Chapter 28 Deacon
DEACON
“Ithink I have a sex addiction.”
Gray peers at me over the rim of his reading glasses. “I asked how your week was going.”
“That’s how it’s going,” I tell him. “I’ve either been having sex or wanting to have sex.”
“Who are you having sex with this week?”
“My boss and my roommate.”
“At the same time?”
“Once, but mostly with my roommate.”
Gray lifts his brows and makes a note. “That escalated quickly.”
“It did,” I agree. “There was a trickle, and then it was like standing in front of a firehose.”
Gray snorts. “You come up with that analogy yourself?”
“Yeah. I mean—I’ve heard something like it before.”
“That’s good, Deacon.” His smile tightens as he peers down at his notes.
Gray is about my age, late twenties, I’d guess.
He’s tall and slim with a mess of dark, wavy hair, barely tamed scruff, and those slutty readers.
I’m pretty sure he’s straight but can’t confirm.
There are no photos in his office, and he’s never once mentioned anything that alluded to his life outside this building.
He’s good-looking, though. It took me a few sessions before I was able to stop noticing.
“Now,” he says. “Let’s see if we can talk about what it feels like being hit by a sex firehose.”
“Like I never want it to stop.”
“First thing’s first—is it affecting your health? Your attendance at work? Your ability to pay your bills?”
“Not at this point. But I could see how it might. Fucking the CEO? Generally not a good thing, right?”
“Generally not, but it doesn’t sound like he’s much of a stickler for rules.”
“He’s pretty horny.”
“Is he likely to fire you if you break things off?”
I take a second to think about it. “I don’t think so. I never really saw him much before. I don’t report directly to him.”
“He doesn’t strike you as the vindictive type?”
“I haven’t really known him long enough to say.”
“Keep that in mind,” Gray says.
I nod. “I guess it’s not really interfering with my work life. Is that the criteria?”
“One of them. There’s a difference between liking sex and having an addiction or compulsion.”
“I am sleeping less.”
“Because of your activities, or is something else keeping you up?”
I think about how late I was up last night fucking Evan into my mattress…my shower wall. “Just the activities.”
“What would setting some time limits look like?”
I consider the question and why it makes me uncomfortable. “I don’t like the idea of that.”
“Can you say more?”
I scratch at my arm. “It just never feels done.”
“What would ‘done’ feel like?”
Fuck me, I hate these questions. “Done. It feels like done. Like nothing else could happen. Like it’s over.”
“Have you considered it doesn’t feel over because you know you’ll see them again?”
“But I don’t know that,” I sort of snap. I haven’t seen them together since Tuesday night.
“But you do,” he responds calmly. “One of them lives with you, and you work for the other one.”
“That doesn’t guarantee I’ll see them naked again.”
“Is that what you’re worried about? Someone getting dressed and then keeping their clothes on forever?”
I scowl. “Why are you making this sound trivial?”
“Am I?”
Gray is sort of an asshole. That’s why I can safely say I’m not attracted to him. He thinks he’s funny, too, and he might be, but I don’t get his humor. What I do get, sometimes, is the sense that he’s making fun of me. “It doesn’t feel trivial,” I say firmly.
“How does it feel?”
“Important.”
He nods, makes another note.
“And unfinished,” I add.
He writes that down, too. Or I assume that’s what he’s writing down. “Explain the situation so I’m on the same page.”
“We started fucking Tuesday. The three of us. But since then, I’ve seen Isaac once at work in passing. At home, it’s just been me and Evan. And I assume the two of them are fucking at the office. Or not. I don’t know.”
Gray lifts his brows then checks his watch. “Does that bother you? That he’s seeing Isaac more than you are?”
“Yes,” I say through a clenched jaw.
“Have you tried to get the three of you together again?”
“Evan’s not necessarily acting like he wants that.”
“Have you asked?”
“We’re having a dinner party this weekend,” I say. “I invited Isaac.”
Gray sighs. “What are you stressed about, Deacon?”
“Evan makes me nervous.”
Gray rests the cap of his pen against his cheekbone. “Your CEO doesn’t make you nervous?”
I shake my head as just the thought of Isaac perks up my dick and makes me want.
I take a deep breath and adjust myself in my pants.
I check the time on my watch and notice the frisson that runs through me, but it’s not excitement.
It’s anxiety. And excitement? Mostly anxiety.
They could be together right now. It’s Friday afternoon. They’re still at work.
Do they miss me when they’re doing whatever they do in the office?
Do they think of me at all? Yes, I’ve been messing around with Evan.
A lot. I’ll grant I don’t have a lot of self-control when it comes to him, but inevitably, once I’ve got him naked, I think of Isaac.
Like how much Isaac would like seeing Evan like that, too.
Like how hot it would be to watch them working each other up and open for me. I swear Tuesday night reprogrammed me.
“Isaac doesn’t make me nervous. Not when I’m with him.”
“Why qualify it?” Gray asks.
“Because I don’t like being here knowing they might be…not thinking about me.”
“The old FOMO…I know it well.”
“Anyway…” I say in a prompting tone. Because next question, please.
“What’s special about Isaac?” Gray asks.
“I don’t know. It feels like he gets me.”
“But Evan doesn’t?”
“No, he does,” I say. “It’s just in a different way. When we talk or even when we mess around, he makes me have to think pretty hard, but that’s not a bad thing, right?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I just get—distracted.”
“With the sex?”
“There’s a reason I brought it up first.”
“I see that.” Gray crosses his legs and shifts his notepad to one knee. “All right, well, I won’t propose setting a timer, but I do think you need to consider some rational limits.”
“Like what?”
“Well, what does a typical night look like?”
“I get home from work, start cooking, Evan starts talking to me, I end up distracted and dragging him to my room.”
“Do you ever end up eating?”
“Eventually,” I say, “but by the time I get home, I’ve been thinking about fucking all day, and I’m so hard up, I forget I’m hungry until after.”
“This has only been going on a handful of days, right?” Gray asks.
I nod.
“Then what’s bothering you, Deacon?”
“Evan is just—like I think he wants more from me, but I don’t get what, and he’s not saying.”
“Again, have you asked?”
“I don’t know how to ask,” I admit. “And whatever it is—he’s probably getting it from Isaac.”
“It sounds like you know what’s missing.”
I shake my head. “They’re not like me. They talk to each other. They say feelings and they know each other and they like—read each other’s minds or something.”
“Whoa. Let’s not go there. You’ve said you feel a connection with Isaac that doesn’t necessarily involve words—yes?”
“Yeah, but—”
“But it sounds like you think Evan needs the words.”
“Is that what you think?” I ask.
“I’ve never met him.”
“Well, for someone who said they were super into me, he doesn’t seem very happy to have me.”
Gray rubs his forehead. “No?”
I realize it’s sometimes exhausting trying to have a conversation with me.
Gray has a few tells—the under the breath comments and the impatient open-ended questions.
But he does help me, so I keep showing up.
He’s taught me a lot about how to interpret non-verbal communication both with direct coaching, and also with just—the way he is.
He’s not subtle, and more often than not, he’ll tell me how he’s feeling, allowing me to put a name with the corresponding sigh or facial expression. “He’s been really quiet.”
“Do you think he’s jealous?”
“He is jealous,” I say.
“Oh, he’s mentioned it, then.”
I nod.
“Well, that was helpful of him.”
“I told you he gets me.”
“And how are you addressing his jealousy?”
“I don’t know that I am. I mean—he’s not the only one. I think we all are to some extent.”
“You’re gonna hate what I have to say.”
I wait.
“You need to give it time.”
“I do hate that. It’s not helpful.”
“Trying to define a three-way relationship after less than a week isn’t possible.”
“Is that in one of your textbooks?” I ask.
He chuckles. “It’s more of a theory.”
It’s my turn to sigh heavily.
“Maybe go ahead and have the meal before you do anything else. Give yourselves a chance to breathe and talk. Process.”
“That’s not always comfortable for me.”
“You like cooking.”
“Not as much as I like having sex.”
“Fair enough.”
“But I do want the relationship,” I admit.
“Relationships take work.”
“I know that.”
“And they can’t be all about sex.”
“I know that, too. I’m gonna circle back to where I say I’m pretty sure I’m the one with the problem.”
“Because you like getting laid?”
I glare at him. “Yeah. I used to get stressed when he’d start a conversation with me. Now I just get turned on.”
“Does the same thing happen with Isaac?”
“Isaac doesn’t need me to talk,” I say.
“I highly doubt that, but you’re perfectly capable of talking. You’re doing just fine today.”
“I’ve talked to Evan more than I’ve ever talked to anyone besides Bailey.”
“But it sounds like you also stopped talking. Unless I’m misunderstanding how these nights have been going.”
I wince because he’s right, and that’s on me. “You’re not. But if what I’m feeling doesn’t make sense, how are the words supposed to?”
“What doesn’t make sense about it?” Gray asks. “Are you conflicted?”
“No, I…maybe.”
“Have you enjoyed the conversations you’ve had with Evan?” he asks.
“Parts of them.”
“I mean other than the fact that you’ve had to make conversation.”
He nailed that one. “Other than that, yes,” I say. “I do like talking to him. He’s great.”
“Great?” Gray asks in a way that makes me feel like I said the wrong thing.
“He’s good. He’s nice. Sweet.”
“And you’re attracted to him?”
I nod.
“Despite how nice he is or because of it?”
“Separate from it,” I say.
“Are you always able to separate attraction from the person?”
“Is that not normal either?” I ask.
“It’s perfectly normal. I’m just wondering.”
Perfectly normal? I don’t think anyone’s ever said that about me. “Yeah. But, you know, I can’t do it anymore with Isaac.”
“Oh, no?”
“No. It’s all one thing with him. I like him so much.”
“Have you felt like this for anyone else before?”
“No,” I say. “Never.”
“Do you like this feeling?”
“I’m addicted to it.”
“I’m gonna need you to stop saying that,” Gray says. “I’ll let you know if I think you have an addiction to something. You’re throwing that word around a lot, and I don’t think it fits.”
“I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“That’s infatuation. It’s normal.”
“If it’s normal, why haven’t I felt it before?”
“You’ve never fallen in love before.”
“Is that what’s happening?” I ask, and I hear the hopeful sound of my question. Like a plea.
“It sounds like it.”
“Isn’t it supposed to take longer?”
“Building a relationship takes longer. Falling in love sometimes just happens.”
“Is it always like this? Like—unintentional?”
“Hm…” He seems to take a second to think about it. “I don’t know.” He scrawls several things on his pad of paper. “I’ll have to think more on that one.”
I sigh. “Not helpful.”
“Well, Deacon, we’re all learning here.”
Also unhelpful. I check my watch again. We still have plenty of time, but I’m not sure I’ll make it.
“Not to bring up a sore subject, but have you attempted to keep a journal?”
“I’ve been writing notes in my phone.” I say.
“Do you find that helpful? We talked about how sometimes it’s easier for people with autism to express themselves in writing rather than speaking.”
“Why do you think that is?” I ask, because I’ve noticed it, too. My notes app is full of random, perfectly coherent thoughts I’d never imagine being able to articulate.
“Well, you don’t have to look at someone while you’re doing it, for one thing. It’s just you and the paper or the app or whatever. You don’t have to worry about how it will sound or how the other person might react. It’s just for you. To process.”
“But what do I do with that? If I’m writing about Isaac to process something he said, do I just read it out loud or hand it over?”
“Sure, you could do that. Or you might find the process helps you arrive at a conclusion. It’s a strategy. Have you written anything about Evan?”
“Sure. Not as much, though.”
“I suggest you change that since he’s the one you’re conflicted about.”
“I didn’t say I was conflicted about him.”
“Well, whatever you said, it’s the impression I got. It sounds like you’re not sure how he fits in. And if you’re not sure, then he’s likely not sure either, and a conversation could help, but in lieu of that—you could write about it when you can’t sleep.”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t sleep. I said I wasn’t.”
“Deacon,” he says, a warning in his tone.
I take that to mean I’m getting agitated, and it’s agitating him.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “Where do I start? With him?”
“Maybe try answering the question what do I want with my roommate?”