Love Letters

The note I left at the end of the last chapter seems to have been misinterpreted by many readers. I'm not playing manipulative games, being rude, or holding readers to ransom. I made the mistake of letting my enthusiasm get the better of me and posted Chapter 01 before the story was complete. Many years ago I used to write on another amateur site where posting a chapter once every one or two weeks was the norm so I assumed that would be acceptable on this site as well. Apparently not, and, worse, it's a sin worthy of having my kneecaps being taken out. Trust me, after some of the emails I received, I won't make that mistake again if I ever submit anything in the future.

I feel the need to repeat myself: I'm employed, I have a family, I have commitments, so as much as I might like to, I can't spend every night or weekend writing. And it has to be said; going for my jugular and calling me names doesn't inspire me to want to write any faster for you, in fact, quite the opposite.

For the non-writers among you, three pages on Literotica is about 9-10K of words. That's a university length essay they usually give you a term or semester to write. And please remember the writers and editors on this site do not receive payment of any kind so a little patience and understanding would be appreciated.

From the diversity of comments on both Chapters One and Two it's clear that what one reader likes about the story another will loathe for the very same reason. What that tells me is not to write for an audience because I'm never going to please every section of the audience. So consider yourself warned that I write for myself and for the characters running around my head. You can read or not read as you choose, love or hate the character(s) as you choose, like or loathe my writing style as you choose, and if you ever decide to write a story yourself, you will get the same opportunity to develop the plot and character(s) in the way you see fit.

Toward the end of the chapter a party game I'm not sure would be familiar to non-Australians is mentioned. I won't do a 'spoiler' here but anyone who's not heard of it and doesn't get the gist of it from the text can go to the end of the chapter for a description.

WARNING: No willing cucks in sight but some "whoop-ass" is definitely on Danny's horizon.

# # #

"Are you serious? What about all your lectures to Shaun and me about not taking matters into our own hands? About violence not being the answer? Or about two wrongs not making a right?"

"I guess I did too good a job of instilling a bit of honor into you boys. Tell me something, Danny. If Zack—" My father held up his hand to silence me when I opened my mouth to interrupt. "Let me finish. If Zack came into your home a month ago and told you to your face he was going to steal Claire away from you, that he was going to take her away with him right there and then, would you have challenged him? Would you have fought him for her?"

"Of course."

All my father did was raise one eyebrow. That was all it took for me to have my epiphany.

"Oh, okay. I get it."

"About time," said Shaun. "The only difference is; the fucker didn't have the balls or decency to tell you to your face."

"True, but Claire shares the blame, she might even have been the instigator, the letters sure sound like she came up with a lot of the shit they did, and I can't exactly go bust her nose, can I?"

"No, you can't, but we'll deal with her in other ways," my father agreed. "But when it comes to your cousin, I don't care if the bitch stripped naked, laid herself out on a platter, and offered herself up to him with bells on her nipples, he should have said no. You're his kin. His blood. Not only that, you were his friend. He should have walked away. Maybe, had a good look, but walked away nonetheless. He didn't."

"Bells on her nipples, Dad?" We all laughed. "Okay, consider me convinced. Let's figure out how I'm going to do this so I don't end up in jail."

# # #

The weekend passed by quicker than I thought it would. My family rarely left me alone. They kept me busy making plans, Dad and Shaun's somewhat different to Mum and Mel's....

It was the best thing they could have done. It kept me focused and able to keep my pain and grief locked away. Perhaps, most of all, it changed my simmering, ready-to-boil-over, rage into something cold and implacable and determined. Something constructive rather than destructive.

Mum and Mel tweaked my notice and took over seeing it lodged in, not only the local paper, but also the free paper and another rag from the nearest city to us which was popular among the locals as it had great sports coverage. The notice would go in all the papers the following Monday and run every day for the entire week. Mum, God bless her affronted heart, wanted to make sure everyone in our fair town saw the ad.

Claire rang a few times and wrote me a long email. I let the calls go to voicemail where she left me essay length messages. They all said basically the same thing—she loved me, don't throw away our love and the twelve happy years we'd spent together. I snorted. Had she not gone through her things and found the love letters missing? I'd repacked her books, but still... had she not figured it out yet? Was she so arrogant as to believe her affair was still unknown to me? Was she trying to bluff me? Brazen it out? Did she really know me so little that she believed my feelings could be switched off like a tap? Apparently so.

The only awkward moment was when we were all at Mum and Dad's for dinner on Sunday evening and Claire turned up just as we were about to sit down. Mel and Shaun immediately took Maddie and Declan out to the backyard so they wouldn't hear what passed between my mother and Claire. Thank God, they did because Claire put on one hell of a performance, crying and wailing up a storm. My already high regard for my mother climbed another notch; she remained unmoved by Claire's emotional tour de force.

"Please, Ellie, you have to intercede on my behalf. I don't know what's gotten into Danny to make him behave so irrationally. Maybe he's having some sort of emotional breakdown. Please, I'm begging you; please convince him to talk to me. He loves me. I know he does. He can't have stopped overnight."

"From what I understand, dear, he's never loved you. Not much can be done about that. If by word and deed you couldn't inspire him to love you after twelve years together, I can't see how yet another conversation is going to change things. Now if you don't mind, I have guests and dinner to serve."

And then she closed the door in the bitch's face.

# # #

Monday evening saw the first bit of shit hit the fan. Claire had either read or been informed of the separation notice and so come five-thirty I had a hysterical woman on my doorstep, blubbering the usual cheater bullshit.

Luckily for me, Shaun had stopped by after work. Knowing he was there helped me keep my composure. I was never more grateful for my family's don't-let-Danny-spend-too-much-time-alone plan. I knew he'd rescue me if it sounded like I was losing my self-control or deviating from our plan.

"Danny, you have to believe me. It's not what you think. I can explain."

Honestly, did she really think me so stupid? Perhaps she was justified; she had, after all, managed to fool me for twelve years, but, even so, what other interpretation was;

Standing by Danny, watching you walk down the aisle, knowing you were full of my cum, is the kinkiest, most perverse thing I've ever known

or

Do you really want me to impregnate you? Man, the idea of you having my baby and getting old Danny Boy to raise it has my cock as hard as titanium

open to? Did she really think she could convince me it was innocent? Justified? Acceptable? Reasonable behavior? All of the above?

"Look, whatever, Claire. Doesn't really matter. It just shows it's time to move on—our marriage is over."

"No!" Claire screamed loud enough I was sure our neighbors heard.

I guess my mother was right—for whatever reason; Claire wanted to hang on to our marriage.

"No. It can't be. I love you, Danny. Please give me a chance to explain. You have to let me explain."

"I don't 'have to' anything, Claire, and allowing you to explain your screwing around with my cousin is a waste of my time—I don't care."

"Please, Danny. Despite what you've said I know I've hurt you and I truly didn't mean to. Please, let me explain."

I sighed impatiently. I'd give the bitch a chance to explain, not because I wanted to hear her lies—I'd finally moved past that morbid need, thanks to my family—but because my mother had suggested we let Claire metaphorically hang herself with her lies. Still, she was going to have to work for it. Gone were the days where looking at me with puppy dog eyes was going to get her what she wanted.

"What's the point, Claire?"

"I need you to understand, Danny. If you let me explain, I know I can make you understand."

I harrumphed again, looking at my watch. "Fine. I'll make myself available at five-thirty tomorrow evening. You will have thirty minutes." My tone was abrupt, making it clear I was reluctant.

"Thank you, Danny. You won't regret it, I promise. Where? Where shall I meet you?"

"Here."

I didn't trust the slut as far as I could kick her with my little toe. I wanted more than the recording off my phone. I wanted privacy, but I also wanted witnesses in the off chance things turned ugly or she tried to lie about what was said or done during the meeting. By having it at my home, I could have a member of my family within hearing distance.

"Thank you, Danny. Thank you so much."

Claire stepped forward, closing the distance between us, and placed her hands on my shoulders. She raised herself on her toes and leaned in as if to kiss me. Her intentions were so obvious. Did she really think if she could plant one on me I'd melt and forgive all? I couldn't decide if she was arrogant or delusional. I grabbed her hands, and, at the same time as moving backward, I pushed her away, causing her to lose her balance and stumble.

I shuddered, allowing my revulsion to show on my face. "Please do not presume to show me affection."

"I-I'm sorry. I just... It's just, I love you and I miss you, Danny."

"Whatever, Claire. I will see you tomorrow evening."

# # #

Tuesday dawned bright and clear; giving no warning to the surprising turn the day was going to take. I was finishing a beautiful Jarrah kitchen benchtop when I was contacted by one of the local radio stations. Apparently, Haley, one half of their morning radio show; Oscar and Haley, had read the separation notice and recognized my name as she was friends with Dee, another cousin of mine on my mother's side. Guess it's true what they say about it being a small world.

Haley contacted Dee, who, in turn, contacted my mother and Mel. Mum and Mel happily shared the love letters with my cousin, and she, with their permission, shared them with Haley.

I fluctuated between feeling mortified at having my private affairs bandied about for all and sundry to see, and thrilled that, perhaps, Claire and Rat-Zack would be publically humiliated, after all. To say it was embarrassing to me went without saying. I felt emasculated, like I couldn't satisfy my wife and keep her faithful, but as the saying goes; when seeking revenge, dig two graves, and if my grave was one of embarrassment, I'd live with it. What did I care about what a bunch of strangers thought of me? The people I cared about knew what manner of man I was, and more importantly, deep down, so did I, regardless of moments of doubt.

I spoke at length with Haley. She seemed both sympathetic and nice. Somehow, her invasion of my privacy didn't feel like an invasion at all. Dee, apparently, had given me a big talk up, which gave me a boost. For me that signaled my extended family was rallying in Corner Danny.

By the end of the call, I agreed to be interviewed on air on Friday morning and gave permission for them to use some of the letters on their website and Facebook page. To keep it PG some words or phrases would have to be blacked out, but the gist, she assured me, would remain clear.

They were going to dedicate the next few days to discussions about infidelity, encouraging listeners to ring in with their stories. My interview on Friday would be the culmination of their forum. We organized to meet the following day so I could sign a release form for the use of the letters. I ended the call feeling a little shell shocked but resolute; if the show went as planned, and the audience reacted the way Haley predicted, Claire and Zack would be judged by a jury of their peers.

No jail time for them, perhaps, more's the pity.

But then again, not all jails have bars....

# # #

I glanced down at myself and grimaced. My clothing wasn't exactly suitable for meeting someone at a café. I climbed out of my truck and patted down my jeans and tee to get the worst of the sawdust off. Using a rag, I wiped my work boots. I shrugged. The result wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. It couldn't be helped. I still had a living to earn and I hadn't had time to detour via the house to get changed.

Entering the trendy coffee shop Haley had chosen, I paused and scanned the room. I knew what Haley looked like from the billboards and side of bus adverts for her show with Oscar. I spotted her bent blonde head toward the back in one of their booths—good, at least we'd have a bit of privacy.

I watched as she glanced at her watch and then looked up. I smiled and raised my arm in recognition. She rose and smiled too. She was average height, but that was the only thing average about her as far as I could see. She looked far better in person than her promo shots.

Her hair reminded me of Meg Ryan in the movie she did with Matthew Broderick;

Addicted to

... something. Love? Lust? Mum's cooking? I couldn't remember. The style was kind of funky; short, messy, poking out here and there, with a long fringe that swept across her forehead. Sexy. Very effing sexy.

Taken individually, her mouth might be considered a touch too wide, her chin a tad too pointed, her cheekbones a fraction too high, but somehow, when put all together, she was nothing short of breathtaking.

I was relieved to see she was casually dressed—a white tee tucked into hipster jeans held up by a wide black belt. Though the belt really didn't have much of a job to do; I was certain her curves could handle the task all on their own. All the belt managed to do was draw attention to the difference between her waistline and her hips.

"Daniel?" she asked. Her voice had a touch of rasp à la Emma Stone or Demi Moore.

"Please; call me Danny."

Her smile widened and we shook hands; her grip was pleasantly firm.

"I feel I already know you," she said as she resumed her seat. "Back in high school Dee spoke often of you and Shaun. She'll probably kill me for telling you this but she used to bemoan the fact that the pair of you were her cousins."

"Well, you can tell her from me, that Shaun did his share of moaning about their cousinship status."

Haley laughed and it was a nice sound, one that wrapped itself around you and made you feel warm.

"Not you?"

"No." I chuckled. "I was too busy staring at Jilly Clark all the time—she had huge knockers. Think Dolly Parton and you'll get the picture. I couldn't understand how she could stand up straight with such big tits. She defied the laws of physics."

"So, a boob man?"

"No, not really. At least, not anymore, but as a teen, yeah, I guess I was."

I felt heat creep into my cheeks. Less than two minutes in and I was already confessing embarrassing truths.

"I hope you don't mind but I took the liberty of ordering you a cappuccino. I figured that was pretty safe."

"That's fine; thanks."

We smiled awkwardly at each other, neither of us knowing how to broach the elephant in the room. That made me feel a bit better; the fact she was uncomfortable about questioning me about Claire's affair showed she had some humanity, that my pain and betrayal wasn't an everyday event for her.

I looked into her eyes, surprised to see they weren't the blue or gray I expected. They were green. Very green. In fact, I couldn't recall ever having seen eyes as green before. They didn't glitter like emeralds, but rather shone like the glossy leaves of the Peace Lily that usually sat at the center of my mother's dining table.

She reached across the table, touching the back of my hand. "I've read the letters, Danny. They're so awful. I can't even begin to fathom how it must have made you feel to find them. Can you tell me about it?"

I studied her, looking for signs of deceit or false sincerity. I found none.

"Can we decide afterward what will remain off the record? There are parts I definitely don't want to share with every Tom, Dick, or Harry."

"Of course. That goes without saying. I don't want to know because of morbid curiosity or because of some sick voyeuristic reason. I need to know so I can plan my questions. I must warn you Oscar is irreverent and he may throw in some one liners designed to make people laugh or stir the pot. I promise I will only pass on to him the parts you don't mind sharing with our audience."

I nodded. Taking a deep breath, I stared down at my hands wrapped around the mug of coffee. Thank God, she'd ordered me a large—I was going to need every drop. I tried to look at her as I told my tale, but found I couldn't hold her gaze, but every time I glanced at her, she was watching me, her expression serious but kind. I told her everything, not just about finding the letters, but also about the Claire I'd thought I'd known and our marriage. There was just something about Haley that demanded the truth, but, as each word left my mouth, I wondered at the wisdom of being so brutally honest. I could only hope my faith wasn't misplaced.

"... so there you have it. Not very pretty is it?"

"No, it's like some horribly perverted B-grade movie."

"That's what Mel said."

"If I hadn't heard and seen it for myself, I wouldn't believe it was possible. It's too bizarre. Surreal. It's incomprehensible that two ordinary, everyday people could behave like that. Truth truly can be stranger than fiction."

"Yes, and I'm just the blind fool who never suspected a thing."

"Don't blame yourself, Danny. You never saw the signs because you weren't looking for them, and why would you? You thought you were happily married. When I was doing my Communications degree I took a few psychology classes and they had a name for it. God, what was it again?"

Haley closed her eyes and frowned, tapping her forehead in a rapid tattoo. I couldn't help smiling; the gesture looked cute.

"I've got it!" She lit up like a Christmas tree. "It's called Confirmatory Bias or something like that."

I raised my eyebrows. "Christ that sounds like double-speak. What exactly does it mean?"

"Well, when you love someone and believe that love is reciprocated it colors how you view the loved ones words and actions. Basically, you believed Claire loved you so everything she said or did you interpreted in a way that supported your belief. It would take a bolt of lightning to make you reevaluate. You finding the letters was your bolt of lightning."

"So I'm not an idiot?"

"Far from it."

I smiled. "Well, that's a relief."

"Did you love her very much?"

"Yes... No." I sighed. "I loved the woman I thought she was but the woman revealed in those letters wasn't the Claire I knew, so I guess I loved a fantasy."

"That must be hard to come to terms with."