Chapter 6

Ronald:

Beatrice nearly sucked all of the oxygen out of the room, gasping, then wailed, "OMIGAAAWD!" and covered her face -- and started bawling.

Alan looked at me and asked, "What happened? Why is Aunt Bea crying?"

"I think she's happy."

"But..."

"You know, Alan, it's a woman thing. I really don't understand, either." I beckoned Beatrice and she ran to me and tried to squeeze me to death, bawling her eyes out. I looked down at Alan. "Do YOU like chow mein?"

"It's okay, I guess."

"You like something better, then."

"Yes. Hot dogs. From the place where they bring them out to your car. I like the ones with the chili stuff on them."

"Okay, maybe we'd better get hot dogs so Aunt Bea can get this whole thing under control," I advised.

"Yay!"

I chuckled. The worst was over -- we'd bonded.

Beatrice took ten minutes to settle down some, then we took her car to the drive-in, because it already had a car seat in it. I drove and Beatrice would have blown me if there hadn't been a five-year-old in the back seat. As it was, she was all over me. We were at the drive-in, waiting on our order when Alan announced, "Okay, I can see that she's happy. I still don't know why she was crying, though." Beatrice was draped over the center console and I had my hand under her blouse mauling a tit.

"Like I said, Alan -- it's a woman thing. They cry when they're sad and they cry when they're happy and it's confusing to us guys."

"Yeah." I watched Alan nod in agreement in the rearview mirror. After a moment, he added, "I hope they hurry. I'm hungry."

Beatrice insisted that we take the food home to eat it -- and since she knew thirty-seven times what I did about child rearing, I didn't argue. Hot dogs don't taste that bad cold. She nuked mine, but it turned out that Alan was better off with a cooled one, anyway. We were at the dinner table when Alan tried out 'Uncle Ron.' "So, Uncle Ron, are you going to stay until Momma comes home?"

"I'm staying all night," I informed him.

"With Aunt Bea?"

"Yes."

"Where are you gonna sleep? On the couch?"

"With Aunt Bea."

"Oh."

There was some freighting to that 'Oh.' I decided to investigate. "Has that happened before?"

"Once, a long time ago. Aunt Bea made funny noises late at night."

I flicked a glance at Beatrice, who was shading toward pink. "Uh ... huh..."

Alan was frowning, thinking hard. "Uncle Ron, have you been here before? After I went to bed?"

"Why?"

"Aunt Bea made those kind of sounds..."

"Recently?" I supplied.

"Uh huh. Then Momma played with her buzzing thing."

I covered my mouth. "Her buzzing thing?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know the significance of the buzzing thing?"

"Sig..."

"Do you know what it does?"

"No. Momma flops around and makes faces and grunts and groans when she plays with it, then she seems happy," Alan said seriously, "But I don't know if playing with it makes her happy or she's happy because she can put it away..."

It took me a minute to get control of my face. "Uh, Alan, you probably shouldn't say anything to Momma about that."

"Why?"

"It's a private thing, like going to the bathroom. Momma wouldn't want to know you've seen her play with the buzzing thing."

Alan turned to Beatrice. "Aunt Bea?"

"Ron is right, Honey. You really shouldn't watch Momma -- and you probably shouldn't tell her you did."

"Okay." Alan turned to me and I knew we were back to the original question.

"Yes, I was here the other night," I admitted. Alan nodded sagely, but the question was there on his face. "You're a little young to..." I began, then remembered earlier in the evening. "No, you're not, actually. We were practicing making babies. It doesn't work every time, but it's a lot of fun."

Alan's eyes popped and his mouth opened, but he nodded understanding -- and suddenly, the subject was closed -- I thought. But as I turned away, I got, "Uncle Ron?"

"Yes?"

"Are you just practicing making babies with Aunt Bea, or..."

I put on my best poker face. Beatrice said, "Alan, Honey, finish your dinner..."

But Alan wasn't going to be put off that easily. I could lie to him, but he was going to find out, anyway, and then I would be a liar... "Yes, Alan. I'm going to practice with your momma. In fact, I already have, once."

Alan absorbed this. "If it works and I get a little brother or sister, will you be my daddy then?"

I thought about it. "It isn't automatic, like it would be for your brother or sister, but if we decided together that that's what we wanted, then yes."

He sat there, looking serious. "I don't know who my daddy is."

"You don't know who your FATHER is," I corrected him. "Your father put you in your momma. But you can pick your daddy -- he's the guy who helps you grow up. If things go okay, maybe we can agree that I can be your daddy."

"Aren't a father and a daddy the same thing?"

"Lots of times," I agreed. "When a father stays around and helps a momma and helps his kids grow up, then they're one in the same. But your father was never a daddy -- he hasn't been here for you. Understand?"

"Uh huh."

"Let's give it a while and see what happens and then you can tell me what you want."

"Okay." At that point, the subject WAS over -- except for Beatrice sniffling.

Alan went to bed at eight-thirty -- and Beatrice and I were 'practicing making babies' by nine. If he was awake for it he had the good sense to pretend otherwise when Beatrice went to check on him. Bridgette came in around one and crawled into bed with us and went right to sleep.

As a result, Bridgette was totally unprepared for cross-examination by her son at breakfast.

"Momma, did you and Uncle Ron make a baby yet?" Alan asked innocently.

"WHAAAT?!?" Bridgette went bug-eyed.

I looked at Beatrice. "Fix it. Bring your sister up to date." Bridgette was hyperventilating and Alan was looking upset. "Alan, making babies is a subject you never sneak up on Momma with. Women take that kind of thing VERY seriously!"

"What's going on?" Bridgette yelped.

"You!" I turned on her. "Sit down and shut up and your sister will brief you! In the meantime, you're upsetting your son!"

"Ah..." She licked her lips. "Okay."

"Alan surprised us last night," Beatrice told her sister carefully. "It seems that he knows a lot more about what goes on that we thought he did. We ended up having a far-ranging discussion. We actually ended up covering the birds and the bees to a certain extent."

"Uncle Ron and Aunt Bea are gonna make babies," Alan announced. "Uncle Ron said so."

Bridgette turned big eyes on me and I added, "And since your sister insists upon sharing..."

Bridgette blinked in incomprehension for a moment, then her eyes doubled in size and she sucked in a breath. "OMIGAAAAWD!"

"She's gonna cry, isn't she?" Alan queried.

"You're catching on, Kid."

After the breakfast hysteria, we had breakfast -- and then Alan and I left the kitchen and went to watch cartoons so the women could babble at one another in peace. After about forty-five minutes, Bridgette came in and tugged me by the wrist -- and the look in her eye was unmistakable. I refused to budge, however.

"Ron!" she whined.

"No. You don't tell ME when -- I tell YOU when!" I admonished.

"B-but..."

"No buts. YOU told ME who needed to be in charge around here. Well, now that I'm aware of all of the ins and outs, you get to suck it up!"

"I want to suck it up..." Bridgette replied, her expression suddenly sultry.

"Papa spank!"

Alan eyed me. "What... ?"

"Momma wants to practice making babies."

"Oh." Alan shifted his gaze to his mother, who blushed.

"You don't always give them what they want. If you do, they walk on you," I advised. "It's not like I don't want to do it -- it's a LOT of fun -- but somebody has to be in control. We've agreed that somebody is me, so Momma has to wait."

"But Ron!"

"You want to stop -- right now!" I warned.

"Please!"

"Fine."

"Let's go."

"Uh uh."

"But you said..."

"Right here."

Bridgette gasped. "Ron! Alan is right there!"

"Yup. I warned you!"

"I know, but I never..."

"Thought?" I finished for her. "That's right -- you weren't thinking. Who told me how you are? Did you think I wasn't listening?" I turned to Alan. "What does she do when you don't listen to her when she says no and go on and on about something?"

"Well, a bunch of things," Alan replied.

"In general, though, she punishes you, right? She makes you do something you don't want to do or takes something away or does something else so you understand that you don't get your way and know better than to cross her next time, right?"

"Uh huh."

"Well, there are a bunch of things, like you said. I'm about to punish Momma for going on and on about things."

"What are you going to do? You aren't going to hit her, are you?"

"No. It's an option, but there are better ways. Does Momma let you see her naked?" I asked.

"No."

"Sometimes, the way to punish someone is to give them what they want -- in a way that they don't want it. Your momma and I are going to practice making babies -- right here, in front of you, so you can see it. Momma is going to be VERY embarrassed -- which is her punishment. Does that make sense?"

Alan frowned, but he nodded. I turned to Bridgette and said, "Get naked."

"But..."

I grabbed her by the wrist and went eyeball to eyeball with her. "Are we taking this to the next level?"

Bridgette stood there with her mouth open for a moment, then closed it. "No."

"Do what I tell you then."

"Ron..." Beatrice started up.

"Do you want to kneel up next to her?"

"No." Beatrice shook her head.

"Be very, very quiet..."

Bridgette was undressing, her eyes on her son. I turned to him. "There is nothing wrong with being naked -- even in front of your own son. But your momma was taught otherwise. Similarly, there is nothing wrong with you seeing her practice making babies -- but it is a very private thing for her and she will feel very vulnerable -- and therefore, she will be uncomfortable. I don't have to tell you that practicing making babies is a very basic thing, do I? Something everybody does when they get to be grownups? It's how you got here, after all. It's how I got here and how Momma got here and Aunt Bea ... Somebody made babies and those babies grew up to be us."

Alan nodded, watching his mother step out of her panties. "Uh huh."

"Pretty, isn't she?"

"Yeah."

"I think so, too. Making babies is a lot of fun -- but Momma is upset, so she's going to have trouble enjoying herself now. That's part of her punishment. I'm going to try to work around it so that she DOES enjoy herself, which will embarrass and humiliate her -- which is just as good if not a better punishment."

Alan frowned. "I still don't understand."

"Did you ever pester Momma for ice cream until she gave you too much ice cream and made you eat it until you got a headache and maybe got sick?" I asked.

"Not ice cream..."

"Something else?"

"Fire balls. She made me eat six at the same time."