by M. Leighton
After about a heartbeat and a half of thought, I hang a right and saunter down the aisle, stopping beside her like I’m looking for coffee, too. She ignores me at first, but finally, nearly a full minute later, she gives in and glances over.
From the corner of my eye, I see her do a double take and then turn to stare straight ahead. A few seconds later, she casually takes a step away, down the aisle. Suppressing a grin, I take an equally casual step to follow her. I see her raise her hand to tap a finger against her chin, like she’s debating, and then she takes another step away. Warming to the little cat and mouse thing we’ve got going on, I take another step toward her.
I see her glance quickly in my direction again, so I turn to her and say, “Ma’am, could you please stop crowding me?”
Her muted gray eyes go round for one indignant second before I see a playful light turn them to soft puffs of pale smoke. Seeing the change makes me feel strangely gratified. I get the feeling she doesn’t play or tease often.
“Of course! Pardon me. I do apologize for being such an aisle hog,” she teases, a grin flirting with her lips as she slides farther away.
I shuffle down the aisle after her.
“Don’t you just hate it when people get in your space when you’re trying to pick out coffee?” I complain jokingly. “God, it’s so distracting. Especially when they smell really nice.”
Soft color blooms in her cheeks, making my groin ache. I can all but picture her face flushed like that, right in the middle of an orgasm. Her lush lips parted, her brow slightly puckered, her smooth skin shiny with sweat.
Aw hell!
I shift from one foot to the other, trying to alleviate some of the strain behind my zipper. I can’t remember the last time a woman even came close to giving me an unexpected hard-on in public. I’m up for some risky public foolin’ around as much as the next guy, but this kind of thing could get embarrassing. And that doesn’t happen to me often. Part of that might be because I don’t embarrass easily.
I struggle to get my libido under control. That’s another thing that doesn’t happen to me often. I mean, women excite me—most all women, every size and shape—but I’m a little desensitized because I usually get what I want. Females don’t deny me. They never have. But this girl, I know she would. She would shoot me down if I even attempted to engage her. And, like any stubborn or forbidden fruit, that makes her even more irresistible. And that really excites me!
I give her an easy smile, but I see that she’s taking on that apprehensiveness again, probably getting ready to make her excuses to get away. Naturally, my ego steps in and I preempt her, continuing before she has a chance to cut me off. “Well, enjoy your shopping.”
I turn to walk away, but stop when I hear her confused voice. “Aren’t you going to get some coffee?”
“Nah. I just saw you standing there and thought I’d come by and be friendly.” I pause, holding her gaze for several seconds. “I mean, if you can’t be friendly with the people who know your deepest, darkest secrets then who can you be friendly with?”
She nods slowly. “I guess I never thought of it that way.”
I give her a lopsided grin. “Well then I’ve done my good deed for the day. Next time, it’ll be your turn. Give and take. Part of the process.”
“The process?” she says, her brows drawing together.
“You know, the process of overcoming. Helping each other along the way, making it through. Being a shoulder or a friendly face, whatever is needed.”
“Oh, right right. I’m sorry. It’s just . . . it’s been a long night.”
“Well, hang in there. And if you need to talk, I’m a great listener.”
“Thanks, but I really need to be getting home.” Violet reaches for a container of coffee and starts to back away. “I appreciate the offer, though. It’s . . . it’s very kind of you.”
I shrug. “Not necessary. Just doin’ my part.”
She nods and smiles, finally turning to walk away. I try not to watch her ass as she goes.
I fail miserably.
SEVEN: Violet
I roll over, turning away from the sun that’s streaming through the window. Every muscle aches as I shift and turn, this way and that, trying to resituate. Dad’s voice startles me and I jump, flipping over and causing a painful twinge to reverberate along my spine.
“You stayed,” he observes simply.
“Yeah, I . . . uh . . . I was tired and didn’t want to drive home.”
“On a good day, I could walk to your house. It’s not that far.”
“And your point would be . . . ?”
“That you weren’t too tired to drive the very short distance home. I know why you stayed. You stayed because of me. And slept on this awful couch,” he says, his eyes full of guilt and regret. “I’m so sorry, Vi. I did it again, didn’t I?”
I sigh and ease slowly into a sitting position. I can’t really deny it. I did stay because of him. And I did sleep on this awful couch because of him.
“It’s not a big deal, Dad.”
“It’s a big deal to me. How many times have you slept on that couch just to keep an eye on me? To take care of me when I get sick or stop me from going right back out the door and getting in my truck and hurting someone? You practically grew up on that thing, guarding the front door.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I repeat, wondering if my aching back will ever agree. The couch is old and the cushions lost their gusto about a hundred years ago. Now they sag toward the middle, dragging whoever is unfortunate enough to lie atop it into an uncomfortable U shape. Not a good thing for a side sleeper like me.
“I . . . I wish I could do better, honey,” he says tearfully.
I know his distress is genuine. I honestly believe he wants to do better. It’s simply beyond him to do so. He’s been this way for far too long. But more importantly, I think he’s lost the will to fight it. When it became obvious that my mother had finally left for good, he stopped having long periods of living a healthy life. Now, he just gets by in between bouts.
The problem is that I’m not the most influential woman in his life. Never have been, never will be. My mother holds that position. I’ve always just sort of held him together until she comes back. Until she didn’t. He’s been in a downward spiral ever since.
“I know, Dad. It’s okay. But you’re still making progress. Just don’t give up.”
“Cutting back to only torturing your daughter a couple of times a month is hardly what I’d call progress.”
“Dad,” I say in a stern yet loving voice, “when it’s down from twice a week, it is most definitely progress.”
He smiles weakly. “If I could just forget about her, maybe I’d be able to kick it completely.”
“I have faith in you. I don’t think you’ll ever forget, but I don’t think you need to. One day, you’ll master these new coping skills, and you won’t feel the need to drown your sorrow over losing her. You’ll be able to deal with it in a healthy way.”
“I wish I was half the man you think I am, Vi.”
“I love you for who you already are, Dad. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see the potential for you to be happy and well-adjusted one day.”
“I hope you’re right. And I know if there’s a chance that I could be, it would be because of you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I stand, folding the beige throw I used as a cover all night and then draping it over the back of the couch. I walk to my dad, reaching around his big shoulders to hug him. “Lucky for you, you never have to worry about that. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I hope, for your sake, that’s not true. I want you to have a happy life one day, honey.”
“I do have a happy life, Dad. I have a job I love, family I adore, and friends to keep me busy. What more could I ask for?”
“You’re a social worker. All you do is listen to helpless people talk about their hopeless problems all day.”
“But I’m good at
it, Dad. I’m a problem fixer. I love to help people.”
“It’s because you’ve been doing it your whole life. You had to be good at it.”
“However I got where I am, I’m happy with the result. There’s nothing wrong with liking to help people.”
“What about a boyfriend?”
“That’ll happen one day, but I’m not going to rush it.” I don’t add the part about how a man in my life is trouble I don’t need. I’ve seen what love can do to a person. It makes them weak and frail and can utterly ruin their life. It can be as destructive as any addiction. Look at my dad, for Pete’s sake! Thanks, but no thanks.
“That’s because you’re smart. You’ll do it the right way and it’ll last forever.”
I say nothing, just smile up into his haggard face. “How about some coffee? I saw that you were out and I went to the store last night. I got your favorite.”
His smile is lighter when he says, “I know. I’ve already got it in the machine. The water is heating as we speak.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprised appreciation. “Well, didn’t you wake up feisty?”
“Sometimes people can surprise you in a good way, Vi. Don’t ever forget that.”
Again, I say nothing, but I’m silently hoping for the day that begins to happen.
EIGHT: Jet
I’m a little surprised when I find myself parked in front of the building that, after business hours, becomes the weekly meeting place for SAA. I wasn’t sure I’d come back tonight, that it would be worth it. But after spending the better part of a week thinking of dove gray eyes and a shy smile, I don’t think there was any real way I’d miss this. I just hope she’s here.
I walk in and take a seat, nodding to the people who look my way. All the men look antsy, like they’ve got a monkey on their back and they just entered the gorilla cage. And I’m sure that’s how they feel, like they’re tiptoeing around, waiting to get torn apart by their needs. It doesn’t help that there’s a shitload of ass walking around.
To be a support group for people who are addicted to sex, there are an awful lot of women here. Some of them look as though they aren’t very committed to being celibate, even for a day, which I find curious. I can’t decide if they’re the ones who have been coming here the longest, who have suffered through the hardest part of their dry spell, or if they’re new to the program and the edge just hasn’t worn off yet. Either way, it’s an interesting mix in here. The one thing we all have in common—male, female, new, or old—is excess. We all know about excess. What fewer people know, especially people in a room like this, is moderation. I can relate to that most of all. I know very little about denying myself. And, if I’m being honest, I’m not really keen on the idea of learning.
I keep a casual eye on the door, waiting for Violet, Sex Addict to appear. I glance at the wall clock again. Three minutes until the meeting starts. Maybe she isn’t going to show. Being in her position, having conquered her desires, she might not need regular support. But, as cruel as it sounds, I hope she does. At least enough to bring her back in here tonight.
NINE: Violet
“I don’t know how I get myself into these messes,” I mumble as I lead Tia through the door and into the stuffy SAA meeting room.
“You’re not in a mess, Vi. You’re at a meeting with your best friend as a show of support. We’re both doing this for the people we love. End of story. Neither of us needs to be here, but that doesn’t mean we can’t fit in. Just relax. The hard part’s over for you.”
I ignore Tia’s comment about not needing to be here. Little does she know, but she very much needs to be here. “Tia, these people think I’m a long-standing sex addict who has somehow managed to kick my addiction. Trust me, the hard part is far from over. What if they ask me questions?” I hiss.
“Lie.”
“I’m a terrible liar! You know that!”
Tia pulls on my arm to stop me before we are surrounded by too many ears. “Look, you’ve worked with all sorts of twisted people. Just channel some of that emotional shit you get to hear every day and you’ll be fine. It’s me you should be worried about anyway.”
I say nothing. I am actually worried about Tia. I’m afraid that nothing will make her see what’s really going on. I’m afraid that her denial will prevent her from seeing how much she has in common with these people, and that she’ll live the rest of her life missing out on the important things if she doesn’t learn to control herself. If she can’t ever see her weaknesses, she won’t ever be able to overcome them.
Whoever said admitting you have a problem is the first step was a friggin’ genius!
Before I can formulate an appropriate response, Lyle, the meeting coordinator, takes the podium.
“Welcome, everyone. Can you please take your seats?”
As Tia and I are making our way to two empty chairs on the back row, I look up and my eyes collide with warm blue ones. My gait falters as we stare at each other. He nods once and then looks away.
I purposely keep my eyes trained straight ahead until we are seated. Tia leans over and whispers in my ear, “Holy Mary mother of God, you weren’t kidding about hot guys, were you?”
I shush her and tip my head toward the front of the room, hoping she’ll drop it and pay attention like she needs to.
No such luck.
“Do you know him, Vi? Did you meet him last week? Who is he?”
“No, I don’t know him. I met him briefly last week. His name is Jet. Now zip it and pay attention,” I say with mock severity. Even if I did want to talk to her about Jet, which I don’t, I don’t want to talk about it now. Not only is that rude, but the last thing I need to do is draw attention to myself.
As he did last week, Lyle asks if there is anyone that’s new to this particular meeting. Two people raise their hands. Evidently there’s a never-ending supply of sex addicts. Lyle welcomes them and then moves through a brief explanation of the SAA philosophy, which is based on the Alcoholics Anonymous 12-Step program.
I try to listen, but I can’t seem to focus on what he’s saying for long. I find myself watching Jet from the corner of my eye. I can just make him out between two people if they both shift the right way. I see his head move several times as though he might be turning to look at me, but I can’t be sure. And I won’t be sure either. I can’t risk looking directly at him and getting caught. Instead, I stare straight ahead like I’m deeply interested in what’s going on at the front of the room.
Eventually, we make it through to the part where everyone stands up and says their little piece. Some have a longer, more in depth story to tell, which terrifies me. I don’t want anyone to ask me for my story. Because, you know, I don’t have one.
My anxiety rises the closer it gets to being my turn. Tia is to my left, which means that she goes first, though. Leave it to her to make it worse and give me something else to freak out about.
She stands after the person to her left sits back down. I can tell by her posturing that she’s treating this like her time in the spotlight rather than the humiliating experience that it is. She smooths her tight jeans and gives everyone a beaming smile. Internally, I shake my head. The least she could do is pretend she’s here for help. As it is, flipping her hair and pulling her shirt down tight, she looks like the only thing she’s trying to do is make a good showing for the masculine population in the room.
Taking a deep breath, Tia puffs out her already-ample chest and begins in her charming way. “Hi, my name is Tia, and I’m a sex addict. Ummm, I never really saw that I had a problem until I met this wonderful woman.” She pauses to cast an amazingly convincing smile of gratitude down upon me. “She has helped me so much. If it weren’t for Violet, I’d still be living in my old ways. It’s through her strength and with her support that I’m here tonight.”
Well, at least that part’s true, I think to myself as I struggle to keep the cringe off my face. Meanwhile, Tia is eating up having a roomful of eyes trained on her. She really s
hould’ve been an actress. She’s already got the self-control issues and the narcissism down pat.
She bends down and kisses my cheek then turns to give the audience a tearful smile. All that’s missing is for her to take a bow. They clap for her as she takes her seat, and then all eyes turn toward me.
I stand, a blush stinging my cheeks as I do. I glance around the room, determined to casually skim over Jet. But when my eyes meet his, they stop, refusing to go any further. He’s watching me, his gaze intense. I feel a warm flush pour through me, despite the cool temperature of the room, and I squirm uncomfortably.
I waste valuable time chastising myself, arguing that I should not be getting any kind of warm fuzzies over a guy in a place like this, one who has a problem like the one he’s got. He’s trouble that I don’t need. He’s a kind of broken that I can’t fix.
“Violet, why don’t you tell us a little bit about your journey,” Lyle suggests when my silence drags on too long.
My mind spins in a panic and I feel my heartbeat as though it’s hammering right behind my eyes. “I’d love to, Lyle, but I’d like tonight to be about my friend Tia, if you don’t mind. She’s heard my story a thousand times, and I’d rather this be the beginning of her own journey.”
Lyle smiles in his softly accepting way and nods at me. “What an amazing sponsor you must be, Violet.”
“Oh, I’m not her sponsor,” I correct before I have time to think better of it. Then, when I do, I could kick myself.
“Well, her loss is our gain. You’d be a great sponsor.”
I give him an uneasy smile and take my seat, silently cursing Tia for making this nightmare that much worse.
On edge, I’m ready to deflect and defend for the rest of the night, but, thankfully, the need doesn’t arise. I must’ve said just the right thing. No one else asks me anything for the remainder of the session.
