The House that Jack Built

by Malcolm James

  It was wonderful. Almost melodious as it wafted through my nasal cavity and into my brain for processing. I never wanted to shower again as I basked in the pungent molecules she left behind. I smiled at myself but then I saw my eyes, and memories of my first experience with her musky scent knocked my smile on its ass.

  Moments before, I was carefree and careless. But in a thought inspired by a scent, I was a serious, guilty young man. An unwelcome surge of encoded pain filled my brain.

  I thought of Jack. That was a source of guilt.

  The Code. Ex-girlfriends are damaged goods and off-limits. We all know it. Lots of us break it. But true friends never go there. Even though he broke the Code first, it didn’t give me the right to do the same. And while I was almost certain that he wouldn’t give a shit if he knew, his immense ego and mental state scared me.

  I thought of Elizabeth. That was a source of guilt.

  I deserved her. Jack never did. I saw her first. I was the true noble, decent and honest man. But she was my friend, too. What Jack did to her was devastating under any circumstances. No matter how strongly I felt for her, she was in a vulnerable state.

  But once she made her desires known, I didn’t hesitate. I could have put up the customary struggle for the sake of appearance. But I jumped like I was doing the Polar Bear swim on New Year’s day.

  Then there was me. The biggest source of guilt.

  Where the Hell was my pride? Had it taken a four-year sabbatical? I had shut my mouth and let the unwholesome threesome prevail. And even though they copulated while I watched, I was the one being raped. I should have taken him down and snubbed her forever. I was the obsequious, faithful friend. I let him walk over me with cleats. I played the role of the pathetic, miserable friend to Elizabeth. Near her lap, panting and tongue wagging while I waited for her to toss me a treat.

  I was appointed. Appointed by Jack to guard her and keep her company while Jack was screwing someone else. And appointed by her to keep her safe and console her.

  Sound familiar? Look up ‘eunuch’ in the dictionary. You’ll see my picture. At least now you know what I look like.

  I knew he cheated on her repeatedly. He didn’t talk about it, because he knew I’d tell her. But I could have shared my suspicions with her. In a genuine intimate friendship, you tell people when you see them being hurt, but I kept it to myself.

  Screw it. I didn’t owe her anything! Who the Hell was she to lay her feelings on the line after all this time? And after Jack rejected her! I guess that made me the runner-up. Whoop-de-fucking-do. Who the Hell was she, to expect me to be the faithful, humping puppy dog?

  Jesus! Even dogs get to choose who or what they hump! I wasn’t a dog. I was a stud, and not in the admirable sense.

  I stopped myself. This wasn’t formative.

  We had sex! Four times.

  Four times, I got my revenge. On the both of them. I got something – four somethings – for myself. But for the four somethings there were four curses.

  First: only one thing could have destroyed my denial, and it happened last night.

  She didn’t need to know that I was a virgin. I thought I performed pretty well. And I got out all my frustrations – it felt good to remember that. I smiled, but it was a less wistful, satisfying smile and more of an evil, wry smile. This was a good train of thought.

  But then I remembered where I was and frowned again. Last night, she was filled with grief and wine. We both shared a lust and a need. A need to extract vengeance. But I had a taste of what I’ve always craved. Elizabeth MacKenzie.

  Suddenly my need for revenge was gone. What was left was my intense love for her. Suddenly the embargo on my heart was lifted, and feelings boiled over like a smoldering cauldron.

  But what about her? She got her revenge. Satiated her ill-gotten lust.

  When I returned to the bed, she’d be sober. I looked at the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. As I eyed my naked body, I wondered. What next? This is the moment of truth. If I go in there and she wakes up regretting every minute of it, then I’m screwed. And not in the good way.

  There’d be the painful exchange. She’d try to justify her actions in a delicate manner. Intended to spare my feelings and minimize the uncomfortable moment. There’d be a flood of tears. She’d tell me how she was drunk and wanted to get back at Jack. That she loved him. She’d cry on my shoulder and I’d have to hold her, still smelling of our sex, as she sobbed out her guilt.

  And then it would happen, while she sobbed on my shoulder: perhaps it wasn’t a lost cause? Perhaps she could find a way to get him back? But my body now belonged to her as much as my heart did. A marriage that lasted just long enough to be consummated. Christ. The eunuch becomes the cuckold.

  Second, and even more horrible: I’d tasted the forbidden fruit. I now know what it looks, sounds, feels, smells and tastes like.

  Before last night, it was like I had absconded with the answers for a multiple-choice quiz, but only some of answers. Suddenly, I had all of the above.

  Before last night, I didn’t have a frame of reference. I could only imagine what it would be like. And I did imagine it frequently, alone in my bed at night with the lights off. But now I know. I know what it feels like to have her delicate little mouth wrapped around the tip of my dick. How it tastes when I run my tongue up and down her sweet lips. Or how it feels – God, how gloriously ecstatic it feels – to be deep inside her.

  Ohmigod. If I went back in there and she told me it was all a big mistake, I was fairly certain that I wouldn’t be able to go on living. The cuckold becomes the spurned.

  Third, and this was no worse than the other two. But Christ, it terrified me: If she ended up getting back together with Jack, then God help me.

  Suddenly, I have hands-on knowledge of what he’s doing to her. I saw it that day in his bathroom, but while I was torn into a million pieces over the sight, my voyeurism could never relate to the physical implications. Until now.

  Just the knowledge, that for four years Jack was doing that to her. The well of emotion and heartache swelled to flood levels. I finally had a taste. And I also knew the horrible truth about Elizabeth’s rape. The spurned becomes the suicidal.

  Fourth, and this would simply break my heart: I go out there and she’s not interested in me or Jack. She ends up with someone else.

  I’d have to face the reality. As her friend I’d have to be there for her. I’d be the one she confided in when they’re having problems. I’d have to imagine her doing things to him, and him to her. Before, I had ignorance to lean on, but not anymore. Now I know what it means.

  She’d probably even joke around about the night we got drunk and fell into bed. She’d laugh about it and I’d pretend to. I’d have no choice but to act like nothing happened. She certainly would. The suicidal just becomes a clown. And while my face was painted with sadness, the world’s laughter would be the crowd in my head that jeered at me during my long, lonely journey to the grave.

  On the other hand…

  If I go back in there and she tells me that it was everything she hoped for…that she wanted to do that to me every night…

  …Then I’ve died and gone to heaven. But there’d be no way to keep it from Jack. He and I spent every free minute together, for Christ’s sake.

  I rubbed my forehead and frowned at my naked reflection and my awkward male adolescent body. At very least, he would use it against me. I knew him too well. At very worst…

  I didn’t even want to think about it.

  I steeled myself and walked through the door. Elizabeth stirred. As she opened her eyes I walked unsteadily toward the bed. My heart battered my ribcage with mallets and my head swooned with a million confusing, angry thoughts. For the second time in twelve hours I was sure that she could hear my heartbeat.

  Matters were worse. Now that she was awake and watching me, I was very conscious about my nakedness and got hard instantly. An extremely tragic gesture, if her body language and her lips c
onferred and decided to call me out at the plate.

  ‘Last night was a huge mistake. Y’ere out!’ I imagined it ending, lost in a bang-bang play in the bottom of the Ninth with two outs. Me standing there, watching my hard-on die with my dreams. A broken bat.

  She watched me. All the strength I could muster kept me walking toward her with a raging member. As I stood over her I didn’t know whether I should smile. I had my poker-face on, but my erection was a lousy poker player.

  She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. As she stretched out lavishly under the covers, her legs dragged them away from her torso to reveal her breasts. She didn’t seem to care as she smiled at me, and I didn’t notice that I was holding my breath until I exhaled. My rigid penis bobbed up and down like a drowning man.

  I took her oblivion to her own nudity as a good sign. But maybe she wasn’t conscious of it. She just woke up, right? If she suddenly realized her nudity and pulled the covers over her, then all was lost. And I was a broken, devastated young man. I wanted to throw up.

  But she smiled.

  “Good morning.” In an obviously playful gesture, she darted an evil look right at my erection and giggled. “Nice to see you, too.”

  Finally, my heart and erection beat in unison! All was vindicated! My life, miserable misadventure that it was for seventeen years, suddenly had meaning. And its delightful, delicious, delectable name was Elizabeth.

  “Soooo, are you getting into bed or not?” I smiled at her. If it was possible, my erection grew thicker and harder. I sighed deeply and jumped back into bed. As I rolled over to her, I caressed her shoulders and back. Her naked skin was open to making new friends as it acquainted itself with my fingertips. I pulled her close and my swollen penis pressed against her belly.

  I finally found heaven. Years of religion shoved down my throat hadn’t helped me unravel that mystery. During the fleeting moment when our hearts soared toward the blazing sun and our naked flesh cried sweaty passion, all prayers were answered.

  And all insults were forgiven. We kissed deeply and our tongues locked together. Our hands explored deliciously erotic crevasses of our bodies. And our hearts melded together in an exchange of pure tenderness and sublime passion.

  But most importantly, I finally had my first taste of morning sex.

  Chapter 9

  We spent the entire day and well into the night, relating, sharing, laughing and making love. But the next day we grudgingly returned to Detroit, and after picking up my car and making a quick stop at her parent’s house, I drove her to the airport. An accusatory sun peered at me through the windshield, and my shame squinted at it as I got off the Chrysler Freeway and took the I-94 West exit.

  “You know, I was thinking about something.” She gazed at me and I darted a look at her beautiful face.

  “Yeah? What? That we should have spent another day in bed?” My response was meant to be comical, but she didn’t laugh. Instead she frowned, and I instantly regretted my flippancy.

  “Nooo. Although that would have been nice. No, I was thinking that no matter what happens to us, I know that we’ll always be friends.” I frowned slightly. I shouldn’t have been surprised that she was still affected by what happened with Jack. It had only been two days. Longevity and friendship were priorities for her.

  “Don’t you?” Her question walked in on me with my pants down and masturbating. Maybe a couple of days before, I would have resented it. Friendship was tantamount to everything that I’d grown to hate, where she was concerned. It had a negative stigma. No sex.

  “Of course I do.” I sent a sidelong smile at her. It was all I could muster.

  “Malcolm? Promise me something.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Promise that we’ll always be friends. No matter what.” I had been riding a high from the newfound whatever-it-was that we had, but I began to crash. As I pondered her question, reality set in and I was filled with elated depression.

  She was leaving. Since we made love, we’d talked about ‘making up for the last four years.’ That encouraged my heart with warming hope. And Thanksgiving wasn’t that far away. But her question sparked all sorts of defense mechanisms. What if she meets someone else in Boston? What if, after she has time to think about things, she realizes that she made a huge mistake? The Delayed Effect wasn’t out of the question.

  So I had to think very carefully about her question. Not too long, though. She needed an answer. I peered at her with a ‘gee, that’s too bad’ kind of smile. Almost sympathetic. It was totally unintentional, but the smile I wanted to show her was fighting its way through a crowd of emotions.

  “Of course I promise.” She took my hand and held it tighter than she’d ever held it. Since it had only been two days, that’s not saying much. But she held it like she never wanted to let go. “I promise. We’ll always be friends. No matter what.”

  It’s easy to make promises that you won’t be able to keep. And it’s easy to lie when you think that what you’re saying is the truth. You’re not really lying, because you believe it.

  But a promise is not a promise if you can’t possibly keep it. And a lie is still a lie if it’s not true.

  ***

  We were pulling up to the Northwest gate at Detroit Metro when my cell phone rang. She knew it was Jack the minute it protested shrilly. I could tell by the grim shadow that enveloped her lovely features.

  What’s with this guy’s timing? I sighed and pressed ‘talk.’

  “Dude! I’ve been trying to get you! Where’ve you been?” I only half-listened to him as I watched her face. I searched for something, but for the moment it was gone. I wanted her back. The Elizabeth who smiled lustfully at me for the past day-and-a-half. But she was gone. She stared straight ahead as a grim look devoured her countenance.

  Damn! I had to get him off the phone, and quickly. For the first time in my life, he was cramping my style.

  “We just got back from the U-P. Probably bad reception. I’m taking Elizabeth to the airport.” He cringed and spun on the other side of the connection. I could hear it, and my mind exploded when he responded.

  “I need to talk to you about her! How is she?” My palm almost let the phone slip out of my hand, but I’m pretty sure that it was the sweat’s fault.

  “Not a good time, Jack!” I had to get him off the phone.

  “Then don’t talk. Listen. I made a mistake.” My silence wandered slowly after his words, searching for a way out of the forest it entered.

  Oh no.

  “You there?” I looked at her. Still stone-faced and sullen. I nodded as if he could hear me. For the second time in a couple of days, my mouth was open. No doubt waiting for someone to shove a stick of dynamite in it.

  “Let’s talk about this later.”

  “Mal, I need your help. Talk to her. I need her!”

  I pressed ‘end.’ Bad connection.

  “What did he say?” Her question didn’t offer hope for a formative outcome. I couldn’t respond without telling the truth or lying. Neither option helped my cause.

  “Nothing worth talking about.” I proffered a sympathetic look, a buffer to the lie that erupted from my deceptive lips. Guess I chose the low road.

  As we got out of the car and made our way to the terminal, every step was one more toward my grave. She got her boarding pass at the Northwest ticket booth while I looked at her with deathly silence. But my looks were preempted by hers. The yelling, boisterous crowd in the airport screamed at me: how can you let her get on that plane?

  I didn’t understand. How could we finally be together, and yet walk away from each other? We embraced at the security gate, but we didn’t speak until the last possible moment. Her hands stroked my shoulders as I stared into her eyes. What could I possibly say that would encompass everything I felt? The tension was killing me. I opened my mouth, but her smile halted my words.

  “I have no regrets.”

  It hadn’t occurred to me that she would have regrets. Why would she
say that? I nodded dumbly. I hadn’t told her that Jack wanted her back.

  I have regrets.

  “Me neither.” I didn’t know what else to say. As she stroked my arms with gentle fingers, she closed her eyes and hugged me. Her head latched onto my chest like a stethoscope, as if she tried to listen to my heart and record it for future reference.

  My fingers stroked her back and I wondered which horrible mistake would fuck me first.

  “Are you okay?” My mind snapped into attention when she spoke. I was so close, but there was no time left. It was impossible to tell her what I was feeling.

  “Hmm? Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking.” Her eyes sparkled.

  “Yeah, yeah. I know what you’re thinking about.” She giggled and placed her hand on my crotch. I jumped. God, I wanted her. Right there, right now.

  And then I thought of Jack. As I boxed my soul into a corner she broke the silence.

  “Say, I’ve got an idea.” I perked up. Just let her talk. I need to think.

  “What’s that?”

  “Thanksgiving. I want you to visit me at Thanksgiving.” My heart performed a record-breaking pole vault. I hoped it wouldn’t burst through my ribcage and make a horrible mess all over the airport.

  “Sounds good.” Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! Sounds good? What the Hell was that? She frowned, but suddenly she looked at her watch.

  “Oops! Gotta go!” She picked up her things. My palms were slathered with my guilt.

  Mal, I need your help. Talk to her. I need her!

  Grudgingly, she eased away. But she stopped for a moment and looked straight into me. As if she was looking for some kind of answer. She smiled, but it was a wry smile from one corner of her mouth. She pursed her lips, as if trying to find the right words. Finally, she leaned into me and whispered in my ear.

  “You were always the one. My animus gemella.” She backed away before I had a chance to respond. Which is good, because I had no response. I didn’t even know what ‘animus gemella’ meant. As she passed from visibility, she looked over her shoulder and blew me a kiss.