11-13.avi; or, The Engagement Ring

The harshest lesson that I have learned in my life, I am privileged, or cursed, to have learned just a few nights ago. I am reminded once again of this fact as I stare at the e-mail on my screen, close my eyes, and try to calm my heart as I decide whether to save it or delete it.

--"Hi Patrick! I'm so glad you could come to the party the other night. --

That lesson? The dividing line between heaven and hell is as fine as a single hair ripped from my own head. Or from the head of an angel: my Julia. Julia, my love, I hate you so fucking much.

A couple of days have passed since the night of the party. I see her e-mail. It is from her. From Julia, my love. Yes! I think. It is another invitation! But I am terrified that my acceptance will be entirely of my own free will. Heaven and hell are eternal, and constructed entirely by one's own choices. No matter which choice I make, I know I'll never be the same.

Truly loving a person means putting their happiness above your own. And she seems...happy, like this. The look on her face... But I digress. That is a lesson I learned long ago, both through the received conventional wisdom and my own life experiences. I haven't had many; I don't consider myself a worldly man. In fact, I spend most of my days now just wishing for any kind of noteworthy experience. I didn't have many relationships growing up; didn't even have my first kiss until I was 18. Most women simply smiled with a "Thanks, but no thanks" look if I approached. I had a couple of brief relationships in my twenties, and then I thought I found the Real Deal when I met Julia.

Things seemed, not perfect (nothing is), but at least quite wonderful for a time. Things were on an upward trend when I popped the question and gave her an engagement ring. I'd worked hard and saved in order to be able to afford it; neither of us was particularly well off at the time and it had set me back more than anything else I'd bought that didn't have four wheels attached to it.

Now, I am jobless. Now, I have to get by on a check from the state and what modest income I derive from freelance tutoring. My wardrobe and entertainment tastes are, to say the least, extremely frugal. But anyway-

Things with Julia progressed slowly, but steadily over the following months. We moved in together. The sex became gradually more adventurous, though certainly not extreme by modern standards. It was usually in the missionary position, with little in the way of foreplay. She'd always been somewhat turned off by giving oral sex, so blowjobs were a rare occasion, and she would never perform it on me to completion; no matter how liberal we were with other things, she could never escape the feeling that it was degrading, and not in the sexy sort of way. Probably the kinkiest things we did were occasionally tie each other up, or sometimes she'd tickle my anus lightly with a fingertip. It felt nice, but we didn't push it very far. We were having fun and we cared about each other immensely. But one day, she got a promotion at work, and her salary doubled overnight. Things changed after that.

We took it in stride at first, but after a few months I began to detect occasional notes of scorn in her voice. If we were at the store and I suggested we go with an off-brand in the interests of saving money, she would act like I'd grown a 3rd eye in my forehead and just chuck the item in the cart, saying she'd take care of it. For some time this pattern continued, her condescension became more apparent. She grew impatient with many of my sensibilities when it came to everyday life, and we started fighting more and more. Soon, I was on the couch at night, usually wondering whether it could really last with the girl of my dreams.

Though I should have seen it coming, it still hit me in the gut like a sack of bricks when she told me she was leaving. The arguments were vicious, and I was heartbroken; she seemed callous and distant. It was somehow harder for her to be cold and apathetic than it was when we were both arguing passionately; at least then she had some feeling, even if it was antipathetic.

She moved out; to add insult to injury, she left me a stack of cash for her share of the rent until our lease was up, because she knew it would embarrass me. The possessions that we'd bought together, she told me that I could keep and she'd just buy new things for herself. It was as though she was lording her economic superiority over me. But still, I'd need the money. I've always been gainfully employed, but never seemed to do better than "just getting by."

After a few weeks of living separately, we spoke a few times and managed to sort of salvage a pseudo-friendship; we both agreed that things had been said that shouldn't have been, and that we should try to at least remain friends. I, desperate to win her love back, held on to this as a beacon of hope that some day things might resume where they'd left off when we'd been happy together. But for the most part her promise of friendship was hollow. We talked occasionally, but never really saw each other. She usually said it was "too soon." Conversations on the phone were always brief. I didn't know if she had been seeing anyone else, and I thought it best if I didn't find out, despite my intense curiosity.

I drank heavily for several months, in a state of deep depression. I never lot this be known to her in our brief conversations though. The tiny amount of dignity I had left demanded it be kept from her. Eventually, the drinking and depression cost me my editing job, which is why I'm now on state assistance and food stamps. It was in this rather shameful condition that my heart leapt with joy and hope last week, because she'd called and invited me to her place for a small party she was throwing. There would be a few other people there, but at last I could see her finally! Maybe we would have a moment to speak in private and work a few things out. There was always a chance.

My heart raced on the way over there; it was 6:00 and I was showing up a bit early, but I didn't think she'd mind. I had never been much of a party person anyway, and I didn't know if I would stay terribly long since I was prone to a bit of social anxiety in such situations. She knew that, but I guess it hadn't been on her mind when she invited me. Still, I wasn't going to throw away the chance to see her.

I showed up at the address she'd given me; it was a nicely kept ranch house in the suburbs about twenty minutes away from the heart of the city, where I lived.

"Patrick! You're early!" she greeted me at the door. "Come in," she said with a smile. She looked even more stunning than when I'd last seen her, and I immediately felt self-conscious at the shabby corduroys and t-shirt I'd put on. She was wearing a satin gown, light-blue in color. It cut off just at her bust, where the gown's thin straps extended up over her shoulders. Her breasts even seemed a little fuller; the gown accentuated them perfectly, and I could have sworn that her cup size was slightly larger. I mentally contrasted her appearance with my own, which had assuredly declined with my drinking and lack of exercise. I sucked in my developing gut a little, and followed her into the house. Her dark hair had been freshly cut and styled professionally; it had likely cost her the equivalent of what I allowed myself to spend on food in a week.

The front door opened into a parlor area, which featured a pair of couches, a nice oriental rug, and several framed pieces of art on the walls. It was much cleaner and nicer than the home we'd shared had been, and I couldn't help but feel that she had in fact traded up simply by becoming single. There was a rosy glow to her cheeks and an energetic bounce to her step that I hadn't seen during our last month together. Beyond the parlor was a hallway, which lead to first a kitchen, then a living room, and what must be bedrooms beyond that.

I saw movement emerging from the area of the bedrooms and was startled.

"This is my friend, Tasha. I don't believe you've met. Tasha, this is Patrick."

"Hello," she said coolly. I extended my hand and she shook it quickly. She continued on her path to the kitchen as Julia led me to the living room. I saw Tasha's chestnut hair and bare upper back drifting confidently away from me. I looked after her admiringly, and then flushed with embarrassment as I realized Julia had noticed my gaze.

"Sit," Julia said, politely but firmly. I sank down into the black leather couch nearby, and she sat next to me. I immediately began to regret coming here. My heart was already racing. She was even more stunning than she'd been six months ago, before things fell apart, and I felt like an utter slob who was treading water in the past while she swam forward confidently.

"I, uh, hope you don't mind that I'm a little early," I mumbled quickly.

"No, not at all!" she said with a magnanimous grin. "I thought you might be. It's so good to see you, though! How are you doing?" she gushed.

"Oh, okay, I guess," I answered, too embarrassed to tell her what was apparent from my appearance; I was a wreck.

"I'm glad to hear it. Listen, I suppose we ought to get this out of the way. I feel bad for the way I treated you and I hoped we could have some fun together tonight, as a way to make up for it. I don't want us to be on bad terms."

"Oh, you know that's not necessary. Shit happens, I don't blame you. I'm willing to let the past be the past and just go on as friends."

"Excellent," she beamed. "That's how I feel as well. Oh, I'd been so dreading you'd be resentful of me."

"What?" I said. "No, of course not." God, I missed her so much I could have wept right then. The angle of her cheek bones, the freshly styled hair, her smooth skin...none of which would ever really be mine to touch intimately again, if it ever had been. That night she wore a perfume I'd never smelled on her before, some combination of peach and lavender scents, I thought. I felt myself getting into trouble, mentally, as I thought about her naked body. I hadn't seen any other women in the time we'd been apart, and was ashamed to admit that most nights I got drunk on cheap bourbon, watched porn, jerked off to alleviate the pain of missing her, and disappeared into a hazy tunnel of fitful sleep. The last few nights I had abstained from the porn and masturbation regimen and passed out early, because I'd been more interested in getting drunk to numb the emotional pain than in briefly gratifying my sexual urges.

Her closeness, and my lack of a recent tension-relieving session, were already becoming an issue.

"Look, I don't want this to seem hurtful, but I think enough time has passed that the right thing for me to do would be to return the engagement ring to you. You can, I dunno, return it to the jeweler, I'm sure having the cash would be better than some memento of a girl that left you like a cold-hearted bitch." She said it with a light, self-deprecating tone, but her words were not without some seriousness to them. I think she genuinely felt she was doing the right thing.

"I, uh, well I don't know. You don't have to give it back. It would seem wrong to take it back..." I trailed off.

"You wouldn't be taking it back, just accepting it. Really, I feel awful that you spent so much money and I still have it. Please say you won't leave without taking it back?"

"Well, okay, I guess," I muttered. It felt like even more of a nail in the coffin than the act of her moving out of our apartment. But I supposed it was necessary, and I really could use the cash if I could pawn it or return it.

"Wonderful! Now, tell me, have you met anyone new? Are things going okay in THAT department?" she asked with a knowing gleam in her eyes. Before I realized what had happened, she'd lightly patted my crotch area. I couldn't feel it very much beneath my baggy corduroys, but my heart leapt into my throat and my cock felt a jolt of electricity for a split second.

"That's...I really would rather not discuss that," I said. My heart continued its sprinting beat.

"I hope you understand I'm just asking out of concern for you. I've come to realize," she continued, "the importance of a good sex life to a person's health and well-being. And I feel awful that I treated you so badly. I do hope I can make it up to you, somehow."

I gulped. My heart sped up. She scooted ever so slightly closer to me, our legs touching through fabric. It took me back to the first time we kissed. Julia's eyes flicked up to the entrance to the living room, where Tasha was now standing.

Gah, get out of here! I thought in Tasha's direction. Leave us alone!

Tasha stood at the threshold, looking at us both.

"Patrick?" she said through the brief silence.

"Yes?" I said, desperately wishing Tasha would leave. Go away, fuck off, you horrible, miserable-

"When I told you before that Tasha was my friend, that was both true and misleading. She actually lives with me."

"Ah," I said, oblivious.

"And shares a room with me."

"Okay," I said, continuing to be clueless and embarrassing myself.

"And she shares a bed with me."

The revelation hit me hard, and it was somehow worse than reliving the day Julia left me. She'd left me, and was fucking a WOMAN now? Ordinarily, of course, all guys fantasize about their girlfriend being with another woman. But usually it included him in some way. Somehow, her leaving me for the arms of a woman was even worse than her leaving me for a man. Why was she telling me this? I thought, desperately. I wished I didn't know, that I could go back to just a few minutes ago and start over. It was as though stabbing me in the heart hadn't been enough; now she had to twist the knife just to watch me suffer. I wished I hadn't come, but I couldn't just get up and leave. I felt powerless and desperate.

Tasha wore a smirk and sauntered towards us. Her gown swished lightly with her legs in the silence that had come back in between Julia and me. She sat down on the couch on the other side of Julia, their identical gowns striking in such proximity to one another. Their bare shoulders touched; Julia's a light, creamy color and Tasha's a healthy tan.

"Is this okay?" Julia asked gently.

No, I wanted to say. No no no this is horrible! I wanted to say as my heart panged with jealousy. But I also couldn't help the fact that I was sitting on a couch with two gorgeous women. Two gorgeous women who I knew were sleeping with each other. Tasha's grin bespoke a calm triumph over me. My Julia, sleeping with someone else. I almost laughed out loud; it was like one of those stupid letters to a porn mag. "Dear Penthouse, I never thought this would happen to me, but..."

Of course, my penis was starting to think that something might happen to it, but the rational part of my brain couldn't even remotely conceive that anything illicit was actually about to occur.

I wish, oh how I wish I'd left Julia's house right then. I wish I'd left and never looked back. But what man would have the willpower to do that? I can only guess at the ways in which I've been damaged irreparably by the horrors that were to follow, and this wasn't even the beginning yet.

"Yes. Yes, it's fine," I said. The part that was fine was Julia, the woman I loved sitting next to me. That part was heaven. The fact that she was sleeping with someone else, and that person was right here too, was hell.

"I thought you might say that," she said, a little breathily. "I've done so many things to hurt you. I thought maybe I could do something that might be...more pleasant, but I think it would be best for us both if the two of us didn't directly do anything together. It might," she said, "delay the healing process for you."

I nodded and gulped. She smiled sweetly and turned to Tasha, slowly running her fingers down Tasha's arms. I was enraptured by the gentle whisper of contact between them. Their lips came together softly. Unsure what to do, I began to touch Julia's bare upper back, but Tasha grabbed my hand and lifted me off, all while they continued to kiss. The quiet sound of their mouths wetly interacting was death to my heart, and life to my penis. After a moment passed, Julia turned to me with a smile and said softly, "Do we look good together?" Soft. Everything in those few moments was soft.

I nodded again, "Yeah...yeah, you do." I said. The two of them really did look fantastic together, like a work of aesthetic brilliance called into being by some Michelangelo or Picasso.

She laughed and swatted her hand at my arm. "Oh, relax. You were always too high-strung. It's no big deal," she said, in response to my nervousness. "In fact, I have just the thing."

She and Tasha got up and left for a moment. I was struck by their confidence and self-possession as they stood and walked calmly out of the room, despite the heat of the moment that had just occurred.. I let out a big, long breath, twitched my legs up and down, and ran a hand through my hair. When they came back, a lit joint was between Julia's fingers. She puffed out a big cloud of smoke as they entered the living room.

"Here, have a hit," she said as she passed it to me. "It'll calm you down and make you more sociable, I have the other guests coming soon." I accepted the offering and in my anxiousness breathed in a bit more hefty of a hit than I should've. I coughed and passed it to Tasha. We took turns until we were stoned, and Julia extinguished the last third of it in a nearby ashtray.

"Now, where were we?" she asked, teasingly. In addition to relaxing me, the pot had heightened the sensitivity of my nerves. Everything seemed to slow down and I began to be a little closer to okay with the thought of Julia kissing someone who wasn't me. Kissing, and the giving and receiving of pleasures and comforts, seemed to be the natural, preferred state of everything.

Julia and Tasha began to passionately flick their tongues back and forth between their mouths, slowly, but hungrily. Julia now sat to my left and Tasha to my right, but they appeared to be taking care to come into contact with me as little as possible. I was painfully conscious of their sleek, expensive gowns in contrast with my own t-shirt and cheap pants.

Oh, God, I thought. Julia, my love...you're so beautiful right now...

But I felt that to reach up and touch either of them, or otherwise assert myself would be to ruin this beautiful moment. They parted for a second and stood up from the couch, moving to the floor a few feet away from me. Tasha slipped the straps off of Julia's shoulders, and their breasts pushed against each other's, creating an artificially high bust-line for a moment as they held each other. Julia brushed the hair back from Tasha's forehead as Tasha continued to sensuously disrobe my Julia, my love. The emotional pain remained behind the screen of pot that we'd smoked; it still hurt, but the hurt was overshadowed by the beauty of the moment. Suddenly, though, I felt desperate to be a part of this moment, to once again share something with Julia. My heart was pounding. I stood up.

"Sit," she breathed. "Or you go home." I obediently sat back and started to touch myself through my pants. The pot had exacerbated my sensitivity and I was so aroused I felt like I was starting to leak pre-cum into my pants at the tension of these past few minutes. My balls throbbed desperately. The muscles around my prostate clenched and relaxed seemingly of their own volition.

Tasha finished undressing Julia and gracefully planted her lips at various places on Julia's body, progressing from her throat, to her breasts, and continuing down to her pussy. She lightly passed her mouth over the soft down of Julia's well-groomed pubic hair. Tasha looked at me, smiled with a sparkle in her eyes, then turned and planted her mouth on Julia's labia. She let out a moan as Tasha started flicking her tongue over Julia's clit.