Turning Eighteen, Part Fifteen

We can’t spend Thanksgiving with my Mom,” I said. “I don’t even want to speak with her.”We were still lying on the couch together and I was still holding him. I know my voice sounded angry when I spoke. I couldn’t help that. I didn’t want to have anything to do with my mother.But I could feel myself tensing up as I spoke. Thinking about my Mom always did that to me. That’s funny, because I can’t say that she ever did anything terrible to me. I mean, she threw me out of the house a few times, but that was because I couldn’t get along with whatever boyfriend she had at the moment. I never liked any of them.I had told Mr. Mendes that my Mom used to make my life hell. But was that really true? She never beat me up or anything.But that didn't matter, I told myself. I still didn’t want to see her for Thanksgiving. And I was looking forward to telling her that—or I would be if I were speaking to her.“I don’t want to see her,” I repeated.Mr. Mendes didn’t say anything to that. He just nodded his head against my chest and kept his arms around me. “Fair enough,” he said. “We can go to my parents’ house.”I cringed. “Why can’t we just stay here—just you and me?” I asked. “And Tybalt,” I added, remembering the dog.I heard a smile in his voice as he answered. “If I don’t show up for at least part of Thanksgiving, I’ll hear it from now till Passover,” he said. “But don’t worry about it—we’ll figure something out.”Passover? Fuck, he had different holidays than me. I forgot about that. Not Thanksgiving, I mean. Everyone celebrated that. But I didn’t really know the Jewish holidays. I frowned a little and decided that I should mention that.“I don’t know much about Passover and stuff,” I told him.He shrugged. “Why would you? Don’t worry—you’ll pick it up easily enough when the time comes.”“Which one is your Christmas holiday?” I asked. “That’s Chanukah, right?”He chuckled at that. “Yeah, Chanukah’s the one we celebrate around Christmas-time. Passover is usually around Easter.”I held him a little tighter. I guess I wanted to reassure him that I still thought he was normal, even if he had weird holidays. “Is your sister going to be at your parents’ place for Thanksgiving?”“Yup,” he answered, nestling against my chest.“I don’t think I’d be good with her there,” I told him.“I’ll think you two will do fine together eventually,” he said. “My sister just needs to realize that you’re a grown man with your own talents and aspirations. Right now she’s seeing you as a kid.”A stupid kid, I added to myself. But I kept that to myself this time. I was beginning to believe that Mr. Mendes didn’t see me that way. He really believed that I was smart in my own way.I sighed, wondering if he was upset about the way I handled what his sister said. “You don’t seem angry with me over the whole ‘locking-myself-in-the-bathroom’ thing,” I said.He peered up at me. “You did ok, Jason, considering how thoughtless she was. I’m not upset with you.”I digested that—and then I gave him my best sexy smile. “Does that mean you think I earned a reward?” I asked.He raised his eyebrows at that and then sat up. “Stand up, kid,” he ordered.I grinned and just about jumped off of the couch to obey him.“Did you see where I kept the wooden spoon?” he asked.I nodded.“Go up and get it,” he told me, “and the lotion that’s right next to it.”I grinned again and ran upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. Ok, so that wasn’t very dignified of me. I didn’t care.I grabbed the spoon and the lotion and then raced back downstairs. I handed them over to him and held my breath.But he just placed them on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Come here,” he said.I stepped closer to him and he undid my jeans. Then he pulled me jeans and boxers down so that they were pooled around my ankles. I caught my breath as he patted his lap.I bent myself over his knees and stretched out so that I was lying on the couch. He shifted a little to get me comfortable and then rested his hand on my ass. I felt myself getting hard—and I could really feel it because of the way my dick was lodged against his leg.He must have felt my hard-on too, because I heard him chuckle again as he began to massage my backside. Meanwhile he rested his free hand on the small of my back. I liked it there—it was firm and comforting, and it made me feel like he had everything under control.He massaged me for a long while before he reached for the spoon. Then he brought the spoon down hard against me, catching me right where my ass meets my thighs. I caught my breath as he kept bringing the damn thing down again and again.God, it hurt. But it hurt in such a good way. Every stroke was firm and convincing, if that makes sense. It was like Mr. Mendes had a duty to do—a duty he really enjoyed—and he meant to make the most out of it.Even when he put the spoon down, he kept spanking me with his hand. I gasped—his hand hurt like hell after the spoon. I guess he was striking all my welts. But I took it without complaint.Soon he stopped spanking me so hard. His hand became almost gentle and then suddenly he was massaging the lotion into my skin. It felt cold and prickly against the heat of my backside.The massage hurt too, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to feel his hand there. I didn’t want him to stop.It’s weird, but the spanking must have cleared my head. I felt all relaxed by the time it was over. Even my hard-on was gone. I had other stuff to think about.I let my mind drift around. Eventually it came back to the whole family holiday thing. I sighed and twisted around a little so that I could look at Mr. Mendes.“I don’t really hate her,” I said.He gave me a questioning look as he patted and pinched my ass. “My sister?” he asked.I shook my head. “No,” I answered. “I mean, I don’t hate her either. But I was talking about my Mom. I don’t hate my mother.”He gave me a slow, sympathetic smile. “I know,” he said.I gave him a weird look as I straightened out again. He went back to massaging me. I enjoyed all that attention, but I wondered why he didn’t seem surprised by what I said.“How’d you know I didn’t hate her?” I asked.He gave a short laugh. “Because she’s your Mom,” he said.I rolled my eyes. “Do you think I should hate her?” I asked. “She’s a bitch sometimes.”He was quiet for a while before he answered. “No,” he said finally, patting me again. “I think you may as well accept the fact that you love her, even if she never figures out how to be a parent.”I thought about that. I hadn’t said that I loved her—I only said that I didn’t hate her. But I decided not to call him on that.“Maybe I’ll call her after all,” I said, acting nonchalant. “But I’m still not going to spend Thanksgiving with her. Let’s spend it with your folks instead. I might have to work part of the day—the diner doesn’t close—but I’ll probably have a late shift. So we can spend the afternoon with them.”Mr. Mendes gave me another firm pat. “Sounds good,” he said.I smiled. It’s funny—I couldn’t see him, but I knew that he had a satisfied look on his face. I let out a long, contented sigh as he started the massage up again. If I were a cat, I’d be purring my ass off.I knew that I’d be scared to death later when I thought back to this conversation. I’d be kicking myself for agreeing to spend the holiday with his parents.But so what? Right now it seemed like a perfect idea.