What Goes Around, Comes Around

This is story number four. It has a different perspective than the others, albeit, hopefully an enjoyable read. Once again, your comments are not only welcome, but appreciated. Those comments which are unkind and not constructive are ignored. No animals were hurt during the fabricating of this story, although some feelings may have been hurt. Too bad, so sad.

I do not write erotic stories, preferring to stay in the realms of relative reality. It is certain many coming seeking erotica, they are welcome to it. The reason I say relative reality is that most erotic stories are beyond reality; relative to that which is real.

I appreciate human decency, preferring to look on the positive side of human nature. Most of my stories will focus on win-win situations, designed to either amuse or produce good feelings.

Remember, it is all fiction.

"What Goes Around, Comes Around"

I was driving home from work, slowly. I was hoping for a flat tire or some other failure that might prevent me from getting there. A sane and reasonable man might think I had lost it. In reality, I have lost it. The "it" is my marriage, family and hope for the future.

You see, her father owns the company where I work. He holds the mortgage on our home and dotes on his daughter, my wife. The problem is she has decided to take control of the family, the finances, the children and ME.

This disaster came about by influence by her friend Irma. Irma is on her fourth marriage at the age of 30, and it is not on solid ground.

Let me go back to the beginning. I was fresh out of the Marine Corps, and started my first year of college at Kent State. I served a full eight years, but had to get out on a minor disability. Marines are warriors, no doubt, especially those of us who were in the Recon Battalion of my division. (For you fact finders, I was a Reconnaissance Sniper (0322) MOS). We trained hard, were hard and knew how to get the job done. My specialty was a sniper using the 50-caliber sniper rifle. I was good and could take out a target at 2,000 yards, there being 1,760 yards in a mile. The target is dead before the sound gets there.

I met my wife, Jennifer, at Kent State in my junior year. I was studying chemical engineering as I did well with it in high school. Her major was Business Administration with her eye on taking over her father's business one day.

I am not a particularly handsome guy. I stand at 5' 10," weigh in at 175, having a medium frame and ruddy complexion. My name is Randy Jackson, son of James and Mary with two brothers and a sister.

Jennifer, was a little on the heavy side, had an acne problem and a body more deserving of a Studebaker than that of a Corvette. Nevertheless, we hit it off, dated steadily and married after college. All seemed well.

We had three children; Mike at 14, Carol at 12 and Tommy, 10. I loved my children, spending as much time with them as I could. My Marine experience of living in the wilds in tents came in handy when I took them camping. Jennifer did not like the idea of sleeping in a tent, so she declined.

Camping was great fun, we hiked, fished, swam, taking advantage of the great parks. The kids were excited, sometimes their friends tagged along. I taught them how to survive the wild, which plants, lizards and insects were safe to eat. Amazingly the little goblins did a great job of gobbling. Life was good.

Jennifer and I worked for her father. She was immediately in the management ranks with all the special privileges. I reported to the manager of Research. The company was well respected in its production of medications.

Her hobnobbing with the upper echelon excluded me except when there was a holiday party or something similar. She was often off jet-setting to different places around the globe, sometimes several weeks at a time. I became a house husband, taking care of the children.

It was 15 years in when Jennifer's resentment of me became nearly unbearable. She was quick to let me know she was management and I was not much above a peon. She began to extend this into the family, expecting me to answer to her beck and call.

Irma did not help, but only made it worse. This brings us back to the start and my reluctance to go home. Jennifer was going to let me know when I got home, there were going to be new rules laid down and I would comply.

Some snooping found five rules I knew were coming were:

1. She declared the freedom to be in the company of other men at her choosing.
2. I would remain celibate, wearing a chastity cage when she was traveling.
3. I would be responsible for housekeeping, yard work and tending the children.
4. My paycheck would be direct deposited into her account, from which I drew a minor allowance.
5. There would be no more camping.

My reluctance to go home was due to her father, the corporate lawyer and she were waiting for me with a contract that I would have to sign. Violation of said contract would leave me penniless, maybe even in jail on some trumped up charge.

As I was leaving Akron, Ohio, the traffic light turned red. I looked to my right at the car beside me; low and behold there was my old commanding officer Major Dean Jamison. He saw me, smiled and pointed to a bar on the right in the next block, I nodded and we were soon chatting away over a few frosty brews.

Now, you have to know Major Jamison, he was about the saltiest Marine you ever want to meet, tall, and raw bone with a strong chin and chiseled face. His presence is more than imposing. He had a way of looking at a person, heavens help the culprit, that made the victim wish he was somewhere else.

We spent an hour talking as I explained my dilemma.

The major said there was a solution, asking if I could some time away from Akron.

I said I could do that. So, with that in mind it was off to my home.

We walked into the house, he in his dress blues, splendid with the blood stripes running the length of the trousers. The stripes are a reminder of the Battle of Chapultepec in the Mexican-American War in 1847 where Marines shed blood. His gold oak leaves were resplendent on his shoulders.

The three sat up and took notice when we entered. Jennifer started to say something, but one withering stare from the Major and her expression changed to as if she was sucking on a green persimmon. Her father and the lawyer remained quiet.

Jennifer finally let loose with "where have you been and who is this man?"

"This is my commanding officer Major Dean Jamison, he and I had a brew or two. He said he was on his way here to see me."

She bounced back with, "how dare you, I told you to come straight home as we have important things to discuss."

The major spoke up, with his deep gravelly voice: "Gunnery Sergeant Jackson is being recalled due to the Corps need of his MOS (Military Occupational Specialty).

The father spoke up asking just what that was.

The major then explained that I was a sniper, making kills at over a mile off. Certain terrorist leaders had been located, they needing my attention. The father and lawyer blanched.

Jennifer said that would not be possible as I was absolutely required to be at the office and home.

The major shot her one of his hawk-like stares, again, turned to me and said: "go pack your seabag, Gunny, we have a tight schedule."

So, off I went, back in 15 minutes as I kept my military gear ready. I was in my dress greens as it was the winter season.

The major and I went to the door, I turned, nodded and watched as Jennifer went from white faced to red. Boy, she was hot.

"What was that, Major, terrorists needing my attention?"

He said it was only a ploy but the Corps did really need me back as an instructor at sniper school at Camp Pendleton at San Deigo.

"How long?"

"Another full term?" He asked.

"What about my children?"

"We have a long arm, and I believe we can get them to California with you under the right circumstances. Let me work on that" he responded.

Back at the Gestapo, the three were fuming.

Jennifer asked who was going to take care of the kids. She was less than interested in them since her role at the company grew and her being pursued by many suitors (remember her looks, less than stunning) and she was heir to the family fortune. She had her head in the clouds.

Three months later, Jennifer was approached by a sheriff's deputy with a court order demanding she release the children to the father in California for the summer.

Jennifer said "three months, why not make it permanent?" "They have been nothing but trouble since he left, and frankly I would be happy to let him have them."

So, with that, they were packed up and the government agency transported them to Pendleton, where they ecstatically reunited with their father.

Fast forward, now Master Gunnery Sergeant Jackson was finishing his 30 years, ready to retire. The children grown and gone, he was looking to touring the USA in his 30-foot motor home with his wife, Rita, of 10 years.

They decided to retire in Phoenix, Arizona. It was somewhat central to the five children; three of his and two, hers. There were now seven grandchildren, each the apple of the eyes of PapPap and MawMaw.

It was the Fourth of July with the family gathering in Phoenix. All of the children were there with their broods. Yard games abounded, ribs, hot dogs and hamburgers with the trimmings of potato and macaroni salads were set up. The swimming pool was busy, beach umbrellas present.

It was good to have Major General (Ret.) Jamison with us, too.

Randy and Rita had two clowns and face painting kits going. It was as a mini carnival.

Little Susie came into the back yard stating there was a woman at the front door. Being the man of the house, I went to see who it was and what she wanted.

"Jennifer, what are you doing here?"

Such a hangdog expression, I felt compassion; a lump in my throat.

"I made a terrible, terrible mistake. I am so sorry."

I asked her "why now?"

She said, "Randy, I am terminal, only six months or so to live. Please let me make peace with you and my children."

I felt something again, knowing I could not refuse a dying person's last wishes.

We went to the rest of the family and she was introduced to grandchildren, spouses of our children, plus Rita and her family. It was awkward at first, but they came around. The General took her hand in greeting.

Rita and I were on the swing, Jennifer had five-year Suzie on her lap feeding her ice-cream. Jennifer looked over, smiled and mouthed "thank-you."

When her time came, she was buried in Phoenix as she had moved here to be close to her children and grandchildren. She left enough money that all of the grandchildren were set up with trust funds sufficient to cover their college education and give each a good start on life.

End Note:

Some of you may think I went soft in my old age. Not so. The stirring I felt was that of a clear conscience in knowing that we reap what we sow. Yes, that which goes around, comes around. Sow kindness and forgiveness, reap kindness and forgiveness.