Special Dee

The trip to the favored parking spot that Donna and Dean routinely used normally took only about ten minutes and that did not change today. Diz chuckled beside me and said, "Oh, yeah," softly. When I asked him what he meant by that, he chuckled and told me, "Check out the sunroof."

When I rotated and zoomed my camera slightly to give me a good view, I could see that Winston had opened the panoramic sunroof of his grand luxury car so that they could feel the spring breeze as they drove. I prayed silently that they would leave it open.

It had rained the night before, so the ground was very wet. Today, however, the weather was gorgeous -- mid-sixties and mostly sunny, and the humidity had left the area temporarily. Conditions could not have been better for our purposes.

Sure enough, once the car stopped, the couple got out and saw that the ground was too wet to do the deed on the ground under the trees. They came together in a passionate kiss and began to undress each other. We watched from an angle within the treetops nearby as they would each remove an item of the other's clothing -- unashamedly right out in the open air. Then they would reach inside the car to place the items in the foot well of the front passenger side, kissing and groping between the removal of each item of clothing.

'Damn!' I thought, 'she is still a foxy woman, even if she is bent.' I noticed in passing that Dean Winston's equipment was sort of in the Goldilocks category -- not too big and not too small -- just noticing, you understand; not dwelling.

I watched and gritted my teeth as my wife of almost fifteen years pulled open the rear passenger door of the car and entered, positioning herself on all fours on the plush leather luxury back seat of Winston's car. He was not long in following her in and filling her cunt with his man meat. Their movements began slowly and I saw my wife turn her head to make her lips available over her left shoulder.

I had begun ET's descent, and I captured on video the moment when Dean leaned in and kissed my naked wife, all the while pumping his unprotected cock into her cheating pussy from behind. I couldn't help myself; I had to clear the sudden appearance of moisture from my eyes. This marriage had been dying up to this point since I had discovered Donna's duplicitous nature; but with a date certain not yet determined. Now, it was determined. Today was that day.

I kept ET hovering off to the side, behind their field of view and told Diz to begin his run. From that point on, I moved ET slowly and carefully into position below the level of view and behind the curvature of the trunk of the car in which the cheaters were now fucking. I had almost zoned out when I heard Diz give his alert.

"Okay!" he said almost in a shout. Catching himself, he said, "Final approach ... strobe and chirp in 3 ... 2 ... 1 ..." then in a calm voice just over a loud whisper, he said, "Now!"

I raised ET to a level with the rear windshield. I got a momentary glimpse of the looks of ecstasy on the faces of the couple fucking on the back seat as I activated first the strobes and then the police chirp.

Today, I had covered the strobes with a deep blue film. When the bright alternating lights went off, I chuckled briefly thinking of what must be going through the couple's minds. The lights looked like those atop a police cruiser.

"Whoop! Whoop!" That sound was almost universally recognized across the United States as the chirp alert of a police unit.

As planned, the startled couple quit moving and remained frozen in place for just a few seconds. Their frightened expressions were captured for posterity by the video feed coming from ET. I was smiling at their discomfort and congratulating myself on surprising them so thoroughly that I almost did not hear Diz.

"Bombs away!"

I gotta admit; I had not expected anything so ... disgustingly unpleasant as what ET's video capture showed me on screen.

The movement inside the car behind the couple in my viewfinder was that of something dropping through the sunroof, but it only lasted for a split second before the back windscreen, with the exception of that area screened by the heads and shoulders of the couple there, was covered in an obnoxious brown film. It took the couple a split second to realize that they were now covered in a brown haze of piss and soft shit, as was the entire interior of Dean Winston's precious luxury Chrysler 300S.

They had been looking out the back windscreen with Diz' device had burst, so their faces had minimal amounts on them -- just the residual droppings from the car's ceiling. This had been by design when Diz and I had planned the attack. I was supposed to ensure they were facing away from the bursting shit balloon so that they did not have shit blown into their eyes -- we did not want to blind them -- or their noses or mouth -- nor did we want them to ingest any. I mean ... it is quite one thing to tell someone to 'Eat shit and die.' It is quite another to realize that if they did manage to eat any of the shit, they very well could get sick enough to die. I had wanted revenge on them; not concern about dodging a murder rap.

"Rounds complete," said Diz in a suddenly authoritative voice. Then, in a softer tone, he said, "I believe it is time to march order, my friend."

With that, we directed Enola Gay and ET out of the area, keeping them as low as we could. We had them home within twenty minutes and were giving each other high fives as we shared Budweiser Black Crown beer together.

****

Diz had taken off, per my direction, leaving me at home to await Donna's shameful return to the house. I had activated ET again to watch the main highway turnoff into our neighborhood and had quickly brought it back to our place and parked it in the garage when I saw the Chrysler make the turnoff.

I had already alerted Myrna Hawk to have her process server in the area and to be on a ten-minute alert. She had given me his cell number and I had it entered and pressed, with the alert for him to do his thing just as my wife's lover drove his car down our street and into my driveway. My car was parked down the street, so Donna would not know that I was home. I had to admit that Winston's Chrysler was a beautiful machine -- at least on the outside. As he put it in park, I could still see the brown streaks on the inside of the windshield -- I guess he had used his undershirt or something to wipe it off sufficiently to see out while he drove.

When the passenger door opened, I saw a woeful figure emerge. Donna's face was clear of the offending materials that obviously permeated the interior of Dean's car, including all of the clothing that they had piled into the foot well in front while they had done the deed in back. I knew this last bit from having reviewed the video from Enola Gay while Diz and I had enjoyed our post-operation beer.

Diz' aim had been phenomenal. The shit balloon had entered the car dead center through the open panoramic sunroof and the burster had blown out its vile contents just a couple of inches over the center console between the front bucket seats. Enola Gay's camera caught the brown blast effect as it blew throughout the car almost instantaneously, even into the foot well where their clothing had been piled. Only a relatively small amount had actually blown up and out through the sunroof, due to the direction of focus of the burster Diz had set up; the guy was really pretty talented at this.

I watched another dark car pull up to the curb and its driver got out and moved toward my front porch. He looked to be in his late twenties or earlier thirties and he was carrying a large manila envelope. He was moving briskly across the yard and caught up to Donna before she could get to the front steps.

I had the window in the front room cracked so that sound could pass both ways -- from the outside in, and vice versa. He got within reach of Donna and started into his official presentation.

"Donna ... <gag>" I had to chuckle. He began again, fighting through what must have been an awful smell oozing from Donna in all directions.

"Donna Taylor?" he asked, and it sounded as if he was trying to breathe through his mouth and speak at the same time. Man! That smell must be really awful!

"Yes; but I can't ... talk right now ... I..." she said, trying to brush him off.

Bless his heart; he persisted and simply said, "Here." I was looking out the window and I saw Donna take the envelope he held out to her; I guess it was reflex.

He then moved quickly toward his car and called out while walking backward, "Donna Taylor, you have been served." He took her picture with his phone, still moving away, in order to record the event; along with the date and time she had been served. The guy was thorough -- even though grossed completely out by my shit-smelling wife -- I'll give him that.

Winston had wanted to leave right away. I guess he had wanted to distance himself from his old lover; get a shower; find a detailer with guts enough to clean up his car -- or an arsonist who would simply torch it and put it out of its misery -- and get on with life in anticipation of the weekend. It had taken him a few minutes to get out of my driveway, since the process server's car was partially blocking him in.

The server reached in his car, got another envelope, and approached the driver's window of Dean Winston's car. I could not hear, but it looked as if the server got confirmation of Dean's identity and simply threw the envelope in the window, stepped back to take a picture, and took off -- I guess the smell was equally as obnoxious near the car as it had been near Donna.

I moved away from the window so that Donna could not see me watching the events transpiring in my front yard. I heard her let out with a sob. I don't know if it was a sob of anger, sadness, self-pity ... or a bit of all three. I just know that it was loud. I heard several more after that.

She tried her key and discovered that it no longer worked; I had taken the opportunity this morning to change out the locks and replace the garage door opener before the revenge mission had even begun.

She did not yet know if I were home, yet she still rang the bell and listened. She pounded on the door several times and kicked it once. Then I heard what sounded like her slumping against the door and sliding down to sit on the porch.

Things were quiet for a minute. Then I felt my cell phone vibrated in my pocket -- I had turned off the ringer so that she could not detect my presence in the house. I went into the kitchen before I answered the phone.

"What?" Usually when I saw her number on the caller ID window, I would answer with, "Hi, Honey," or some other term of endearment -- not this time.

"Glenn ... Honey ... something terrible has happened and I ..." she paused as she went into a paroxysm of crying loudly and pitifully. I stayed with the connection as she finally got herself under control after about a minute.

"Oh, Glenn ... <sup, sup> ... I can't get into the house ... my key won't work ... and I need so BADLY to shower and get clean! Ugh!" I almost laughed at the image of her sitting there on the porch crying as she felt the chafing of her shit-soaked clothing.

Finally, I spoke. "Donna, did you receive the packet that I had delivered to you?"

"Ye ...Yes," she responded. "What is it? The rude man who gave it to me said I had been 'served.' What did he mean?" I could not believe she could not figure this out.

"Well, I guess you need to open it and see exactly just what he DID mean," I said. I could not help the harsh tone in my response.

I could hear her tearing open the envelope, probably as she propped the phone in the crook between her neck and chin. "Glenn, why are you being so nasty all of a sudden ... oh ... OH ... NO ... NO-NO-NO!"

I had instructed Myrna Hawk to ensure that the still shot of Donna and Dean fucking in the missionary position on the blanket on the ground was the first item in the packet of divorce paperwork. From the angle of the photo, it would appear to the observer that a tall man with a camera had taken the picture from about thirty feet away with a zoom lens. The secret of the UAV video would remain with just a few of us.

****

Totally against the odds that most people would have given me, the divorce went slightly in my favor. The time-date-stamped picture of the cheaters may have helped -- I don't know. Since Washington is a no-fault state without requiring a period of separation before the divorce, the machinery moved fairly quickly.

I got the house, since the deed was in my name only, but had to provide a shitload of monetary assets (from the known accounts) to Donna. This included only minimal alimony for two years, since she was, in fact, still employed.

Since the house was mine, the judge ruled that the best interests of the children were served "when the existing pattern of interaction between a parent and child is altered only to the extent necessitated by the changed relationship of the parents or as required to protect the child from physical, mental, or emotional harm."

In lay terms, that meant that they should stay in the house with me in order not to change their 'pattern of interaction.' To her credit, Donna did not try to paint me as physically, mentally, or emotionally abusive. If she had, I had given a list of witnesses to Myrna Hawk to call in to testify to the fact that I was not abusive.

I could not get Dylan and Dee-Dee out from under Donna's influence completely, as the court also established 'mutual decision-making authority;' which meant that Donna could still have a major say in the kids' lives. Well, I guess, with the way that courts normally screw the dads, and the fact that I was not being squeezed out by the machinery, I could give Donna a little leeway without squawking too much.

It sure would be nice not to have to deal with my ex-wife at all anymore, but I still had Dylan and Dee-Dee to consider. So far, I had shielded them from the infidelity aspects of the dissolving relationship between their parents. I planned to keep them in the dark for as long as possible.

Donna got herself an apartment just a few miles away -- guess who had to pay for it! It was closer to Vancouver and her place of work. What chapped my ass was the requirement for me to pay for her connection for cable TV (I checked to see if it included 'The Cheater's Channel' in the channel selection with her package, but I didn't have any luck).

I had no interest in whether Donna was dating or trying to establish some other attachment with someone. The subject never came up during the regular handoff of the kids for visitation and I did not ask.

All in all, I suffered financially for about six months; until the payments began coming in from the business that Diz and I were conducting with his cousins in India. The amazing thing was that we did not really have to produce anything; we simply had to be idea men and broker the deals that resulted in manufacture, special configuration, and transportation of Diz' designs. We had to get another lawyer lined up to handle the export arrangements, since our stuff was still not legal for commercial use here in the U.S. and there were a few trade restrictions on exporting technology.

But, oh, boy! Whenever the FAA got off the dime and gave us the go-ahead here in the United States, the sky -- literally -- was going to be the limit.

I finally got a bit of a boost financially when the court settled in my favor in my Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress (IIED) suit against Dean Winston. It turns out the guy was up to his ears in debt and the final payout to me after attorney's fees and other costs amounted only to $43,000. Ah, well.

Meanwhile, I was still making a pretty good living at my day job. Life was looking up several months after the divorce -- I guess. I was starting to get a little horny, though.

I had to laugh when I learned that the insurance adjustor for Dean Winston's case balked at declaring the car a total loss; pushing for a thorough cleaning and return to service. I knew, as did Dean, that he would NEVER get all of the shit smell out of his upholstery.

Dean kept claiming that a cop had been there when 'hoodlums' had vandalized his car. He insisted that the police car's incident camera MUST have captured some evidence to support his case. Calls to the State Patrol and to the sheriffs of Clark and Cowlitz counties, asking for the name of the trooper or deputy who might have been there, all came up empty.

Diz and I had kept our mouths shut about the Shit Bomb Incident. In fact, we had said and done nothing to raise any suspicions until Donna had witnessed our little exhibition today at Dee-Dee's party and finally connected the dots.

****

I had put Dee-Dee to bed after we got back from taking her friend home. Dylan had gone on to his room and was probably cruising around on the internet before he finally settled down to go to sleep.

"Did you enjoy your twelfth birthday, Baby Girl?" I asked Dee-Dee as she pulled the covers up. It would probably be only a matter of months when I would no longer be welcome in her room for her nighttime rituals leading up to sleep. She was definitely growing up right before my eyes.

"Daa-Deeee," she said softly in mock exasperation. "I am NOT your BABY!" Then she giggled.

I could not help it. I started crying softly. She saw my tears and said, "Daddy; I ... I didn't mean it. I only meant..."

"Sweetheart," I said gathering her up into my arms for a hug, blankets and all, "you will ALWAYS be my baby girl."

She hugged me back and said, "I know, Daddy. I know."

I kissed her forehead and, as she lay back down, I looked into her eyes and said, "You are just so special, Dee."

She smiled at me and closed her eyes.

The DNA results that said I had not sired this little girl would never see the light of day, if I could help it. I could not know for certain; but, given the way that Donna had insisted on being the one to name her, the probability was pretty high that Dean Winston had impregnated Donna with Deanne some time when he had been home from school in Boise all those years ago.

That could have been a way for Donna to laugh at me in secret. I don't think she had told Winston, even if she knew about his possibly being Deanne's sperm donor; otherwise she may have had to answer questions about her other lovers. And it would have probably come out when he tried to fight my lawsuit against him.

It did not matter now, though. I had my kids with me and my former cheating slut whore ex-wife was out of the house.

I went downstairs and glanced at the clock, noting that it was only ten after nine. I usually do not answer the phone after nine, but instead let the machine take it. It had always seemed to me to be rude for someone to call my house after nine at night unless it was an emergency.

For some reason, however, this evening, when the phone rang at nine-fifteen, I chose to answer it. I was surprised -- yet pleased, somehow -- to hear the voice on the on the other end.

The voice of Sandy Malloy spoke into my ear and said, with obvious amusement in her tone, "Okay, Glenn; do you want to tell me what that vicious slap from your ex was all about?"

Remember when I said earlier that this is NOT one of those stories where the cheated-on guy has ready-made female companionship standing by once he is finally divorced from his cheating wife?

Well; I could be wrong.

****

NOTE: For a good look at a Quadrotor UAV in action, you may want to check out the somewhat humorous video titled, "FPSRussia Prototype Quadrotor with Machine Gun"

While the UAV depicted in the video carries a machinegun, it is the vehicle platform itself that is of interest as it relates to the story; not the weapon (unless you are really into that stuff).