Necessities - the Sequel

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First of all, I want to thank saddletramp1956 for agreeing to let me write this sequel to his story, "Necessities." I really liked that story (can you tell?), it had a lot of good elements: tongue-in-cheek storytelling, good parts of a burn the bitch story, but it seemed to lack a necessary ending. Cheeky, but it just didn't go far enough. Like I told saddletramp1956:

"A priest, a rabbi, a minister, and an imam walk into a bar and sit down at the bar. The bartender says, 'Okay, is this some kind of a joke?' See?" No punchline.

Anyway, I hope you get a chuckle from my ending.

Oh, and this is my first attempt at writing, so please, be gentle. I heartily recommend you read "Necessities" by saddletramp1956, first. For context. Enjoy!

--The BEAR

A Necessary Ending to "Necessities"

"What the fuck does he have that I don't??" I demanded, maybe a little too loudly.

"Toilet paper" she admitted, eyes downcast and her complexion going beet red. Again, she tried to deflect, "You don't understand...it's not what it seems...it was only sex...I only love you...We can get past this...pleeaassse..."

That gave me just about enough time to get my pissed off brain back in gear. "Lorraine, did you suddenly go blonde?" I grabbed her by the arm, pulling her through the doorway, and onto the front lawn. She lost her grip on her towel and it fell to the floor, leaving her in all her naked glory. I was now glad I had brought in all the groceries, except for my treasure. I dragged her to the driver's side back door, and pointed to the sixty-four pack of Charmin on the back seat.

"And just what the fuck does that look like?" I asked her sarcastically.

"Oh, my god," she breathed, slumping to the ground.

I reached into the back seat, under the driver's seat, and grabbed my surplus, aircraft crash axe, the one with a horn opposite from the ax blade. I strode around to her five-year-old Camry, ripping into all four tires with the horn end, chuckling evilly at the explosive whoosh each one made as it expired.

'Oh, darn,' I thought, 'Her Toyota is now blocking his Mercedes.' I almost brought my fingers to my lips the way the clowns do at a circus when they've done a bozo. 'Oh, well. Too bad, so sad.'

Opening the driver's door, I popped the hood, kicking the door shut. Lifting the hood, I grabbed and severed the upper radiator hose. Then gouged a huge hole in the radiator.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY CAR?" she screamed.

(She'd been doing that a lot, but not nearly enough yet.)

"It's not your car, Lorraine," I informed her calmly, "I bought it after we got married because you loved it. My name is on the title, the registration, and the insurance. And the parking permit. You never looked, apparently, and I didn't think it was that important. Glad I didn't change anything."

"I loved you," I growled out as I slammed the hood, and went back to the driver's door.

Pulling it open, I took the spare key off my key ring, started the car, got a four-foot-long 2X4 from the bed of my trusty 2013 Super-Duty, and jammed the Camry's accelerator. Then holding the ax by its head, I snapped off the end of the key with the edge, shearing it off at the steering column. Then I locked all the doors, turned on the A/C control to 'MAX', and slammed the door shut. The car sounded like it was in a street race. I threw the ax in the bed of my truck, going around to the driver's door. Lorraine looked a sniveling mess, bawling her eyes out at me from her pathetic seat on the front lawn.

"How can you be so cruel?" she whimpered.

"I'm cruel, Lorraine??" I replied, "Really? Am I the one who's saying their spouse, the love of their life isn't worth being an ass-wipe? You fucking slut. Well, now, he's got toilet paper, and I've got toilet paper, but you...you have no toilet paper, unless you're going to keep trading pussy, you know, for being able to wipe your ass."

I backed out of the driveway, putting my truck in 'Drive' just in time to hear the Toyota screech, jerk spastically, and cough out its death throes.

(She'd almost screamed enough)

"I HATE YOU!!" followed me down the street. I smirked.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I drove towards home, calling my boss from my cell to arrange a few days off, then drove to the bank. I canceled all our joint credit cards, kept my own, and closed out the checking and savings accounts. All the self-protection things you hear about the typical poor husband not doing, and also some things I probably shouldn't have. Bite me. Next, I called my buddy Jeff, because his brother had just gone through a messy divorce.

"Hey. Can you recommend a good divorce attorney?" I asked, my voice colored with a little embarrassment.

"Yeah, you want Jack's ex-wife's girl, she's a real nut-crusher."

'Why is it nobody ever recommends their divorce attorney?? Hmmm...' I called The Honorable Abigail De Lorens Esq., making an appointment with her secretary for 9:00 am the next morning. Then I drove to the bank down the street from our old one, and deposited the $ 4300.00 in a new checking account, took some of the bank's complimentary temporary checks, and ordered some preprinted ones with Polar Bears on them. Don't judge. I like polar bears. As I drove home, I passed a locksmith's shop. Stopped in and asked him how late he worked. He said for about another half-hour, and then he was headed home to his loving missus. 'Go ahead,' I thought, 'rub it in.'

"Would you take on a rush job to change some locks right away for an extra 250 bucks?"

"How many we talking?"

"Front door, back door and side door."

"Address?" he asked, pulling a notebook from his back pocket to jot down my information.

I gave him my address, and he laughed, "Why ain't we there, yet?"

Forty-five minutes later, Fort Knox wasn't that well-protected. I would sleep better knowing Lorraine couldn't sneak in on me at night and murder me. While the locksmith was doing his thing, I changed the code on the garage door opener. Then I put my truck in the garage, closed the door, and pinned the locking rod.

Going back inside, I got on my home computer, and downloaded the pictures from the cloud. I burned four DVD copies, printed out four more, and e-mailed copies to her parents, girlfriends, and the church group she volunteered with. I went online, cancelled the insurance on the Toyota, her cell phone, and went to bed.

(Does any of this sound familiar?? Am I living in a Literotica story?!)

(Nah, can't be. More like an r/Pro-Revenge YouTube video.)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The next morning, I was up bright and early, out to the Waffle House for breakfast, having not slept very well the night before. Perking up a bit over some really great Belgian waffles, fantastic sausage, and hash-browns, topped off with a couple of cups of rich, dark coffee I showed up at the Law Offices of De Lorens and Craig. I was ushered in to Miss De Loren's office at nine on the dot by Francine, the secretary I'd spoken to before.

Ms. De Lorens was quite attractive, a lady maybe in her late twenties, very early thirties. Nice figure. Firm, cute breasts, long, tanned legs, and dark, blue eyes, the prettiest I'd seen to date on God's green Earth. Long red hair, done up in a French braid.

'Don't go there,' I chided myself silently. 'There got you here in the first place.

She asked me to lay out what was up, and how her firm could assist me.

'Nice. Business-like, right down to cases,' I thought. 'I like her already.' I gave her one of the DVD's and showed her the pictures I'd printed out.

"Those are pretty dam good pictures. How did you get them?"

"I shot them from a hill behind the shit-head's property."

She asked for his address, then brought up county tax assessment records on her laptop.

"Great, he doesn't own the property," she chuckled. "No presumption of privacy."

"That's good, because it wasn't too bright of her to be doing it with him out on the deck," I responded with a hint of bitterness creeping into my words.

"How bad do you want this to be?" she asked.

"I want her to hurt so bad that no amount of lotion will help her ass."

She studied me, made some notes, pursed her lips and said "Well, this is what I would recommend. We go for adultery, because this is not a no-fault state, and public lewdness. We name him, and send a nasty-gram to his partners asking for $350,000, but not until after the divorce. That way she'll still be employed and won't be able to pursue alimony."

"She won't? Or can't?" Even I knew divorce financials were a nightmare.

"She'll try, but will have no grounds. And quitting her job will not give her cause. I see she makes more than you do? Is she that good... at her job?"

"I-I don't know," I blushed.

"I'm teasing," she giggled, softly.

I think I really like her.

She went on, "You can't benefit from the morals clause, because you're not employed there. But we don't care. They will push back, we tell them to come across or we go to trial. They'll counter-offer, but again, we don't care. We raise it to $400,000. Then we tell them we will depose, under oath, everyone who works there and we'll see them in court. I am fairly confident they won't want the publicity." She paused to take a breath.

I whistled softly. "You really know your stuff."

She smiled, and it was one of those that really lights a person's face. "Anything else you need to tell me?"

I told her I had a credit union account where I worked, both savings and a share draft account. I was the only one on the account. The money came out of my paycheck, and as far as I knew, she didn't know about it.

"Well, we won't mention it. Credit Union accounts usually don't get attached. What about your house?"

"We bought it when we got married, but she didn't have a job, so couldn't qualify for the mortgage and my name is the only one on the deed, the insurance, and the mortgage. She didn't mind living there, but never liked it. Always wanted a bigger one. I couldn't afford it and she never offered to help."

"This is almost too good to be true," she said, her eyes darkening a little. "What kind of woman refuses...well, never you mind. We can file whenever you want. It will take a week or two to get in front of a judge."

"Sounds good to me," I said. "How about tomorrow afternoon?"

"No problem, I'll get Francine right on it. We'll also get an investigator on them until we go to court, to see what else we can dig up."

I blinked; this was really moving fast. Had I really said 'tomorrow?'

Then, seemingly out of the clear blue, she asked, "Would you like to join me for an early lunch? Strictly business, we can discuss further details of your filing." She smiled that smile again.

I stuttered through "I-I have a few other things to...to take care of."

Her smile faltered a little.

"Hey," I asked gently, "How about an early dinner?"

Her grin returned but she made a show of checking her desk planner. "Hmmm...let me check my schedule," she said, pulling out her phone, too. She glanced at the wall clock, and seconds later told me, "Pick me up at 6:30".

"Here?" I asked. She nodded, again giving me another of those sunny smiles. At the rate I was getting them, I'd need sunblock soon. Just kidding. But still...

"Okay," I said, finally finding the balls to give her back one of my own. I rose, shook her hand, and left, feeling way lighter than when I had arrived earlier. "Damn." I muttered. "Nah, she probably treats all her clients like that. That's why she's so successful."

Later, I found out she'd buzzed Francine and her secretary came into her office.

"Well?" Francine had asked. "How did that go?"

"When this is over, I'm going to marry him."

"Wow!" Francine squealed, "Really?"

"Yes, really. He's kind, sweet, and has really been royally shit on. I just know he is the right one. I'm glad I waited. I never believed in love at first sight, but it was like God was whispering to me 'Don't let him get away. He has been tested, and I knew he would survive.' God help me, but I really think I'm in love with him already. My parents will be over the moon!"

I found out later that she was seriously Catholic, the youngest of five kids, and the only girl.

It turns out her dad is an appellate court judge, and her mom, a nurse practitioner. Apple of her dad's eye and doted on by her mom. Ms. De Lorens was also fiercely protected by her brothers: a State Trooper, a neurosurgeon, a Test Pilot in the Air Force, and last but certainly not least - her youngest brother - a Special Forces Army Sniper Instructor.

I am sooo hung out to dry.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I went into work and saw the lady in Human Resources, took Lorraine off my 401k, my other pension plan, life insurance, and removed her from my emergency contact list. I then went and talked to my boss, and told him what was going on. He had always treated me like the son he'd never had. He said he was sorry, and that he was afraid his working me so hard had contributed to the break-up.

I told him, "No, it's all on the cake-eater. She never had enough."

"Do you have an attorney?"

"Yes, Abigail De Lorens."

"Judge De Lorens's daughter?" He asked, his eyes widening.

"I don't know," I said. "Why?" I suddenly got a sinking feeling. How many other De Lorens could there be I wondered?

"Okay. We need to talk."

Here it comes but I never thought I would hear that phrase from another man.

"You don't know who she is, do you?"

"Uhhh, cute, intelligent, very business-like - I have a working dinner with her tonight - what else do I need to know?"

THAT'S when I got her biography.

"I know her dad and her mom; Jane and I go to the same church - St. Michael the Archangel - and she's very religious. A real square shooter."

Gulp. "Thanks boss. I'll be on my best behavior."

"You'd best be. We will pray for you, son."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I picked her up at her office at 6:25, sue me if I was a little eager. I apologized for the state of my FX4 but she just laughed it off. Turned out she loves Italian food, and only drank socially - one glass of Ruffino Chianti. Afterwards, we danced on the small floor in front of the stage where a jazz quartet played. She loved to dance, too. As we swayed through several songs, she told me a little about herself and her family. I opened up a little, too.

"My parents died in a car accident when I was seven, I was raised by Gramps and Momma May. They drilled good values into me, with cheating being one of the worst wrongs. I'm just thankful this all happened before we had any kids." My voice trailed off forlornly.

My sad face must have prompted her to touch my forearm in sympathy.

'God,' Abigail thought, 'I like this guy more and more. I really hope this works out.'

"Don't sweat it, Tom," she murmured softly. "You will survive this and you will move forward. I promise." Then she raised up on her toes and kissed me gently on the cheek.

State Cop, check. Special Forces sniper, check. Air Force Test Pilot, check. And a freaking Brain Surgeon! Check, check, and double-check. I am so screwed.

The sweat beading on my forehead seemed to give my lovely companion the giggles. "Don't worry. We are going to be professional. When this is over, though..." she gave me an impish smile. "We'll see where we are and go from there. Understand, I may be a little old-fashioned, but after graduating from St. Agnes Elementary, Holy Angels Academy High School, and Georgetown University School of Law, well...yes. Morals." She raised her hand over my head and held it palm down, waving it back and forth. "Like, up here. I'm still a virgin, although I'm human, and maybe a boyfriend or two got to second base. If this," she dropped her hand to my cheek and laid her soft palm against it, "is meant to be, and I feel it is, it will be worth waiting for."

We made our way from the dance floor and left the restaurant. On the drive back to her condo, I kept stealing glances at her, but she kept her gaze forward. A little smile kept playing about her lips. When we got there, I walked her to her door and she turned and shook my hand. Professional, dammit.

"Let's see if I can be a warrior princess and save my hero from the evil witch. I've had a lovely evening. Thank you and goodnight, Tom."

Okay. Just what in the hell have I gotten myself into?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I found out as the divorce went forward.

Lorraine tried four times to get into the house, the last attempt resulting in her arrest, and netting her three days in jail. She had tried contacting me numerous times, but she'd declined cloud storage of her old phone's content so her new phone didn't have my number.

(She had to call my lawyer and when she was served the petition, the scream she let out had nearly shattered windows. Still not quite enough, but getting there.)

On our day in court, before one Judge Anthony Vallone, Jr., he heard arguments put forth by both sides. Unfortunately for Lorraine, it became obvious her lawyer seemed to be partnered at Laissez Faire LLC, and School of Front End Repair. Abigail ate him alive.

It came out that fatso fuck-buddy had dumped her, and refused to help with any of her expenses. Talk about making your bed...

"Darn," Abby remarked to me during a recess. "I'd hoped for a little more competition."

The judge admitted the photographs, in addition to videos, more stills, and interviews with Abby's investigator. When Lorraine saw the new evidence, her outburst was the best yet.

(Preeetty close, almost)

Once she had been served, she had moved into his house but it was rough going. The judge threw out her request for the house and alimony.

(Sob, sob, sob...getting really close now.)

Then he turned to my lawyer with a stern look, "She is legally entitled to half the monies that were in any joint accounts. Ms. Ravens cannot be deprived of these funds, which amounts to a sum of $2700.00. Is your client prepared to be forthcoming with such funds?"

"Your, honor, I am..." my red-haired attorney started, but I put my hand on her arm to stop her.

Pulling her head down, I whispered, "I've got this." She had a puzzled look on her face.

I stood and addressed the judge. "Your honor, if I may address the court?"

The judge leaned back in his chair, and I thought I heard a sigh. "Go ahead, Mr. Wilson."

"Your honor, I apologize for cleaning out our accounts. It was done against the advice of counsel, but had already been accomplished prior to contacting my lawyer, Ms. De Lorens. I felt I could rectify this breach at trial. I would like to submit this check for the amount due my wife from our accounts." I reached across to their table and handed her lawyer the check I was holding. He looked at it and nearly burst a blood vessel.

"Your honor, I must object, this amount is only $700.00. By our accounts, he owes Ms. Ravens $2700.00!"

I grinned. This would be good. If she had been screaming before, she was about to have a stroke. My attorney didn't know what was coming, the court didn't know what was up, and my soon-to-be ex-wife was about to get blind-sided. I surreptitiously hit the 'SEND' button on my muted cell phone.

A couple of weeks prior I'd gone online and made a $2000.00 purchase and had it shipped to my home. The day before I'd contacted a delivery company to make arrangements to have it delivered to the courthouse today, awaiting only my call.

"If it please the court, may I enter the remainder of my debt.." I turned to face the courtroom doors, waiting expectantly. 'God, please let this work,' I pleaded silently, as Abby looked at me with curiosity. All eyes turned to follow mine and within a minute the doors opened. Twenty-five young men trooped in hauling fifty, large cardboard boxes with them. Murmurs ran throughout the courtroom, as the judge gaveled for order. The men deposited the boxes in front of and around the respondent's table, facing my almost former wife. They were stacked so high she was almost not visible where she stood in shock.