He's got you, I've got Mexico. – Eddie Raven.
Ned Samuels looked at the latest letter from his cousin Matt again as he sipped his rum and Coke on the beach, shaking his head at the man's good fortune. Matt always was the lucky bastard. Then again, Ned's own luck was beginning to change for the better, now that Chloe was gone. Oh, he still loved the bitch, but he had begun to let go of her. She left him for Sean Morris, some stupid silver-spoon jackass with more money than brains and no doubt too stupid to make the lying slut sign a pre-nup. Ned hoped that Sean didn't mind getting blue balls and the cold shoulder when he didn't completely cave to Chloe's every foolish whim, because that was how she was, that was her character, and it would never change.
Oh, they weren't officially divorced yet, but if that didn't stop Chloe from getting her ashes hauled, it damn well wouldn't stop Ned. There were several attractive prospects just on the beach that evening, still wearing their bikinis and little else, at the beach house next to Ned's. The divorce would be final in just a month, after the better part of a year apart, and he wasn't about to give himself blue balls watching these lusty women while Chloe gave up the booty to Sean. He didn't go down to Acapulco just to watch the sunset, nice as it was. He didn't wear his ring, of course, and even if he had, the local senoritas wouldn't give a hoot about that, any more than the various gringo tourists.
Well, Ned felt a bit of peace for now, but then he saw it ... the letter from Chloe Samuels, expected soon to be Chloe Morris.
That bitch, why did she have to mess with my peace of mind?
Ned shrugged, finished the last sip of his rum to steel himself, and opened the letter from his estranged wife. He braced himself for the words sure to tear him apart again.
I hope that this letter reached you by now. I have to say, I have been wondering about how things are for you. Are you really down in Acapulco? I never thought that you'd actually do it, leave the States, retire from your job, and move to a resort town, but I guess that you needed to get away. I suppose that I don't blame you. Life must have been really rough on you lately, courtesy of yours truly and a certain gentleman who shall remain nameless.
Look, honey, I know that I haven't been the greatest wife ever. Far from it. I cheated on you, more than a few times, cut you off sexually at times, played games with your head, teased you with what I didn't want to give you, and finally left you for another man. Oddly enough, and I know that my actions suggest otherwise, I still loved you ... still do, in fact. I know, not even remotely believable on your end, eh?
Well, what can I say? Love hurts. It certainly does for me. It obviously did for you. I know that I broke your heart in fifty places, but you broke mine back in equal measure, when you didn't fight to keep me. I know, I know, a slut like me isn't worth fighting for. I can read your thoughts from here in Chicago. I know, I didn't fight for our marriage, so why should you do all of the heavy lifting? Well, logic, fairness, etc. all agree with you, but my heart doesn't care about all that, just that my ego took a major blow when you just dropped me like a bad habit and got on with your life.
Now, now, I can hear your objections from here. You weren't nonchalant. You drank a lot more than usual, which is saying something, because you always were a bit of a lush. I confess that I did things at times to take full advantage of that, such as when I slipped three whores into your bed and made sure that they had sex with you in some form or another, while I took pictures to cover my ass. It was an insurance policy against grounds of infidelity, but you didn't care in your drunken state. You fucked Sasha, licked Jacqueline, and then let Monica go down on you for the last round.
You probably didn't even know about that until I sprung it as a surprise during the settlement meeting. Not that it worked, of course. Our state is a no-fault state, as it turned out, and despite all of the naughty tales that claim this or that, it proved to be even more no-fault than we could ever imagine. Beth, my lawyer, warned me against this, but I didn't listen. I just didn't want to listen. When your lawyer, Meyer, observed that this was a no-fault state and the arbitrator sided with him, I knew then that I had done all that in vain.
However, I don't regret a thing about what happened that night. I admit that some part of me found you sexier when you were drunk and uninhibited. You had more fun and I actually found myself joining in the action. Yeah, I ended up riding you one last time for auld lange syne. I had to wash your dick afterward, since I had it in my ass.
Yeah, that's right. I finally gave up the ass to you that night, which was the real reason that I snickered when you complained that I never gave it up to you. You were furious that I snickered and it probably didn't look good on me, but I couldn't help but do that. It was actually some of the best sex of our marriage, and you didn't recall a second of it. Why do you think that I kept urging you not to leave town? I really wanted to keep you on as a friend with benefits, or was that ex with privileges? Something like that, anyway. Even if I had to get you drunk again, it would have been great sex for us, or at least for me.
.... There is more of this story ...