Posted July 11, 2020, 4:02 a.m. by Lieutenant Commander Wessley Tate (Chief Security Officer) (H Levi Smiley)
“Excuse me. You’re what?” The tall woman towered over Wessley Tate’s tiny frame and eyed him sternly.
“I’m returning to Starfleet. I’m ending my leave of absence and I’ve taken a position as Chief of Security on the U.S.S Asimov.” Even standing as tall as he could he didn’t reach the height of the woman’s chin. “And I wish you wouldn’t berate me for it… Mother.”
“Berate?” asked Juleata Tate, her arms folded across her chest as she circled her only son. “I never berate. I reprove. I rebuke. I may even occasionally lambaste but I never berate. I would have thought after all these years out there you would have realized that your home is here, in Capital City. Outer space is no place for a man.”
“At least out there I am a man!” he nearly shouted. “I am treated with respect. I am valued. I am seen as more then a flat smooth chest and a tight pair of buns.”
“I did not raise you to speak to me, or any woman that way. I’ve always taught you to be gentle. Quiet and demure. Have you forgotten everything you learned at Trentwell’s.”
“No, mother, I haven’t. I learned not to speak unless spoken to. To always walk behind, never in front. Never to sit at a table with a woman unless invited.” His tone grew louder and his pace quickened as he spoke. “Men are to dress prettily, with hints of bare chest. I learned to honor my Mother and my Mistress. And most of all I learned to NEVER RAISE MY VOICE TO A WOMAN!!”
Juleata’s hand flew across her son’s face leaving a bright red hand print. He gingerly touched the place where his mother had struck him. “If you leave again, you are to never return. Is that understood… man?”
Wessley could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. “So be it, my Mother.” He said bowing his head in respect as he was taught. He started to leave but stopped and turned his head and said, “You know, they have a word for women like you…”
“Oh?” she asked, her face red with anger. “And what might that be?”
“Bitch,” he said calmly before leaving forever.
A few weeks later and Lieutenant Commander Wessley Tate was transporting onto the USS Asimov. Finally, he felt he could breathe, out from underneath the suffocating scrutiny of his mother. It was good to be back in space.
And although he despised most of the lessons taught him at Trentwell’s Finishing School For Boys there was one that he embraced. “A little skin indeed,” he said to his reflection while flexing his bare leg. His gold skant uniform ended a few inches above the knee and his ankle boots were shined to a mirror finish. “Great gams!” he sing-songed ready to report for duty.
-Lt. Commander Wessley Tate, CoS
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