Apparently one pizza wasn't enough, and apparently, none of the alcohol that I'd bought was good enough because Jackson arrived with a backpack full of his own. He brought the expensive wine I only drank when my dad or my boss paid for it.
"You're a high-earning engineer man, why do you drink such low-quality shit?" he said, bursting his way into my house and unloading his goods all over the counter. I closed the door behind him and stood by the fridge, with my arms folded.
"It's not shit, and it's far from low-quality!" I stated matter-of-factly.
"Might as well enjoy your cash before your ex-wife drains your bank account." He paused, looking around for glasses, and spotting mine on the table. "If there's one piece of advice I can give you, it's that women only get dirty after they leave you."
I laughed.
"My wife promised me filth!" he exclaimed as he topped up my wine glass with his wine, which I noted was also an Australian wine, but I said nothing. He passed me my glass, and looked around for his. I quickly moved to the cabinet where wine glasses were generally kept and picked one out for him, after a quick inspection to ensure it was clean.
"They say they're bisexual, nibble on your ears and let you butt-fuck them, give amazing head like those girls in porn while you watch group-sex porn, then the minute that ring's on their finger, bam!" His palm hit the counter with a huge bang. Everything rattled.
His eyes slowly turned to me, and the sudden silence after his outburst was unnerving.
As though to punctuate his story, he said in a much lower voice - not quite a whisper, "they're only into missionary, no back-door policy, no head, girls!" he gave me a wild-eyed crazy look, "why the fuck would I want to eat pussy honey?" evidently imitating his wife.
I laughed. "I'm sorry," then added, "I'm sorry."
"See the point I'm making?"
I nodded, but couldn't help myself. "Hello Jackson, nice to see you again."
He grinned, then laughed. "Come here you big softie!" and took two steps forward and pulled me into a bear-hug.
It felt so good I almost cried.
We moved to the sofa instead, and Jackson picked up my neglected pizza and started eating it.
"This isn't the best pizza; you know that don't you?" he started. "The best pizza is..."
"...Mario and Pepe's, I know..." I cut him off.
With a look that I knew too well, he asked, "then why the fuck?"
I shrugged. "Mario and Pepe's is where..." I looked around.
His eyes widened and he began to shake his head with understanding. "Ahhh. I see."
We drank, and we talked. He ordered Mario and Pepe's from his app while I wasn't looking.
I didn't realise until they were at my door with pizza in hand, and asking for cash.
"What?" I looked over to Jackson who shrugged.
"Don't look at me," he said looking innocently, "I got the wine. Least you can do is pay for the pizza."
"You ordered pizza on your app and told them I'd pay in cash?" I stared in disbelief.
He shrugged again as though I was the one who was nuts.
The delivery girl at the door watched the interaction with interest, while holding the boxes in her hands and shifting from one impatient leg to the other, though she seemed more amused than annoyed.
"You gonna let the better-quality pizza go cold?" he asked me, topping up his wine from the second bottle he'd opened.
"Luckily, I have cash in my wallet. But seriously, who pays in cash these days?" I gave her enough to leave a generous tip. The girl's eyes widened, and she thanked me twice before bowing away from the door.
Smiling, and shaking my head, I bought the two pizza boxes over to the lounge area and put them on the coffee table on top of the old, allegedly inferior pizza box.
"You're a card Jackson," I said, as I plopped down on my original seat.
"A card you're glad popped over, huh?" he said with a wink.
I shrugged, but did not comment, even though I did feel thankful for his company.
"You're having problems with your wife?" I asked him.
He nodded. "Yeah, been happening for a while. We argue a lot." He emphasised 'a lot', and topped up both our wine glasses.
For the first time I noticed his stubble and the tinges of red streaking the whites of his eyes.
"You're not looking your usual self," I said, not meaning it the way it came out.
He scoffed, picked up his wine and said. "You're not exactly looking..." and he sniffed like a dog, "...or smelling too fresh yourself pal."
That made me laugh out loud.
"That bad huh?"
"To be fair you did warn me you were in a bad place. I just didn't realise you meant physically."
I laughed again, and raised an eyebrow. "When did you become such a bitch?" I asked with genuine interest.
He shrugged, drank more wine. "Guess it comes with bad sleep and a bitchy wife."
We talked for a while, and we laughed a lot. While Jackson was clearly bitter about his predicament, I liked that he turned it into humour and catty, but jovial remarks. While bitchy, he
was
funny.
When I woke up the next morning, with a hangover worse than any previous day, it was with Jackson's arm over my waist and a pillow clutched tightly to my stomach.
We were in my bed, but both completely dressed.
I recalled the conversation the previous night with Jackson convincing me that together we'd get through this. Being drunk, it was music to my ears, and I'd felt a bit of hope, though in the cold light of day, the return of that ongoing feeling of sadness was inevitable.
I showered, dressed and went to make coffee, giving the lounge area and kitchen counter's mess barely a glance, while focusing on the machine and the coffee.
The shower went on, so I figured Jackson was awake. It made me smile. With him around, I felt much better.
Then Jackson came out of the shower via the bedroom, drying his hair and stark naked.
"Jesus," I said, realising only weeks earlier I'd done the same to my wife. But I stared at Jackson's cock, which was easy to do given it was massive and swung like a pendulum.
Wearing only a smirk, a twinkle and holding a towel, he said, "what are we doing today?"
I turned around, ignoring the stirring in my pants, and set to make us both coffee.
Jackson sat on the other side of the counter, so I only had to stare at his perfectly formed hairy chest.
"I'm going to catch up on some work, while you..." I poured him coffee, and pushed a sugar container in his direction along with the milk, which he immediately pushed back my way, "...you can do whatever you like."
He nodded, as though considering my proposal. "Interesting," he said after a sip of his coffee, "and decent coffee," after taking another sip, "but..." he put the coffee down while continuing to admire it, "I have a better suggestion."
I folded my arms and stared, but didn't feel I looked as intimidating as I'd hoped.
He sipped, looked around, then back at me with an irresistible smile. "Or...you and I have a nice breakfast, go for a run together, because..." he shifted his attention to my belly, "...well, all this sitting around drinking and eating takeaway isn't going to burn itself off..."
I rolled my eyes but smirked.
Then his comment played back in my mind and I looked down at my small, almost unnoticeable belly. When Jackson laughed, I did too.
"Ouch." But continued to laugh.
He stood, and walked around the counter and stood facing me. His eyes bored into me, and my knees kind of trembled lightly.
"Um..." I began, and looked around for something.
Anything.
Jackson, big strong biceps leading strong hands that grabbed my face and forced me to look at him.
There is something about the way Jackson looks at me that feels like he knows what I'm thinking, or at the very least can read my mind. Whether it's because he had that perpetual smile frozen on his face, or whether he was always toying with people, I couldn't tell, but the effect was always the same.
I melted.
I didn't realise my dick had gone rock hard and pressed against my trousers until his hand came down and grabbed it, never once taking his eyes off me. And because at that precise moment I still felt like he could read my mind, I couldn't reject him.
Because he'd know that's not at all what I wanted.
And I also hadn't jizzed in days. Nobody had touched my cock in weeks. Maybe months. Time had eroded much of my routine and sense of life.
