The Three Body Problem

Isaac Newton described the gravitational attraction between two celestial bodies as F=G(m

1

m

2

/r

2

). No disrespect to Sir Isaac, but a system with only two objects is pretty simple. When there's a third body in similar proximity, things get messy. It has its own attraction to each of the other two but not only that, it changes the relationship between the original two. The force of attraction is complicated when there are three or more bodies -- there's no simple equation for it. That's known as the Three Body Problem and it sort of describes my life. I'm in love with two different women; they both know it ... and it's complicated.

I'll start with the first, Josie. We met a couple of years ago at an investors' conference in Chicago where I was one of the presenters and she was one of the attendees. There was a fair number of women, but she was one of the youngest, and sneaky attractive: the more you looked, the more you couldn't stop looking. She appeared to be in her early twenties, about ten years younger than I am, so too young for me I thought. My presentation was meh -- not bad but not great -- until the Q&A session in which Josie asked the only intelligent question, one that let me show off a little. She was obviously bright. She sought me out afterward and I thanked her for rescuing me with her perceptive question. She hesitated, probably wondering if I was kidding, then said she had a couple more if I didn't mind. I said sure, and observed that hers was not a Chicago accent. Now she blushed and said, "Um, no, I'm from North Carolina." She extended her hand and said, "Josie Carlson."

As we shook I said, "I'm Joe."

She raised an eyebrow. "How do you get to Joe from Jens?" She knew from my slides and the program bio that my name was Jens Ericsson.

"It's my initials -- Jens Olaf Ericsson. So, Joe."

"Swedish?"

"Minnesota actually, but yeah, Swedish ancestors. Only my mother calls me Jens."

"Cool. I'm part Norwegian."

"Really. 'Josie' doesn't sound Norwegian."

"Josie Carlson. Carlson's the Norwegian part. Josie is the Carolina part."

We exchanged info and I told her to call or text anytime. I didn't think she would, but she did and we began emailing. She would send me a technical paper and ask a question about it, or a link to something she thought was interesting and hoped I would take a look at. Again, obviously smart, so right away I thought, 'We should hire this kid.'

My firm had several offices, including one in Cleveland (yes, really) that was developing AI-based tools for investing, and a more traditional quant shop in Chicago close to the Booth School. We thought even at that time that the future was probably AI, but meanwhile you had to keep doing the standard applied math, just in case. I was the only person in the firm who did a lot of both, which meant I split time between Chicago and Cleveland, several weeks in one then several in the other. Not a great lifestyle, but I liked the work. I had a Chicago condo in River North and a studio in Cleveland -- Kamm's Corners -- which was technically the firm's; they were on the lease, not me, but no one else used it so effectively it was mine.

Our first date was pretty geeky. I invited Josie to a lecture about the James Webb Space Telescope. It had just arrived at the L2 Lagrange point almost a million miles away and was starting to send back amazing photos. Stunning stuff. [If I was smart enough I would be an astrophysicist, but I'm not and finance pays better.] Josie lapped it up. We held hands to navigate the exiting crowd and she gave me a quick thank-you kiss before getting into her Uber. I hoped she was as smitten as I was and that she didn't have a boyfriend.

A week later she called to say she was going to an event she thought I would find interesting -- did I want to come? I said sure, what's the event? Pinball. She was competing in a tournament. It took place in a hotel ballroom away from the lake and I couldn't believe how many people showed up, mostly just to watch good players at cool machines. Josie dressed the part -- cargo pants, headphones and a hoodie, no makeup, her hair pulled back tight -- and she was good: some of her rounds got applause. She even won a minor prize, a liter of high-end rye. I could tell she was happy. As we were leaving I said, "Wow! You're amazing."

She smiled and said, "Nah, not really. Good players don't even come to this tournament -- it's just hackers. But I love the machines, and this way I get to play some rare ones." Then she shifted topics by asking, "So what's your sport?"

"Hockey," I replied. "Want to skate sometime?"

She laughed. "Well maybe, but maybe not. Against you? I'm only playing sports I can win." That was Josie in a nutshell: always competing.

On our third date we went to a Yemeni restaurant she liked, but first to a tattoo parlor. She explained that she wanted to get some ink and had picked an artist, but was still trying to decide on an image. The artist was a tiny woman named Kay with an accent I couldn't identify. Josie apologized for dragging me along, but said that Kay had only limited hours for consults and 'looking' -- times when she wasn't booked and anyone could stop into the studio. Kay welcomed Josie (she ignored me) and said she had some things to show her. Josie wanted an image of a mountain -- nothing massive or gaudy, something small for her inner forearm -- but was undecided about color, shape, detail, and whether it should be a recognizable peak or something stylized. She and Kay studied photos and talked about how to render them for about twenty minutes -- my reactions were politely solicited but probably made no difference -- before Josie thanked her for her time and said she would think some more; she promised she was getting closer. As we were leaving, she pulled a Ziplock from her bag and handed it to Kay. "Oh, and here. I brought you some tea. A friend of mine found this in Sri Lanka and it's amazing. You'll love it." That was Josie, too: thoughtful. Kay thanked her and waved as we left for dinner.

After that we saw a lot of each other whenever I was in Chicago. I knew we might become a couple when I went to Cleveland for three weeks during which we texted constantly and even Facetimed a few times. I missed her more than I expected. We still talked a lot about professional stuff; Josie was a fairly new hire at a venture group that specialized in SRI, mostly healthcare and the environment. She had an undergraduate degree in statistics from UNC and an MBA from Northwestern. Her job was to help analyze investment proposals for the firm. So we talked investments but we also flirted a lot and tried to out-geek each other with quirky ideas for dates, which we called 'meetings' or 'seminars' rather than dates. By then I had stopped thinking about hiring her because I wanted to date her and if she joined the firm that would be a no-no. Selfish on my part I guess, but there it is.

While I was still in Cleveland she asked me to confirm which day I was coming back to Chicago. I hadn't decided, partly because I had driven to Cleveland and had no fixed schedule -- I could leave whenever I wanted to. There are cheap flights between the cities but I liked having my car so I usually drove. Driving at night I could get door to door in just over five hours. "When do you want me back?" I asked.

"Yesterday," she said, pretending exasperattion. Then, "Seriously, you have to be back by Thursday at 5. I entered us in a bonspiel."

"A bonspiel?"

"Curling. Mixed doubles. Don't worry -- I'll teach you how to play. But it starts Thursday night and goes all weekend."

"I'm yours all weekend."

I didn't tell Josie I already knew how to curl. I showed up at the Chicago Curling Club that Thursday with Asham shoes and a Hardline broom. Josie was waiting and fist-bumped me (I would have preferred a kiss) -- "Welcome back!" -- then saw my gear and wrinkled her nose. "Don't tell me you actually know how to curl..."

"Hey, I grew up in Minnesota."

It was clear from our first practice slides that I knew a lot more than she did, but Josie still wanted to explain everything as if she was an expert (she didn't even have curling shoes -- she used a step-on slider; I found out later she'd curled for the first time a month previously). She insisted on throwing first and last rocks so I threw the middle three. We hardly ever agreed on shot calls and bickered almost the whole game. It was all good natured, and pretty funny even. Basically, neither of us wanted the other to be in charge. In the fourth end she was throwing our last stone before the other team got to throw theirs. I was standing by to sweep. As soon as she let it go, I realized she hadn't thrown the called shot. It took me a couple of seconds to figure out what she intended so I could decide whether to sweep it. I followed it down the sheet but there wasn't much I could do. It crashed on a guard and both stones rolled out. "What was

that

?!" I called back to her. "You were supposed to draw!" We met halfway down the sheet.

"I decided not to. I meant to knock that yellow one out, but it missed."

"Jos, come on, they have hammer. We needed that guard. Now we don't have a stone in the rings, the guard is gone, and they're going to draw for 4."

"Well, maybe they'll miss." She did seem chastened, but only a little because she added, "But if I had made it, it would have been a good shot."

I probably rolled my eyes. The other team did score four that end, which meant Josie and Joe were getting killed. After one more bad end, Josie started deferring to my calls and we played better. We began a modest comeback once she stopped improvising shots. It was too little too late, but at least the final score was respectable. After the game our opponents, a much older couple, bought the traditional round of drinks, but we decided not to stay for dinner at the club (bonspiel food is prepared by volunteers and is only good if you're very hungry). Looking around at the other sheets I could tell the competition wasn't great. If Josie found her draw weight and if the two us actually cooperated, we could win some games. I told Josie we needed to work on our team chemistry and I knew just the place.

My place. I had decided even before I left Cleveland that it was time to move us along. I had added condoms to my curling kit so I was prepared no matter where we spent the night, but I was glad to host. Happily, Josie was at least as horny as I was; we got handsy in the car on the way to the condo and once we were there, she stripped me almost faster than I could strip her. I offered her the shower, hoping she would either decline or invite me to join her. She did the former and we made out, nude, in the hallway with clothes all over the floor. I loved her enthusiasm (another of Josie's qualities). It seemed she wanted as much of her skin as possible to be touching as much of mine as possible. She perched naked on her tiptoes the better to kiss me, but off a little to one side so she could rub herself on my leg at the same time. Plus, a hard dick is the only thing that sticks straight out when other body parts, male and female, more or less behave. Until you're ready to deploy it, it can get in the way. My hands roamed over Josie's back, sliding from lithe shoulders to firm buns and back as her fingers toyed with my cock. After some inspired kissing I suggested we change attitudes, that horizontal made more sense than vertical. She assented -- 'mm hmm,' -- but didn't move or stop kissing. At one point I said, "I have protection," (by which I meant, 'Can we please just fuck already?') God, I wanted her.

With a grin Josie said, "No need. I went back on the pill right after the space telescope. I'm clean. Are you?"

I nodded.

Then she asked, "Do you trust me?"

I was unsure why she asked, but I affirmed it immediately. "I trust you." Much later I understood that for Josie, saying 'I trust you' is like saying 'I love you.' It means a lot.

We smooched our way down the rest of the hallway to the bedroom and got horizontal. The sex was earnest at first, with determined thrusting and humping and grunting and only occasional shifting of positions. Then we slowed down, wanting to make it last longer, wanting to savor the coziness of penis-in-pussy when neither of us had come yet, when both of us anticipated orgasms, when each of us was grateful for the other, when each wanted the other to come. Which is pretty much what happened, and it was so great that we giggled. Then it became languorous. We burrowed into the bedclothes, took turns kissing each other everywhere but on the mouth, and let our hands wander. Eventually Josie sighed and said, "Now I'll take that shower."

"Can I join you?"

I ordered us a pizza first -- there was no way we were going out again -- then crashed her shower. She liked it practically scalding. Afterward I lent her a flannel shirt and gym shorts to wear (and vowed to myself to buy a robe) while our curling clothes went into the washer. As we ate pizza she said, "Teach me about curling?" I started by using the pizza box and some water bottles to illustrate basic strategy, but that was clumsy so I searched for some well-played games on YouTube and talked her through what the players were doing. Mixed doubles is interesting because although it looks like they're playing similar shots over and over, small differences in angles matter a lot. A great shot often works only because it was set up by the previous two or three rocks. As Josie got it, she became excited and promised to play whatever shots I called the next day.

We started winning, and Josie loves winning. We established a simple routine that weekend. Play. Win. Fuck. We referred to the sex as 'chemistry lessons'. I discovered her love of oral when we celebrated our first win with a sixty-nine and both of us came, she loudly. After that Josie proposed "I think we should coach each other. You teach me how to suck cock and I'll teach you how to eat pussy. Deal?"

"You think I need coaching?"

She snorted. "You think you don't, Mr. Expert?"

In fact I thought I would love being coached but I doubted that Josie was a very experienced teacher. In any case I said carefully, "Well I actually have sort of a different philosophy. I think 69 is a bad idea..."

Josie thought I was joking or putting on some sort of faux academic air. She narrowed her eyes. "I seem to recall you nutting in my mouth, mister. That's your idea of a bad idea?"

I said slowly, "Well, think about it. If I'm licking you while you're sucking me, how can either of us really be paying attention? It's totally transactional, like I'll lick you if you lick me, and all either of us wants is to get off. It's like we're desperate to come so each does the other, not

for

the other, but just to get our own satisfaction. No. It shouldn't be like that. If I'm working on you, that should be the only thing on the table. I should be totally focused on you, your pleasure, your comfort, your G-spot, your orgasm. I shouldn't be expecting to get off at the same time. Good head takes dedication."

She grinned and said, "Wow, I love that. Dedication." And kissed me. "I never thought about it that way." Then she opened her legs and said, "Me first."

In between epic rounds of oral sex we curled and didn't lose another game until the finals.

When I found out her 25th birthday was coming up, I asked her to hold it, or the day after, for a surprise seminar. I didn't want to presume to monopolize her birthday if she had other plans, but she agreed to devote at least half the day to whatever I had in mind. She was clearly excited so I had to deliver. My idea was a private snooker lesson. I had a friend at the firm who was obsessed with snooker and he had found a local coach, one of the best players in North America. I arranged an evening tutorial. I told Josie to dress up -- no need for an evening gown, but we were going someplace classy. She obliged with a silk pantsuit, dangly earrings, and heels.

The coach, Harry, was a Welshman in his sixties and met us at my friend's apartment, a penthouse with a skyline view and twin tables. Harry was dressed for snooker in white shirtsleeves with French cuffs, black slacks, and a bowtie. I had paid for two hours and warned him we knew nothing about the game, which wasn't strictly true -- I had been reading and watched some videos -- but I didn't want to spoil the surprise for Josie, so had told her nothing. Harry solemnly handed each of us a single red ball to hold as he began introducing his game. He did not begin with rules, which are complicated, but with some basic shots. It was elegant and precise. I loved the quiet click of a ball struck perfectly, and when it dropped in the pocket I was reminded of a swish in basketball -- nothing but net. We took turns trying to imitate the shots Harry described and demonstrated. The key wasn't pocketing the red ball -- that went without saying -- but making the cue ball end up where you intended, which was crucial for the next shot, which required pocketing a pre-positioned black ball. Controlling the cueball required a correct combination of angle, spin, and velocity. Basically, if you couldn't control cue position, you were going to suck at snooker.

After an hour Harry produced an iPad and had us watch Ronnie 'The Rocket' O'Sullivan's world record time for a perfect 147. My God, five minutes and eight seconds of magic (Google it). Then he brought out mirrors and lasers to show us how sloppily we were shooting and how to improve. At one point he placed the cue ball at one end of the table and had Josie place a finger anywhere she wanted on the felt, then had me designate a bumper. He showed us he could hit the ball off my bumper plus at least one more and have it stop exactly where Josie had pointed. It was impressive. Only in the last twenty minutes did he let us try playing a game. Josie and I played each other and had to call our cue spots. I don't remember who won (Josie insists she did), but I left wishing my condo had room for a snooker table.

We followed snooker with a memorable birthday dinner at Bellemore and memorable sex at my place. By then our sex had advanced, meaning each knew what the other liked and was good at it. It also meant each was good at devising little surprises for the other. I loved removing Josie's birthday finery piece by piece, including her special underwear and I licked her for half an hour. As we lolled in bed Josie asked casually when I was going to Cleveland next. I hated to talk about leaving town before her birthday was even over, but she persisted and when I finally answered, "Probably next week..." she said, "I want you to do me a favor in Cleveland. Promise you won't say no without at least considering it."

"I promise." I couldn't imagine not doing Josie a favor.

"I want you to take a friend of mine on a date."

"What?!"

"I'm serious. She lives in Cleveland. She's a terrific person, just lonely, you know? She needs to get out and this would really boost her confidence. Please?"

"You're kidding. You want me to ask some stranger on a date?"

"She's not some stranger."

"She is to me."

"Don't worry, I'll set it up. A friendly little date, no big deal." Then she tickled my dick, and cooed, "I'll make it worth your while..."

Resigned, I closed my eyes and asked, "Okay, so who's this lonely friend?"

Josie winced and said, "It's my mom."

I stared at her. "You're kidding. You want me to ask your mother out." Having already blurted her absurd request, she just nodded. Reflexively I said "No." There had to be at least fifty reasons why this was a bad idea -- take your pick -- but what hit me hardest was the fear that Josie wasn't really serious about me. About us. Sooner or later I was going to be friend-zoned. Think about it: if Josie and I were serious, if we were together, if we became exclusive, then eventually I would be introduced to her family as her boyfriend. If she ever imagined saying, "Mom, I want you to meet my boyfriend," she would not be doing this. She would not be setting up her [air quotes] boyfriend with her mother. I mumbled weakly, "But Jos...I thought we were starting to get serious..."