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Future Father-in-law
Part 28

by Graham

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Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 22 Apr 2013


When Jesse picked me up at 5 that evening, we drove straight home. I started to walk back to the suite, when he and Dad both redirected me to the bedroom – Jesse's old bedroom. "Come, take a look in here, Chris," Dad spoke enthusiasticaly.

I turned and walked in. Opening the door, I was shocked to find all of my things, and everything I had of, and with, Kim, had been moved into the room – even mementos of our life together, things she had given or made me. "Oh, man, you must've worked all day doing this," I commented, stunned at finding myself moved out of the suite into this room so fast.

The room was a good size bedroom, but considerably smaller than a suite, so it looked kind of packed in. "It was no problem, Chris," Jesse spoke up.

"You can decide what you want, and where, Chris," Dad spoke up. "We wouldn't dare to try to make those judgments, son. But at least the immediate environment is a bit different, and hopefully less constant and grievous reminder of what you've gone through, and lost – what we all have."

Immediately, the fog of depression blew in, saddening me deeply. Silently, I just looked around my new bedroom, at everything that had become mine over my marriage to Kim, and I wanted to throw myself onto the bed, lie face down, and weep.

"Okay, Chris. Go get cleaned up. Chef Jesse, here, has prepared a gourmet meal for us," Dad spoke. So, he had. A man of many talents, Jesse could really cook, and had prepared linguini with fresh clams in a red, wine sauce, along with artichokes with feta cheese. It was a kind of decompressing time eating dinner together, although I was the most taciturn of the three of us.

Day after day, I continued to carry with me, stuffed down deeply from consciousness, a grief and sadness, a loneliness, for the sweetest, and only, woman I'd ever known, the wonderful girl who had turned my life around into such happiness and excitement as I had never even been able to imagine. How could I lose all that in one, devastating moment?!

Dad, and Jesse, did not allow me time or opportunity to let my suppressed feelings, emotions, and desires steep their way into my thoughts. Jesse drove me back and forth to campus, and anywhere else I went. I was rarely left alone. Together, they took charge over me, making sure I was doing what I should, or needed to, do, keeping me focused and positive, urging, encouraging, and spurring me forward.

After a couple of weeks of being chauffeured back and forth by Jesse, he announced that he had rented an office building and would be opening his practice here. He asked his Dad if he could take over driving me back and forth to college, and, as expected, Dad responded affirmatively. So, then it was Dad Anderson driving his son-in-law to school every day and picking him up and bringing him home each evening.

In April, the week after Easter, was spring break. I was off classes, and had more – really, too much – time on my hands. As they had been doing, Dad and Jesse tried to keep me in their watch, but Jesse was working in his practice during the days, and Dad couldn't be with me every minute.

On the Friday evening after Easter, Jesse told his Dad he was going to take me, on Saturday, down to Glendale, to watch a hockey game in the initial round of Stanley Cup playoffs. He didn't even ask me if I wanted to go, just announced to Dad he was taking me' Dad smiled, and said, "I bet you're more than ready to do something different, and exciting, instead of just hanging around the house. The game should be exciting."

I mustered a smile, and replied, "Yeah, it's been a long time since I went to any sporting event, other than Kim's . . ." I couldn't finish the sentence. My face reddened, my eyes filled up, and I swallowed and gulped to suppress the tears that were trying to force their way out. "Ah, anyway, it's been a while since I went to, um, a hockey game, and, yeah, it should be exciting."

"Great, then!" Dad exclaimed. "You boys will have a young men's outing together."

So it was settled. I was going with Jesse the next day to see Stanley Cup hockey in Glendale. Later, I overheard Dad whispering sternly to Jesse: "You be sure you watch that boy, keep your eyes on him. He's a long way from having gotten through all this, and you can't trust him, can't just let him go on his own."

"Right, Dad, I will," Jesse replied with an edge of pique in his voice. "But the goal is to get him to where he is able to be trusted, to act responsibly again, Dad. Not to have to watch over him like a child forever, you know."

"Listen up, Dr. Jesse Jonathan Anderson, I understand that," Dad replied sternly. Of course, that's the goal; but he's got to survive to get to it, and he's way far from that goal right now."

I didn't hear any more, but overhearing that exchange made me feel embarrassed and ashamed of seeming to be so needy and juvenile-like. I turned in about midnight, and awoke at almost 8 in the morning. We left around 10:30 a.m. Jesse drove, and we arrived early enough to park in the arena parking, and stop at a nearby café for lunch.

Then we headed into the arena for the game. It was filled, loud, and rocking with excitement. I found myself a bit lightened just from the events happening around me. During the first intermission, I had to use the bathroom, and Jesse accompanied me. On the way back to our seats, he stopped to get us both a beer, and was surprised to see a couple of guys he had known, and grown up with, back in high school.

I stood with them, quietly, for a while. Then, whispered, "I'll see you back at the seat." Jesse hardly noticed, or at least didn't pay much heed, continuing his animated, jocular conversation with his friends.

During the second intermission, those friends came back and brought some others, all of whom Jesse knew from long ago. They launched into another engaging conversation, and I got up and walked up to the concessions and restrooms. After relieving myself, I was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of aloneness and loneliness. I knew Jesse and Dad cared about me; but still I felt like an intruder in their lives – especially now their sister, my wife, was gone.

I stood in line for the men's room to relieve myself, but the next thing was my walking down and out of the stadium, walking, but really roaming and meandering, not knowing where I was going, not caring. Down the streets past parking lots and restaurants and bars I walked. As I walked, my mood darkened, feeling alone, abandoned, distressed, dejected, and deep depression.

My eyes, looking sad and sunken, looked around but did not really observe anything. I turned onto streets leading to no where I knew or cared about. Just the walking, wandering, seemed to be what I needed, wanted. Eventually, I was several miles from the arena, but without any real sense of where I was. Still, I did not care.

As the traffic and people lessened, my sense of grieving isolation grew. My lachrymose feelings flooded into my eyes, releasing tears that trickled down my face, but I did not cry. I just walked, wanting, hoping to die. Eventually, the residential and inhabited areas began to thin out.

In over an hour of aimless walking I came to an area that was obviously a recreational wilderness, with a lake, wild life and vegetation, and rocky, climbing elevations. The sun was still shining, but the early evening air was cooling. I hiked up into the elevated, rocky terrain, where the sun was still striking the heights, and finally sat down to soak up the last heat of the day's fading sun.

Then dusk began setting in, as my need to empty by bladder also reminded me of my growing thirstiness. Going into a more desolate area, I urinated, and then wondered about trying to get to the lake for some water to drink and wet my mouth. Observing the lake down a fair ways from me, I wondered if I had enough light left to make it. I decided to try.

Hastening down the rugged, rocky slopes, I reached the lake as the last, vanishing glimmer of sunlight was disappearing on the horizon. Scooping up water in my hand, I gulped it down and refreshed the parched condition of my mouth and lips. Now, what was I to do? Where would I go?

Remembering the approximate route I took down to the lake, I began to retrace my path back up, but the pace was slower in the darkness illumined only by a moon slice. Finally, I decided I needed to find a place to stay put for the night, before I continued on my flight to nowhere in the morning. Finding an assemblage of large rocks close together, I decided wedging into them for the night might be safer and warmer than any place I might remain in the comparative open.

Meanwhile, Jesse noticed I had not returned to our seats during the third period. He got up during a stoppage and went looking for me. Not finding me in the men's room, at any concessions, or wandering the hall, he became concerned. Delaying sharing the problem beyond himself, he finally went to security to report me missing.

Security called the city police, who arrived, met with Jesse, took down as much information as possible, and called for a bolo for me. The city police also notified the county sheriff, and a wider alert was dispatched. When the game was over, Jesse remained in the arena, searching for me. (Much later on, he told me he'd had fearful, foreboding images of terrible things that might have happened to me.)

At last, he could not escape the inevitable. I was missing – had gone missing – on his watch. Undertaking the dreadful, but inescapable duty, he called Dad. Jesse's first question – "Is Chris there?" – triggered the increasing turn of despairing worry and anxiety.

"Here? He's with you – or supposed to be? Where is he? What's happened?"

Jesse's hand was forced, and he told Dad pretty much the whole story of my disappearance – omitting his temporary preoccupation with talking with his old friends. Dad was furious and greatly upset. He told Jesse to stay at the arena, and he would drive there to meet with him. When Jesse protested they wouldn't allow him to stay that long, Dad told him to go to security – "do something" – to stay there until he arrived.

Less than two hours later, with nightfall approaching, Dad arrived at the arena, called Jesse's cell phone to let him know he'd arrived, and was permitted into the locked arena to meet Jesse and security. The city police were present, and in charge, and at Dad's insistence, a sheriff's deputy joined them.

Dad explained who I was, gave more detailed data about me than Jesse had done, and outlined the recent, tragic history of Kim's death, and its effect on all of us – stressing particularly how despondent and depressed I'd been, and opining I could be trying to find a way to commit suicide, looking for a place, and a way, to end everything – without involving anybody else.

Dad told them how erratic I had been since Kim's death, and how they had tried to watch me, watch out for me, and over me, how they didn't feel I could be trusted on my own, my depression and despairing emotions had too strong a grip on me.

They got the picture. They promised to dispatch a look-out message for me to the news media, and to all law enforcement; but they explained they couldn't really go out in search until daybreak.

Dad was downcast and upset, and so was Jesse. Turning to Jesse, Dad said, "Well, it looks like, unless someone should spot him, there's nothing we can do before tomorrow morning. Come on, let's drive home, and we'll come back tomorrow morning to help search."

He and Jesse walked out of the arena, to their respective vehicles, and left to return home. Over 2½ hours later, Jesse drove up to the house, and saw his father was already home. He parked, then walked into the house. Walking in through the kitchen, he turned to head toward the suite that used to be my marriage suite, but now was his. He never got there.

"Jesse Jonathan Anderson." It was Dad's voice. "Didn't I tell you to watch Chris, not to let him out of your sight?"

Jesse turned to see his father standing less than 3' from him. "Yes, Dad, I know, but . . ."

"But?! But what?! What'n the hell were you doing that he got away from you, and out and away from everybody's sight, before you even knew it?!"

"Ah, Dad, that's not fair. He obviously planned this, and how could I have known . . . Owwwwwch! Staaaaahp! Owwww-owwwwwch!" His excuse was interrupted by Dad grabbing and twisting his adult son's ear so hard Jesse doubled over, while being led along – dragged, really – by the painful grip on his ear.

He reached up to try to pull his father's hand off and away from the painful ear-pinching, only to be angled so that, still bending forward, he suddenly felt a volley of hard swats to the seat of his jeans. "Owwwww-ooooo-aaaa-staaahp! Ow-ow-owwww!"

Undeterred, Dad led his son along, through the doors to the pool area. Stopping before the lifeguard stand ("the spanking chair"), Dad kept his grip on Jesse's ear while with his other hand, he unbuckled, unsnapped, and unzipped his son's jeans. Letting go of Jesse's ear, he quickly pulled the jeans down to Jesse's feet.

"Step out!" he commanded, and when Jesse hesitated, he felt the resumption of smacks to the thin seat of his boxers. That got him moving, and he stepped out of his boat shoes, then his boxers, standing in bare feet, in his boxers and polo shirt. Dad pulled the polo shirt, followed by the t-shirt, up off Jesse's arms, over his head, baring the gangly young man's lean torso.

Grabbing Jesse's arm, he pulled his adult son along with him as he climbed, ascending to the lifeguard seat. Next thing, Jesse found himself drawn across his father's lap, pushed forward and the upturned seat of his boxers aimed by his father for maximum target positioning.

Jesse knew full well what was happening, and what to expect. He already felt terrible about the events of the day, my disappearance on his watch of me, and his neglect in allowing it to happen. As much as he detested being taken to the woodshed by his father, at his age and status, he felt so lousy he knew he had it coming. He did not know how severe and harsh the whipping would be, however.

His father did not even wait to apply an initial spanking before stripping off the last remnant of clothing precluding his son from being totally nude over his lap. Jesse's boxers were immediately yanked down his hips, buttocks, long, lean legs, feet and ankles, to fall to the deck below. Then the wrath of the paddle began.

Jesse squirmed and groaned, feeling the full guilt of responsibility for what had happened. Soon he began calling out, apologizing to his father, promising to find me, to take care of me, watch over me, watch out for me; he then turned to begging, pleading, entreating his father to stop the whipping, to give him the chance he'd promised, and to do better – but to stop the pain.

His father was unfazed. He popped and punished, riveted and roasted, every spankable spot of his adult son's buttocks, thighs, and sit-spots – and especially the tender, inner thighs and buttocks – all of which provoked the screeching sobbing and bawling of a bad boy being spanked soundly for his misconduct.

When his father had spanked his adult son into resigned, subdued surrender, he continued on with the incinerating spanking a bit longer, to ensure he reinforced the painful message to this errant, young man. Finally, pulling Jesse up off his lap, Dad leaned forward letting his son drop down onto his feet, his arms and hands plastered on his scorched bottom, but his enormous member aroused, elongated, and erect.

Climbing down from the lifeguard seat, Dad led his sobbing, adult son out of the pool area and down the hallway to the suite where he now resided. Opening the door, he pushed his weeping, broken son into the bedroom, pulled down the bedclothes, and held them while Jesse crawled in on his face and stomach, weeping broken-heartedly.

Dad pulled the light sheet up over his son's deep red, hot and wounded bottom, and back, before turning off the light and exiting, leaving Jesse to sob himself very sorrowfully and painfully to a troubled sleep.

 
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