Separate Vacations: Parallel Lives

Life went on. Tiffany and I lived parallel lives, I'd pick up the girls every other weekend and alternate Thursdays. Judge Herring had the restraining order squashed and removed from public record, giving a stern warning to Social Services for not fully investigating the allegations, and had Mort Bailey appear before the the bar to explain his actions, ending with him being issued a warning. I knew she was dating Middleton. It hurt, but I knew it was inevitable.

It took most of the law firm to get her to let go of the money. Oddly, receiving two million dollars gave me no joy at all. Lew took three hundred grand, just enough to cover his expenses, but then again it wasn't about the money for him either. Sticking it to Mort Bailey was worth more than money, he told me, and besides, his office was swamped with men whose wives were worth considerably more than them, hoping for the same result. He was really selective, and the cases he took he usually won. Most settled out of court upon hearing he was the lawyer of record. He was making money hand over fist, but he still wasn't happy.

He finally got his divorce, and was seriously dating some local woman, extremely attractive, and heir to a multimillion dollar paving company. I hoped he found happiness. I would run into him at O'Brien's now and again. Sometimes we'd share a table, often with Maitland. That man was getting an international reputation over his success with difficult and dangerous cases. I saw his wife, or exwife, once, a stunning blond with an impressive rack.

Apparently lawyers attracted insanely hot women, but then again, rack aside, Tiffany would have held her ground with any of them.

Speaking of hot women with big racks, I started dating an Italian woman, a dark brunette with a spectacular bust. She came into the store one noght with her mother, speaking Italian. I knew the language from my mother, so I addressed them, haltingly, in their language. It broke the ice and I ended up taking her out. One the fifth date, we made love.

Wait, that isn't exactly accurate. Tiffany was the hottest thing I'd ever seen in the bedroom, but Deanna was insane. Nothing was off the table sexually. If I wanted it, she was available. I got my first ever titty fuck from her, and it lived up to everything I thought it would be. We carried on for about three months before things went bad.

Seems she had the Italian temper, and when she started out wanting to nest, talking about children, I knew it was over. She did not take my reasoning well, especially the part about not wanting any more children. It was not a pleasant parting.

Apparently the girls told Tiffany about Deanna, and I got a scathing phone call, the first time we'd spoken in months. "So, you finally screwed a bitch with big tits. Did you ever think of me while you were playing with those floppy mammaries? She'll sag to her knees when she gets a little age on her, while I'll still be pert and bouncy. Of course, you'll never see them again. Then again, twenty years down the road, I may send you a picture."

"Tiffany, is there a point here? You should be happy, riding that big cock you have now. Why won't you leave me alone? I don't need to know anything about you now, especially your sex life. Go back to your big dick and count your blessings. You still have most of your money, and at the rate you're going, you'll have it back and more in a few years. You know, I haven't touched the money. It was never about that. I'll probably give it to the girls when they grow up."

"No, it wasn't about the money, you bastard. it was about owning me. I'm still an independent woman. No matter who I marry later on, there will be an iron clad prenutptial in place. This shit will never happen again. It was a mistake marrying you, knowing how prideful you can be. I'll be a lot more careful next time."

Well, if my heart wasn't already broken, that finished it. " I never once considered marrying you a mistake, Tiff. I loved you with all I had and it just wasn't enough, but I never, up until the last few months, regretting marrying you. Do me a favor, Tiff. Don't talk to me again. I don't think I can take any more hurt from you."

She started crying, trying to apologize, and I gently hung up. I went to O'Brien's, gave him a credit card, telling him to call me a cab when I couldn't drink anymore, and got seriously wasted. I think Lew was there at some point, but I don't remember the night very well. I woke up with the worst hangover of my life, to see three missed calls from Tiffany. I deleted every one of them, and spent the next two days trying to recover.

I had taken some of my maintenance and leased a really nice condo close to the beach, and within walking distance of a lot of shops and restaurants. Each of my girls had a room that I let them decorate. The place had a very nice pool, and we would spend some of each weekend there. I had gotten to know some of the neighbors, and they had made friends with their children. I also got hit on a lot, which irritated me if the kids were there.

Word had gotten out who I was. I always though I was reasonable looking, but I'm here to tell you, two million dollars makes you extremely handsome. There were five or six women there that were reasonably attractive, and I ended up in bed with every one of them at some point. It was fun, but it was just sex, and good as it was, there was no emotion. A couple didn't care, they were just looking after their own needs, but the others, seeing I wasn't interested in a relationship, drifted away.

The girls must have said something to Tiffany, because just before midnight the next weekend, she called. I recognized the sounds of sex immediately, and was treated to a tirade of how hot her lover was, how big his cock was, and how she was ruined, and could never return to a man of normal size like me. The squeals and moans got to me, and I hung up. She called right back. "Don't you dare hang up, you bastard. I want you to hear how a real man satisfies a woman. Your woman. At least I was. Now, I could never go back to a small dicked loser like you. He hits places I didn't know existed, how could I have missed this for so long? I want you to listen, asshole, because if it wasn't for your pride this would still be yours. AHHHHH...!" I'd loved her long enough to know she was having a massive orgasm. I didn't hang the phone up, I threw it against the wall with enough force to shatter it.

The next night she called again. I didn't break the phone, I just hung up and pulled the battery out, and tried to sleep. The next night, when she called, I was ready. "You need to stop this shit. I'm serious, Tiffany. Do it again, and you won't like what happens."

I hung up, and she called right back. I hit the record app on my phone, put it in the spare bedroom, and went to bed. I listened to a little the next day, and was beyond pissed when Big Dick got in on the conversation. "I knew I'd get her eventually, you pathetic piece of shit. I'd have had her while we were on vacation if you hadn't fucked it up. I've been banging her since two hours after you left divorce court. It took me a little time, but I've got her used to me now." He paused, obviously moving the phone, and I could hear slurping noises. "Hear that, loser? She can almost take it all now, and vows to get it down her throat if it takes her years. I can wait." There was a pause, and I heard Tiffany squeal. "That's it baby, squirt it all over my face! Mark me!"

I went to Lew, and the feral look he had on his face made me almost reconsider. "I'll handle it. She'll never do that again, I promise."

.........

"This has to be bad," Tiffany thought, as she was summoned to the office of her CEO. She wondered what it was about. By now it was 2009, and the real estate market was starting to show cracks. The easy deals were starting to get rarer, and people in the industry were starting to get edgy. Luckily, it was mostly the family home market, but still, everyone was nervous.

She was ushered right in, surprised to see Mort Bailey. He and her boss were brothers-in-law, and his firm was heavily vested in her company. She blanched a little when she saw Stephen. Things had become a little strained after the phone calls. He was becoming more and more demanding, and she honestly was a little tired of him. If if wasn't for his magic cock, he would have probably already been gone.

Things did not go well. They played a recording, and she recognized it instantly. God, it sounded so tawdry! Why in the world did she think it had been a good idea? She knew why, though, even after everything she still missed Bruce, and the thoughts of him with someone else made her insanely angry.

She was crying in shame at the end, while Stephen looked defiant. Her boss spoke.

"We just received this from his lawyer this morning. He's threatening a lawsuit and to put it on Facebook, identifying who you and your lover are, unless we can stop you from doing it again. Tiffany, you're my top performer, and I've always liked you, up until the divorce. You've been erratic since, but I put it down to a period of adjustment. Listen to me well, Tiffany. Much as I love you, if you keep up this behavior, I'll let you go. The market is too volitile right now to have this kind of publicity. What you do in the privacy of your own home is your business, but when it gets to possibly harming our businesses, it becomes ours. Look me in the eye, and promise me it will never happen again. Personally, I can't reconcile the woman I've known all these years to the shrew on these recordings. If you need counseling, the company will be glad to provide it, for as long as you need, at no cost to you. But whatever it takes, you need, simply put, to get your shit together. Am I clear here?"

"Absolutely, sir, and I apologize. It will never happen again."

"Thank you Tiffany. You may go now. Mr. Middleton, please stay."

After Tiffany left, the room was quiet for a few minutes, until Mort exploded. "You screaming idiot! What the fuck were you thinking, exposing the firm like that!"

Stephen looked a little contrite and a little defiant. "I wasn't thinking, sir. We'd had a few drinks and it was what she wanted to do. Honestly, I thought it was a hoot to torture her ex. I never once thought he'd record it, much less threaten to release it. You have my assurances it will never happen again. If push comes to shove, we can block the recording from being released."

"Damn straight it won't. Effective immediately, you are no longer associated with any account Tiffany's firm has with us, at their request. It wouldn't have mattered, I'd have removed you anyway. Now, I think the best thing to do is transfer you. I understand you speak fluent Spanish so I'm assigning you to the Tampa office. And Stephen, a word of advice. You're a good lawyer, but you think too much with your dick. You may want to polish off your resume. Your actions have made it impossible for us to ever offer you a partnership. Do you understand? As for blocking the recording, you're the one who sent it to him, dumbass. You gave it to him and there's nothing legally we can do. Go. NOW! "

Stephen, seething, agreed. What choice did he have? He was being sent as far away as possible and still be in the same state. His chances of partnership was in ruins, and though Tiffany had good pussy, it wasn't worth the cost. Fuck those old fossils. There were better firms out there. It might take a while, but he'd hook up with one, and show them, by God! Stephen Middleton was not a man to be trifled with.

He was surprised to see Tiffany waiting. "How did it go?"

"Not good. I'm being shipped off to Tampa, and told I would never be offered a partnership."

She put her hand on his arm in sympathy. "I'm sorry, Stephen. I know how much you wanted that."

Her words encouraged him. Maybe he could salvage something out of this mess. After all, the bitch was still rich. He'd never love her, he fucked her as a challenge, just to see if he could, but the money would be a nice consolation prize. "Don't worry, I'll weather the storm. If nothing else, I still have you. Tampa isn't THAT far away."

She took her hand off his arm and looked sad. "I'm sorry, Stephen, but I won't be seeing you anymore. There's just too much history, and while I love having you around, especially in the bedroom, I don't love you. So, go to Tampa, or wherever, and make a name for yourself. Remember me fondly. I will you."

What! The bitch was breaking up with him? Fuck that! Stephen Middleton did the dumping, not the other way around. "You don't mean that, honey! It will be long distance, but we can make it work."

"No, Stephen, we can't. We can't because I don't want it to. We had our time, but it's over. Please don't make this ugly. Let it go."

By then she had gotten into the little Lexus sports car, and was eye level with his crotch. He grabbed his dick, almost shoving it in her face.

"You can really walk away from this? What happens down the road when nothing else but size will satisfy you?"

Tiffany grinned, finally finding some humor. "I''ll do what I always do, even when I was married to Bruce, and sleeping with you. You never saw my toy collection, did you? I have some very, VERY nice equipment. It's how I managed to take you without hurting at first. I practiced, a lot. Goodbye, Stephen."

She drove away, and he could have sworn she was laughing.

Someone did laugh, and he looked down, realizing he had literally been left holding his dick.

Fuming and deciding he needed a drink, he drove aimlessly until he found himself in front of O'Brien's. They never went there, Tiffany avoided it because she knew it was a favorite of her exhusband. It pleased him a little, thinking about that. Stupid bitch still loved him, but her pscho mother had her so fucked up she couldn't express it. I hope the little bastard is here, he thought as he got out of his sports car, I'm primed to fuck someone up, and it would be a bonus if it was him.

.........

I was at O'Brien's again, this time with Vic Fleming, a co-owner, along with Henry Clark of an upscale, boutique ad agency. It was a highly respected firm, and I had wandered into their world quite by accident. I was a regional manager for Blockbuster by them, ten stores including two in Georgia. I had to travel once or twice a month,that I always scheduled for the weeks I didn't have the girls, but it was a twenty-five percent bump in pay and included a company car, a midsized Lincoln.

I realized I wanted more out of my life, and I wanted to better provide for my girls. I met Vik at one of the stores, and he was fuming into the phone. I asked if he wanted to see a list of the newest releases, and he suddenly started, looking at me closely. I'd told him once I was a writer, and he remembered. To shorten a long story, one of his writers had gotten busted for drugs the day before they were going to pitch a crucial ad campaign to a new client. He asked me to step in, and I did my best, personally thinking it was trite and old hat, sleeping two hours and deliviering it at eight the next morning. For some odd reason he thougt it was great, and paid me five hundred, cash, on the spot. Five hundred for about three hours of actual work. It was my turn to be impressed.

I ended up working with them part time, making about twice my salary at Blockbuster. We had met tonight for a reason. It occurred to me how proud Tiffany would be of me. He wanted me to go full time, offering me a ten percent stake in the company, to be vested at two percent a year. At the end of the term, he wanted me to manage the agency and let him and his partner go into semi-retirement. It was an outstanding offer, and I couldn't understand why he was doing it.

"You don't realize it, but you're the hottest thing in advertising in this part of Florida in years. People are starting to notice your work. We've tried to keep your identity a secret, so others don't swoop in, but sooner of later someone will figure out who you are, and come after you. This is a preemptive strike, to avoid that. You'll never in your life get a better offer, Bruce. Consider it for a few days, and get back to us. Now, let me give you your next assignment."

We were deep into discussing what the new client wanted, and I didn't notice when he walked in. Middleton noticed me though, charging across the room, screaming at me when he got close. It didn't really register until he was almost on me, and I turned in the bar stool. He was swinging, and I didn't have time to react properly, so I flinched back as much as I could. Stephen was wearing some kind of man bling, and I felt the groove it cut in my cheek. The force swiveled me around and I went went it, rolling off of the stool.

I had gone back to the dojo, working out several times a week. I even helped train their fighters, until the sensei asked me into the office. "I'm sorry Bruce, but I'm taking you off the training team."

"Why?"

"Because frankly, they're all afraid of you. You have a lot of rage in you. I attribute it to your divorce, but the fact is you're too dangerous to let into a ring. I don't know who you're beating up in your head, but I hope you never get into a confrontation with him. It could be very bad if you did. He would probably be dead, and you'd be in jail."

I bowed to his logic, and he sent me to a friend of his, for tia chi lessons. It really helped, and more importantly, it was a hobby I could share with my girls. I considered it a training ground, and full intended to get them into my dojo. Tiffany was fighting it tooth and nail, but she couldn't object to the gentle form. The girls enjoyed it, and that played as big a part in relaxing me as the art.

All this flashed through my head as I rolled to my feet, not stopping my motion. He never saw the foot coming until it made contact with his nose, spreading it all over his face. I was wearing wingtips, and those hard soles did a lot of damage. The back fist I followed with as I continued turning got him before he could fall, cracking his cheekbone and jaw and knocking out two teeth. He dropped like a deflated bag, and I kicked him savagely in the balls. It was only a glancing blow but it put him in the fetal position. I settled for kicking his ass, literally. It would be haard for him to walk tomorrow with those bruises. Everything bad in my life, the dissolution of my marriage, it all traced back to him. I was oddly detached as I fucked him up, fully intending to kill him in as painful a way as possible.

I would have killed him, no doubt, but about six guys piled on me. In full fight mode, I knocked one out, sprained another's leg, and sent Lew flying into the plate glass window. O'Brien, tired of replacing it, had installed tempered glass. Lew landed right inthe middle of the lettering. The glass seemed to give, almost throwing him back into the room. The only thing that stopped it from being really bad was O'Brien, who gave me a rap on the back of my head, stunning me. When I recovered, I looked around at the carnage. The guy I knocked out was still down, Lew was groaning and holding his shoulder, and O'Brian was in a full hitter's stance. I held my hands up in surrender, and there was a flurry of activity.

EMTs and cops showed up. Middleton was worked over and placed on a gurney. He was conscious when he was wheeled out. I grinned, knowing he would never again in this life be as pretty as he was when he came into the bar. He must have realized what I was thinking, and lunged against the straps. They were trying to calm him while I smirked.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and aptly, there stood The Angel Of Death. "Mr. Davis, I was here with Lew and witnessed the whole thing. I urge you to press charges. I hope to God you never show up in my courtroom. I doubt even Lew could get you off. You were going to kill him, weren't you?"