Spank & Correct: Therapy For Walls

"The walls won't wash themselves," Mom said and I sighed.

Beside me, a bucket of hot, soapy water steamed my naked leg while a large yellow sponge floated on the surface. I glared at the white walls of the dining room because glaring at Mom was a bad idea. It was not my first stint scrubbing white walls whiter, but I could not recall doing it in my birthday suit before and the last time was years in the past as well. Of course, Mom was correct, the job would not get done on its own and I had no intention of trying to explain to Dad why it was not done.

I grabbed the sponge and winced as the hot water stung at my hand. Wringing out the excess water in the sponge, I chanced a glance at Mom and she was, as I expected, still watching me. I slapped the sponge against the wall and began the tedious process of scrubbing in small circles, working my way out from the corner and then down the wall to the floorboard. A stepladder would be required to reach the height of the wall, but that was for later.

As I toiled away, Mom finally stopped watching and went about her own chores, vacuuming the carpet and dusting off the furniture. It was all boring work, but it kept me physically occupied while my mind wandered through the mysteries of my life. I wanted to ask Mom about Joseph Candle, but I expected she would either not answer or answer in just as elusive a manner as Mr. Candle employed himself. The relationship is probably not of great importance anyway especially since I have already determined he cannot be trusted, not fully at least.

On the other hand, Tom seemed the sort to trust and I hoped my instincts were right, because I had trusted him with everything. With a little luck, he was putting the pieces together in regards to Patrick Hughes and something told me that was one puzzle which held the keys to many others. My grandmother seemed absolutely certain he was the dangerous leak to the man in the shadows and I have no reason to doubt her veracity, but if my impressions of the man are correct, Patrick is only dangerous because of the things he knows, not because he intends harm. Trying to reconcile the two perspectives was enough to make my head spin.

My grandmother is another head spinning matter of her own. Dead, alive, involved with the famous Joseph Candle and condemned to an ethereal life in the form of a young girl who walks on water, air and right through walls. It sounds like an exciting life until you think about how lonely her existence is, with no more than a handful of people on the entire planet who can even see or hear her and most of them are inclined to ignore her for fear of losing their grip on reality. I probably should have clung a little harder to that fear because the way things are going, I am finding reality harder and harder to accept.

Which brings me to dreams. I have had weird dreams all my life, they are nothing new, but these dreams lately are somewhere between outright nightmares and paranormal predictions of a murky future. Are those coming from my multi-talented grandmother or just a sign of exactly how fragile my hold on reality is becoming? Maybe I am not insane quite yet, but what the hell was I thinking to actually slap my father?

All things considered, the simple monotonous chore of wall scrubbing was exactly what I needed. Nothing too complicated, soak sponge in soapy water, wring out excess water, scrub in simple circular pattern, moving slowly along the wall to ensure even coverage. There is a life lesson in all of this; Everything goes in circles and when the patterns are complete, everything is covered. I guess it also means every path intersects another path which could be interpreted as everything is connected. Now that is the problem with mindless tasks, they make you think too much about other things which can lead to headaches, confusions and total insanity. I have definitely acquired two out of the three and I bet by the time I am done I will be three for three.

I had just managed to focus my mind on the task at hand when the doorbell rang. Glancing back at the door, I just hoped it was no one I knew or would ever know on the other side of it. Mom was upstairs running the vacuum, but Dad was kicked back on the sofa watching reruns of sitcoms. He muted the television and made his way to the door almost slow enough to make me think he dreaded opening the door almost as much as I dreaded it being opened.

Turning back to the wall, I tried to ignore the possibility my red butt was going to be seen by a total stranger. My hand flattened the sponge against the wall as I poured all my nervous energy into the scrubbing as I tried not to listen to the turn of the deadbolt, the click of the latch, or the squeak of the hinges signifying the opening of the front door.

A familiar voice said, "Mr. Beaumont, I don't know if you remember me," and Dad finished the sentenced for him saying, "Of course, Mark. Won't you come in."

My heart stopped. My hand stopped moving. All the blood in my body rushed to my face and stayed there. Of all the people in all the world why did it have to be him standing at my parents' door? I should not be surprised I guess seeing as all things do indeed seem to be connected. My first instinct was to look over my shoulder and stare at the unwanted intrusion hoping he would get the hint and leave, but I realized it would not happen that way. Instead, looking back at him would only mean having to see the smirk on his face looking back at me while pretending to have business with my father.

I forced air back into my lungs, kick started my heart with pure willpower and set about the business of whitening white wall with a warm and soapy sponge still in my hand. Behind me, I could hear the men shaking hands, feel the eyes of Mark fall upon my naked back and backside and in my vivid imagination the two exchanged a knowing nod with a tilt in my direction as if to say, "Yep, she's a handful and needs constant supervision not to mention regular discipline."

"The hell I do," I muttered to myself as I continued scrubbing the same spot of wall I had been scrubbing for the past several minutes. Dad cleared his throat making my eyes grow wide as I considered the unfortunate possibility my muttering had been overheard. Dad said, "Did you need something. Allison?"

"No, sir," I replied quickly without daring to look back.

They walked into the living room, leaving me in peace and relieved that whatever Dad had overheard from me, he did not find it necessary to offer reproach in front of Mark. The sat down and I heard the click of the television being turned off surely indicating Dad expected Mark to be staying more than just a few minutes. Needless to say I was disappointed. Still, I kept my nose to the grindstone, or the wall as it were, and continued scrubbing while pretending not to be eavesdropping.

"What brings you by?" Dad asked.

The opportunity to see his girlfriend in a state of submissive mortification perhaps? Or maybe he heard about all the spanking the other night and wants his turn? Does it really matter? No, I think the fact he is here is quite sufficient all on its own, but then I am the one in the embarrassing situation.

Mark said, "I stopped by Allison's apartment because she has not returned any of my calls in the last few days. I wanted to make sure everything was alright, I wouldn't stalk her if she doesn't want to see me anymore, but I haven't heard anything of the sort from her so my thoughts ran toward other possible explanations. Then I found out from the manager she had moved back home which I guess explains the silence."

Dad said, "Yes, she's grounded at the moment and I've taken away her phone outside of work hours."

Mark said, "I'm sure her behavior warranted it, but Steve has made me aware you don't approve of me dating your daughter. I thought it might be good if we could talk about it."

"There really isn't much to discuss," Dad said.

Mark said, "She is your daughter and if you don't want me to see her anymore, I'll leave and that'll be end of it, but I would appreciate the opportunity to defend myself. I'm not sure what I've done to sour my reputation in your eyes."

Here we are living in the twenty-first century and my boyfriend thinks he needs my father's permission to be my boyfriend? I do not have anything against traditions and all so long as they make sense, but someone please explain to me why my father is better suited to choose the men I date than I am. I know, I know, my rant would sound a lot better if it were not coming from a girl with a freshly spanked and brightly red bottom.

Dad shifted in the sofa making it squeak a little and then said, "To be honest Mark, I think your self-employment status is an admirable goal, but at your age it feels a little reckless and recklessness is already a problem for Allison. I really don't like the idea of you encouraging her in that arena."

I could practically hear the cogs turning inside Mark's head as he nodded and assembled his argument. From personal experience, I knew there was no convincing Dad that self-employment was not only a viable choice, but a wise and forward thinking one as well. In the modern age of über-corporations and government sponsored bailouts, the only thing any of us can really count on for our future, is ourselves. To me that is smart, not reckless.

"I started out working for a company, much like where Allison is," Mark said and a sideways glance revealed him leaning forward to sit on the edge of his chair, "I was there for two years and then my entire department was sold off to another company and the first thing the new owners did was layoff everyone from the old company. I realized then, the security I thought came with a big company was just an illusion."

Dad said, "If you work hard, do your job right, the security is real. I worked thirty years for the same company and survived every sale, merger, and layoff during all that time because I handled my career responsibly."

Mark said, "With all due respect, sir, the corporate world does not play by those rules anymore. I work in a field where every business requires my services, but if I do my job responsibly and accurately, they only need me for a short time. I strive to the best in my field and my references, like your son, can tell you I have a reputation to match. I am not a reckless man. I did not choose my path without careful consideration and I promise you, I could not agree with you more when it comes to handling reckless behavior and your daughter is already aware of that."

"Is that so?" Dad said, sounding annoyingly curious to know the details of my private life.

"I have a firm hand and I'm not afraid to use it," Mark said, making me blush even more than I already was, recalling the one and only time he used his firm hand.

"I can't say I'm overly encouraged," Dad said, glancing back at me, "In the time the two of you have been dating her behavior has slipped back to the worst I've seen since her high school days."

Mark said, "Allison's work schedule has prevented us from spending much time together and in fact we've only had two dates, but I'd like the opportunity to have more."

"You think you can tame her?" Dad asked and my head snapped over to look at him sitting on the couch.

Tame me? Like I am some wild animal in need of a good whipping to keep me in line. I ought to take this bucket of dirty warm water and throw it right over his smug head. Nearly growling, I dunked the sponge back in the bucket and brought it up wringing it out and almost twisting it in half in the process. You would think if they were going to talk in such a way, they would at least have the decency to do it where I could not hear.

Mark said, "With your permission, I would like to try."

Dad said, "As long as she lives under my roof she will abide by my rules and be disciplined when she fails to do so."

"I whole-heartedly approve," Mark said.

He would not think so highly of Dad's methods if it was his own ass on the line, but of course it was mine and not his. The really funny thing, is he actually thinks I will still want to date him after listening to him and my father talk about me like my thoughts and opinion do not even matter. He can date Dad if they get along so well because it will be a snowy day in Laguna Beach before he ever lays another filthy paw on me.

Dad said, "I like you coming here and standing up for yourself and still showing respect for me and my family. It goes a long way in my book and it's possible I misjudged you previously. Allison has typically surrounded herself with immature friends and when she seemed to take a liking to you, I just assumed you fit in with that group."

It is so nice to know what your father thinks of you and your friends without any editing at all. I mean that kind of honesty really makes you proud and feel good about yourself and the choices you make. If you bought that, I have this bridge up in San Francisco for sale, it is made of pure gold and because of the economic times, you can have it for a steal of a price.

"If I may," Mark said, pausing for a nod from Dad I suppose, "I think Allison took a liking to me because I'm not like her other friends. She knows she can share private things with me and trust that they stay just between us."

"I tell you what," Dad said, leaning forward on the sofa, "Allison is off restriction next weekend, why don't you come by on Saturday and we'll have a barbecue out back and get to know each other a little better."

Great! It will be just like the good old days, you know when men made fire and clubbed their women over the head so they could drag them back to the cave for a night of passion. After a week of spankings and restricted living at home, it sound like just the perfect way to unwind. I wonder if I am really good, maybe they might let me serve the drinks and clean up after them. Ooh, I can hardly wait.