I Did It For You

The months following my divorce also saw a strange flurry of odd accidents and crimes in our city.

The boss of Frank's ex-wife Tracy, the man with whom she'd cheated on my best friend back then and who she was still cheating with afterwards, with the boss's wife as the victim, had a terrible accident with life-changing consequences. The asshole apparently had a regular routine of running on trails through a heavily wooded area on the edge of town. It seems that one day, a large branch broke loose from an oak tree just as he was running under it and smacked him in the head. Fortunately, a good Samaritan, never identified, came across him and called for help quickly enough for the injured man to be saved, although he was never quite the same and had to medically retire from his mentally-demanding career.

In a terrible twist of fate, when the Samaritan used the victim's phone to try and reach his family to let them know what was going on, he somehow accidentally forwarded several compromising photos of the man in flagrante delicto with his administrative assistant. The now ex-boss had to move into a State-subsidized care home after losing wife and house in the ensuing divorce.

As for Tracy, apparently her work value sans in-office sexual favors was not rated all that highly by other executives in the firm and she ended up as a barista in one of those Starbuck's where Maeve feared running into me. Tracy for some reason blamed Frank for her calamities, even though there was no sign it was anything other than a freak accident. Still, the police did check on him as part of their due diligence and found eyewitnesses and security video that plainly showed him at a Foo Fighters' concert on the night his former rival ate bark.

The police also offered some interesting items in the daily police blotter in our local paper.

One night, two men, who lived five miles apart, both reported bullets coming through windows of their homes and shattering their laptops as they were surfing the web - both men mere inches from death. Because the two crimes were so blatantly similar, the police investigators dug just a little deeper and were able to ascertain that both men were surfing the same website, one dedicated to philandering, when they'd been shot at. The case has apparently gone cold, since the recovered bullets were reportedly fired from one of the most common models of hunting rifle found in a state full of hunters.

One of the more bizarre police blotter entries concerned a man whose vehicle was vandalized. He was a self-employed car detailer, and the white panel van was his rolling workspace. Photos provided by an unknown witness who just happened to snap a few shots and send them to the newspaper show the large white sides covered with poorly drawn spray-painted images of anemic-looking tigers. The paper and the TV news programs that also ran the story had to blur parts of the images because they apparently showed the tiger's genitals. The words that filled in for the blurred visuals reported that said genitals were apparently portrayed as separated from the body, with much corresponding blood. Underneath the tiger on one side were the words, TigerPoop, and on the other side, Daddy's tail dipped into the wrong honeypot.

Oh, incidentally, on the night of the shootings, I was at a well-attended art gallery opening with the Black daughter from the earlier date. Turns out another of her taboo fantasies was to have sneaky sex in a public place. On the night the van was vandalized I was taking part in a late business meeting that included our city's most recent past mayor. Not that any police ever asked me for an alibi. I mean, why would they?

So, what's up for my future now that I'm on the road to recovery? Well, after that final spousal support payment hits, I will have fulfilled all my obligations under the divorce decree and Kelly DeWit will no longer by my active attorney. When she learned that I actually went to an art display opening and was happy about it, she said that she would like our first date to be at a gallery as well. Of course, I don't expect she'll be asking me to pull her into an alcove and surreptitiously slip my white cock into her black pussy while we gaze out at the art and the crowd.

Fortunately, I won't have to feel bad about that encounter when I'm with Kelly because she made it very clear that, while she didn't want details, she also didn't want to go out with me until I had had sex with someone else first. She didn't want to be the one absorbing my first angry post-divorce fuck - her words, not mine. With that hurdle cleared I hold out hope that happiness can still find me in our crazy world where you can do so much for love that you end up killing that love.

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