A Tale of Two Paramours Ch. 08

Jessi's abrupt departure had prompted a rush of tumultuous thoughts concerning the young blonde, our relationship, and what I should do about it all. Woven through all these thoughts were musings about Jessika and how my sexual friendship with the lovely brunette fit in with whatever was happening with her former classmate.

After spending nearly half an hour just sitting on my couch, my thoughts endlessly and futilely chasing each other around, I decided I needed to do something. I got up off the couch, went to my home office, and spent the next hour and a half running on my treadmill. After that I took a long shower, so it was nearly 1:00am before I fell into bed, hoping I was exhausted enough to sleep. Unfortunately, even though I had worn out my body, my mind was still running nonstop. Even when I finally did fall asleep, I would wake ten or twenty minutes later with dreams of Jessi and/or Jessika haunting me, though I could not remember the details of any of them.

Sometime around 5:00am, I finally slipped into a sleep deep enough to last for a while. It was nearly 1:00pm when I truly woke again, although I seemed to recall various times when I had been partially awake. My disarrayed sheets and comforter told a story of restlessness that my body reflected as well - I felt groggy, as if I had been drugged.

Making myself get out of bed, I stumbled to the bathroom and took another shower. As I stood under the hot water, I tried to recall a night as tough as the one through which I had just suffered. Objectively, I was quite sure I had lived through worse at the end of my marriage, but in the moment, they seemed to pale in comparison. Still, thinking about that time brought me some sense of perspective, and when I emerged from the shower, I did so with the conviction that worrying about my relationship with Jessi would accomplish nothing. I would just have to wait to see what would happen and do my best to show her that I cared about her.

After I dressed and ate, I went to my office and booted up my computer. As I waited for it, I checked messages on my phone, something that I had been reluctant to do up to that point. However, I had not received any texts since one had come in from Jessika the evening before, replying to my "Merry Christmas" text to her and letting me know she was having a great Christmas with her family. I also saw that a call had come in, although I did not recognize the number - it was an out of state area code, and that I had a new voice mail as well.

When I accessed the voicemail message, Jessika's voice came through my phone's speaker:

"Merry day after Christmas! I hope you had a good day yesterday. I received an interesting text message today. It was from Kasey from our class. She told me that last night you and Jessi had come in to the restaurant she works at, but then immediately left when you saw her. I hope everything is okay there. Call me when you get a chance. You can call my cell or the number I called you from - it is my parents' number."

I listened to Jessika's voicemail twice more, trying to determine what her mood might have been when she left the message. Her greeting seemed happy enough, and during the part of the message about Kasey seeing Jessi and me, I detected no anger in her tone - rather I heard concern and maybe a hint of amusement. Finally, she had given me her parents' phone number, so I doubted she was upset with me.

"That is the one with whom you should be thinking about having a future," my conscience suggested, "not the one who is much too young for you, and who also has some very troubling issues."

"That would be much easier," I thought, "but neither of us feel that way about the other. For better or worse, it is Jessi for whom I am falling."

Shaking my head, I tried to put these thoughts out of my head. I decided to wait until evening to call Jessika. I wanted to find something to take my mind far away from thoughts about either of my paramours, and I thought that maybe working on revising and editing some more of my old attempts at writing fiction might do the trick for me. However, I made the mistake of checking my email first.

I found a long email message from Jessi in my inbox. As I began to read through it, I immediately recognized the young woman's precise but rigid writing style, which made me smile. I fondly recalled reading her essays and trying, unsuccessfully, to glean anything personal about her from them. However, unlike her essays, the email was full of the kind of personal details I had wanted to find back then.

The first two thirds of her email fleshed out her relationship with her parents and two siblings, about whom I had heard nothing but vague references. Jessi was the middle child, having an older brother and a younger sister, and while some of the family issues she related seemed to be those typical of middle children, there were many others that seemed to be quite different.

According to her email, Jessi had only had close relationships with her father and his parents, although both of her paternal grandparents were now deceased. Additionally, she explained that she and her father now had a strained relationship, although they still had contact. The young blonde had almost no contact with her mother and her older brother, and she had a great deal of resentment toward her younger sister, although from what she wrote, the reasons for the resentment did not seem like her sister's fault.

In her email, Jessi told me that her father, who was thirteen years older than her mother, was a high school math teacher. Her mother was also a teacher, but she taught elementary school, which made some of the details Jessi gave me about their relationship seem all the more disturbing.

Jessi's mother had apparently never understood why her daughter had not liked dolls and dresses; had not been able to easily develop social bonds with other children; and had preferred, even from an early age, working math problems with her father to any other activity. For the first six years of her life, Jessi had been subject to her mother's attempts to make her daughter more like herself. Then, when Jessi was seven, her sister had been born. At the time, Jessi had hoped that would mean a reprieve for her. Instead, however, her mother had taken every opportunity over the next several years to point out how preferable her younger sister's behavior was to Jessi's behavior.

I stopped reading for briefly after finishing Jessi's description of her early relationship with her mother. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to take the young woman in my arms and hold her. I thought about calling her, but I had no idea if she might be free or at work, so I decided to keep reading.

When I continued, I learned that Jessi's older brother, who was almost three when she was born, had always resented her for taking attention away from him, especially that of their father. Jessi's description of her torment at her brother's hands was all the sadder because he, like their mother, had embraced Jessi's sister when she had been born. For Jessi, it had become the three of them against her, at least until recently. She explained how she had always believed her sister was spoiled and did things just to hurt and annoy her, but that in the last couple of months she had begun to think that her sister, who was now thirteen, was mainly innocent, and maybe even embarrassed about how their mother and brother fawned over her and either ignored or criticized Jessi.

Following her paragraph about her brother and sister, Jessi wrote several describing her relationship with her father and his parents. Jessi had adored her father when she was young, and to this day, she explained, they still sent each other math problems to work. According to Jessi, one of them would work part of a problem and send it to the other to finish. Often, she explained, they would intentionally make mistakes for the other to find and correct. It was a game they had played since she was three, although it had become much more complex over time.

Jessi then told how losing her grandfather when she was eleven and her grandmother when she was thirteen had caused her to withdraw from people even more than before. She explained that she had been afraid to care about anyone, for fear they would go away. However, she had also craved contact with other people, and the tension between what she feared and what she needed caused her to act out and push her boundaries.

When she was fifteen, her mother had walked in on her and a boy making out. Despite the fact that nothing else had happened with the boy, Jessi's mother never trusted her daughter again. She would check Jessi and Jessi's clothing nearly daily, sometimes even more frequently, for signs that she was doing something wrong. It was during this time that Jessi's panic attacks, which she began having when she was eleven (the same year her grandfather had died, I noted), intensified. This led to her mother putting her in counseling, and then subsequently firing three separate therapists who had each suggested that Jessi's mother's treatment of the teenage Jessi was at least causing her attacks to be worse than they might otherwise have been.

As bad as everything in the email had been to that point, where I really began to feel the young woman's pain more keenly was when she told me how her father had started to separate himself from her after the incident with the boy. They had continued working math problems together, but otherwise Jessi believed he had become more distant. This strain between Jessi and her father caused her to act out even more often.

The saddest part of the whole story, however, came when Jessi was barely eighteen and only three months shy of her high school graduation. Her mother, after catching her with a young man, this time doing more than making out, had called Jessi a slut and demanded she leave their house. In Jessi's view, her father, through his acquiescence to her mother's position on that, had sided against Jessi.

That was not to say that her father gave up on her completely, like her mother did. When her mother had forced Jessi to move out of their house, the young woman's father helped her to get her apartment (the one she still had) and find a job that would allow her to still finish high school. He also gave her one of his prize possessions - the blue 1970 Buick Centurion Convertible that she still drove. But even with all of this, Jessi had still felt hurt and betrayed, and her relationship with her father was, in Jessi's mind, permanently damaged.

The young woman spent another couple of paragraphs on her life after she was eighteen and on her own. She had first focused on finishing school, she told me, but once she graduated, she had begun to regularly turn to sex to feel some kind of connection with other people. She then explained that at nineteen, having failed to make any lasting friendships with females during her teen years, and needing some type of connection other than with men, she started including other females in her sexual activities. I will admit that a few weeks earlier, those two paragraphs on her sexual activities as an adult would have excited me; in the context of her email, however, all I felt was a deepening sadness.

The last third of the email was about the two of us, and those paragraphs took on a more rambling, less precise tone. She told me that, when class had first started, she had just wanted to have sex with me. But by the time the semester was over, she had realized that I was someone about whom she felt differently. She explained that she did not really understand how she felt or what to do about it, so she had gone after me using what she knew - her sexuality.

"However, when you kissed me our first night together, after I had swallowed your cum, it overwhelmed me," she wrote. "I could not have told you then exactly why I did not want to kiss you earlier, but I knew it scared me. Now, I know why it scared me. I have no idea how to deal with the feelings I have when I am with you. It is almost as if they are someone else's feelings that have invaded my mind and taken over."

"When I can keep what we do at the level I am comfortable with - just fucking - I do okay. But when I start to feel more, I start thinking too much and cannot stop. I get mad at you for things I would never have been upset about before - like when the whole thing came up about me being with other girls. I could not stop thinking about that, at least not completely, even when we were doing other stuff. Then I tried to make it better by using it to get you hard, but that backfired on me, and when we got in the shower I wanted you just to use me and you did and I liked it but it also made me sad because it was so different from the night before when you made love to me which no one had ever done before and I could not take it I am so sorry for that."

I paused and reread her last sentence in the paragraph. In her essays for class, Jessi had not been at all prone to either grammatical or cognitive run-on sentences, but the sentence I had just read was both. It was clear to me she was rushing through what she had to say and was just letting her emotions take over.

"Over the last couple of days I thought I had hit on a mix that might work when I realized you liked that I was slutty and I did not have to worry about you thinking bad about me but you also liked me for more than sex. But when you turned down the blowjob but wanted me to still stay I did not know how to react. It is what I wanted but it just was too much for me. You don't know how much I wanted to stay but I couldn't. And I am just rambling now sorry. All this and I still cant express how I feel really bout you. I want more but more scares me but I also want dirty nasty rough sex and that scares me because i dont know how far we can go and you still like me."

The email abruptly ended there, and in my mind I imagined Jessi rushing to finish, no longer caring about punctuation or sentence structure, just needing to get it all out of her. For me, a person who knew of Jessi's fondness for precision in her writing, the last few sentences were more impactful than any of her well-constructed sentences and paragraphs. The uncharacteristic chaos in her writing reflected the chaos in her mind. I could not help feeling sympathy for the young woman, along with remorse that I was the cause of such deep and alien emotional turmoil for her.

I also realized that while I had been partially right - Jessika's comments about women worrying whether the person they are with will think poorly of them if they are too sexual did apply to Jessi and to my situation with her - I now understood that there was an additional problem with respect to the blonde. Jessi was also concerned that I would not want to do the sexual things she wanted to do if my interest in her went beyond sex. It was a two-edged sword, I now realized, with my younger lover wanting, as she put it, "dirty nasty rough sex" while also feeling and wanting more, all while worrying whether one precluded the other.

I thought about calling Jessi, but even as I picked up my phone, a text message arrived.

"Did U read my email?" she asked in the text.

"Yes, I did," I replied. "Thank you for telling me all that. I want you to know that I understand why this is difficult for you."

"TY for being so nice to me," she texted back.

Seconds later, she continued, "Had to get that out. Sorry for rambling at the end."

"Do not worry about it," I wrote.

I few seconds passed before her next message popped up: "You still want to b w/me?"

I sat and thought for several seconds, knowing how I wanted to respond but not sure how to express it to her in way that would convey my intent but not cause her to worry about what I meant. I decided simple was best.

"Yes," I texted.

Almost instantly, she replied, "Fucking or fucking + more?"

I smiled when I read the text. It was direct and to the point and very Jessi.

"The first if that is what you want, but the second is my preference," I answered her.

"Not like that. Answer what I wrote," she sent back.

At first, I had no idea what she meant, but then it dawned on me what she was wanting me to do.

"Fucking if that is how you want it to be, but fucking + more is what I want," I explained.

"Fucking + more = work," was her next text, and I smiled again. I could tell from the playful but oh-so- Jessi tone of her texts that she was in a good mood about us. I suspected writing the email had been even more value to her than reading it was to me.

"I am willing to do some work," I assured her.

"Fucking = willing & eager slut. Fucking + more = crazy & anxious slut. U sure?" she countered.

"I am sure," I texted back. I wanted to tell her not to call herself a 'slut', especially given what she had written in the email about her mother labeling her that when she was eighteen, but I now knew my blonde lover well enough to realize she was trying to redefine the word for her own use, not for people to use about her. I did not know, however, if I could use it again when we were intimate, even though I knew she would want me t. However, I did not want to raise that issue at that moment.

"WooHoo!" she replied, followed by a whole string of different smiley face graphics.

I was working on my reply when my phone buzzed with a call - It was from Jessi.

"Hi Jessi," I answered.

"Hi Mark," she replied. "I just wanted to do this in a call rather than text."

"Do what?" I asked, somewhat worried about what she might say next. Yes, everything seemed to be going well up to that point, but Jessi's personality could be a mercurial.

"Talk to you about New Year's Eve," she replied, and I was relieved it was not something more.

"Do you want to come over?" I asked her.

"Yeppers," she replied, and I could hear the happiness in her voice. "I get off at 10:00, so I should be there by 10:30 or so."

"Sounds good," I told her. "Do you work the next day, on New Year's?"

"Nopers," she said, "And I want to talk to you about that. I want you to be well rested for New Year's Eve and Day, so no sex until then, with me or anyone else. And that means no masturbating either."

I was speechless for several seconds, and then I managed to mumble an assent. I did not even bother to tell her I thought Jessika would still be out of town anyway.

"Okay. Gotta go now," she advised me, but then added, "Oh, one more thing. I am bringing my cat costume with me."

And with that, Jessi ended the call, leaving me with an image in my head that was hard to shake and a request that I not do anything for the next five days to help relieve myself from reactions such an image might cause.

***

Over the course of the following five days, I managed to do as Jessi had asked, except for on one occasion. Actually, I was rather proud of my self-restraint, especially in light of a barrage of suggestive pictures and texts that Jessi had sent over that time. In fact, her texting led to us almost breaking down and getting together Saturday night, but we made it through. However, my one submission to temptation had come later on that same night when a very horny Jessika had called me for phone sex.

The brunette and I had talked two nights before, on the day after Christmas, and at that time I had explained to her what had happened when Jessi and I went to the restaurant where Kasey worked. Jessika had snickered but then asked if I was being careful with Jessi's feelings. I assured her I was, and that had been the end of our conversation, as I was a little annoyed with her. We had not texted at all on Friday or Saturday during the day, so it was a surprise when she called late Saturday night.