40 comments/ 51055 views/ 7 favorites Foul Language By: coaster2 Author's Caution: This story contains the frequent use of graphic anglo-saxonisms. I won't apologize for that since it's the essence of the story. However, if you are among the faint of heart or you find these words offensive to you, I suggest you find another story. * Chapter One: Mr. Happy "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I yelled at the meter girl. "What does it look like? I'm writing you a ticket for overtime parking." she replied calmly without looking up from her pad. "Jesus H. Fucking Christ ... what do you do ... just wait around out here until the fuckin' meter runs out so you can write me a ticket?" I blasted again. "Nope, but if I had the time ... I'd give it some serious thought." she snapped back. "Fuck me. You must be a real fuckin' prize in your household. I snarled. "Look, Mr. Matheson," she said looking up at me. "I'm tired of your foul mouth and abusive behavior. I've been real tolerant up 'till now, but I've had enough. I'm reporting you to the Police for Harassment. "You fat pig!" I yelled. "Go ahead. You'll find them down at the donut shop stuffin' Long Johns in their mouth and listening to their fuckin' arteries harden." With that snappy send off, I yanked the door of my Range Rover open and slammed it shut after me. I started it up and peeled away from the curb. I got about a kilometer down the road before I realized I needed gas. It was one of the reasons I had come to town, so I pulled into the Shell Station and filled the tank. As I pulled out of the Self-Serve, I heard a siren blip and checked the rear view mirror in time to see a RCMP car with light bar ablaze tucked up under my bumper. I pulled over to the first open spot on the curb and I'm sure steam was coming out of my ears. I reached into my jacket for my wallet, pulled out my Drivers License, then reached into the glove box and took out my registration. I pushed the button on the armrest and lowered the driver's side window in anticipation of the arrival of a constable. "Good afternoon, Mr. Matheson. May I see your license and registration please?" he asked politely. I handed them over wordlessly, but I was seething inside. The stupid little cunt had turned me in and I was already plotting my revenge. "Mr. Matheson, I understand you had a conversation with Ms. Wallington a few minutes ago." he said. "Yah, so what?" I replied with a snarl. "She says you were abusive and threatening. You realize that is an offence sir?" I'll give him this ... he was maintaining his full load of politeness in spite of my attitude. "Bullshit! I swore at her and she deserved it. I did not threaten the cunt." I didn't bother to soften my presentation. "Mr. Matheson, you can't abuse and mistreat public officials. It's against the law. They have protection against people like you." He was still maintaining his cool. I gave him a couple of more ticks in the 'under control' column. "Look, officer, she's nothing but a fat bureaucrat hired because her old man is on the fuckin' town council. She couldn't fuckin' rake leaves for a living if it wasn't for that." I wasn't giving any quarter at this point. "Mr. Matheson, is it your mission in life to piss off every single person in this town?" he asked as he started to get a little aggravated. "Nope ... just the assholes and she's one of them." I spat. "She's just doing the job she was hired to do." he replied, regaining some of his composure. "Look Wing Commander ... the last time I was in town I didn't have a Loonie in my pocket and since that's the only thing the meter takes, I had to go get some change. By the time I got back, the fuckin' bitch was writing me a ticket. And you wonder what I think she's a useless cunt?" I was back to full blast again. "Maybe nobody cuts you any slack because they don't have a very high opinion of you. Have you considered that?" he asked. "I don't give a fiddler's fuck what anybody in this shithole town thinks. Now are you going to arrest me or write me some ticket or what?" "Frankly, Mr. Matheson, I wish I could get you into involuntary therapy, but I don't have enough evidence. In the meantime, I suggest you stay out of everyone's way. Right now, you don't have any friends and any more complaints like the one Ms. Wallington filed will get you some detention time and probably more. Do you understand?" he asked forcefully. "Yah ... yah ... I know ... I got 'till sundown to get outta town. Fuck me. What a bunch of bullshit." I was already running the window up and putting the truck in gear. I stopped for a second to make sure I had my turn signal on and obeying whatever rules of the road my boiling hot brain could remember. I pulled slowly away from the curb and the cruiser pulled out after me and followed me down the street for a couple of blocks before he peeled off and disappeared. Just another lovely fuckin' day in my perfect fuckin' life. Chapter Two: Shit Happens I haven't always been like this, you know. I used to be a nice guy. I had a nice job and a nice house in the suburbs and a nice wife and two nice kids and two nice cars; all that perfect family shit. I worked in the "Big Smoke", aka Toronto. I had a pretty good office with a window that had a partial view of the lake and a private parking spot. I worked for Primexal, a national electrical hardware manufacturer and I was Product Development Manager. It was decent job that usually required us to find new developments at our competitors and make our own version of them. I think we spent about fifty cents on our own ideas and god knows how many millions on stealing other people's. My name is Geoffrey Matheson and my wife is, or was, Joyce Matheson. We have two kids. Rick is 28 and has a wife and three kids of his own and last I heard, he was in Europe somewhere working for an engineering outfit in the oil and gas pipeline business. Kirsten is 24 and is still single, but living with some fuckup in a hippy commune somewhere in B.C. I haven't talked to her in about a year. I'm kind of what they call estranged from the kids. But that's not what caused me to become what I am today. What caused that happened on a Sunday afternoon two years and four months ago. My wife had gone back to work several years ago when the kids were old enough to look after themselves and she wanted something more to do than vacuum and laundry. I couldn't complain. It would bring some more income into the house and we could use it for luxuries like vacations or maybe even a cottage near Georgian Bay. She had done very well with an insurance outfit and had risen to middle management and I was quite impressed with how far she had come in a fairly short period. One day, she came home from work and said the company was sending her and about a dozen of her other female managers to a retreat for a week. She said it was one of those touchy-feely self actualization things that big companies with too much money do to make sure they look like they are politically correct. A fuckin' waste of time I thought, but I nodded my head and said all the right things and I could tell she was looking forward to it, so what the hell, let 'em spend their money if that's what they think will make them look good. She left on Monday morning and was due back on Sunday afternoon. She and two of her fellow office friends had taken her car to somewhere north of Barrie to a retreat or resort; I wasn't clear on which. She left a phone number for emergencies, but nothing came up that I couldn't handle, so I never needed it. Sunday afternoon I was in the basement tinkering with an old Sunbeam toaster that I was hoping I could resurrect when I heard the garage door go up. I tidied up the bench, turned off the light and headed upstairs. When I got there, Joyce wasn't in the kitchen and as I turned up the hall, she came out of the back bedroom, still wearing her sneakers. She never wore sneakers in the house. "Hi. How was the retreat?" I asked walking toward her to embrace her. Unexpectedly, she held out her hands to ward me off and I noticed she was as white as a sheet. "Joyce ... what's wrong. You look terrible." I said with a knot in my stomach. "Geoff ... we have to talk. Let's go into the kitchen. I need a glass of water." she said in a serious voice, but at no time looking right at me. "Joyce ... are you all right? What's the trouble?" I was getting quite worried because I had never seen her like this before. Joyce poured herself a glass of water and sat at the kitchen table, still not looking at me. I sat down opposite to her and waited for her to tell me what she obviously wanted to tell me. "Geoff ... something happened to me this week. Something very important. I'm not sure how to explain it, but it has changed my life." she began slowly. "Joyce ..." She stopped me before I got started. "Geoff ... please let me do this. Please don't interrupt. It's hard enough to explain it to myself much less to you." She was speaking in a low and obviously nervous tone. I knew immediately that this wasn't going to be good news. "Geoff, I learned that I need to change my life if I want to be someone that I'm happy with. If I want to be a whole person. I can't do that the way my life is now. I have to make a complete break from that." She paused and then for the first time, she looked directly at me. "Geoff, I want a divorce. I need a divorce. I have to make a clean break." "What?" I must have raised my voice because she jumped and he eyes went wide. She looked frightened. "What the hell are talking about Joyce? A divorce? Why? What possible reason could you have for wanting a divorce?" I said with an intense interest in her answer. "I don't think you'll understand it, Geoff. I'm sure you won't. It isn't anything you did or didn't do. It's about me. It's about me trying to be a more complete person." At least she was looking at me now. "What the hell does that mean? Have you got a boyfriend or some guy on the side? Have you?" I demanded. "How could you think such a thing? I have never cheated on you and I never would! This is about my ... needs." She was beginning to sound a bit indignant and a bit more forceful. "Your needs?" I said in a raised voice. "Your needs? What about my needs? What about thirty one years of marriage? What about our children? Do your needs mean more than that?" I could tell I was getting louder and more aggressive as this continued. I tried to get a better hold on myself. I needed to get to the root of this "I knew you wouldn't understand. It doesn't change anything, Geoff. I will file for divorce tomorrow. I'll get my things and leave now. I'll be gone in a couple of hours. I'll have my lawyer contact your lawyer. I assume you'll use Scott Olsen?" she asked in an almost conversational tone. "Just like that. You're going to walk out of here and piss away a thirty one year marriage just like that for no good reason. Are you on drugs, Joyce? Have you been drinking?" I was getting angry now and I was losing control of my temper and my ability to think rationally. "You wouldn't understand? I won't waste my time trying to explain it." she said in a dismissive tone. "Well you fuckin' well better explain it Joyce. If you think I'm going to go quietly while you just prance out the door you've got another think coming." Now I was really steamed. "There's no need for that kind of language, Geoff." She lectured. "Fuck you, Joyce. I'm just getting started. What the fuck did you and that pack of broads do at that camp?" I demanded. "You're not leaving here until I get a complete, unvarnished version of just what the fuck you did for six days that would bring this idiot idea about!" "I refuse to discuss this with you when you are in this state. I will not be talked to like that. It won't change anything. If you want to talk to me, talk to my lawyer, Claire LaPointe." she stated in an imperious tone. "Since when did you have your own lawyer, Joyce ... or have you been planning this for some time?" I shouted. "That's none of your concern and no I haven't been planning this at all. It just happened this week." she stated more calmly. "So that's it then. You throw a thirty one year marriage out the window after some Swami in corduroys gives you a little feel-good speech? You must be out of your mind. No one with any sense would believe any of this. What the hell did you do up there that would make you want to commit suicide with our marriage?" I was speaking as calmly but as forcefully as I could manage. "You wouldn't understand, but he was able to get in touch with the real me. He got me to see that I could be so much more, but I had to break away from all the things that were holding me back." she said calmly. I'd never heard such utter horseshit in all my days, but I still needed to keep this conversation going if I was going to get to the bottom of this mystery. "And just how did he do that? How did he get in touch with the real you? Hypnotism? Drugs? There must have been something he used to have something this enormous take place." I continued. Joyce didn't say anything for a moment. Finally: "We did a bit of hash to get to our inner selves." she said in a meek voice. "Well isn't that just ducky! He drugs you and you think the world has changed. Tell me Joyce, how many of the others came back today and told their husbands they were divorcing them?" "I don't know." She was still in a quiet, defensive tone. "Bullshit! You women talk to each other about everything. Don't try and kid me." I stated forcefully. "Possibly one other." she finally admitted. "Well, well, isn't that fascinating. How come the other ten didn't go along with the deal, Joyce? Maybe the hash didn't turn their brains into Cream of Wheat like it did to yours." I snapped. "There's no need to talk like that. I was completely aware of what was going on. I just accepted the reality of his beliefs more completely that the others did." "God Joyce, I never thought you were that stupid, but I guess I was wrong." I said getting up and going to the fridge for a beer. "I'm not stupid! I'm smarter than any of the others! I could see what he was getting at I knew what it could mean to me." she said in an angry voice. I just shook my head in wonder and I stood by the counter and looked down at her. The beer tasted shitty and I put it on the counter. I was in turmoil and I couldn't think straight. I couldn't think of what I could say that would save our marriage and so I said just that to her. "Is there nothing I can say that will save our marriage?" I asked quietly. She looked up at me and I could see tears forming in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Geoff. I've made up my mind." And that was the end of it. I picked up my car keys and walked out of the house without a word. Chapter Three: More Shit, Different Day The next months were the worst of my life and they turned me into what I am today; a very angry, uncompromising middle-aged man. I no longer gave a damn what anyone thought or wanted or anything else. I showed up for work and did my eight hours and went home to an empty house. I put the house up for sale the same week Joyce filed for divorce and sold it within the first three weeks. My lawyer, Scotty Olson, told me to put the money in a separate account and then helped me minimize the damage Joyce might do to me. It was the usual divorce stuff; cut off the credit cards and bank cards, move my stuff out of the safety deposit box and protect my RRSP's. When Scotty found out who Joyce's lawyer was, he called me right away. "Geoff, this woman is a vulture with no morals. She will try and grab everything you have and still want half the remains. She is one vicious bitch with a very bad reputation from a male point of view. I can't represent you against her; she'll eat me alive. I suggest you get a hold of Mark Moskovitch and have him represent you. At least he will help minimize the bleeding." he said with regret. "Good luck, Geoff ... you'll need it." he finished. Truer words were never spoken. Claire LaPointe came after me like I was Jack the Ripper and had beaten Joyce every day of our marriage. I don't think vicious was quite strong enough to describe the attitude she took toward me and Mark. I had thought of contesting the divorce just to fuck Joyce around, but Mark talked me out of it and I'm glad he did. We got the settlement worked out on paper and I finally surrendered. I'm sure Joyce got more than 50%, but I didn't have the stomach for a fight, despite my anger. I ended up with a fat legal bill and my share of the house did little more that get me a cheap condo in Guelph. The only smart thing I did was Mark's insistence that I get Joyce to sign off that the settlement was final and irrevocable. She couldn't come after me for any more later on. She had a good paying job and since she had no cause for the divorce, at least I didn't have any support payments. I had disclosed everything I thought, but no matter, it was over and done. I had not seen Joyce once during the divorce proceedings and in fact I hadn't seen her since the Sunday I walked out of our house. Chapter Four: Cashing In and Moving On Strange things can happen at strange times. Just before the divorce was final, I was contacted by a big American company whose name everyone would recognize. Some years ago, on my own time, I had invented and actually built a prototype of a little electrical device that would sense subtle changes in temperature and actuate other electric systems in response. It didn't sound like much, but on a hunch, I patented it on my own. I had not used any company resources or worked on it during company time, so I had no compunction about registering the patent in my own name. I got my patent and then completely forgot about it. It had not been declared as part of my assets when the divorce was in process because the paperwork wasn't in my safety deposit box, it was in a shoebox in my bedroom cupboard. I can only assume Joyce had forgotten about it too. It turned out the American company had developed a new device for some completely different application, but when they went to patent their invention, they ran into my design and it was a roadblock they couldn't get around. They contacted me and asked if they could negotiate a purchase and I said sure, but talk to Scotty Olson, my lawyer and we would work out a deal. Scotty loved "cuttin' deals" and he was good at it. I had hoped I could sell for at least a hundred grand but Scotty had other ideas. When all was said and done, Scotty got me $5.5 Million paid out over ten years. Scotty's cut was 10% and the rest was mine. We agreed not to sign any formal paperwork until the divorce was final, but the first day of my return to single status was the day I was set for life. I would never have to work another day if I didn't want to and considering how I felt about things those days, it was probably just as well. I quit my job and went back to my apartment-condo for some contemplation on my future. I was pretty sure I was going to leave the province and I had a sense that I wanted to be in the west. Two months later, I sold the condo in Guelph, making a small profit and headed to the West Coast in my brand new Range Rover; The Prince Philip edition. I took more than a week driving to B.C. because I wanted to see some of the country and I didn't want to be rushed. I wasn't feeling great, but I was a little more in control of my emotions. I had resolved my marriage and it was now part of my history. I was still angry, but I couldn't pin down exactly what or who I was angry with. Joyce? Her stupid employer who thought up that encounter session? Ransid Bagashit or whatever that Swami's name was? Claire LaPointe? Ontario Divorce Law? The answer was probably all of the above. Foul Language I didn't really have a destination in mind other than the Coast, so I just kept driving. When I got there, I toured around Vancouver and the general area and while it was nice, it was just another big city in a spectacular setting. I didn't see many places I wanted to live and when I did, they were usually obscenely expensive or in some silly subdivision with huge houses on postage stamp sized lots. If that was what I wanted, I could have stayed in Toronto. I knew I wanted to be near the water and I knew that it would be more expensive, so in the end, I took the ferry to Vancouver Island and started my search there. When I got to Courtenay and the Comox Valley, I knew I had found what I was looking for. Georgia Strait on one side and Mount Washington on the other. The area was developed, but not extremely so and the lot sizes were considerably bigger than the city areas of Vancouver and Victoria. There were hills to the west that provided a great view of the Strait and yet the area wasn't heavily populated. It had all the services including hospital, shopping centre and liquor store. It was just the place to start my search. I shacked up at a local motel and dropped into a well known international Real Estate office the next morning. I chatted with a smart looking woman and outlined what I was looking for. She was a good looking woman of about my age and I idly wonder what she'd be like in the sack. In the meantime, I had told her what I wanted and I was pretty specific. I had it all written out on my new laptop and I had her print it out so that she would have a copy as well. She said she'd call me the next day and I gave her my cell number. Donna Remple called as promised about ten the next morning and I drove over to her office and we were off to see a few houses that she had pulled from the MLS. I hadn't given her tight money guidelines, so there should have been a pretty good range to look at. There should have been, but when we pulled up in front of the first place, I looked at it and then I looked at her. "Donna, what part of my description does this house fit besides single family dwelling?" I asked in a level voice. "Why, what do you mean?" she asked. "I told you I wanted a single level house and this is a two storey. I told you I wanted a view of the Gulf and this has none. I told you I wanted a decent sized lot to give me some privacy and this lot is so skinny I can sit on the can, reach out the window and touch the neighbor's house. That's what I mean!" I said in an unmistakable tone. "Well, we had to start somewhere. I just thought I would show this to you to see what you thought." she said somewhat meekly. "Well, now you know what I think. Don't waste my time! If you don't have something to show me, then don't bother. I wrote it all down so that you wouldn't have to remember anything. Do you understand me?" I asked in a more aggressive tone. "Yes ... of course ... I'm sorry. I'll try and do better." she said with a bit of frightened look on her face. I had learned early on that my angry, forceful personality got results when people were trying to fuck me around or weren't paying attention. I used it to remind them that I was the customer and I had options. I didn't swear all the time, just when I was sure it would convey a particular message in the very particular way. I also learned that I no longer cared about people's sensitivities. I was tired of tip-toeing around things when the direct approach usually was more immediately effective. I was on permanent strike against Political Correctness. I was going to call a spade a fuckin' shovel. It took Donna a couple of days to figure out exactly what I wanted, but she finally found a couple of places that I was interested in. She almost didn't show me the house I eventually bought. It was a log cabin on a big lot, tucked back in the woods, but with a nice eastern view over the gulf toward the mainland mountains. It wasn't very big; about 1500 square feet, and it wasn't in great shape, but it had what I wanted. It was private, it was all on one level, it had a view, it could be upgraded easily and it wasn't twenty minutes from town. It didn't have a basement, but it had a barn-like outbuilding at one end of the driveway that I could use as a garage as well as a workshop. I took a good survey of if with my engineer's eye and told Donna to make an offer. It had been on the market several months with no interest until I came along. I was an estate sale and I figured it would take at least $50,000 to bring it up to scratch before I started to install my special features. It was listed at $350,000 but I instructed Donna to offer $315,000 and see what happened. She seemed a little reluctant but once again I used my forceful nature to make sure she understood what I wanted from her. She put the offer in and we waited for a response. It would take a little longer than dealing with a live person, but surprisingly we got a response late the next day. Our offer was accepted providing there were no subjects and it was an all cash deal. I grinned at Donna as if to say "I told you so!" and we signed on the dotted line. I now owned a home and I had to get going to put it in livable shape. That would take a couple of months, but luckily, I was only out of the house during the renovations for a total of a week during the drywall and painting phase. I had heard plenty of horror stories about renovators back in Ontario and in fact, one guy made a living with a TV show that pointed out and repaired all the fuck-ups by the assholes who pretended they knew what they were doing. When I hired the contractor, I wrote the contract and had him sign it. I also told him that as I had the time and as I was an engineer, I would be on the site every day. I didn't want him thinking he could fool me with shortcuts and shoddy workmanship. Chapter Five: My New World I moved into my new house in early July and got to spend a glorious summer in my new digs. Every day, giant cruise ships passed in front of me and the Gulf was alive with sailboats, cruisers and the like. I celebrated a summer of great weather that lasted all the way until the end of September and despite my loneliness, I truly enjoyed it. There were Bald Eagles in the trees nearby as well as deer, raccoons and the occasional bear that wandered by the house. I had to learn to secure the garbage, since there was no pickup and the bears were pretty clever about busting into most canisters. I stymied them by building a wooden shed just for the garbage that would give them more of a challenge than they could cope with. During the next year I began to install my own particular needs in my home. First, the solar panels on the roof to look after heating water and a secondary supply of electricity. Second, a proper generator equipped with automatic start when the power went out. We were in an area where power supply was problematic and I didn't want to rely on Hydro. My cell phone was marginal in that location so I broke down and bought a satellite phone. It was expensive to use, but I could use it anywhere in the world. I set up my own satellite receiving system for both television and my computer. I lived by the internet and I wanted something that I could rely upon. I set up my own composting system to look after as much waste as I could; the rest of which I would take to the dump when the need arose. I had completely redone the insulation and windows in the house with the original renovation, but I wanted a better heating system. I decided to use a combination of hot water from the tank supplied by the solar panels and a wood fireplace in the living room that would effectively heat the whole front of the house when necessary. I had a couple of portable electric heaters for individual areas if needed. The gas range and oven in the kitchen were already set up for propane and I could look after filling those tanks myself. The fridge, freezer and microwave drew little power on their own. I had used my engineering knowhow to make the place as self sufficient and energy efficient as possible. I wanted to have as little to do with supplied services as possible and I felt like I had accomplished that. I had considered a bio-diesel powered generator, but they weren't readily available yet and I didn't feel like being a guinea pig for their development. Inadvertently, or perhaps unconsciously, I had set myself up to be a recluse. I would never admit to it, but that was the result. Chapter Six: What The Fuck Do You Want? I had calmed down from my encounter with that pig of a meter maid and the cop and I had made myself a typical summer lunch of a sandwich and a beer. I had built a big cedar deck adjacent to my front entrance and from there I had a magnificent view of the Gulf, the mainland mountains and everything that passed by. This afternoon I watched the ferry making its way toward Comox from Powell River and a couple of big Yankee yachts heading north, probably destined for Desolation Sound. I had my ten power binoculars on the table and I could usually get a good enough look at anything to figure out what they were and where they came from. The Alaska cruise ships would show up just before or at sundown at this time of the year. I'd finished my beer and put my head back on the fancy deck chair that I'd treated myself to last year and closed my eyes. The big hemlocks and cedars off to the south would shield me from most of the sun in an hour or two and until then, I'd rely on the sun block I'd slapped on a few minutes earlier and the tilt umbrella in the center of the table. It was warm and it didn't take me long to drift off. I awoke with a start and it took me a couple of seconds to orientate myself and realize why I had jumped like that. It was my conscious mind that reminded me that I had heard a twig or a branch snap and then I recognized the sound of a car coming up my private road. It was at least a hundred meters to the town road and with the hill and the bend, I couldn't see what was coming until it was within a few meters of the house. It was a late model compact, white in colour and I suppose it had tinted windows because I couldn't see who was driving. I was about to get up when the driver's door swung open and out stepped my ex-wife Joyce. To say I was surprised was the least of it. I must have dropped back into the chair and just stared at her. I didn't say a thing or move a muscle as she began to slowly walk toward me. "Hello, Geoff." she said quietly. She looked nervous and uncertain and I suppose she should be. We hadn't parted on the best of terms and we had had no communications of any kind, written or spoken, since the divorce. The thought passed through my mind that she'd found out about the patent and she was here to get "her share". She'd get that when her fuckin' Swami walked on water. "What the fuck do you want?" I asked in a snarl. "I see you're still the same loveable old Geoff." she said without a smile. "Cut the bullshit Joyce, what the fuck do you want?" I repeated. "Family business." she answered simply. She must have been looking around for a place to sit down, but I had the only chair on the deck and I wasn't moving. I would keep her on the defensive for as long as I could. "Do you suppose you could get me a chair?" she finally asked. I didn't answer but gave her a disgusted look and slowly got up to find another chair. There was another in the spare bedroom, but it hadn't been used yet this year, so I took a towel from the bathroom and wiped the dust of it as I returned to the deck. I should have made her do it, I thought. I was being entirely too polite. I opened the chair and set it down on the opposite side of the table from me and returned to my chair. "What family business?" I began. "Your children want to know what's happened to you. You disappeared and they haven't heard anything from you. I had to hire an agency to find you." she said with a slightly cross tone. "What do they want with me? Rick's got his own life someplace in god-knows-where and Kirsten's in some fuckin' commune in the Rockies smokin' dope just like her old lady did." I said with a sneer. "Rick is in Alberta and has been for weeks. Kirsten left the commune and runs a day care centre in Calgary. She doesn't do dope and she never did." "Unlike her mother." I snapped. "Do you hate them as much as you hate me?" she asked. "No ... no ... I don't hate them. I thought you had turned them against me though. You were really out in outer space and I had no idea what you told them but they seemed to think it was all my fault and I just said "fuck it" and quit bothering them." "I never turned them against you. You were so angry they couldn't talk to you. You actually frightened Kirsten. She was afraid you were going to do something violent. And Beverly; she was so upset she forbid Rick from letting you talk to your grandchildren. That's how bad it was Geoff." "Too fuckin' bad. I don't need their approval. Let 'em suck up to you." I spat. "What is the matter with you? Are you going to live the rest of your life with all this hate for me bottled up inside of you? You won't live past sixty if you do. It'll eat you alive." she almost shouted at me. I looked in her eyes and for a second, I thought I could see a flicker of fear. Why did she care about me? She had flushed me away like a used tampon and now she was telling me she was worried about me? What's wrong with this picture? "Joyce ... why do you care? You didn't care two years ago. Why do you give a fuck what happens to me?" I asked, still baffled by this visit. She didn't answer me. She stood up and walked around the deck and looked out over the eastern view and seemed to be lost in her thoughts. I just shut up and let her compose herself. There was something she needed to tell me, but she didn't quite know how. I had a hunch what it might be, but even then, I wasn't sure. Maybe I just wanted to be right. Finally, she turned and looked at me; leaning against the railing. "You have a beautiful home Geoff. The view is wonderful. It must be quite something to see at sunset." she said with a slight smile. "Sunrise." I said. "You're looking east. It's the sunrise that's the most special. Sunset is behind the mountain." I offered calmly pointing over my shoulder and the mountain behind me. "Oh. How did you find this place?" she asked as she walked slowly back toward the table. "I kept looking until I found what I wanted and I bought it." I said simply. "Where are you working ... out of this home?" she asked, placing both hands on the back of the deck chair. "I'm retired. I don't work anywhere." "Really? I'm surprised. I though that you would need to ... I mean ... how could you afford this?" She finally asked the question I know had been on her mind for a while. She could see that this wasn't some lonely log cabin in the woods. "You mean, how could I afford this after your cunt lawyer Claire got finished with me? Is that what you mean Joyce?" I snapped. "I didn't realize how nasty she had been until it was too late. I should have stopped her. I didn't want to cripple you ... I just wanted what was mine." she said apologetically. "Well that my have been what you wanted, but Claire wanted my balls in her trophy case. She fuckin' near got them too." I said calmly. "So how did you manage to buy this place?" she asked again. "None of your fuckin' business!" I spat. She had a look of shock on her face and was about to say something and then must have thought better of it and just turned back to the rail of the deck. I looked at her and I couldn't figure out what this was all about. Had she come three thousand miles to tell me my kids wanted to hear from me? She paid someone to find me. She could have written a letter and not have to go through this emotional gauntlet I had pushed her into. I was still curious. I was sure there was more too this than I thought. I finally decided it was my turn to play twenty questions. "So Joyce, where are you living?" I began. "In Calgary. I wanted to be closer to the kids. I'm a partner with Kirsten in the day care centre." "Well, surprise, surprise!" I laughed. "You ... with a bunch of rug rats? That'd be a hoot to see." "It's very rewarding. It was what I should have been doing all along, I think." she said thoughtfully. "So when did you quit your job at whatchamacallit Insurance?" "Right after ... right after the divorce. I couldn't face them anymore. I didn't have the stomach for it." she admitted quietly. "What couldn't you stomach?" I asked. "I was the only one that bought into his ... philosophy. Everyone else laughed it off except me. I bought it ... hook, line and sinker." she said with downcast eyes. "Well, well ...just how did you figure that out?" I think I was grinning at the time. "He wanted me to help him recruit customers. That's what he called them ... customers. It was just a business. He thought I would be a perfect salesperson for him." she admitted. "Ha!" I exulted. "So you smoke his dope, you suck his cock and then he wants to be your pimp. Have I got it right?" I sneered. "For god's sake, Geoff!" she spat. I did not suck his cock as you so elegantly put it. I did not have sex with him." She couldn't have been more adamant and I had to accept that she was telling the truth. "Well, girl, it was just a matter of time. He had you right where he wanted you." I laughed without humour. "Possibly, but I never gave him the chance. I may have been stupid and naïve, but as soon as he started on me about selling his services, I was out of there." "Jesus, Joyce. What did I tell you when you came home and told me about this dick-wad and his great self-actualization scam?" "I know, I know ... I was stupid. I should have listened to you but I was ... vulnerable. I was ready for someone like him to latch onto." she finally confessed. "Yah ... I'll bet. Your faithful husband of thirty one years was just an insensitive male chauvinist pig and wouldn't be smart enough to understand your needs." I was back to sneering again. "No ... no! It wasn't like that. I was going through some problems at the time. Problems I couldn't talk to you about. He just caught me when I was down and needed something that might pull me back up again." she said with a sorrowful look. "I really believed his philosophy at first. Too late, I learned the truth. It was just a business with a sales pitch designed for stupid or vulnerable women." "Oh God, Joyce ... ," I exhaled finally. "I wish you hadn't told me all this. When I think of the thousand times I tried to figure out what I'd done wrong or what I might have done to put a stop to it all ... I nearly went crazy." I admitted. "It gets worse." she said quietly. "I knew the divorce as a mistake and I tried to stop it but Claire wouldn't let me. She said I was just having typical second thoughts and anyway the damage had been done. She was very forceful and I guess I let her bully me into going through with it." "Yah ... I can see that. If your Swami pal could get you to do what you did, I don't suppose it was too difficult for that bitch to push you whichever way she wanted." I said with no sense of comfort. Joyce sat down in the chair again and we just sat quietly for a little while. "So here we are Joyce." I said finally. "Two lives completely and totally fucked up beyond all recognition. Isn't life grand!" I said in a resigned voice. "It doesn't have to be that way, Geoff." she said, almost shyly. "What's that supposed to mean?" I snapped. "I mean ... we can start over. We can put it back together." She said it as if she was almost afraid to speak the words. Foul Language "Oh for Christ's sake, Joyce. Grow up! You destroyed me! You couldn't have done a better job it you'd carved me into pieces with a scalpel. You left me with nothing; not even my self respect." I was shouting at her and I'm sure my face was red and the look must have been enough to frighten her. "You think I hate you. It just shows that you still don't get it, woman. I don't hate you. I love you. I always have and it's my fate that I probably always will. But you took me apart and threw me away. It's not hate you hear, it's anger. I'm furious. I'm livid with everyone and everything that have put me here in this place without a single shred of hope. I'm angry because I knew you were making a mistake. I'm angry because you wouldn't listen to reason. I'm angry because I couldn't convince you that you were wrong. I'm angry because I couldn't stop any of these shitty fucking things happening to us. Does that explain it clearly enough!" I finished. She was in tears now, her face buried in her hands and her shoulders shaking. I had finally vented my spleen and unfortunately, I didn't feel any better. It would take more than her confessional to restore my ravaged psyche. I got up and went into the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine. I was pretty sure she would still drink a white wine and I had some open from the previous evening's meal. I walked back onto the deck and Joyce was trying to compose her self and wiping away the tears with a small tissue. "Have you had lunch? Can I get you something to eat?" I asked quietly. She just nodded her acceptance of my offer and I went back into the kitchen. I made up a plate of cheese and crackers and pulled out some pate I had saved from last week. I opened another bottle of white and left if in the fridge and took the food out to the deck. "Where are you staying tonight?" I asked softly. "I don't know. I thought I'd find a motel room. I didn't know if you'd be home. I didn't know if you'd even talk to me." she said, still not looking at me. "You can stay here. I've got a spare room and you can be pretty sure there won't be any funny business." I smiled; again without much humour. She nodded her agreement and looked up with a faint smile. "Thanks. I'm tired and I still want to talk to you about things ... if you'll let me." she said carefully. Chapter Seven: Confession and Catharsis We finished the food and after I took the plates and utensils in I refilled our wine glasses and asked her if she'd like to take a tour. We walked around the property and I talked about how I had decided where I wanted to live and why. She seemed to understand and I guess we had both calmed down from the frontal attack I had mounted against her. I think she now understood some of my pain and maybe, for me, it was something of a release to have her here and be able to confront her with my emotions. But it really didn't solve anything. I meant it when I told her I still loved her and just saying the words caused me pain and pushed the anger once again to the surface. I promised myself I wouldn't let that happen again if I could avoid it, but I wasn't sure I could keep that promise. I set up the barbeque on the deck and I cooked a small steak for each of us. I wasn't eating much these days and I was able to keep my weight down thanks to that and a reasonable amount of exercise. Joyce must have noticed because she said something about my looking healthy in spite of myself. I spent a lot of my time outdoors largely because I think I was becoming claustrophobic; particularly in the winter rainy season. My face had a permanent tan and I imagine that fooled people into thinking I was the picture of fitness. After dinner we sat on the deck until sundown and the mosquitoes began to arrive. Joyce had brought her travel bag inside earlier and she was set up in the second bedroom after she put on some clean sheets and a pillow case. We had consumed a bottle of French red wine at and after dinner and I offered her a brandy and we sat in a couple of big old chairs by the fireplace. In the past several hours, Joyce had opened up about her time after the divorce and I could tell it was painful. She had made a mistake she couldn't undo and had fallen into depression. She saw a psychiatrist for several months to get her life back in some kind of order and it seemed to help. She had quit her job and had been working swing shift at a local long-term care hospital. It didn't pay much, but, like me, she had no social life and so her needs were minimal. When Kirsten called her and told her about the day care center idea, she thought it was so right for her that she offered to invest what money she had with our daughter to get the business going. She moved to Calgary a year ago in September and had rediscovered herself. If the Swami had done anything right, he had identified that she didn't belong in the insurance business; she was a mother and a nurturer and she was perfect in the day care role. Their business took off and due to a shortage of manpower in Alberta and a ballooning population, they had already applied for a grant to expand the existing unit in South West Calgary and to build a new one in the North Central area. The grant was awarded and they had a contractor ready to go in the next couple of months, as soon as he was finished another job. I was surprised and impressed at how well she had done considering it was an almost spur of the moment decision to get into this business with Kirsten. Joyce gave all the credit to Kirsten. She was the brains and go-power of the operation and she was the one who proposed the expansion and then the second location and she was the one who filled out the grant application and made the submission to the appropriate people. I was surprised at that even more, considering the last thing I'd heard about her was that she was in some commune in the Kootenays. It just goes to show you never know about your kids. Rick was living in Edmonton currently. His wife, Beverly, had tired of the vagabond life they led as he wandered from project to project in Eastern Europe. She wanted to come home or at least back to North America and when a job came open with Interprovincial Pipelines, he took it. They now had a nice home in the south west part of town and apparently there was little likelihood that he would have to move in the near future. Joyce wanted me to call them and let them know I was OK, but told her I wasn't ready yet. I didn't mind if she told them about our meeting, but I needed to think what I could say to my kids to make them understand. I was curious about what Joyce had told them about what happened to us and while she wasn't anxious to tell me, she finally did. "I told them their mother was a stupid, selfish old woman who didn't know a good thing when she had it. I told them I had badly damaged you and that I probably could never make it right. I told them that it wasn't anything you had done and that you were a model husband and I was the crazy one." she confessed. "And how did they react?" I asked. "I don't think they believed me. I think they thought I was covering up something and that I couldn't tell them the truth. I think that's how the idea that maybe you were to blame came about. I couldn't seem to make them understand that it was all me. They had decided I could do no wrong, so it had to be you." she said with sadness in her voice. "Well, I guess that makes three of us." I said. "I was thinking those same things. There must have been something that I wasn't doing or recognizing that had made this possible. I guess I can understand how the kids feel after all." Joyce was near tears again and I got up to get us a final brandy. We sat by the fireplace for a while and I must have nodded off. I woke up and looked at the schoolhouse clock on the wall and it read eleven fifteen. I looked at the other chair, but Joyce wasn't there and then I saw her head. She had moved to the floor beside my chair and she too had fallen asleep, leaning on the side of the chair. I reached down and gently touched her hair and then I began to cry. I cried like I hadn't cried since my dog got run over when I was nine. Big, wracking sobs and heaves and a flood of tears. I cried for what I once had and what I had lost. I cried for Joyce and I cried for me. I cried for our kids and I cried for the whole damn world. At some point I felt Joyce's arm go around me and hug me, but I was alone in the world at that point. Suddenly, I felt a wave of nausea wash through me and I got up quickly and went to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and just barely making to the bowl before I emptied my stomach. I must have heaved for at least a couple of minutes; long past when I had anything but bile to spit out. I stayed over the bowl until I was able to gather myself and flush the toilet. I pulled myself to my feet and turned on the cold water. I tried to rinse out my mouth, but the taste was still there. I fumbled around in the drawer and found a motel sampler of mouthwash I had once liberated and washed my mouth out with that. I heard a soft tapping on the door and Joyce asking me if I was alright. "I'll be out in a minute. I'll be OK. I'll just clean myself up." I said. I looked at myself in the mirror and it wasn't a pretty sight. I suppose I could blame it on having too much to drink, but I knew it was something much different than that. I washed my face and hands and sprayed a bit of deodorant to cover the smell of my upheaval. I opened the door and Joyce was standing right there. And then the tears started all over again. We clutched at each other like we were our own life preservers. I don't know how long we were like that but it was a while. Finally, I took her by the hand and we went to the little sofa by the side window and sat down together. I didn't know what had happened, but something fundamental had changed. Her touch, her scent, her warmth; I had lost them all and now it was all coming back and intensifying the pain. It was at that instant that I knew I wanted all those things back. Chapter Eight: What now? We sat on the sofa for what seemed like hours while I tried to understand what had happened and what I was going to do. We talked, finally, to and with each other, not at each other. Joyce was happy in her new job and I was happy in my new home. How could we reconcile that much less our former lives? There was only one solution we could both agree upon. We needed time to think. We needed, strangely, more time apart to understand what kind of life we could have together, if any. We finally fell asleep in each other's arms. We never did go to bed. I awoke with her head on my shoulder and the wonderful scent of her body in my nostrils. I looked over at the clock and it read five thirty. I put my head back and tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't. My mind was working full speed and I was trying to image a scenario where I could make our relationship work again without sacrificing the things we both had come to depend upon. Just after six, Joyce stirred in my arms and I could see her eyelashes flicker and knew she was waking. I held her softly while that process evolved and in a minute or so, she tilted her head back to look up at me and then smiled. She closed her eyes again and wrapped her arm around mine and pulled me tightly against her. I was close to falling apart again and it was all I could do to keep my composure. We stayed like that for a couple of minutes before she began to climb off my lap and I realized she was headed to the bathroom. I stood as she left and stretched my aching muscles. Sofas were never meant to be a bed for two adults. But it was a pleasurable pain, one that I had welcomed and one that I had longed for during these past two years. I walked to the kitchen and started to make some coffee. I had a headache and I'm sure it was a result of too much alcohol and the stress of the emotions that had been coursing through me in the past hours. Luckily, I had a small bottle of aspirins on the window ledge and I popped two into my mouth and washed them down with my usual morning orange juice. Joyce came out of the bathroom and walked up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist and pulling me tightly to her. She kissed my neck and then uttered those famous romantic words: "I need a shower. I stink." I snorted my laugh and patted her bum with my free hand and she headed off to her bedroom to get a change of clothes. I headed for the linen closet and pulled out some fresh towels and put them on the bathroom counter. She reappeared with a handful of underwear and a light housecoat and waved to me as she closed the bathroom door. I don't know if I was expecting an invitation to join her, but that didn't happen. I would like to be able to describe my feelings that morning, but I can't. On the one hand, I felt lighter somehow; as if some weight had been lifted off my shoulders. On the other, I felt fear; fear that I couldn't find a solution that would satisfy us both and bring about a complete reconciliation. Were we doomed to be just friends or would one of us have to sacrifice our new life to be with the other? When I finally realized what I was feeling above all else, it was the absence of anger. I didn't know if it had just gone into hiding or whether I was repressing it for the sake of my ambitions but it wasn't where it had been; sitting right on the surface, waiting for some spark to trigger it. That afternoon, Joyce put her bag in the trunk of her rental car and drove off down the driveway and back to her life in Calgary. We had hugged and kissed and talked about the puzzle we wanted to solve and promised to talk to each other regularly. We did not make love. We weren't ready for that I guess. If it was going to happen, it would happen, but not this time. It didn't matter. For the first time in more than two years, I felt just the tiniest hint of optimism. Maybe, just maybe, we had a chance. Epilogue: There are two housekeeping items as I call them. First, Joyce finally told me that she had gone through a cancer scare just before she went on that infamous trip with the other women. She had not told me because she thought I would worry and it would just add to her concerns and fears. The insensitive lout that I am failed to see that and she masked the fear until she was given the all clear by her doctor. However, it had made her feel very vulnerable and it was that, combined with a very persuasive con-man that made her susceptible to the guy I still refer to as "The Swami". Secondly, but best of all, was my revenge on Claire LaPointe. Sit back dear readers and enjoy my little tale. It was the only bright spot, save my patent sale, that I had in those wretched months of my divorce. During the preliminary negotiations with the buyers, I was meeting with Scotty at his office downtown and when the meeting was over, I would often stop at the bar in the middle of the block for a drink or two before I headed back to Guelph. I was drinking quite a bit more in those days, but I was still careful that I wasn't going to get picked up for being over the limit. Anyway, one day I was sitting at the bar where I usually did and I couldn't help but overhear a conversation between two men sitting beside me whining about their divorces. I got interested when I heard the name Claire LaPointe and then a string of expletives. I decided to get nosey and asked them if they were victims of the female vulture and they both said yes, among other unrepeatable expressions. I told them that I too was a refugee from her clutches and we all compared stories about how she had ravaged us without mercy. I was in a contemplative mood I guess as I absently asked the question about how many others there may be of us in this club of victims of her wrath. One of the guys suggested that was easy to find out. All we had to do was check the court records for divorces and see which ones where she had represented the wife. We talked a bit more and I had the germ of an idea, but I didn't want to get their hopes up, so I asked them for their business cards and gave them mine. I went through the court records for a couple of years and I have to tell you, it was tough slugging. Luckily, I had all kinds of time since I had resigned and besides it was a labor of hate. I carefully noted the names of the defendants in each of her cases and it was obvious that she only handled women clients. This bitch had a very specific mission; destroy as many men as possible. It got me to thinking that there may be more to this that meets the eye. I had gathered as much information as possible about the men she had victimized and started to track them down. Again, I had all kinds of time and in this case, I had a mission to accomplish. One by one, I contacted the men on my list and asked them if they were interested in my plan of revenge. After twenty contacts, I had eleven affirmatives and I thought that should be enough, but if we needed more, I had a list of many names with which to follow up. The plan was simple, risky and had no guarantee of success. I had come to the opinion that this woman was a man-hater and I suspected she would act this out in her lifestyle. There was only one way to find out. I proposed that each of us contribute up to a maximum of five hundred dollars and we would hire a private detective to follow her and find out what we could about her private life. Eleven of the men I contacted agreed. Of those who didn't, almost all of them had been left in a state of near poverty and couldn't afford to join us. I told them that no matter what, I would keep them informed of our progress. Each and every one of them was with us in spirit. Scotty knew of a detective, Terry Bolton, who would do the kind of work we wanted. In addition, since we were never going to take any of this to court, we could count on him to use whatever means necessary to get information with the stipulation that he never tell us how he got it. I met with him in his office uptown and I was quietly amused that it looked nothing like the offices I remembered from the movies. It was new and modern and very efficient looking. I gave Terry the background and just how many men had been victimized by this woman and our objective. We needed to get any dirt we could on this woman. Terry was sympathetic, but cautious. He explained the law and what he could and couldn't do, but in the end, he agreed that what we needed was within the scope of his capability. I gave him the requested $2000 retainer and he promised to keep me informed regularly. I had no option but to trust him and I fervently hoped I wasn't throwing my fellow victims' money away on a wild goose chase. It was almost two weeks before I heard from Terry, but it was worth the wait. "Well, I have some interesting information on Ms. LaPointe." Terry began. "She is, without doubt, a lesbian. Moreover, she isn't particularly loyal to any one partner. She seems to have more than a couple of 'girlfriends'. I'm also pretty sure she is the dominant partner in these relationships. Very dominant, if you catch my drift." he said with what I could detect was a note of triumph. "Nice going Terry." I replied. "I have to tell you I suspected this, but now the question is, what do we do next?" I asked. "Well, Ms. LaPointe is a bit careless. She often entertains her little friends in her apartment near her office. She doesn't live there, but she uses it for her business and personal liaisons." he stated. "Let's just say that if someone wanted to bug her place, she makes it fairly easy for them." I could almost see the smile on his face and I hoped he could imagine the one on mine. "Well, that makes things fairly straightforward, doesn't it?" I suggested. Foul Language "Quite. I'll get back to you, but you should be aware I'm going to be spending some more of your money." he said seriously. "How much more?" I asked. "Probably another $2500, maybe a bit more." he answered. "OK ... we can handle that. I'll keep my fingers crossed that we get something really hot." I said. "I'll call you when I have something worthwhile." he said, signing off. Ten days later, Terry called and asked me to meet him at this office. He had something to show me. I instantly agreed and we set up a meeting for the next morning. I couldn't wait. I could only hope we had something really nasty on the bitch. I walked into Terry's office with a spring in my step and hope in my heart. "Well, Geoff, I think I have what you need." he began. "However, you must never reveal how you got this and of course, if anyone comes back to me, I'll deny everything." "Understood. We have no reason to tell anyone anything that would come back on you. Only two people even know you are the person that we contracted with." I offered. "Good. Why don't you come around here and I'll show you what I've got." he suggested. Terry had a laptop on his desk and obviously had inserted a DVD in the slot. He moved the mouse and the video screen popped up and he clicked on the play arrow. What followed could have dislocated my jaw if I hadn't been careful. It began with Claire LaPointe in some sort of bondage outfit consisting on a shiny black brassiere, skimpy black shiny panties, a studded collar and shiny, patent leather boots that came up almost to her knees. It was obviously shot in a bedroom and it was very austere in its décor. She wasn't a beautiful woman by any means and with her clothes off, she was stockier than I would have expected, but then I never looked at her in a sexual way. As the DVD continued, she went off-screen and reappeared, dragging a young woman in by her blonde hair. I could hear her yelping in pain but Claire seemed oblivious to her cries and pushed her down across a bed, face first. She looked very young and I wondered if Claire had pulled her off the street or she was a lover of some other kind. I didn't have long to wait as I could hear Claire's voice bark a sharp order to the young girl. "Get your ass up in the air, bitch! You know what I want." she snapped. She slapped the young girl's backside twice and both times the girl yelped. These weren't love slaps and the girl wasn't faking pain. Claire then reached down to a night stand just below the line of sight of the camera and picked up something that I didn't recognize right away. It didn't take me long to figure out what it was though. "Holy Fuck! Is that what I think it is?" I exclaimed. It was an artificial cock; a strap-on. I'd never really seen one before but this was something else. It was jet black, it was almost as thick as a rolling pin and it was at least 12" long. She reached back to the night stand after she'd belted this 'thing' on around her waist and picked up what appeared to be a tube of lubricant and greased that big pole up. The young blonde on the bed kept peering over her shoulder with a worried look, waiting for the next move. She didn't have long to wait. Claire pointed the massive cock at the girl's pussy and began to shove it in without much finesse. No worrying about the girl's discomfort or trying to accommodate the size of this thing; she just shoved it into her as hard as she could. It was hard to watch and definitely not erotic. The young blonde was in pain and yet was submitting to it as if she couldn't get away; even though she wasn't restrained in any way. The more I watched the poor young kid I began to wonder about how old she would be and where did she come from? "How old do you think that girl is?" I finally asked. "Don't know, but I'm trying to find out. It isn't a criminal act if she consents and is over 14, but there's also a clause about dependency or trust. That's in there for the school teachers and scout masters and priests and such. It would be pretty hard to prosecute, but I think just letting some of her corporate clients see this and know that kid may only be 15 or16 would probably serve you just as well." he offered seriously. I was repelled at what I saw and wondering if there was anything more. I asked Terry if this was the only kid she used. "No. Not by a long shot. She has a stable of "little lambs" as she calls them. So far I've identified four and I know from listening to her phone calls that there are more. Some of them are street kids, I'm sure. Whether she pays them, I don't know, but I'll find out sooner or later." He said all this in a matter of fact voice as if he was talking about buying a new suit. "There's more and you won't like this one any better." he said seriously. He flicked the mouse and the screen emptied again and started up with Claire leading a young boy with a collar around this neck over to the bed and pushing him face down on it just as she had with the girl. "Jesus H. Christ!" I exclaimed. "She not going to do what I think she's going to do is she." I said looking at Terry with what must have been even more shock. "Oh yes she is and this one ain't pretty. You said she hated men and this will give you some idea of how much." he said with a note of sadness. I couldn't tell how old the boy was from my brief glimpse of his face, but I got the impression he might be a juvenile. He was skinny and very pale skinned and I would have guessed he couldn't be much more that 16, if that. What followed defied description and I won't even try. I don't think I'll ever get that image out of my mind. I'm sure watching a live execution couldn't be any worse. When she had finished with him, there was blood coming from his rectum and he virtually had to crawl off the bed. Claire stood with her hands on her hips and what I can only describe as a smirk on her face before she took the strap-on off and the scene went black. I knew Claire LaPointe was a heartless bitch when it came to men; especially married men, but I had no idea she could be this foul. I wanted her ass on the cross more than ever now. It had become personal when she fucked me over in the divorce, but now it was something far more important. "Terry, I can't imagine these kids would do this voluntarily. They must be doing it for money and they must be desperate; like street kids." I said after some thought. "Yah ... that's what I though too, but she calls them on the phone to contact them, so I can't imagine these kids having cell phones unless she supplies them." he replied. "Well, these days I think you can get "throwaway phones" fairly cheaply and when the time is used up, you just go get another one. Maybe that's what she's doing." I was sitting on the corner of his desk and I was lost in thought. I needed an idea of how to take this vicious bitch down, but nothing really permanent was coming to me. "How many of these scenes do you have so far?" I asked the detective. "Four. Three girls and that young boy." "What do we do now?" "Nothing. I've a couple of friends on the police force and I've already talked to them and shown them what I have. They're going to stake her out and see if they can get enough on her to get a warrant and then pop her when she's got someone in her apartment. I can count on them not to blow this deal and fuck it up for us. I guess of couple of their fellow officers have had some experience with her too. "Can I have a copy of the DVD?" I asked, not really sure I wanted one. "Sure, you paid for it, it's yours. Just remember, if anybody asks how you got it, it came in the mail with no return address and no note. Understood?" "Understood!" I slid off the desk and walked around his office for a minute shaking my head, stopping to stare out his window at the city. I wasn't really seeing anything; I was lost in thought. "Welcome to my ugly world." Terry finally said quietly. I just looked at him and nodded. Ugly seemed like an understatement. I showed our group of eleven the DVD at one of their places in the city. It was more than a couple of them could handle and they headed for the bathroom to throw up, fortunately not at the same time. When it was over, we sat around and talked about what we did next. In the end, we decided to send anonymous copies in the mail to five of her corporate clients and the Law Society. The trouble with that strategy was we wouldn't probably ever find out if she had lost her clients and only a public disbarment would tell us if the Law Society had acted. It was left to Terry to put the icing on the cake for us. "I have some interesting news for you, Geoff." Terry said with a very upbeat tone of voice. "The police have arrested one Ms. Claire LaPointe and charged her with Pandering and Interference with a Minor. They obtained a search warrant and just by pure luck happened to arrive while she was "entertaining" one of her little lambs. By some quirk of fate, a reporter from TV6 happened to be in the area and it looks like her arrest is going to be very public. This could cause her some embarrassment." he laughed. "No shit! That's fantastic. You just made my day, Terry." I enthused. "You're welcome and call me anytime you want to take down another of these creepy women." he offered. After I had hung up, I quickly began dialing my co-victims and spreading the good news. There was great joy in Hogtown that night; at least in about twenty abodes that I knew of. I never did find out what happened at her trial; I had left town on my way west by then. Scotty told me that she would get a criminal record for sure since she had decided to take a plea in lieu of a public trial. And, after ignoring our original DVD and carrying on "business as usual", the Law Society disbarred Ms. LaPointe and as far as I'm concerned, I can't see her doing any hapless husbands any more harm. I wasn't so sure about the street kids, however. Just as a footnote: I was so pissed at the Law Society for sweeping her activities under the carpet that I wrote them an anonymous letter with a copy to the Attorney General of the Province, the two prominent Newspapers in Toronto and TV6 with a free copy of the infamous DVD enclosed. Neither the Attorney General nor the second place paper said a peep, but the number one paper and the TV station made a big deal of it and started an investigation into what the Law Society might be covering up in the activities of some lawyers. All in all, it made for a perfect ending to a perfect fuckin' day.