or even parent-teacher conferences.  Don’t get me wrong, they love him and he loves them it’s only that he’s not around much. 

Because of that, if there is a problem, they tend to come to me for help.  I’m there.  Besides, at six feet tall and one hundred ninety pounds of pure muscle, Jake can be intimidating, But oh, how handsome he is in his ‘blues’ which h e doesn’t get to wear often.  Anyway, I digress. Through the years, he has developed this “Don’t Fuck With Me”  manner in his voice, language, and overall demeanor. It comes in handy when dealing with criminals.   He’ll usually leave that at the door, but sometimes it runs over into his private life.  He can appear unapproachable, especially to young boys, so the boys have developed the habit of loving their dad from afar.

Not too long ago, Bobby, our oldest who is 13, came home with a black eye. Apparently, one of the boys in his class is a bully and intimidates by size and manner.  Bobby is afraid of him and so far has put up with his bullying, however, that day he decided to fight back – thus the black eye.  I wanted to go to the principal, the boys’ parents, etc. etc. etc.  All things adults think solves the problem.  It doesn’t – usually it just sets up the victim to receive more bullying. 

Jack came home as I was helping Bobby with his homework.  Needless to say, Jack immediately noticed Bobby’s black eye and asked if there was a problem.  I remained silent but Bobby said he got hit with a hockey stick at practice.  No stranger to black eyes or hits with a hockey stick, Jack got this funny look on his face, knowing that wasn’t the truth.  He let it go for the moment and Bobby picked up his homework and went to his room.

I wasn’t so lucky.  I was fixing Jack something to eat when he started giving me the third degree.  I know why he’s so successful in getting confessions. He continued to grill me and after hemming and hawing but telling no outright lies, I finally broke.  I knew the consequences for lying and was told that after the boys were in bed, we had a date in the basement. 

Once the cat was out of the bag, I told him the whole story including how I planned to handle it. He said he’d handle the problem and not to worry he wouldn’t  be taking Bobby out to the garage to give him a boxing lesson and tell him to go punch the bully in the mouth.  I laughed because he knew me so well –  that’s exactly how I thought he would handle it.

After he had dinner, he went up to Bobby’s room.  He never let on that I had spilled the beans but was able to get Bobby to open up to him.  He gave him a possible solution and made Bobby promise that he would never divulge to me the details of the solution.

After he had dealt with Bobby’s problem, he devoted his attention to me.  I was lectured on how lying was so disrespectful and that he was hurt that I didn’t trust him enough to tell him the problem.  He asked how the boys were going to learn to trust him if I couldn’t.  I was crying before the first spank fell.  Because it was true, I was keeping him from his sons.  My behavior gave the boys the impression that he was the bully in our house and only I was to be trusted to solve problems.

I don’t know if that spanking was any worse than any of the others he had given me, I only know I felt it more than any other spanking.  I was an inconsolable mess when he let me up and sat me on his knee.  My bottom was throbbing and hurt like hell but not as much as my heart.  I begged his forgiveness for hurting him.  This big burly man who could intimidate criminals with one look was whispering tender words in my ear and telling me there was nothing to forgive.  Could I forgive myself – I had been undermining him for years?

“ I deserve a much harder spanking.”

  “Maybe next time,” he answered.

 I promised myself that although I knew I would be spanked again, it would never be for lying to him or because of undermining him to our boys.

Whatever solution Jack gave to Bobby worked.  I heard them talking about it the next day and Bobby said it worked like a charm.  Bobby never told me anything other than he had followed his Dad’s solution and there was no longer a problem with the bully.

I noticed a new closeness between Bobby and Jack after that and whatever remaining marks I sported on my behind were well worth the price.

See you later for more Aimless Rambling.