CLICHE #3 – DRAFT VERSION

Written by Vandemonium1

Soon to be edited by CreativityTakesCourage

Time to sing for your supper, guys!

Seeking honest feedback on how predictable the ending of this particular tale is.

It will probably look a whole lot better when CTC and I have gone through the editing – at least three run-throughs!

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I finished reading the note my lawyer had just passed me and smiled. His partner-in-law confirmed he’d finished setting up the arrangements I’d requested. My business had been sold to a company with an address in Switzerland for a fraction of its’ value. An exhaustive search of international records might discover the new owner was my brother but I’m pretty sure my soon to be ex-wife wouldn’t have the resources to track things that far. Most of my other assets had been sold and the proceeds, along with the bulk of our bank accounts was now wrapped up in an unassailable trust for my children’s education. They could both attend the most prestigious universities in the land or overseas and still have change left over. Sure, Laura would get half of what was left-over at the time but as that time was at least five years in the future, I personally didn’t give a shit.

I glanced over to the other side of the room. There was Laura, my hopefully soon to be ex-wife, with her lawyer. She glanced over and gave me a nervous but confident smile.

Nervous because she really didn’t want the divorce I was seeking. She’d had a good life for the last twenty-five years, being a fulltime mum and under no pressure to go back to the workforce after our youngest left for college this year. She was by no means sure that her life of luxury and leisure would continue if her attempt to force me into counselling failed. She was so sure that a counsellor sympathetic to her needs would bring us back together that she had pinned all her hopes on it.

Confident because she’d jagged Judge Reynolds as our family court judge.

It has been said about the infamous Judge Reynolds that he has a collection of men’s scrotums on the wall of his chambers so big that you can hardly get in the door. He has never once in his entire career sided with the husband, no matter what the wife did. He’ll give a cheating wife the house with the wronged husband paying all the utilities. He commonly awarded non-working wives alimony that would rival the GDP of a third world country, while the ex-husband is left living in a shoe box on the county dump, dreaming of having enough cash to afford mac and cheese.

Oh yes, she had a reason to feel confident and smug, I’m just glad she wasn’t boastfully smiling at me from across the courtroom.

At that moment the Court Usher stood and yelled, “All rise.”

I reluctantly stood as all 150kg (330lbs) of Judge Geoffrey Reynolds lumbered through the side door at bench level, waddled to his reinforced chair, which still screamed in protest under the weight of his dropping body. He looked flushed from the exercise of dragging his bloated form from wherever he’d gorged lunch back to his bench. He glanced down at the notes before him then nodded at the Usher, who spoke.

“This is a continuation of Brown vs Brown, the honourable Judge Reynolds presides.”

He nodded at me to stand while he sat. The Judge looked sneeringly across to me.

“I see that five days ago you completed your latest, I see it was the fourth, thirty-day stint in the county lock-up for contempt of court. As I said at the time I imposed that penalty, I judge that couples counselling is compulsory in all marriage breakdowns. Marriage is an institution blessed by God and man should mobilise whatever resources he has available to avoid breaking the heavenly union or incur the wrath of God. Are you now willing to give your wife a chance to explain to you how you failed her under the guidance of a professional counsellor?”

I almost choked with the effort of not vomiting from his offensive words. This guy could cause Mother Theresa to lose her temper and throw something at him. But instead, I forced my voice to be strong and steady.

“If, after yourself and my wife hear what I have to say, you both still want me to participate in the charade of counselling, I will submit to it.”

“Well, say your piece then, but please make it brief, I have a busy schedule of marriages to save.”

I was still surprised I got to finish that statement even though my lawyer told me the Judge was obliged to allow me to say whatever I wanted. This judge had a record of pretty much running rampant over the rules to suit his own sick purposes. The only reason he wasn’t dismissed years ago was that he must have photographs of someone very high in the hierarchy in a compromising position with a sheep. I cleared my throat and continued.

“As I’ve stood here before and said, in the twenty-seven years of my marriage I had many opportunities to stray. I still have my looks and men of wealth and power attract a certain type of woman who throw themselves at you. I never weakened, despite the stress of starting my own business and growing it to the size it is today.”

“So you’ve said, Mr. Brown, so you’ve said.”

“I think I had the right to expect the same from my wife, after all she hasn’t worked since she found out she was pregnant for the first time. She didn’t have the stress and huge work load I had. Besides, you were right, marriage IS an institution blessed by God and we both stood in front of one of his representatives and swore our fidelity to each other.”

“Get on with it, Mr. Brown, we’ve all heard this prattle before.”

“I’m just saying, Your Honour, that I don’t think I in any way deserved the treatment I received on March 20^th this year.”

The judge rolled his eyes but didn’t interrupt.

“I didn’t deserve to come home early from work to find a guy sitting in my lounge room and sounds of sexual activity coming from upstairs. I also didn’t deserve the shock when I started to climb the stairs and the guy in the lounge yelled, ‘Hey, I’m next’”

The judge at least had the decency to look a little uneasy. So did Laura who definitely didn’t want our dirty laundry aired in public.

“It’s not my place to comment on the morals of society, just to see that the institution of marriage is protected and the family unit guarded.”

I wanted to shout, ‘What fucking family unit? Our kids are long gone and haven’t spoken to their mother since she admitted her revolting behaviour. But I’d done that last time and incurred the Judge’s wrath and earned another three days in the cells. I shut the fuck up.

“I also don’t think I deserved to walk into my own bedroom and see my wife on her back, legs clamped around the buttocks of some young gym rat urging him to, and I quote, ‘Fuck me deeper with your big cock’. I most certainly know I didn’t deserve to be told to go downstairs and wait until they’d finished, like I was.”

“When is the hearing for your assault court case?”

“End of next month, Your Honour.”

The only bright spot in my shitty life of the last five months was the memory of the looks on that gym rat’s face as I ignored my wife’s instruction to go back downstairs. First the look of annoyance as I pulled him off and out of my slut wife, then the one of horror as I physically threw him backwards down the stairs. He only ended up with bruises and a broken collar bone before I threw his clothes down to him. The guy waiting in the lounge room bolted when I glared at him; so far in my criminal case, he was claiming he saw nothing. Sensible guy.

The judge interrupted irritably, again.

“As I’ve said umpteen time, Mr. Brown, the actual behaviour of participants in a marriage is irrelevant. What’s important is the institution. You could have come home and found your wife with the entire local football team for all I care, I would still stand up for the sanctity of the marriage and her rights within it. There is never any excuse for domestic violence, even against the man who was helping your wife adapt to your failings as a husband. I told you, it will all be sorted out by a counsellor. As you may know, my reputation is to economically punish spouses who either don’t participate in counselling or ignore its benefits.”

The smiling, gross man then sat back in his chair allowing me to continue.

I continued, ignoring his interruption.

“I certainly didn’t deserve the conversation I had with my wife after her lovers left. I was a fantastic husband and she loved me to bits, but no one man could satisfy her these days and she would continue to have lovers. I could either accept it or file for divorce, at which point, ‘I’d be taken to the cleaners’, her words.”

A half smile at the memory here. Those words, captured on a recording, were the reason her children weren’t talking to her and that her friend list was a fraction of its’ former size. Judge Fatso couldn’t help himself again.

“Why do insist on boring us with your diatribe, Mr. Brown? I’ve explained multiple times that your wife’s behaviour, both past and present, has no relevance here. My role is to enforce every effort to avoid the breakdown of the marriage and to ensure your wife’s financial welfare. I deem that this marriage can be saved, and your wife wants nothing more than for you to return to her loving arms. I’ll warn you again, if you participate in the counselling I have ordered and don’t take on board the counsellor’s suggestions and resume your responsibilities of a husband, the award I give you wife will be far higher than your lawyer is proposing, and you can take that to the bank.”

So, I thought, once again women can do no wrong. It was nothing to do with money, just that she had ‘needs’. I would burst that bubble.

“As I said before, Your Honour, after my wife hears the deal I propose and still wants to push for counselling then I will reluctantly submit. But let her be warned this deal has a shelf life of one hour. With no signature in an hour, we go to counselling, which will change nothing, but even with your legendary rulings, her final reward will be less than this offer.”

“I really wish you people wouldn’t sully the great institution of marriage by reducing it to a worth expressed in dollars and cents. But notwithstanding that, what is your offer?”

My lawyer finally stood to speak, quoting the offer we’d agreed upon.

“My client will sign over the title of the Brown family home to Mrs. Brown, paying any government duties on said transfer. He will release ninety percent of the value of all bank accounts held in his name only and in the joint names of Mr. David and Mrs. Laura Brown to a bank account of her choosing. Additionally, he will sign a document promising to gift 40% of all future profits of Brown Engineering or any other legal entity he forms in the future in Australia to the former Mrs. Laura Brown. For this, my client expects Mrs. Brown to drop all need for counselling, stop any opposition to the divorce and revert to her maiden name as soon as practicable.”

I could see Laura and her lawyer talking nine to the dozen over at their table. Then her lawyer rose.

“Your Honour, if Mr. Brown’s offer is really as generous as stated we are happy to sign the deal within the hour.”

His honourable flabbiness looked disappointed that once again greed triumphed principles but knew a lost cause when he saw one.

“Pending a signed copy of the proposal as related, I hereby dissolve the marriage of David and Laura Brown effective in thirty days.”

He banged his gavel, we all rose and he waddled off again. I glanced at Laura’s table and saw both she and her lawyer grinning like Cheshire cats. Her because her life of excess and luxury could continue indefinitely, he because of the fat percentage he would earn from the deal. As I watched, he started reading the details of the deal.

I wished I would be there after Monday, which was the earliest they would discover that the house Laura owned outright was mortgaged to the hilt, the bank accounts were fucking near empty, and I no longer owned any companies in Australia.

My lawyer rang two hours later to say the judge had ratified the deal and was busy ruining some other poor schmuck’s life. I packed the last of my stuff away, checked I had my passport and took the $300 bottle of sparkling wine, which we were legally not allowed to call champagne anymore, yet another reason to detest the French, and went around to my ‘friend with benefits’ house.

Lucy was a couple of years younger than my forty-seven, and I have to say, not that bright. But she was a sweetheart and did have a spectacular body and being the trophy wife of an older guy, seemed to appreciate my size and stamina. I could bury my face in her ample cleavage and leave it there forever. It had taken almost four weeks to seduce her.

So, I’m not perfect, sue me.

After I’d sampled her charms she was very eager for more of mine, assuring me I was giving her the first orgasms not plastic induced for fifteen years. As soon as I heard the deal was done I called her to see if I could come round. She said her hubby always came home via his club on Fridays and we’d be right until at least seven. She got all husky when she told me she’d be waiting for me upstairs.

I knew she was a cheap drunk so I didn’t reveal the bubbly until we’d gone to her marital bed and she’d milked me once. Walking naked to the fridge, I returned to the bedroom with the expensive bottle and two glasses. Lucy was giggling from the third sip of the first glass to the bottom of the second. She took me in her mouth while it was full of some of the third glass and shook in orgasm as I ploughed her when she finished it. She was like an insatiable woman possessed. After being locked up for a month, I had plenty in the tank if you know what I’m saying.

While she was finishing the bottle, she didn’t notice me turn the bedside clock to the wall, but happily slipped me into her mouth again for round three.

Taking advantage of her growing inebriation, I whispered in her ear that I would love her arse. She just giggled, got on hands and knees and smiled back at me, hiccupping occasionally. Not wanting to miss out, I lubed up and slid in slowly. Two minutes later she was screaming for me to go faster and ‘unload in her ass’. Being a gentleman, I, of course, obliged.

Just as we were both coming down off the high and my cock was shrivelling to the point of flopping out, probably to be followed by a gush of cum, her husband burst in the door.

Lucy was beyond talking but I wasn’t.

“Hi, Judge Reynolds. Welcome home.” `

EPILOGUE 

I wasn’t in the country to face my assault charge as I now live on a tropical island that didn’t have an extradition treaty with my country.

The downside of my living arrangement was that I couldn’t attend Judge Reynold’s, or should I say, the former Judge Reynold’s assault hearing either.

After the shock of him finding me in bed with his wife had worn off, he’d come at me swinging. Lucy, still a little groggy from my ministrations tried to get between us. He knocked her down with one meaty elbow. I allowed him one hit on me before I dropped him with a knee to the groin, it looked great on the footage I’d taken with my camera propped on the bedside table.

He got disbarred from the law society and two years jail time for assaulting a woman. The media attacked the story like sharks hitting a wounded diver and my wife’s story was splashed all over the national media. They kept following her until she lost the house, being unable to keep up the repayments for even a month. I became a little notorious, like Robin Hood or Ned Kelly, which I could take or leave.

I rolled over in the early morning tropical sunlight. My morning wood growing as I contemplated the woman lying next to me. Was today the day I put my face in that magnificent cleavage and left it there forever? She was a recent divorcee that took her wealthy ex-husband to the cleaners in the divorce, after all.

Don’t look at me like that, I wasn’t taking any of her money, the monthly cheque from my brother would allow me to live in this luxury for the rest of my days.

The kids were visiting my island, for the third time, tomorrow and they’d become quite fond of Lucy. They’d never forgive me if I took advantage of her sweet but simple soul. I climbed on board, and she was smiling before she even opened those glorious blue eyes.

THE END

Some Australian facts for ya. In my part of the world, ‘college’ refers to years 11 and 12. Many Australian towns are too small to offer those years so local kids ‘go away to college’. That earns them the points they need to get into a university if they so choose.

In Australia, the Family Court is a Federal (country wide) court, whose judges, like every other judge in the country, are appointed, not elected.