This wasn't written with George's permission. I don't give a hoot about his permission, as I feel the story needs to be written.
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My name is Marc Lavalliere, and I'm currently sitting in court listening to the sluts that want to call themselves loving wives drone on about how I seduced them. Everyone is looking at me like I'm the bad guy, but, I have an ace up my sleeve that will be revealed tomorrow.
My council, Arthur Chenowith, is a smart man. He's letting them build a narrative about me, constructing a tale of how I am some manipulative prick who goes out of his way to seduce married women. They are half right. I'm a manipulative prick. The part they are wrong about is me going out of my way for married women.
You see, I don't just seduce married women, I seduce all women. It's rather easy, especially when you're a headliner for the local sports ball team. Yes, even I am rather sarcastic about my life. I'm 6'4" and 250 pounds of raw, unadulterated power and viciousness for the local football team. Pigskin football, as to not confuse you Euros out there. I quite enjoy soccer on my offtime, but its not got enough contact in it for my tastes.
You see, I have alot of aggression. I use my job to channel and release it. Yes, I said it. My job. Everyone thinks they would want it, but I just wish that being a computer nerd paid as much. Unfortunately, it doesn't. However, I'm getting tired of the gig, as it isn't always what its cracked up to be.
Up before the sun so that I can work out and eat whatever the latest scientific diet says I should for breakfast. Then, its off for a meeting with someone, go do some practice for 8 hours a day where I help destroy my body, and after that? Well, I have to give photo ops and everything else.
I have to waste my time letting whatever bimbo is fucking the station manager gush over how great I am, and inevitably compare me to that flash in a pan Willie Beamen. Yes, that Willie Beamen. Mister all star quarterback. Inevitably, said bimbo is missing her panties and her pussy is slick with her juices, because she's ready to fuck.
"No further questions, your honor."
That's the Attorney for the Plaintiff's side. I don't even remember his name, because I don't give a fuck. He's just as bad as an ambulance chaser, seeing pain and suffering as a way to make a buck. I mean, I get it to some degree. My job is to make the opposing team hurt. However, that's only about where 1/20th of my money comes from. The rest is endorsement deals and special appearances.
The bailiff is looking over at me write this on the legal pad, and more than once has found a reason to shoulder surf me. Generally, it happens after I pull the page and crumple it up. I hand him the balled up results, so that he can discard it or keep it, whichever he wants to do. Most likely, it's going to wind up on E-Bay, selling for a couple thousand dollars. Funny thing is, I don't care, and am glad to help the guy make his next house payment. Most likely, his wife is going to take it from him in the divorce, unfortunately.
You may have noticed my general apathy regarding women. If you have and questioned it? You're a cuck. Plain and simple. It's worse if you get off on being a cuck. You see, I have a reason to have such views, and they make more sense to me and the rest of the world, than getting off on watching your old lady get fucked by some other guy.
You also might be asking why I am not paying attention to what the lawyers are asking, what their witnesses are saying. Simply put, that's not my job, nor my aim here. It might help me build a better defense, but at the end of the day, I have no fucks to give about that. Stories of my stupidity and maliciousness have been greatly exaggerated thus far.
Yes, I'm aware of them. The stories plastering forums, social media, and every other convenient online outlet they can find. Only a small percentage are true. The rest are wholly fabricated revenge fantasies. To start with, I've never taken steroids, and my cock is a bit above average sized. What makes these women think I have a god level cock is the fact that I'm rich and famous. I know some guys with a micropenis that women cum for, simply because of the size of their wallet or status.
Next in line? Yes, I was assaulted. Once in a dance club by the ringleader of the class action lawsuit, and once in an alleyway by one of the other men that signed on using the ringleader's name. It hurt like a motherfucker at the time, but with extensive medical care, I've recovered. I just play it up for the cameras. That's my life, playing it up for the cameras, so I may as well continue.
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"Could you state your name for the record?" Arthur Chenowith asked.
"Marc Anthony Lavalliere." I responded.
"Thank you, Mr. LaValliere. Could you tell us what happened on February 29th, two years ago?"
I nodded and cleared my throat before smiling, my interview baritone rumbling deeply as I spoke.
"I went down to Morrison's, and picked up Linda Smith."
The silence in the courtroom was deafening, however my attorney pressed on.
"Tell me, Mister LaValliere, do you know Linda Smith beyond what occurred that evening?"
I nodded again and chuckled, looking to the red faced woman sitting in the gallery.
"Yes. We went to high school together."
That drew even more gasps, and a couple of curses from some of the the men sitting in the audience. They most likely just realized that their wives knew me as well.
My answers had caught my lawyer off guard. He was looking at me as if I had grown another head. He didn't know this about us, but he had never asked. However, he was a smart cookie, and he recovered fairly quickly.
"Can you enlighten the court as to the full story, Mister LaValliere?"
I again nodded, something I had been taught to do by my media consultant. It is meant to allow the person to understand you heard them. Alot of actors don't do it in interviews. That's because alot of those are pre-scripted. They already know the questions. But if you look at candid interviews, alot of the curated people in our society react just like us.
Now, I wasn't coached. As a matter of fact, my lawyer has no idea what I am about to say at this point. What he does know, is that I may have just blown the roof off of everything. I can tell that by the gleam in his eye, and the way he is smiling like the cat about to get the canary.
"Yes, sir." I turned toward the jury just a little bit, and looked toward them, even though I was forced to keep my face turned toward the microphone.
"I met Linda Morrison before she was Linda Morrison. As a matter of fact, she had dumped me for Jim Morrison. She said his future was more assured. However, that was in college. So, I'll go back to high school." My lawyer didn't interrupt, nor did the plaintiff's council.
"Growing up, I didn't have the best upbringing. My mother had to work because of my dad not being there. He had died while fighting over in The Sandbox. Anyway, she didn't want me to be a soldier, so she forced me to focus on my school work. Reading Books. She worked her ass off to buy me my first computer so that I could learn to program. It was a shitty computer, but it had what it took to learn."
There were a couple of chuckles, and the judge banged his gavel.
"Mister LaValliere. Language."
I nodded, and sighed.
"I apologize, Your Honor."
I then looked back to the jury before continuing.
"Anyway, I wasn't the most athletic, as you can imagine. As a matter of fact, I was a butterball. I met Linda Morrison -- then Linda Jamison, in high school. I met her through Dee Summers." I pointed them both out in the gallery, and they actually blushed.
"Dee Summers was a promiscuous girl. I'm not a psychiatrist, but I imagine it has something to do with her Daddy Issues. Me and her grew up next door to each other, and she helped me lose my virginity."
"The Jury will disregard the last statement referring to... daddy issues." The judge said. He then looked at me. "Mister LaValliere. If you are going to make speculative statements -- no matter how true they might be -- Mister Chenowith is going to have to direct your testimony." The judge then gestured to my lawyer, who nodded his head.
"Mister LaValliere. You say you met Linda Jamison through Dee Summers. Can you tell the court the circumstances?"
I nodded again, and continued speaking.
"Well, Dee Summers was friends with Linda Jamison. Linda was having problems in her computer class, and Dee knew I was a whiz with computers. So, she introduced me and Linda, so that I could potentially tutor her."
"And Mister LaValliere. What came from that introduction?" Arthur was on the ball.
"Well, it was freshman year, and Linda and I shared some of the same classes. So, I tutored her as a favor to Dee. Well, when the tutoring was over, I asked her out, and she laughed in my face." I grumbled, pressing on before my attorney could interrupt. "I mean, I know that me tutoring her doesn't entitle me to anything else, but I thought we had connected."
My attorney nodded, and paused a moment, most likely thinking of the next question he would pose that made it seem like he knew what I was going to say.
"Can you tell the court what happened then?"
"Well, Linda Smith laughed in my face as I said. Her words were 'Why would I date a butterball like you that isn't going to amount to more than a bean pusher?'. I was put down and angry. But, I knew she was right. So I started going to the school weight room after classes, and running with the track and football team. In Sophomore year, I hit my growth spurt. That combined with the exercise put me in pretty good shape."
Arthur nodded, and looked at the Jury, most of whom were more than a bit confused. However, a couple of them were nodding and smiling. Those were the ones that had been ugly ducklings like myself. Arthur then looked back at me.
"What happened with your new physical appearance, Mister LaValliere?" he asked.
"Well, I mean. Coach recruited me for football. I was solid core, and large. He ran me harder than anyone else, but he did it to teach me the game. He made it a part of me."
"And what were the results of this, Marc?" Arthur asked, sliding in the humanizing aspect of calling me by my name.
"Well, after a good amount of training, I was a beast. I was used as a lynchpin for offense and defense, depending on who we were playing. My position was never the same from one game to the next, and I knew it wasn't all because of me. But, I gained popularity, and alot of my teammates and friends said I was the reason we were winning games, so I became popular."
There was a bit of a hubbub in the crowd, and then Arthur asked the question when it died down.
"So, what happened next, Marc?"
