CLICHE # 3 – THE JUDGE REYNOLDS SAGA CONTINUES

Written by Vandemonium1

Edited by CreativityTakesCourage

Thanks for all the comments, guys, I really appreciate it. This is Draft 2. After your comments, I put the info in paragraph 1 in the epilogue, removed the reference to Lucy being married until the reveal, and added in some postscript facts about Laura and the judge.

Some of you say Dave behaved in a manner that was contrary to his character, but I think they consider the Dave from my various stories as one person. I don’t. After all who is this unified Dave? Is he the forgiving character in ‘Onslaught’ or ‘When First We Practice To Blackmail’? Or is he the moral crusader in ‘Deafening Silence’, or the sociopathic killer in ‘Dave And The Sociopath’?

Another story where most of the words and concepts are entirely well-used-to-the-point-of-being-tiresome. Maybe the ending will break the mold; maybe it won’t.  

Many thanks to my good mate, Scott for the review and to the bunch of crazies that follow CTC’s and my blog who steered me in the right direction on this one.

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I finished reading the note my lawyer had just passed me and smiled, then glanced over to the other side of the courtroom. 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, deep down, she really didn’t want the divorce I was seeking. I’d provided her with a good life for the last twenty-five plus years. She’d been able to be a full-time mum under no pressure to go back to the workforce, even after our youngest left for college earlier in the year. She was sure we would reconcile if only she was assigned a counsellor sympathetic to her point of view. Of course, then her life of luxury and leisure would continue uninterrupted. In fact, she was so sure that she’d 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 extensive that you can hardly get in the door. He’d never, not once in his entire career, sided with the husband, no matter what the wife had done. He’d give a cheating wife the house with the wronged husband paying all the utilities, commonly awarding non-working wives alimony that would rival the GDP of a third world country. Meanwhile, the ex-husband would be left living in a shoe box on the county dump, dreaming of having enough cash to afford mac and cheese.

Yes, for the last fifteen years or so, Reynolds was a universally hated man by a large number of the divorced men of our district. Why hadn’t he been taken down by a disgruntled ex-husband before now you might ask? It might have had something to do with his huge personal wealth, some of which he doled out to local charities, usually via his beautiful, much younger trophy wife. Alternatively, it could have been his backing by the powerful local Christian lobby. Personally, I thought the only reason he wasn’t dismissed years ago was because he must have photographs of someone very high in the legal hierarchy in a compromising position with a sheep.

Oh yes, Laura had a reason to feel confident and smug.

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.”

The sound of clothes rustling as bums hit seats filled the courtroom.

I might as well not have bothered to sit as he nodded at me to stand. The Judge looked sneeringly across at me as he said, “I see that five days ago you completed your latest stay in gaol, Mr. Brown. I see it was your 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 you 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.”

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.

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

I cleared my throat and began. “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. I think I had the right to expect the same from my wife, after all she hasn’t worked outside the home since she found out she was pregnant with our first child. She didn’t have the responsibility of being the sole provider of the family, the stress that comes with running a business,  or the huge work load I did. 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 living room and sounds of sexual activity coming from upstairs. I also didn’t deserve the shock I experienced when I started to climb the stairs and the guy in the living room yelled at me, ‘Hey, I’m next’, did I?”

I noticed Laura looked distinctly uneasy at this point. She might be a slut, but she definitely didn’t want our dirty laundry aired in public. The judge interrupted.

“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. So, I shut up and stared daggers at the good judge.

“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, ‘Fuck me deeper with your big cock’. I know for certain I didn’t deserve the humiliation of being told to go downstairs and wait until they’d finished, like I was.”

The only bright spot in my shitty life of the last five months was the memory of the look 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 terror 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 living room bolted when I glared at him. So far in my criminal case, he wasn’t known to the police and hence wasn’t a witness. The judge interrupted irritably, again.

“When is your assault case in court?”

“End of next month, Your Honour.”

“As I’ve said umpteen times, 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 words. “I certainly didn’t deserve the conversation I had with my wife after her lovers left. Apparently, I’m a fantastic husband and she loves me to bits, but no one man can satisfy her these days and so she fully intends to continue to have lovers. She told me 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 you 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 resume the 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, if, after my wife hears the deal I propose, she 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 within the 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 90% 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 trumped 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. His chair groaned in relief when he stood and 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, and went around to my ‘friend with benefits’ house.

In my own defence, I hadn’t met Lucy until Laura blew our marriage up and for all you puritans out there that are screaming, ‘but you’re still married’, I considered the marriage was over as soon as Laura’s behaviour was revealed. So, I’m not perfect, sue me.

Lucy is a couple of years younger than my forty-seven, and I have to say, not that bright. But she did have a very generous soul, the most fantastic blue eyes and a spectacular body that bolstered my busted ego by seeming 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. Again, in my defence, it’s hard to start any sort of relationship when your stubbornness keeps getting you locked up in the local slammer.

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 around. She said she was free at the moment but had another engagement around seven.  

I knew she was a cheap drunk, so I didn’t reveal the bubbly until we’d gone to her 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, and 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 my arse’. I, of course, obliged.

Just as we were both coming down off the high and my cock was shriveling to the point of flopping out, her husband burst in the door.

Lucy was beyond talking but I wasn’t.

“Hi, Judge Reynolds. Welcome home. I was just helping Lucy adapt to your failings as a husband.”

EPILOGUE 

I wasn’t in the country to face my assault charge as I now live on a tropical island that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with my country. My stalling of the legal process had allowed my divorce lawyer’s partner in law to finish setting up the arrangements I’d wanted. 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 transferred to the company accounts or 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 when their education was complete, but as that time was at least five years in the future, I personally didn’t give a shit.

The downside of my new 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 the combination of alcohol and 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 that I’d propped on the bedside table.

He got disbarred from the law society and two years in prison for assaulting Lucy. Being an embarrassment to the entire local legal fraternity, his sentencing judge declined to put him in any special kind of protective custody but in the general prison population. His reputation, and the fact he was a former judge, guaranteed him no friends and – how shall I say it? – ‘special’ attention from the other inmates.

Luckily, he was so unattractive that even Bubba left him alone, but he was constantly harassed and picked on. He didn’t twig to what was happening in the mess hall, the fact that he was receiving a special, pre-prepared plate of food rather than the same stuff dished out of the communal pots, until the day Simple Simon was on serving duty. To say Simon was three koalas short of a gumtree would be an understatement. This day Simon handed inmate Reynolds his plate and watched as the former judge stared at the repast laid on it. In all its bright green glory. The inmate serving next to Simon nudged him with his elbow and whispered, “What the hell did you do?” To which the simpleton replied, “You said he could eat shit and dye.” The green-as-his-dinner former judge didn’t hear any more as he was busy vomiting, but he discovered he couldn’t throw up all the meals he’d eaten for the previous six months.

Of course, the media attacked the story of the judge’s demise at my hands like sharks hitting a wounded diver and Laura’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 luxury for the rest of my days.

The kids were due to arrive on my island for their third visit tomorrow and they’d become quite fond of Lucy. They’d never forgive me if I took advantage of her sweet, simple soul.

They’d no doubt bring me news of Laura’s latest follies. I already knew she’d lost the house, had moved from our area through sheer humiliation, was renting a one-bedroom unit while working as a waitress and had aged twenty years in one. The kids had tried talking me into forgiveness on their first visit but showing them the footage of me walking into the bedroom that day and her subsequent confession to me and demand of me soon put paid to that. They still pick up the phone when she rings but any sort of close relationship, which is always anchored in respect, is gone. I sometimes wonder if she has the energy to pull trains anymore.

Pah, enough negative shit, time to start Lucy’s day. I climbed on board, and she was smiling before she even opened those glorious blue eyes.

THE EPILOGUE TO THE EPILOGUE

Eventually, by the time Geoffery Reynolds was released he was a shadow of his former self. He was a recluse until his premature death five years later. His grave a popular urinal for divorcees with retained anger issues.

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 court, whose judges, like every other judge in the country, are appointed, not elected.

Now lighten the fuck up!

LITTLE RALPHY ON ENGLISH
Little RALPHY goes to school, and the teacher says, ‘Today we are going to learn multi-syllable words, class. Does anybody have an example of a multi-syllable word?’

RALPHY says ‘Mas-tur-bate.’
Miss Rogers smiles and says, ‘Wow, little RALPHY, that’s a mouthful.’
Little RALPHY says, ‘No, Miss Rogers, you’re thinking of a blowjob.’