Feeding An Addiction A Three way Street Ch 18
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JFK, New York: Sunday 11th February 2018
The cup of coffee was a life-saver. Strong, black, Grande. Full of the flavors of Africa.
There are very few friends I like enough to get me out of a warm bed at six a.m. on a New York winter’s morning. But Francis, especially in his current state of mourning was one of those few friends.
But without that steaming cup of Ethiopian black, I’d have been little use to him as I helped him with his bags. He gave me the length of hug normally reserved only for family, laden with emotion, and then released me and turned to Sue.
There was an immediate connection between them as they just stared into each other’s eyes. So many different emotions and feelings passing between them. About Winnie, about Francis’ sadness, about Sue’s feelings as a friend. And about the two of them as lovers. At a point when Francis’ life was now entering a new phase. No longer with a mother to share things with, and now the head of a family located on two continents.
They hugged, holding each other tight. And of course, seeing how long they hugged and how tightly they held each other, it set off all kinds of alarm bells for me. I’d seen and experienced a hell of a lot these last few months. But my nerves still tingled at this public show of the depth of feelings between the two of them.
Part of me felt ashamed thinking like this. Concerned with my own fears when our friend was at such a low point in his life, dealing with the loss of a parent. But I couldn’t push these fears away. They hugged so long and so tightly that it brought all of my fears bubbling back to the surface.
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Looking back over the last week, Sue and I had done plenty of talking and thinking about how things might be when Francis finished his last week in Lagos and returned to New York.
I fully expected that Sue and Francis would see each other, just as they had done before Christmas. But one of the key questions was how much they’d see of each other. In a perfect world, we’d all have an infinite amount of time. Sue could have as much time as she wanted with Francis and as much time as she wanted with me and as much time as she wanted with her girlfriends. But life’s not like that and one of the key foundations we’d agreed was that we needed to make sure we had enough quality time together. To make sure our love was always healthy and was always the primary relationship in our lives. Sue and I had promised ourselves that we’d never let either Francis nor Grace get in the way of this, our golden rule.
Seeing the way that Francis and Sue held each other at the airport made me realize the wisdom of the agreement Sue and I had reached. I like to think we’re both smart people. We’d talked about the emotionally needy state Francis would likely be in when he returned after his recent bereavement. Before Christmas and before Grace had arrived, it had worked well for us when Sue had seen Francis two nights a week. Spending the Thursday evening with him at his place before returning home, and then a similar arrangement but at our house on the Friday night, so that I could watch them together. But once Grace had arrived, and after her amorous attraction to Sue had died down a little, the amount of time Sue and Francis spent together increased. Reaching a peak in the week before Christmas Eve when Grace flew back, with Sue spending five of the seven nights with Francis.
We knew Francis would be in a needy and vulnerable place and that he’d naturally enough want to see Sue as much as possible. So as we’d planned for Francis’ return we’d tried to find a balance. One that met the needs of all three people, whilst protecting the primacy of Sue and my relationship. The plan we agreed was that during Francis’ first week back Sue would split her time equally between him and me and that she’d be free to sleepover on the evenings she was with Francis. But that after this first week, when hopefully Francis was in a better place emotionally, we’d return to what had worked well pre-Grace. With Sue spending two nights a week with Francis, one of which would be at our place so I could get my kicks watching.
The military has a saying. That no plan survives past the first five minutes of contact with the enemy. Sue had smiled as I’d told her this saying, both of us recognizing that while it was smart to make plans, we’d have to be flexible and make sure we communicated once Francis returned as plans often need changing.
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As they finally broke their hug, I was already a nervous wreck. But this moved up a gear or eight as the hug turned into a full-on kiss. With a lump in my throat, I stared at them kissing so openly and so passionately in such a public place. And then I turned away, aware that continuing to stare would look odd. My emotions had gone haywire, like one of those old time computers in the movies shrieking ‘abort … abort … abort’, as I continued to watch them out of the corner of my eye.
“It’s really good to see you, baby,” he said in his deep velvety voice.
Sue just smiled radiantly at Francis, the love in her smile replacing the need for words.
Sue grasped Francis’ hand and the three of us set off to the car, Sue on Francis’ left and me on his right. As we walked it was Sue and Francis who did most of the talking. I felt a bit put out and excluded by this, but my brain rationalized this away by reminding me that much as Francis was my good friend, he and Sue were closer by several orders of magnitude.
I pinged the remote and opened the tailgate to put Francis’ two suitcases in the back. Like the well-mannered gentleman he was, Francis moved to sit in the back and closed the door behind himself. As I closed the tailgate Sue looked at me. “Honey, Are you okay if I sit in the back with Francis?”
I could see her concerned look. She’d obviously picked up on the look on my face, and how my fears had spiked as I’d watched their closeness and emotional connection at the airport. I was relieved she was asking me rather than just going straight ahead, demonstrating her love and concern for me.
Sue was standing by the front passenger door as I walked around the car that way, stopping to squeeze her hand and look into her sparkling green eyes. “Just remember, honey. PJ is numero uno. As long as you remember that, then I’ve no problems with you riding in the back.”
I’d tried to lighten the tone with my little joke, but Sue was smart enough to see right through me and sense my fear.
“Are you sure, honey?” she asked a second time.
I smiled softly at this wonderful woman, her care and concern going a long way to calming me. “Yes, I’m sure honey. But I want you home with numero uno on Monday night, as agreed. No ifs, no buts.”
Sue smiled and she must have seen the change in my expression because this time she didn’t argue or check. She just smiled back, pulling herself up in a mock impression of standing to attention. “Yes, sir. Message received and understood. Over and out.”
As we drove across town, I had to struggle to keep sufficient attention on the road. Thankfully it was early morning on Sunday and so there were few other road users. Because about three-quarters of my attention was focused on the back seat of our car and only maybe a quarter on the other cars and road signals around me.
What I saw and heard was a real mix. Sometimes quiet intense looks shared between them. Sometimes lips locked together in either soft or urgent kisses. Sometimes lips used for deep and emotional conversations about Francis’ last few days with Winnie. But always two bodies pressed close together, two hands clasped together as the sign of two people reunited.
As I watched this closeness, my emotions were like one of those Newton’s cradle toys. Having swung from one extreme at the airport to a happy place as Sue has asked about sitting with Francis. And now back to the airport extreme as my eye’s watched the rearview mirror and took in their quiet conversation and closeness.
As we got near to Francis’ home I was close to calling the whole thing off. To telling Sue that I couldn’t cope with the thought of her spending the rest of Sunday and the night with Francis. But propelled by the desire not to let down a friend in his hour of need and my memories of all the loving words and reassurances from Sue, I just about held the line. It was a damn close run thing, but I was proud of myself as I knew it would mean a lot to Francis.
When we pulled in to Francis’ drive he helped me with the bags as we headed in and turned the alarms off. I dropped the suitcase I was carrying inside the front door and clasped him on the shoulder.
“I’ll see you in the week, buddy.”
“Don’t you want to come in for a coffee or something?” he asked. We both knew the score, but I guess social niceties have to be followed.
“No, it’s okay. I’ve got some work I need to catch up on. See you in the week.”
“Thanks, man,” were his final words to me. The look we shared communicating far more than his last words.
Sue gave me a lingering kiss as I turned to go, our eyes connecting and saying all that was needed as Sue’s handheld the overnight bag she’d discretely stowed in the car.
As I waited to pull out onto the quiet road, I cast a final look in the rearview mirror, just in time to see Sue closing the front door. The image being the last I’d see of Sue for the next day and a half.
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It wasn’t even eight a.m. by the time I got home. I had the whole day ahead of me. I knew I wouldn’t see Sue again until she returned from the hospital on Monday evening. I poured myself a large cup of coffee and plonked myself down in my favorite armchair. I looked out of the window onto our bleak and colorless February garden and wondered how the hell I was going to fill the rest of the day.
Tomorrow at least I’d have work to distract me. But today was a different matter. Sure I could read a book. Or watch a favorite old movie. But I didn’t kid myself that either of these would have the power or interest to stop my mind obsessing about what was going on at Francis’ house. To stop my mind throwing up all kinds of shadows and imagings. Like some old magic lantern show, only a very pale and five percent imitation of what was actually going on there.
As I looked at the calendar I realized we’d only been playing this game for slightly less than four months. Yet things seemed to be racing ahead so fast. Part of me understood this. Thirty years nurturing and building a fantasy. At first my guilty adolescent secret, then shared with the woman with whom I shared everything. Then, the kit car loving assembled over thirty years, two brief test runs back in 2015. Which ended up with me nearly breaking my neck and Sue and my marriage in traction through a long recovery process. And now here we were in 2018. The second prototype running smooth and easy with four months on the clock, accelerating down the runway to who knows where.
Putting the pieces of the puzzle together in the above order helped me to understand the accelerating momentum of the last few months. But it didn’t help me to still my mixed feelings of unease and excitement. It felt like I was hurtling down from a plane in that period before the parachute opens. When the air whistles past at two-hundred miles per hour and the parachutist enjoys the thrill, but also gazes at the thin material of the pull cord. Knowing that this chord and the spare are the only things separating him or her from life or death. A huge rush, but at the same time a huge vulnerability tied to a flimsy piece of thread.
Maybe I was thinking a bit like a drama queen, but this is what I felt. And Sue’s love for me was that flimsy thread. The only thing stopping the thrill I’d enjoyed costing me a price my heart and soul couldn’t afford.
Four months? Had it only been four months? I thought back over all the things that had happened. James. The dinner party which had kick-started Sue and Francis’ relationship back to life. My fateful trip to Malawi and the misunderstandings and miscommunications that had been so painful. The arrival of sweet Grace, who turned out not to be so sweet and whose presence in my bed and in my life had acted as a catalyst for Sue and me to discuss and open up our marriage. The trip to Nigeria, my voyeur’s thrill from JFK until we left Lagos a week and a half later. The pleasure of knowing Winnie, weighed against her warning. And now this, sitting by myself while Sue was there for Francis. Comforting and helping him through the loss of his mother.
To think all of this had happened in less than four months was crazy. Crazy and frightening. If this was just four months, what the hell did the rest of 2018 hold for Sue and me?
My mind fluttered back from the montage of the last few months to the here and now. It was only an hour since I’d left them and I couldn’t help but wonder what Sue and Francis were doing. Given the time, I guessed that they’d made love at least once, then maybe rested for a while and talked and were possibly on round two now.
At heart a geek, having done the math, my mind now turned to picture Francis’ broad black ass pumping up and down between Sue’s pale thighs. Their mouths locked as one as they kissed to make up for lost time from their month apart. Sue’s moans and sighs from that most basic of female pleasures. A large male organ stimulating her pussy as it pushed as deep as it could, going deep to release the male seed as close to Sue’s eggs as possible. The biological and the emotional united. I pictured Sue’s legs wrapped around the small of her Nigerian lover’s back, as their bodies rode up and down in perfect rhythm.
I pictured them finished, snuggled together in bed. Sue’s head nestled lovingly on Francis’ wide chest as she listened to him tell her about the last few weeks. How he felt and how much he’d missed her.
And as these twin reels played out in my minds’ eye, I remembered back to how I’d felt in the car as I’d watched their closeness. My shiny emotional balls of that Newton’s cradle were swinging up and down and I thought all over again of calling Sue and asking her to come home.
But what stopped me was the knowledge that Francis needed Sue. If I was hurting and feeling angst and needing the reassurance of Sue by my side, how much more was Francis hurting after the loss of his mother. I told myself to man-up and that I’d see Sue soon enough when she returned from work on Monday.
That Sunday was a strange day. Mixed up between half-enjoyment of the best solitary pleasures a guy can have. Smoking a cigar I knew Sue disapproved of. Watching two favorite movies which I knew bored her senseless. Reading for two whole hours without a single interruption or ‘honey-do’ request, allowing me to lose myself in the world the author had created for just such moments.
These half-pleasures mixed in with periodic mental glances over the roofs of Scarsdale to the house near the hospital where Francis lived and was currently sharing with my wife. The periodic mental pictures conjured up of a couple making love or simply spending time together as a couple after a month apart.
Sue’s absence and these imagined images caused fears and worries to periodically burst into life in my head. Like some bush fire sparked by a single match, soon roaring and threatening all in its path. When these fires took root I had to hang on for dear life. Clinging desperately to all the loving words and reassurances Sue had given me these last days and weeks. And all the remembered actions and looks she’d given me to show, however much she cared for Francis, I was still her number one guy.
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It was just after five thirty and the daylight was just starting to fade. The gloaming as my grandparents had called it. I’d just finished watching the epic movie ‘Cromwell’ with Richard Harris playing the title role, and I looked across at the blank screen of my phone. Now that my pleasurable distraction was ended, I was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of loneliness and sadness. The end of the movie and the outside darkness combining to create a hollow emptiness and a child-like self-pitying question. Why wasn’t Sue here with me?
I looked at the screen hoping that just by willpower I could make it light up. But of course, no matter how hard I willed it, it stayed dark and empty. With a deep breath, I thought seriously about ringing Sue. Asking myself if this would be in keeping with the gift I was giving my grieving friend.
I thought about it long and hard, and in the end came up with a compromise I was happy with.
High, baby. Hope you and Francis are okay. Call me if you get a chance, otherwise see you tomorrow, P xx
I was being honest with Sue. Using our shorthand code, which I knew she’d recognize, that I really needed to hear her voice and feel close. At the same time, I was respecting their needs and leaving it up to Sue when was best for her to contact me.
To her credit, Sue called me almost immediately.
“Hey, honey. Are you okay?” I could hear the concern in her voice, the tone immediately helping to perk me up.
“I’m fine, baby. I just wanted to hear your voice. I was just feeling a bit lonely.”
“Do you want me to pop over?” her voice still ringing with the same tone.
“No, it’s nothing like that. Just hearing you, sweetheart, that’s enough for me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Now go away and make an honest man of Francis.”
Sue laughed. “Hey, who rang who here? You’re the one who reached out to me. Now you’re telling me to go away.”
“Actually, you’re the one who rang me,” I teased her, unable to resist my trademark academic pedantry. “But I know what you mean, honey. Look, I’ll leave you guys in peace. I love you, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Love you too, baby. See you tomorrow.”
As I ended the call I felt a million times better. Proud of myself that I’d not let my own needs get in the way of helping Francis. My reservoir of belief in the strength of our love and its ability to stand any pressure filled back to the brim. I treated myself to a large single malt, knowing any chance of the alcohol causing a maudlin mood was now small.
I headed back to my book. Only disturbed by occasional thoughts of what Sue and Francis were doing. And these thoughts, when they did intrude, were happy thoughts. My own private X-rated cinema, playing the latest Francis and Sue feature film. The director’s cut version where there’s plenty of action, plenty of highs and lows, and where there’s a happy ending in the final reel. Where the good guy gets the girl.
By ten p.m. I felt drained, all of the emotional ups and downs having taken their toll. I decided to turn in and enjoy that rarity, an eight hour night. As I headed upstairs and started undressing, I looked at Sue’s side of the bed. The thought that it would remain empty tonight tugged at my heartstrings.
But it wasn’t the thought it was empty and would remain empty wasn’t the emotional scalpel causing my heart to ache. It was more subtle than that. With my job, Sue and I had spent plenty of nights apart over the years. What was so painful was the thought that just a few miles away, over the rooftops there was another man who was experiencing the total opposite set of feelings. Where my bed was empty and my arm would remain unused, his bed contained the woman I loved. And his arm would be wrapped around her shoulder and it would be his chest which she snuggled up into as she drifted off to sleep.
Even after my earlier call with Sue had been such a balm, this was a painful thought to endure. I recalled something an old teacher told me. That depression and suicides aren’t greatest in the winter when you might expect. Because everyone’s in the same boat, all bemoaning the lack of warmth and sun. No, they’re highest in the Spring and Summer, when most people are happy and it’s only the few percent who feel out of kilter with the general population’s happiness. And these are the ones that are down and contemplate the worst. Rough translation, you feel at your worst when others are happy and you think you’re the only one with nothing.
I’d not thought about this for maybe twenty-five years. But looking at Sue’s empty side of the bed, when I knew she was just a few miles away with another man, created an ache. An ache that even Shakespeare and Tolkien’s lovechild couldn’t describe, it was so pained.
I took the only course open to me.
Good night, honey. Off to bed now. Sweet dreams. See you tomorrow P x
I’d just about held it together to be the Good Samaritan throughout the whole day. But by now I didn’t care if I was intruding. I needed a little piece of Sue candy. I had no idea what I might be interrupting. A deep, soulful conversation. A quiet, cuddling moment. Or a good, hard vigorous love-making session. I really didn’t care. I needed my quarter pound of Sue.
I smiled about half a minute later, as my phone lit up.
Love you too. But not off to bed yet . At least not to sleep anyways … See you tomorrow. Thanks for today. I know it must
have been hard sometimes. Love you always, S xx
My parachute chord was just about holding. I knew that there might still be a few hairy moments, but reading and re-reading Sue’s text I reckoned that I’d be able to enjoy the view as the chord did its job to open the chute. I reckoned I could get through the next week without ending up in a straight jacket and a one-way ticket to the funny farm.
My mind still had a few reels of the Sue and Francis show to play to me, but I reckoned after that I might get a decent night’s sleep.
I felt a bit of a dip-stick, but I kissed the screen and its comforting message goodnight.
“Goodnight, sweetheart. Love you. Sweet dreams and see you tomorrow.”
Myra
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