Sharon's…she's been kicking my butt in this story… J
It had been over three weeks since the infamous night at Columbia's, and John found himself growing ever more irritable and distracted. No matter what he did, no matter where he went, he was unable to escape thoughts of Eva…especially the memories of her wild, superheated sexual marathon with that bastard husband of hers. He would be taking a deposition, only to hear Eva's voice, begging Frank to fuck her harder. He would be trying to dictate a letter, and a Technicolor vision of Eva, her body straining with exertion as she repeatedly - almost frantically - impaled herself on top of Frank, would shoot across his mind's eye. It was irritating; frustrating; almost maddening. Most maddening of all were those times when Frank disappeared, and John saw himself in that VIP room, brutally driving Eva to the heights of ecstasy again and again…moaning, gasping, screaming, leaving claw marks down his back as she writhed and bucked with uncontrollable passion. When this fantasy would invade his mind – always at an inopportune time – his sexual urges would almost overwhelm him, and he would be in agony until he was in a position to somehow relieve the tension.
It had happened again this morning. He'd been trapped in a meeting with the firm's most boring, long-winded client when he again mentally found himself in that VIP room with Eva. There he sat, almost sweating, as the desire unrelentingly coursed its way through every molecule of his being…accompanied by its predictable, outward physical manifestation. He took care to hold a file folder in front of himself when he stood up at the meeting's merciful conclusion, then made his desperate way to the – thankfully empty – men's room to "deal with" the situation.
Once back in his office, he slumped in his plush leather chair, as exhausted as if he'd run a marathon. It was no good. He'd never be able to get any work done in this state. Thank God it was almost lunchtime. Hopefully the break would enable him to get a grip on his emotions. One thing was certain…this was not a day for lunch with colleagues. More than anything, he needed to be alone. He decided to buy a sandwich and bring it to the nearby park. He would be able to eat in solitude…and think of a way to make his fantasy into the reality he needed it to become.
Ham and cheese sandwich in hand, John walked into the park and looked around. He was relieved to see it was nearly deserted, with the exception of a young man and woman sitting on a bench on its opposite side. He was about to sit down when he suddenly realized exactly who that young man and woman were.
The young woman was the owner of Columbia's, the very club that had become the locale of John's most fervent erotic nightmares…and the young man was none other than Frank, whose starring role in many of those nightmares had succeeded in driving him into a frenzy of jealousy and exquisitely painful frustration.
Well, well, well. What an…interesting couple. They certainly were looking chummy enough over there. A genuine smile crossed John's lips for the first time all day. Thoughts of eating in solitude were promptly abandoned…as a matter of fact, he was no longer interested in eating at all. Tossing the sandwich into a nearby trashcan, he silently made his way toward their bench.
For the first time in days, luck was with him. There was a huge oak tree right behind the bench. Standing behind it, he was completely concealed from both Frank and Columbia – and because they thought they were alone, they were speaking freely and in a normal tone of voice. He leaned against the tree trunk, and settled in for a nice session of eavesdropping.