Sandwich and Champagne

When I told John Thomas was leaving, he said, “There goes your sandwich.” “There’s always Yvann,” I responded.

Greg told me of the sandwich he performed with a couple he met via the internet. It’s essentially homosexual in that even if the husband is copulating with a woman, he’s being of necessity copulated with by a man. I’d never heard of what Greg recommended but I mentioned it to John. I’ve since ruled Yvann out.

I’d put a champagne in the fridge to celebrate Greg’s having successfully sat tax exams but he never came in the one or two days he said. Thomas had sat he thought successfully his exams so I suggested we celebrate that. He didn’t take me up on the offer, so I didn’t give him my address. Whenever I give my address, that’s that – it’s a step too far – and I didn’t want to lose Thomas.

I was initially attracted by his hairy arms. His chest must also be hairy, from what I observed of hairs showing themselves above the neckline. I was into hairiness at the time. Hairiness is not, however, enough.

I thought I’d seen him, out of context, in the library and asked. I was mistaken but he was most forthcoming in response to my breaking into speech. I realised, from the circumstances, the mistake etc. that my unconscious wanted me to know him. I didn’t know why; there was nothing wrong with him that I could see.

Comes the last day and I say I’d offered the champagne and he hadn’t taken me up on it; he didn’t want to. He said he did. The results of his exams were in August. “When are you actually leaving?” The next day, so that left that night. I gave him my address, to come to after work. He’d be back in September, he said. “If you get caught up,” in leave-taking with his colleagues, “that’s fine.”

I sat on a bench with Brock talking about the weather in Kenya, as you do, when Sally passed and Yvann approached. Oh, yes, day before, after eating and drinking and spliff puffing with me, he’d poured pineapple juice splashingly down an adjacent drain at my neighbour’s bit and spat out a hot chili he’d taken from my plant. I thought of rinsing down the stickiness but it was his responsibility. Of course she complained, to me, to him that morning, and he’d tried to apologise but to no avail. She does like complaining. He didn’t know what she was complaining about! He didn’t know what he’d done. I told him. “Try not to do it again.”

Thomas didn’t come and I wasn’t anticipating he would. I had a dream this morning in which ‘Thomas’ said it’d be for sex, and I agreed in the dream it would be. Of course it wasn’t Thomas said it. I was unconsciously rationalising. In fact I don’t know how this is going to work out. Maybe it has already. We would’ve been unfaithful to our respective sexual partners and that would’ve been wrong. I could get round it with the sandwich. Thomas can’t, even if he knew about the sandwich.

I’ve split the champagne with my friend Kate. Come September I’ll put another in the fridge, if I remember.

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About johnbrucecairns

I'm a retired history teacher who's written for most of his life with a book readied for publication.
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