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Tag: dad/Son (Page 1 of 6)

Dad State (Chapter 1)

Get started with the prelude to Dad State by reading Countdown to midnight first…

The Processing Center 

The shuttle moved without sound. No engine hum, no road friction, just the faint whir of internal diagnostics running in the dashboard. Zach sat alone in the backseat, hands folded, posture unnaturally upright, as if summoned by instinct rather than intention. Outside, the world slid past in antiseptic slices. Parking lots, empty walkways, and sleek fences topped with soft-beeping security domes all melded into a blur. Zach’s life as he knew it was over. 

A sign, “DadNet District Activation Hub—East Quadrant,” flashed by before the vehicle made a seamless ninety-degree turn and glided into a narrow bay. When the doors unlocked, he didn’t move. He waited for the melodic chime and the polite digital voice. 

“Welcome, DadNet Unit 70855. Please proceed inside.” 

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Pleasanton hospitality

Frank’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as they pulled into town, knuckles pale beneath his sun-darkened skin. The truck groaned a little under the weight of Brendan’s belongings—a life packed up in boxes after a messy breakup Frank had no interest in hearing about. 

Brendan sat hunched in the passenger seat, arms folded, jaw tight. His thick-rimmed glasses slid a little down his nose every time they hit a bump. He pushed them back up with a tired flick of his finger. He wore a gray hoodie, threadbare from too many washes, and skinny jeans cuffed above worn sneakers. His dark hair was shaggy, grown long at the sides—messy in a way Frank suspected was intentional. 

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Going viral (My perfect dad 55)

Kyle never meant to go viral. At 35, he was barely holding his life together—scraping by in a dead-end job at an auto parts store, single for three years, and generally just existing. He wasn’t unhappy, per se, but he also wasn’t much of anything at all. With just enough spare cash to keep his gym membership, his days consisted of long, tedious shifts on the sales floor and grueling hours on the weight bench. He’d have an occasional date if he were lucky but never managed to seal the deal with a guy. 

One night after too many beers, he recorded a stupid video of himself trying to assemble an IKEA shelf without instructions. He narrated it like an overconfident dad who refused to admit he was lost. 

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The office dad (chapter 2)

Read chapter 1 of “The office dad” before reading on…

Hal rode the elevator to the fifth floor and approached the glass doors of his new office suite. They opened with a soft hiss, and Hal hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, immediately hit by the hum of activity. The sleek, modern space was just as intimidating as he’d feared—polished concrete floors, open workstations, giant monitors, and the steady click-clack of keyboards filled the air. This is their world, he thought. And I’m just visiting. 

Hal tugged at his tight white dress shirt, feeling it ride up with his every step. The familiar pressure on his belly returned, his anxiety spiking. The shirt was pulled so taut that he feared it would give up any second. He tried to focus on the immediate task at hand—check in, find his way around, and get through the day without drawing too much attention to himself. 

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The office dad (chapter 1)

Hal stood in front of the full-length mirror, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his white dress shirt. It clung to his belly, pulling tight enough that he feared the buttons might pop off at any moment. The fabric stretched over his chest, the small gaps between each button creating a thin, mocking line down the middle.

He hooked a finger into the collar and tugged, trying to give himself a bit of breathing room, but it was no use. Great, he thought, feeling the material dig into his neck. It wasn’t just tight—it felt like the shirt was slowly trying to strangle him. Hal let out a frustrated sigh and took a step back, inspecting the damage.

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The 40th Year: Dads by Design (Part 2)

Read part 1 of “The 40th Year: Dads by Design” to get caught up before reading on…

On the edge of downtown, in a calm studio filled with the scent of essential oils, Tristan Green led a yoga class. The room was peaceful, with soft music playing in the background and a dozen students of all ages and sizes following Tristan’s lead. An expert yogi, Tristan moved gracefully through the poses, his voice calm and steady.  

“Remember to breathe deeply and focus on your inner balance,” he instructed, his tone measured and soothing.  

Tristan was a tall, lean man with a build that spoke to years of disciplined exercise and healthy living. His skin practically glowed. His brown hair was kept pulled into a tight bun on the crown of his head, and his green eyes reflected a calm intensity that inspired his students to excel. His personal style emphasized his commitment to comfort and wellness, wearing organic cotton yoga pants and a fitted tank top that showcased his toned physique. Around his neck, he wore a mala bead necklace, symbolizing his dedication to mindfulness and spirituality.  

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The 40th Year: Dads by Design (Part 1)

Nestled between two lakes, Madison stood as a bastion of normalcy and order in a region otherwise dominated by overdeveloped urban sprawl. Unlike the towering chaos of Minneapolis, the relentless pace of Chicago, and or the cloying density of Milwaukee, Madison maintained a veneer of serenity, aided by installing MuniciPOL checkpoints at all major roadways and ports of entry. With MuniciPOL restricting access and tracking residents, the city avoided suffering the same fate as its midwestern neighbors. With neatly arranged buildings, lush parks, and tree-lined streets, Madison boasted controlled harmony under the ever-watchful eye of the state. Life was good in Madison, but it came at a cost.  

Digital billboards displayed advertisements and state-mandated messages promoting unity and conformity. Citizens moved with a purpose, with clearly defined roles and meticulously planned futures. Madison’s infrastructure, from transport to housing to immaculate public spaces, reflected the state’s commitment to an orderly society.  

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On brand (My perfect dad 54)

Tom adjusted his tie for the third time, feeling the stares of shoppers as he walked into a store ominously called Suburban Savers. His tailored suit, a navy blue ensemble that hugged his tall, slender frame perfectly, stood out against the casual attire of the other patrons. He was acutely aware of the sweat forming at the nape of his neck, threatening to stain the crisp white shirt he wore beneath his jacket. Cody, meanwhile, was already live streaming their entrance, his phone held up high to capture every moment. The younger man, dressed in trendy, casual clothes, exuded confidence and charisma. His messy blonde hair and impish grin made him seem approachable, unlike Tom’s polished and somewhat intimidating appearance. 

“Hey everyone, we’re here at Suburban Savers with my new project. Say hi, Tom!” Cody said, turning the camera toward him. 

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Dad dates (My perfect dad 52)

Buzzwords, the city’s trendy local cafe frequented by university students and business executives alike, was always busy on Sunday mornings. The rush of early-morning errand runners had already come through, and with the after-church crowds now pouring in seeking coffee and brunch, free tables were scarce. Theo snagged one of the last remaining two tops by the front door and fidgeted nervously, awaiting his date’s arrival. 

The faint scent of starch emanated from his crisp, white, button-down shirt, and his caged junk twitched in his dark gray trousers as he scanned the room, wondering whether any of the men already here was his date. Each time the cafe doors opened, the April wind whirled around him, making him grateful for the open-necked shirt collar. The last thing he needed was to spend the date subduing a necktie determined to flap around in the breeze. 

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The pageant, part 2 (My perfect dad 50)

Read part 1 to get caught up…

As the evening started, Patrick perched on the edge of his barstool, his heart thumping with perturbation and disbelief. The air buzzed with an energy he barely recognized, charged with surreal, disquieting novelty. Mr. Leather Evergreen, the local fetish pageant he had followed religiously and whose title he clinched last year, had been turned on its head. The familiar program of events was gone, and each had been replaced with a bizarre suburban analog.  

Instead of showing off their leather craftsmanship skills, the contestants were each handed a pair of shears and tasked with trimming a small patch of lawn to perfection. The stop clock ticked its final seconds, and Patrick watched in bewilderment as a dozen portly, middle-aged men sweated and fretted over every blade of grass on their miniature plots of turf. The winner, a guy Patrick recalled from the old Hideaway days, high fived the entire panel of judges when they revealed he’d trimmed his grass uniformly to one-quarter inch in height, exactly what the HOA prescribed.  

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