The three of us exhaled at the same time as we smiled. Eva's ass was dripping jizz out like a source of glory, representing the rivers of feelings that we just were giving to each other. I released her second hand from the top of the bed and we share the last triple kiss of the night.
We had one hour left.
I proposed to take a bath together to seize the time we had left. After a few minutes laid in bed, relaxing, I went to the shower to prepare the water. Soon after my two lovers of the night appeared.
We entered the shower and watched as the water ran down our bodies in a calm and sensual way. We kissed and enjoyed the hot water while our hands came and went over our bodies.
We left the shower... We had half an hour... We dressed... 15 minutes... We kissed. We left the room as completely new people. Happy.
We went down the elevator, we didn’t say a single word... Only looks were shared... Five minutes... We delivered our keys.
Our car arrived...
Desktop Therapy for Three
Chapter One: An Itch that Can’t be Scratched
I watched from behind the bar as another night came to an end. The air conditioner coughed and spluttered above me, doing its best to ward off the thick, heat-heavy air. I tried to ignore the uncomfortable sensation of my shirt reaching for my back with hot, wet hands but with the gloom inside my mind, it was hard to avoid anything negative. I seemed to attract it tonight. Something was different. I knew what it was. I just didn’t want to address it—not yet anyway. It was like the spouse you had fallen out of love with, sitting at home waiting for your arrival, only you didn’t want to go home.
So instead I busied myself, clutching at every distraction I could. I watched the activity of my small empire slowly simmer down to nothing, the hands on the clock seemingly moving through treacle. Before me five thousand square feet of restaurant, dozens of tables, the last customers of the evening clearing their plates as half a dozen staff buzzed left and right, little gems of perspiration gleaming on their foreheads. It was a joint to be proud of and once, I’d even had designs upon owning it myself. Now, I had no idea what I wanted anymore. The hot Texan days and nights in trendy Montrose, Houston no longer appealed to me as they once did. You see, I had come to realize that I couldn’t hide from the truth anymore, my age wouldn’t allow it. Thirty-one years old, still single, working my life away in a restaurant, smiling at and serving families, couples and businessmen and women. I wanted what they had. I wanted their carefree lives and their companionship. I wanted to take risks, I wanted to fall in love and risk a broken heart, and I wanted to spend my evenings being pandered to by sweating waitresses. But I had none of that.
I was depressed. I was aimless.
Still, I got on with things as I always had. I couldn’t admit to myself that there was a problem in need of address. And so I wore my mask of calm and poise, continuing to administer to my empire, my subjects completely unaware that their ruler was on the verge of a breakdown.
“Jane, make sure you clear up those condiments,” I ordered, pointing to the offending tables.
Jane was a blond, pale-skinned girl who reddened easily in the heat, and it didn’t help that she always seemed to be in a rush. She clung to an armful of menus, walking past me with short but quick steps. “Just putting these back...” Then she was off again, looking like an agitated fly in her white blouse and black waistcoat. I envied her. She was young and clumsy, eager to please, but at least she had her whole life ahead of her. I could have fired her and hired someone who conducted themselves with authority, and assuredness. But I liked having Jane around. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was that caused me to enjoy her company so much. She raced past me again, with the last stack of plates clutched in her hands, looking as secure as a gate with one hinge. She smiled in that way of hers, the way that said, “Anything to please you, Wayne,” and crashed through the doors into the kitchen. Maybe it was her honesty that I liked so much, I decided as I continued to stare at the round porthole in the swinging door. She didn’t conceal her emotions, or in fact anything that came from within. When you looked at her, you knew, you just knew what she was thinking, and what was coming next. I caught the bitter, smooth scent of fresh coffee and it served as a slap around the head. I was really becoming gloomy, and it wasn’t just the oppressive heat of the Texan summer or the boredom of another night alone.
I turned, seeking out the coffee, and found Thomas at the coffee machine. It groaned and spluttered as it churned out a latte, and I gazed enviously at the foam-coated surface.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I told him, staring at the side of his head, my eyes tracing his sideburns along his face, and down his cheek to the full beard at his chin. “One drop of caffeine and I’m wide-eyed all night.”
I had tried it before, and the pounding rhythm of my heart on the bed sheets had driven me to the verge of insanity.
Thomas winked and took a slow gulp. When he brought the mug away, he had a foam-tache. “Need it for tonight,” he said placing the mug on the bar. He wiped the sweat off his brow and turned to me with a demonic grin that showed off his annoyingly white teeth. “I’m heading downtown with some of the guys. We’re going on the prowl again, see if we can’t hook us some fine honeys—you really should come along sometime, boss. It’s not like you’re married or anything.” Then he gave me that look again, the one that questioned my sexuality, head inclined away from me, eyes squinted, lips pressed firm.
“Not this time,” I told him shaking my head, “Got an early shift tomorrow.” Not any time. I didn’t have many friends, and the club scene didn’t appeal to me, never had. I didn’t have any trouble meeting women though.
Thomas was a good boy. A young college student earning some extra dough while reaching for his dreams. Good-looking, though not on my level, and a good person to have around in times of boredom, but right now he was plain irritating. It was all down to me of course. The growl of the air conditioner above my head, the sweat in the small of my back like a river that had burst its banks, and the apprehension born of the lie I’d been living.
“You change your mind...you got my cell number, right?” Thomas had already finished his coffee in the brief instant it took for me to feel sorry for myself.
I leaned on the bar watching him leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” The words came out laden with hopelessness, weighed down by the promise of another soul-crushing day on which I’d likely face similar inner forces crashing against each other like waves on rocks, endlessly eroding my spirit.
Thomas left. The last customers left, and then it was just me, Jane and the chef. Laughter and scuffling in the kitchen reached my ears, and I imagined Hank the chef, and Jane, tickling each other and grabbing a feel where they could act as if it were accidental. Everything tormented me, even the low light, and the shadows on the walls like little people watching me, studying me, mocking me for my weakness.
Tomorrow morning at 7.18, I’d go to my father’s grave and sit for a while, just talking and being with him. Then I’d come to work and get ready for the Saturday lunchtime rush that came every week. The highlights of my life, a long-dead pops and a job I’d had since my college days.
I poured myself a glass of red wine, Pinot Grigio, and watched the streets fade to stillness.
Chapter Two: Something Feels Different
That morning, sitting at my father’s grave, I was overcome by a different feeling than the one I was used to. For ten years, it had been the same routine, ever since he had left me to fend for myself as a twenty-one year old. Was I angry? Hell, yes! Was I still clinging to the past and hoping that somehow I’d wake up one day only to find I’d let it go? Again, yes. But this morning I felt more detached than usual, distant as though I was somewhere else, in another time or place. It wasn’t an alien sensation to me. I had felt this way for the past week, and it was kind of the way someone feels when they know they’re about to succumb to a cold. When something isn’t clear though, how do you fac
e it? When there is no tangible edge to cling to, so you can pull what is bothering you into the light, all you can do is wallow in it. For a man like me, a man who is used to being in control, in command, it was like someone had reached inside me and twisted my soul.
I checked my watch—7.17. The sun was already up over the horizon, to the east, rising up above the rows of headstones and tombs. I wouldn’t go to work until about ten. This was my yearly routine. Get up, go to my father’s grave and wait for the moment, the moment when his life had been snatched away, the moment when I had lost his guidance. It was quiet and I was alone this morning except for a dove up in the trees above me, cooing gently over and over. I rolled up my sleeves and unbuttoned my shirt to the chest in anticipation of another humid day. This was our time, and I would brave the heat and the insects to be with my pops. I watched the hand on my watch until it was that time again. Then I relived the last moments we’d shared together.
Driving along the West Loop on our way home from a friend’s house, it had been just the two of us, as it had been for a while. We had stayed over the night, and decided to leave early the next morning to catch the sunrise as we drove. It had been the last sunrise my father would ever see, and the last one I’d ever see without missing him terribly. My parents had divorced early, when I was still just a kid, and my mother had long since disappeared. Even if I wanted to, as a twenty-one year old I couldn’t remember her, not her face, not her voice, and not even her mannerisms. She was lost to me, but that was alright. I had my dad, and he brought me up to be tough, to take no shit from anyone—but also to be fair. Son, he used to say, if you want to get somewhere in life, somewhere that matters... At this point he would raise his index finger, calloused and thick with work. You gotta be strong and sturdy, and reliable like a redwood. You can bend in a strong wind, lose a branch here and there in a storm, but never let anything break you, or your spirit. I grew up on those words, I lived those words and with my pops as my mentor, I thrived. Then on that morning, coming round a bend in the road, somehow Pops lost control and we ended up in a ditch, nose all crumpled inwards like an accordion dropped on the floor. When I woke up, blood and dust filling my eyes like mud, hanging upside down in my seat with the sound of spinning wheels all around, I found my pops still and peaceful beside me.
But here and now, something was different. I couldn’t pinpoint what that difference was, but it was there, hanging over me like a raincloud about to shed its load.
I didn’t know what it was, but it was important.
Chapter Three: There’s Something About Her
All day I felt like something was coming, like that sensation of expectation you get when you see storm clouds in the distance, and feel electricity in the air. It didn’t feel bad, but neither did it feel good, and so I shrugged it off, pushing it to the back of my mind, immersing myself deeply in my work. The lunch rush came and went like a locomotive, loud and full of bustle, moving fast. Thomas was on shift and looking the worse for wear.
“Any luck last night?” I shot at him as he moved past me with a stack of plates.
Thomas winked again, as always unwilling to impart his secrets. “Let’s just say it was a good night!” Then he sidled past, his body shifting to take on a straighter, more proud pose as if to taunt me. I watched him barge through into the kitchen, feeling a little more frustrated than I really should have. Why couldn’t he ever just talk plainly? Realizing I was getting flustered, I turned and looked for some way to distract myself.
At the door another member of my staff was greeting a couple. What was her name again? Ann? Sara, it was such a pretty name, and one that called to mind visions of an angelic-faced girl, always smiling and maybe with a French accent. But not in this case, anyway. I always tried my utmost not to judge people on their appearance. It comes with the job. You see so many faces on a given day, and though you could try, it’s not possible to judge them all—so I take them as they come, and adapt. Sara was a newer member of staff. She’d been with us for several weeks now. Forty-one years old, two kids, and a husband, she had the entire package, the American dream, but I got the impression it was more a nightmare.
I work hard to get to know my staff. I don’t get too personal, but I make it my business to know their strengths and weaknesses. Thomas was dependable under pressure, maybe a little too cocky, but I could rely on his calm presence during busier shifts. Jane was too panicky for a busy shift but her smile and warm demeanour made her perfect for weekday evenings. Sara was everything, calm under pressure, attentive and never stopped moving, even when it was quiet. She was every manager’s dream, and—I had this weakness for her.
“Sara,” I said as she approached, heading for the menus. “Think we’ll be busy tonight?” I asked just to make conversation.
She smiled but the gesture was clipped after a second, her lips settling back into a dour line. She slid two menus from the holder and turned to leave. “Probably...” Marching back toward her customers, now seated, she had nothing more to say. That was strange. It wasn’t like Sara to be so reticent. I wasn’t exactly feeling ecstatic with life myself but the longer I watched Sara the more I realized that something was different about her. It’s my job to know my staff, and though she was new, I could tell that something was bothering her.
Later, during a lull, I summoned her into my office, eager to get to the bottom of this change in her. I’m not a counsellor, nor would I normally be so intrusive, but I was feeling more introspective than usual, and somehow drawn to Sara and the issues she so clearly had.
“Come in,” I called, when I heard her knock at the door. She opened the door and flashed that same short-lived smile at me, before turning to shut the door. “Take a seat.” She reached up and pushed her shoulder-length blond hair back over her shoulders. It was a pointless gesture, more nerves than anything, because her hair soon settled back.
“What did you want to see me about?”
She looked tired, and her voice carried that tiredness even though she tried to hide it. She was on the edge. Even the way she sat betrayed the way she felt. Rigid in the chair, her body poised as if to explode, shoulders back, breasts pushed against the white material of her blouse. I looked at her a moment as I wondered how to begin the conversation. Blue eyes like drops of water, clear and revealing, and skin that was a soft shade of white like fresh milk. The blueness of her eyes made the shadows under them darker, and that darkness in turn made the pink cushions of her lips more enticing. I cocked my head slightly, feeling a wave of attraction sweep over me.
When she started to frown, I began. “It’s not my place to pry into your personal business, Sara...”
“You’re right,” she added quickly. “It’s not.”
Her eyes hardened and challenged me, defiance blazing bright blue. It only made me want to find out more. She was hiding something, as I was, but it was large, so all-consuming that she was only just managing to contain it. I wanted to know, I needed to know. It was as if the knowing would somehow help, not her, but me.
I tried my best to act like I was in control. “You know I care about you.” The word care resonated within me like a struck bell but I ignored it and continued. “I care about all my team members.”
Sara’s eyes flickered for a moment. “Right...”
I clasped my hands together, and then brought them out palms up. “You seem like something’s bothering you. Would you like to talk about it?” I hoped she would. I wanted it, I think I needed it. I still wasn’t sure what was happening, I was being led more by my feelings than by my rational mind and I went with them.
Sara’s eyes dropped at once to the surface of my desk, and a hand crept up to twist the hair behind her ear. “Just some stress at home—I don’t like to talk about it.” Her head dropped and the stiffness in her shoulders slipped away until they were slumped. “Why would you care anyway?” It was a smaller voice this time.
If I'd told her the truth, the truth that was slowly dawning on me, she woul
d probably have gotten up and walked out.
“It’s alright,” I offered. “I’m your manager; it’s my job to care.” What a load of bull, I thought immediately. “If you want to get anything off your chest I’m here for you, if you need an ear.”
My eyes traveled down the strands of blonde hair hanging over her bowed head and settled on the opening in her blouse where the material creased between the buttons, revealing her skin underneath. Something stirred in me at the sight of the curve of her breast, where it nestled in her bra. She was wearing a blue bra, and my eyes drank in the sight before sliding lower to the hidden, covered area where the white material of her blouse stretched against the pressure from within. A yearning inside me caused a long breath to slip out of me, and I stopped myself, straightening in my chair, averting my eyes. God, I needed her. It was like her vulnerability magnified her allure tenfold, and I began to wonder if it was this similarity between us that caused the uncontrolled attraction. I was lost, she was lost. Maybe together we could be found? I brushed that thought away roughly, dismissing it as over sentimental. A bead of sweat ran down my temple. The air conditioner hummed overhead, keeping the weather at bay, but not the heat in my body.
Once again, she composed herself and lifted her head to look at me. “I wouldn’t normally tell just anyone this,” she said, her voice low as if imparting a great secret. “But you seem to really want to know, as if you actually care...so...” She looked away for a moment. I waited patiently, nodding softly. “My divorce was finalized yesterday.” Her eyes filled with water that glistened in the light overhead. She started toying with her hair again. I wanted to reach out and still her hand, maybe take it and hold it, show her that she had some support. “He wants to fight me for my kids too, and I don’t know if I can win.”
Menage A Trios Page 4