"Up Under Me"

"Why are you always running 'up under' me?" From the time I was just a toddling sprout to the time I entered high school I was intimately familiar with that phrase. I was the youngest, and by default the weakest, of a home bounding and bustling with all boys. And because of that, and perhaps some mischievous antagonism perpetrated upon the older guys, I was more inclined than they to take refuge at the hip of momma. Momma would reach out with her loving arm, wrap it around my shoulder, pull me in close and in a voice ‘as sweet as the punch’ she’d say, “Why are you always ‘up under’ me?” Ah sweet security!

“Up under” is where I gained the protective custody of the loving arms of momma. It didn’t matter to momma if she had emotional burdens to carry or financial rocks weighing her down. She was a willful participant. Besides, all that stuff was all a part of being momma. And it didn’t matter to me that those loving arms were the arms that whooped my ass on occasion. Because after a time of withdrawal, it wasn’t long before momma found me right back “up under” her seeking refuge, finding security and gaining protective custody. “Up under” momma was where I was most assured of love.


In a wild, weird, origami-like twisting of the universe, time inverted my childhood and I was blessed with as many daughters as momma had sons. And for each, in their own season (seasons now long past), I was able to provide refuge and security – and protective custody after mischief – “up under” me. I knew what they were looking for “up under” me. I, having "worn their shoes", knew just how to provide it. And they knew where they could find it. And to them, it didn’t matter if these loving arms were the arms that brought the rod of correction on occasion. Because after a time of withdrawal, it wasn’t long before I found them back “up under” me seeking love – and all that love requires of me. In those moments I learned all that momma was and all that momma felt. I learned that this was a good place to be.


Over the past week I’ve been reminded of the “up under” phenomenon. There has been a spanking or two (or three or four) in the past week. A quite severe one for giving in to the “butt demon” (yep, she smoked!); a birthday spanking that brought enough whacks for nearly five decades of living; and a maintenance spanking. After, some withdrawal then – “up under”. But most notable and evidentiary of the “up under” phenomenon are the isolated “’mask of false bravado’ 'flash flamings'” I like to administered on the spot, out of the blue and just for fun. The only infraction being absolutely nothing – but love of course. I’ve noticed that these leave SugarAnne swooning like a little schoolgirl and running “up under” me for soul quenching stretches of time. 

It used to be that SugarAnne would withdraw when she felt stressed, or troubled, or crappy for some such reason (“can you say PMS? I knew you could"). But I am finding her more and more “up under” me for refuge, security, protective custody and love; love that reassures during difficult moments. And most importantly, I find that I am swept up in the desire to provide just what she needs. In our B.S. (before spanking) days this wasn't always the case. But now, I reach out with my loving arm, wrap it around her shoulder, pull her in close to me. With a voice ‘as sweet as the punch’ I say, “Why are you always running ‘up under’ me?” Ah sweet security! Go figure.