CIA Operative in Foreign Service

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Entrenched as CIA spies, Mr. & Mrs. Smith want a divorce.
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Dear John,

This is most difficult letter I'm ever going to have to write. With us together for ten years, I have so many things that I need to say to you. You've been a good provider, my best friend, an extraordinary lover, and my only confidant. Thank you for all you've done for me. I will never forget how kind and loving you have been.

With you so different now than how you used to be, I remember when we first met and you were so shy around me? Just as I thought your shyness was cute, I thought you were cute too. I'll never forget the look on your face when I finally asked you out on a date. I could tell that you were too shy to do the asking, so I went ahead and did the good deed myself. You actually blushed and then beamed with delight when you said that you'd love to go to the movies with me. That was a beginning of our wonderful relationship together and a memory I'll never forget.

Over the years, you've grown and blossomed into a charming, outgoing, and handsome man, one I've always been proud to call my husband. It's been fun to watch you become the man who you were meant to be. If you don't mind, I'm going to take some of the credit for your personal growth and career development with me introducing you to the right people.

It was because of my encouragement and my pep talks that gave you much of the confidence that you possess today. It was me who made all of our social arrangements that forced you into conversations with people from all walks of life, people you never would have talked to and made friendships with ordinarily. It was me who corrected you when you did something wrong or said something inappropriate.

Because of my connection to powerful politicos, we've been thrown into formal gatherings, foreign travel, and altruistic events of every kind. I couldn't help but noticed that you enjoy talking with people who've had very rough roads to travel. You're willingness to reach out to them and to connect with them has made me so proud of you. No matter if they're rich or poor, educated or illiterate, you've always been able to find a common ground in communicating with them.

I remember the little girl in Ghana, how could I ever forget her? She took a liking to you and was following us all through her village while we assessed their lack of food and water and the deplorable conditions under which they somehow lived. They had nothing when the rest of us on the other side of the world had so very much.

With her learning English from Catholic missionaries, acting as our interpreter, she held your hand while we conversed with tribal leaders and while deciding what action to take to best help them. You wanted to take her home with you but because of all of the red tape, you knew that you couldn't. It pains me to think of where that little girl is now.

I watched you shed tears for that little girl when we left her standing in the middle of the road waving wildly as we made our way to the airport and with her still waving when our plane few overhead. Your compassion for others made me understand at a deeper level how lucky I was to have you in my life, someone who was so kind and so caring. That was nearly eight, long years ago and the memory is as fresh as it happened yesterday.

Do you remember how much fun we had with the couple we met on our trip to London three years ago? I think their names were Kate and Jeff. OMG! I did things with him that I never thought I'd do with anyone else but you. I was so wicked. I was such a dirty whore. That only goes to show you that under the right circumstances, with enough booze and drugs, I'd do things that I wouldn't normally do.

That full blown orgy was so much fun and the good part was that we never had to see them again. It was a 'one off' as they say in England. Thank God! I'd die of embarrassment if I ran into them again, even though it's a highly unlikely scenario with them from the wrong side of London and not in our circle of friends in the right places. Our lesson to learn was to stay out of the bars in the East End.

As I continue writing, I realize that we could publish a best seller novel that would make a one Hell of a movie with all of the experiences we've shared while working in the Foreign Service as dignitaries before being enlisted to work for the CIA. How about us being invited to that cocktail party at the White House a few years ago? Did you ever think you'd see such an event first-hand with so many dignitaries and politicians in attendance?

Faces we've only see on TV and on the news, it was weird to see some of these people in person. Everyone looked shorter and thinner than how they looked when on TV. With all of the profiles and dossiers we've read about all of those people over the years, we knew more about who they are than they knew who we were. If only they knew there were spies among them, wouldn't they be surprised. Moreover, I'm not naïve to know that we weren't the only spies in that room that day.

Yet, there we were, working the crowd for donations to help our latest cause, and then, when we both needed to use the restroom, we came face to face with a moral dilemma. Somehow we got turned around and lost in a hallway. Down at the end of the hall we saw a cabinet member fondling a White House administrative assistant. Should we turn around and keep walking or should we intercede on her behalf?

At first, as if we were voyeurs, it was fun to watch a man make out with a woman. Then when she said no and started to struggle with him while he had her pinned against the wall with one hand under her skirt and his other hand on her big boob inside of her blouse, I knew you'd get involved. I've never saw you move so fast. My hero, you threw him off of her in a second. She ran away and when he came at you, you knocked him down with one punch.

As if rats coming out of the woodwork from doors where I didn't know a door existed, I never saw so many Secret Services agents come running from out of nowhere. In an instant, we were surrounded. After we explained and when it was over, that man didn't say one word to you. He didn't even look at you. No doubt embarrassed by his drunken behavior, he retreated into a room off the hallway. Once again, I felt great pride for you, John.

That brings me back to the reason for this letter. I'm writing this letter because I rarely see you face-to-face anymore and writing has always been my way to gather my thoughts to tell you what I've decided to do. Because of the extensive travel you've done across the pond and all over Europe over the last few years we've grown apart. Even though I will always love you, I'm sorry but I need to make a change.

I need to be happy John. I need to be with someone who will be there for me in the way you were once always there for me. Unfortunately now, your job takes the time away from me that I need to spend with you. I miss our traveling together. I miss all the fun we had. I miss talking to you at the airport and on the plane. I'm tired of traveling alone and being alone. I'm lonely John.

How can I begin to tell you how difficult this is for me to write? I've thought long and hard about my decision and even though we've had a great time together, there's too much missing from our relationship now. Sometimes I feel as if I don't even know you.

Two peas in a pod, you're driven and so am I. Unfortunately, it's a lethal combination that doesn't really make for a very cohesive relationship. We barely have time to connect and, when we do, it's always so difficult to establish oneness again after spending so much time apart. Even when we're together, your mind, just as my mind is too, is somewhere else while thinking of other things. If we both can't be present in a relationship, at least one person has to stay the course to keep the home fires burning. With both of us having high pressure careers, neither of us seems to be interested in being that person.

Let's face it John, we're both mega type-A personalities. We both have powerhouse careers. We're both busy and we travel too much. Only, there was a time when we traveled, we traveled together. Now, we're seldom together. Let's face it John, gone it's course, our love relationship is over. I'll always love you but not in the way that I need to love someone and that I need someone to love me.

Furthermore, to be blunt, other than our basic disconnected status, I keep getting a vibe that isn't good whenever you travel abroad. I suspect you're not traveling alone. Somehow each time you return home from Europe, you seem preoccupied with something and I just can't put my finger on the problem. When I ask what's bothering you each time you get home, you get angry with me or you say that everything's fine when intuition tells me differently. As you know by now, my intuition is spot on, so I wish you'd come clean with what the problem is that makes you so different around me.

Is there someone else? Are you having an affair? Are you in love with another woman? Is that it? I have a feeling that you are. Who is she?

When you don't answer me, I'm left to imagine all sorts of negative things because you refuse to discuss the situation. Your lack of communication leaves me with stress. I wish you'd just come clean. Sometimes I wonder if you're in trouble with the law and on the run, or maybe that you have gambling debts and the mob is after you. All kinds of similar situations and scenarios pop into my mind.

Yet, I know better than that and I know you better than that. No doubt, it's nothing more than you've found someone else in France, Italy, Germany, Switzerland, England, or wherever I don't know. Yet, I sense that another woman is on your mind when I'm the woman who should be on your mind. I sense that you know our love affair is over as much as I know that it's over.

Before we part, and that's what this letter is all about, please let me know what's going on so that I can put my mind at rest. Yes, John, we need to part. I don't think that I will ever marry again because I know that my drive will not likely be suitable to most men. I've promised myself that if I meet someone again, I will be totally up-front with them about my ambition, drive, travel, and the causes I work for, so that they can decide if they can live that sort of life with me.

Whomever wants to be with me in the future should know that I'm not 'Suzie Homemaker' nor do I plan to be. Most men really want that in their lives, a little woman staying home with the children when if anything, I'm more like Mrs. Smith in the movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Complimentary enough, you used to say that I looked like Angelina Jolie only prettier and sexier. You always said that I had the best ass you've ever seen. Now, you never compliment me anymore. Now I'm wondering if you really wanted that too all along, a wife who wanted to have children, and the reason why you're so distant now.

You need to know that I've filed for divorce and you'll receive the papers within the next week or so. Our settlement should go quickly because it's just cash and stocks to split between us and you can have the Washington, DC townhouse if you'd like. I don't mind finding other accommodations, someplace new and somewhere else. I've grown to hate Washington and the last place I want to live is there. It's bad enough that I have to work here. Giving me a chance to be alone with my thoughts while reading the papers, I won't mind the daily commute.

I will always have Love in my heart for you and, if you haven't already found love with someone else, I hope you soon will find peace and happiness for yourself with someone else. If coming off a bit insensitive, I apologize for being so matter of fact. I hope this wasn't too shocking for you to read, and I'm so sorry for any pain that I've caused you. I feel better having written this with no tears and no anger, just a realization with eyes wide open of what we both need to do to finally be happy again.

Goodbye John. God bless you and I wish all the best to you.

Esmeralda

* * * * *

Dear Esmeralda,

Dear John? Who the fuck is John? First of all, my name is not John. It's Jim, James, or Jimmy. My name has never been John, Johnathon, or Johnny as you continue to insist on calling me. Every time you call me John, you make my skin crawl and I cringe. No matter how many times I correct you and how many times you apologize, you still continue to call me John, even in this Dear John letter. What the fuck is wrong with you?

John senior is my father's name. John junior is my brother's name. John is not my name. Jim is my name. It seems to me that you have John on your mind and now I understand why.

Why wouldn't you have John on your mind after my brother told me that he had a longtime sexually intimate affair with you behind my back while I was away? His confession inspired my father to come clean too? My Dad told me you sucked his cock several times. How dare you? Had they not told me, I never would have known the whore you truly are. God, you're such a nasty bitch.

Shock? Pain? Seriously? Are you kidding me? Thank God! Thank Almighty God for answering my prayers. Finally, I'm free from you.

You want an answer to your questions? Well, newsflash, here's what you asked for by writing me this damn, impersonal letter addressed to John. After being with you for ten years, three of which were happy years, how dare you not confront me face to face? How dare you pretend that everything is fine with us when nothing has been good for years?

I've already moved on and I'm already at peace and at a better place with the woman I love. I'm happier now with her than I've ever been with you. I found happiness three years ago when we met with Kate and Jeff. You call it an orgy but I don't. Perhaps it was an orgy to you but it wasn't an orgy to me. I didn't even have sex with Kathryn that night.

We talked, we laughed, we bonded, we kissed, and we felt one another through our clothes and that was the extent of our so called orgy. In the way you were all over the house with Jeff and having sex with him in nearly every room, I thought we were back in Bangkok again watching a live, sex show. God you're such a wicked whore. God you're such a miserable bitch.

I couldn't believe my eyes when I caught you in the kitchen with him. With you bent over and flayed across the kitchen counter, I couldn't believe you allowed a strange man, a man you just met, fuck you in your ass. Your screams of ecstasy were so loud that I still have nightmares of you cumming and cumming and cumming. As first I thought you were just doing it doggie style but then it was obvious to me that he was taking you anally, something you never allowed me to do with you. God, you're such a miserable controlling bitch. How dare you deny me, your husband, the pleasure of your perfect ass only to give it to a stranger?

In the several hours we were together with that couple, you sucked Jeff's cock more than you sucked my cock in the last three years. I couldn't believe my eyes. So hungry for it in the way of a person starving for food, you acted as if you've never seen a cock before. Every time I looked at you, you had his dick in your mouth. Something you never allowed me to do, you allowed him to give you a cum bath. When he wasn't cumming in your willing mouth, he was cumming all over you face and all over your perfect hair that I was never allowed to even touch.

You allowed him to have totally control of your body in the way you never allowed me to take control of your body. With him on top of you pounding your pussy as if he was a pile driving machine on overdrive, I can't remember when you allowed me to mount you. It was always you mounting me. It's always been you on top with me on the bottom. It's always been you taking control of the sex.

God, after seeing you with him and watching all the nasty things you allowed him to do to your mouth, to your ass, and to the rest of your body, you were such a dirty, nasty whore for that big, black man. Was it just because he had a big cock, a much bigger cock than me that made you lose your mind with him sexually? Or have you always been a filthy whore and I just didn't see it until my brother and father told me you were? Now I wonder if you having sex isn't part of your job and your sworn duty as a CIA agent.

A good time for me to come clean now that you opened up this Pandora's Box with this letter, I've been spending all my time with Kate, ever since our little sexual encounter in London three years ago. She goes where I go and we've been traveling through Europe together. I'm never had as much fun. I've never been as happy. I love her. I truly love her in the way that I've never loved you.

In the way that you hated Luxemburg, she loves Luxemburg the best and we hope to live there one day. She left Jeff right after we met. Our connection was so strong that night that we haven't been apart since, except, of course, when I'm forced to come home and spend time with you. Yes, my dear, your intuition, as always, was spot on. I am having an affair, the affair of my life with the love of my life.

I'm glad you filed for divorce because I didn't know how to broach the subject without hurting you by blindsiding you. I've been hoping you'd divorce me, so that you'd feel in charge, the position of dominance that you so covet the most in our relationship. I couldn't be more thrilled that you filed for divorce. Finally, I'm free from you. Ding dong the witch is dead! I was going to give you six months more before I filed myself because I can't wait any longer to marry the love of my life.

When I saw you the first time, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life, whoever wrote that song The Girl from Ipanema wrote that song with you in mind. I never dated a Brazilian woman until I dated you. Your accent mesmerized me and your big, beautiful, brown eyes hypnotized me. Yet, with your tall, perfect body with your incredible ass, your long, straight, black, lush hair, and your oh, so sexy smile, you had me with Hello.

I couldn't believe when you asked me out on a date. I couldn't believe you said yes when I asked you to marry me just as I couldn't believe when you sucked and fucked Jeff in the way you've never sucked and fucked me. I couldn't believe when I opened this letter and you wrote Dear John instead of Dear Jim. How dare you? With you not a stupid woman, I'd have to take you not even knowing my name after ten years being with you as an obvious insult on your part.

Now, I'm the one who doesn't know who you are. With all the passports and your various identities backed up with your legends established by the company, you have too many names. Now I wonder if Esmerelda is even your real name. For all I know, you're name could be Lois or Donna or Gayle. For all I know, I could have been nothing more than a pawn in your cover.

Only I had no idea how driven you were and what a difficult wife you'd make when we met. What woman doesn't want children? What woman would chose her career over having a family, especially when I was making plenty enough money to support the both of us in the extravagant lifestyle you've grown accustomed to living. In your twisted mind of duty and country, after watching you with Jeff and finding out about you with my brother and father, I'm left to wonder how many men you've sucked and fucked for the CIA.

Nothing I ever did pleased you. Always critical of me, you were always there to make things somehow seemingly better albeit more your way. Even when I'm writing my mother a letter, you'd read over my shoulder to correct my word choice. How dare you do that to me and treat me in that disrespectful way?

I couldn't even change a knickknack in the house without you returning it to your original location. How dare you so control me and how dare I continue to allow it? Yet, no more Esmeralda or whatever the fuck your real name is, I'm done. We're finished. It's over.

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