Sue Williams was not happy. In fact, she was angry. Very fucking angry. Sue Williams was not normally very pleasant by nature anyway, but when she was angry, well, the world was prone to cower in her path.
Sue had just come from a mediation hearing for her pending divorce. She had to endure the embarrassing public disclosure of quotations from her husband's deposition, stating less-than-complimentary things about Sue's sexual drive and performance.
According to the affidavit, not only were she and her soon-to-be-ex 'sexually incompatible' but it was due to Sue's 'frigidity' and 'unilateral unwillingness to try any new, creative ideas' to freshen up their sex life.
Worse, the bastard had gone so far as to also garner quotes from the only man that Sue had dated briefly during the separation. Truth be told, Sue had only dated this guy to begin with in an ill-fated attempt to make her husband jealous, to show him that she could still attract virtually any man she wanted to, and she knew the man was a close golfing buddy of her spouse.
She really didn't have any true interest in him, and he turned out to be a real limp dick in the sack, although like most men, in his own mind he was a sexual super-hero. In reality, he was hung like a baby chipmunk, had no stamina, a lousy tongue, and after about a half-hour into their first attempt at sexual aerobics, Sue wondered if she were ever again going to find a man who knew his way around a woman's body. She gave him a second chance a few weeks later only in the meager hope that no one could actually be THAT bad. He was.
Unbeknownst to Sue, this former boyfriend, if you could call him that, confided to Sue's ex-husband that Sue was a 'wet fish' in bed. They shared notes on Sue's seeming lack of interest in all things carnal, and Limp Dick had volunteered to testify on her husband's behalf.
The quotes from this Benedict Arnold included, "We only had sex twice in the three months that I dated her, and the whole time her legs were stuck together as if glued."
Followed by this scathing rebuke: "Sue acts as if she is God's gift to man, that her intimate parts are made of gold and not to be shared."
In and of themselves, the characterizations had not painted Sue as the world's most giving and enthusiastic lover, but it got worse. Sue had to endure the diagnosis of a psychiatrist that her husband had insisted on entering into these contentious divorce proceedings, and the alleged expert concurred with the synopsis of her two former lovers.
'Hypoactive sexual desire disorder' was the quack's conclusion. 'HSDD', as it is also known, was defined in the deposition as "a lack or absence of sexual fantasies and desire for sexual activity for some period of time."
It was rather apparent by the mediator's body language that he was more than swayed by this compelling evidence that portrayed Sue as the ultimate sexual 'ice queen'. As the hearing ended, the mediator made it known that the parties would be given one week to contradict evidence presented today before he would render his decision.
Sue fumed. After the legal session had concluded, she overheard the lawyers on both sides, suddenly chummy with each other, invite the mediator to a cordial, off-the-clock happy hour at the Blue Bell Inn later that afternoon. These pompous pricks had balls the size of onions to rub it in her face like that, she thought.
But yet, that knowledge also brought opportunity. Sue wouldn't need a week to present evidence to shatter her husband's slanderous methods. She would do this today.
For Sue, millions of dollars, real estate, cars, boats, et al, hung in the balance of Mr. Mediator's judgment. Her hubby had utilized his substantial financial resources to try to keep his significant wealth that had been accumulated over the years from getting into Sue's clutches. Thus far, he was playing the game with a winning flair.
But Sue had two innate resources that her husband could never hope to capture, not any more, at least.
Her body.
And her smarts.
Both were equally impressive.
You see, Sue was a former runway model in New York City, albeit more than two decades ago. That's where she had met her husband, a wealthy hedge fund manager who also had connections in the fashion world. As they courted, her husband convinced Sue to abandon the modeling career, and Sue took him up on the offer, eventually raising two children of their own while Sue turned her focus on family matters and academic pursuits. After years of copious studying, she had acquired a masters' degree in psychology herself from Columbia University.
Not that she had ever ignored her sensational God-given body, however. Through the twenty-plus years of matrimony, child-rearing and higher education, Sue worked out diligently, mainly at her selfish-prick husband's less-than-subtle urgings. She maintained and even improved upon her figure so that she could assume her rightful role, at least in her husband's myopic vision, as the proper 'trophy wife' for a successful Wall Street mogul.
Sue stood a lean and statuesque five-feet-eleven, and even today, in her mid-forties, she still tipped the scales at only one-hundred and twenty-two pounds. Her long legs seemed to stretch forever, as one photographer once said, "until they made a perfect ass out of her." It was meant as a compliment.
She had her boobs lifted and enhanced a few years back, again at the urging of ex-hubby, and even though she often did her best to conceal them whenever possible nowadays, almost in spite, they still measured a firm 36C with pink nipples the size and shape of Skittles candies.
Her long, silky, natural honey-blonde hair was frequently bound up in a tight bun or ponytail, but when she let her mane loose, the curly locks reached the middle of her back and cascaded down over her sizeable breasts.
Even Sue had to admit something to herself, though. She really hadn't been very interested in sex during the last several years or so, but not because of any bullshit psychological malfunction such as 'HSDD', as diagnosed by her husband's paid-for-hire so-called professional.
