Life as a Venn Diagram

Copyright: Andyhm. 2020

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons. All characters engaging in sexual relationships or activities are 18 years old or older.

Venn diagram:

A diagram representing mathematical or logical sets pictorially as circles or closed curves within an enclosing rectangle (the universal set), common elements of the sets being represented by intersections of the circles.

I've always been interested in the interplay of relationships between people. The most interesting are those of strangers who have a common focus.

Acknowledgements: This story has been hanging around on my hard drive for over a year. The original was edited by BlackRandl. Since then it has been heavily revised and extended. This version has greatly benefited from Nora Fares editing skills and beta reading of Cheryl, bebop3, Killian and Charlie. It is a much better story because of their efforts, thank you. Any remaining errors are my fault as I can never resist that final tweaks.

Warnings: The story is over 41K words in lenth. There is no BTB and I wll deleate any non constructive comments.

Life as a Venn Diagram.

The woman on the bed stirred and stretched her long limbs with all the gracefulness of a cat. Her eyes flicked open, and the tip of her tongue moistened her lips. She rolled onto her side and leaned across, kissing me. It was a little peck to start, followed by a long, drawn-out kiss that left us both slightly breathless. Her long red hair fell forward, the late afternoon sunlight turning it into a cascading stream of fire that drew an immediate response from my groin.

My fingers traced a path down her back, every inch a tactile map long ago hardwired into my memory. I traveled a path well known until I reached the silky-smooth curve of her ass. She gave a little moan of anticipation as I grasped her ass and pulled her close. She felt my hard flesh pressing into her belly, and I was the one to shiver as her hand reached down and squeezed my shaft.

"Again?" She half asked, half demanded.

I pushed her onto her back and rose above her, eager to possess and dominate my woman again. Looking down at her startling green eyes, I growled my answer. "Yes again, and again, and again; it's my birthday, love."

"And I'm your present," she laughed happily. Still grasping my cock, she guided the tip to the gates of her promised land.

As I pushed forward into her gift, her long legs wrapped around my thighs, urging greater domination. Both of us were needy; our desires heightened by our earlier joining. As I pushed, she rose to meet me. Our world shrank as we strove for that moment of agony and exquisite pleasure all lovers seek.

Her body betrayed her several times on the way to our ultimate goal, until finally, ropes of white fire burst into her, forged us together. Exhausted, I collapsed, totally spent, onto her quivering body.

"Jesus, Mandy, you're the best lover ever," I finally managed to gasp out as we rolled apart. "I love you."

Her murmured "I love you" in reply was a sweet vindication to my ears.

I don't think I'd ever met a person I was so in tune with. She was everything I'd ever wanted to be in the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Only the rub was, she wasn't my wife; yes, we were lovers and lived together; the best lover I'd ever known, no doubt about that. But we weren't married, not that I hadn't asked her, I had. I repeated the question every year on my birthday, the anniversary of the day we first met.

Earlier that day, after lunch in the pub, I'd popped the question for the sixth time and received the same answer: the politest and most beautiful no. The act of asking and the refusal had now become a bittersweet part of my birthday lunch.

"I love you with all my heart," Mandy had said as she'd slid the ring box back across the table to me. "But you know my answer. I'm scared that if I agree, then we will ruin all that we have together. You complete me, and I've never been happier. Please, Alex, let's go home. It's time for me to give you your present."

I pocketed the empty box as we stood up to leave. It was empty because she wore the ring it was designed to hold, on a chain around her neck. It had been my grandmother's, a family heirloom, and she wore the matching wedding ring on her right hand. She stated that she was mine, all barring a stupid piece of paper, or so she told me.

The first time I'd popped the question, twelve months to the day from our first meeting, she'd turned me down. She had drawn back from me, and with tears in her eyes, she'd pleaded, "Please don't ask me that. I love you more than anything. I don't want to live without you. But I can't marry you. If I was to say yes, everything would change, and you'd stop loving me. I'd lose you."

She was weeping uncontrollably, and I barely understood the last couple of words. She was unconsciously tracing her fingertip over the tiny tattoo of three Chinese characters on the inside of her wrist. It was something I'd seen her do whenever she was anxious. I'd asked her about it when we first met, and she'd explained she had the tattoo done as a tribute to her father.

"It's a Chinese phrase that roughly translates as an honor to my father," She told me.

I hugged her, and gradually, she relaxed. I reluctantly agreed but vowed to continue asking her. She smiled ruefully. "And one day, when I've sorted myself out, I'll say yes."

Mandy rationalized her refusal by explaining she didn't trust marriages. Every one of her family's marriages had ended badly. Her parents, both siblings, aunts, uncles, and even both pairs of grandparents had all divorced, some more than once. It had made her family tree very convoluted, not that we ever interacted with any of them.

She told me, "It's in my genes, it's hereditary. I'm not built to get married. No one in my family can stay married, and I don't ever want to hurt you."

Amanda and I first met at a barbecue I was hosting to celebrate my survival of the last 27 years in one piece. I lived in a small village in Sussex, in what used to be my grandmother's home. I was the sole surviving member of my family. I'd been battered and bruised by life, but I was still in one piece. I was flying solo, a result of finding my fiancée in bed with her boss a few days before our wedding. That had been a year before, and I was still on the lookout for a girl I could trust.

Mandy came as David's plus-one. She strolled into my life, holding onto his arm. The bottle of beer I was drinking paused halfway to my mouth, half-forgotten as my attention was drawn to the tall, beautiful redhead entering my garden. She glanced nervously around, trying to take in everything in one glance. David, after he spotted me, had brought her over to say hi.

As she drew closer and I could see her clearly, I felt my mouth grow dry. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. I wasn't sure of her age; her face seemed ageless; she could have been anywhere from late teens to her late twenties. I later found out she was 26.

"Alex, this is Amanda. We go to the same gym in London," David said protectively, introducing the woman. He was an old school friend; we'd kept in touch, but we weren't that close. That was how I justified stealing Mandy from him without any feelings of guilt.

She smiled at me, and I was doubly lost. "I'm Mandy, Amanda Forbes, and I want to thank you for inviting me." Her voice was as beautiful as she was.

"Alex," I managed to reply. "I'm Alex James," and I held my hand out. She ignored it, stepping close and kissing me, then stole my beer, finished the remaining contents in one go.

She arrived at the party as David's guest and stayed to become my girlfriend and lover. Fifty or so other guests were milling around, but I ignored them all after Mandy arrived. I walked around in a dream, abandoning the grill to talk to her, to be with her. Fortunately for me, and unfortunately for David, her interest in me was as intense. He left early in the evening, after adding a new bruise to my life's collection.

She stayed the night and then the rest of the weekend. Within a couple of weeks, I was roped into moving most of her clothes from her flat in London to my cottage. She never asked; I was told it would happen, and with the inevitability of a rolling stone, it did. How could a woman acquire so many clothes—and don't get me started on her shoes!

Mandy's shoe collection immediately took over the tiny third bedroom, and I grew used to finding her clothes scattered across the furniture.

We'd talked about ourselves that first weekend. She discovered I was a psychologist specializing in child behavioral problems and that I worked at a home for disturbed children. I learned that she worked at a merchant bank and shared a flat in London with an Australian friend from her university days. Intriguingly, her job required her to spend one week in three in Hong Kong.

It was a while before she felt comfortable opening up about the rest of her life. When she did fill in the details, I discovered she had grown up in Hong Kong, the result of her parents' bitter divorce. Her father had been an accounts manager at the same London office of the merchant bank where she now worked. After the divorce, he'd transferred to their headquarters in Hong Kong. The courts had given the thirteen-year-old Mandy a choice of which parent she wanted to live with, and she chose her father. Unfortunately for her, he had died in a boating accident when she was eighteen.

She'd been living with me a month before she felt confident enough to talk about her past. The trigger had been me describing living with my grandmother, of growing up in the village. It was one of those family-history conversations that all new couples seem to have when the relationship morphs from being less about wild sex and more about emotional lovemaking.

She sat on the sofa, curled up tight against me, and must have felt the time was right. She'd flown back from Hong Kong the day before. It was the second time we'd been apart since we had first met. The realization of how much we'd both missed each other had given her the confidence to open up.

I was an open book; I had given her the potted history of my family tree over that first weekend. I was an only child, and both of my parents had died in a car crash when I was twelve. I'd been brought up by my father's parents. Granddad had passed away when I was at university, and grandma three years before I met Mandy. I'd been her sole beneficiary, and that included the cottage I lived in. She'd lived long enough to see me graduate and take up a position as a pediatric psychologist. The position had been at a privately run, secure clinic for disturbed children. I was still working at the same clinic, although I had become the clinician in charge.

Aside from that, Mandy had opened up and was telling me about growing up in Hong Kong. Then she started to tell me about her father's death.

"It was a holiday weekend, and I was too busy being a teenage brat. I didn't want to do anything with my dad," she explained. Her words caught in her throat, and it took her a while before she could continue.

"He wanted to go sailing, and I didn't," Mandy had said, tears forming in her eyes. "Nobody's too sure what happened; the upturned boat was found washed up on one of the islands a day later, his body found trapped in the wreckage.

"It was a horrible time. I wasn't myself after he died. I started making stupid decisions and letting my so-called friends lead me into dangerous situations. My old family was of no help. Mum refused to let me come live with her and her new family. None of my relatives were willing to get involved."

"No help at all?" I'd asked, shocked at what she was telling me, how could her family abandon her in her hour of need?

"None," she confirmed. "Fortunately, a friend of my father's became my white knight. Alan gave me a place to stay while all the legal and financial issues were resolved. It allowed me to complete my final year of school.

"Alan had worked with my father at the bank. They had shared an office when they worked in the London office. They had become close friends over the years. Alan had transferred to the Hong Kong office a year before my parent's divorce. He was the one who'd suggested that Dad should consider a fresh start in Hong Kong.

"He sorted out all the legal issues with the local authorities, and with the help of a couple of friends, he guided me back from the destructive path I was heading down. He organized Dad's insurance payout and arraigned for the sale of our apartment for me. He took the money and invested it at the bank for me. It wasn't a vast amount; Dad had a lot of debts, but it was enough to create a small nest egg for me."

As she'd mentioned her father's debts, she'd grown serious and then given me a wry smile.

"I was able to go to university because of all that Alan did for me, giving me a place to live and convincing the bank's management to offer me a scholarship and an offer of a job after I graduated. I owe him so much."

"Do you still see him?" I'd asked. There had been a disturbing sense of hero worship to her words I found a little unnerving. I was used to sensing what is not said; it's part of what I did daily at the clinic. Something about her relationship with Alan had my professional spider senses tingling.

"Of course. He's my boss, the bank's general manager in Hong Kong. I live in an apartment above the garage block at his villa."

I hadn't been sure what to think; the relationship of a girlfriend and her boss was a sore subject with me. Now she'd admitted living near her boss. "Is he married?" Because if he was, then I'd feel a bit better about the situation.

She'd hesitated before answering, "He was single when Dad died, but he got married about eighteen months later, it was a lovely wedding," she'd added wistfully.

"Will I get a chance to meet him? He sounds a nice person."

"It would be nice if both of you could meet, but it's unlikely as he only makes a couple of fleeting trips back here each year." She was right; so far, I hadn't met Alan, which in itself was telling.

A year earlier, Mandy was promoted and was now a senior executive with the bank's client management team. I had hoped when she told me the news that the promotion would mean she wouldn't have to travel as much, but I was wrong. Her one-in-three schedule continued to dominate our relationship. After the announcement, I asked if she needed to continue traveling so much.

"I love what I do," she ruefully admitted. "If I cut down on the travel, I'd probably have to move to another department. I've built up an understanding with my most important clients, and in any case, most insist on face-to-face meetings. I earned this promotion by doing what I do, so for the moment, I'm still going to be traveling to Hong Kong. It won't be forever, I promise, maybe just a couple more years."

That's where we were, living with an understanding that we would soon settle down to everyday existence. I was left wondering what she considered was reasonable, and if it included marriage. There was also a niggle at the back of my mind. What was it about Hong Kong that kept drawing her back? Each time I dropped her off at the airport, she would exude a palpable sense of fear and eagerness in equal parts that grew closer to the airport we got.

Every three weeks, as regular as clockwork, she'd take the same Saturday evening flight, arriving early afternoon the next day. Her flight back a week later took advantage of the time difference. She'd leave late on Friday evening, and I'd pick her up early the next morning. A subjective nineteen-hour outbound flight and seven on the way back. A couple of times a year, she'd be gone an extra week, but as we always kept in touch, with daily phone calls and video chats, it didn't seem so matter.

It had gotten to the point that I was so used to her nomadic life that I barely noticed it anymore. I'd even taken advantage of it, scheduling my on-call time at the children's home to coincide with the time she was away. It made it easier for me to stay overnight in the call room at the clinic.

Some of the children we treated were hefty teenagers. They came to us with a plethora of issues. Often, they were sent to us as an alternative to judicial incarceration. Their problems included substance abuse and the risk of self-harming antisocial behavior. This was a privately funded establishment, and we mainly catered for the children of the rich and famous. The parents expected the best support for their "misunderstood little angels."

Fortunately, for every two of the pampered offspring staying at the clinic, we were able to accommodate a child in need from the local community and run outreach clinics at several of the local health centers.

The nature of the cases meant that in addition to the continuous cover by the nursing, orderlies, and security staff, at least one of the four staff Psychologists was required to be available 24/7. One of us would sleep at the clinic each night. Usually, we rotated this on-call duty between us, but when Mandy was away, I would cover most of the week, giving the others a chance to go home to their families at 5 p.m. When Mandy was home, they would do the same for me and cover most of my call.

A consequence of the secure nature of the clinic was that we had to maintain a minimum clinician staffing level at all times. The Psychologists would have to schedule an extended vacation time well in advance, and a security-vetted locum Psychologist was booked to cover the duties. A couple of days away when I wasn't on call was simple to arrange, but going away for more than a couple of days on a whim was nigh on impossible.

Mandy was understanding; she called it her penance for forcing me to accept her nomadic life. We'd plan our vacations like a military exercise, months in advance. We visited far-flung exotic locations, unashamedly taking full advantage of the flight miles Mandy generated. Those destinations never included Hong Kong, even though I'd expressed an interest in seeing the city where she'd grown up.

"I work in the damn place," she'd argued. "It's not somewhere I want to spend a vacation. I'd never be able to relax. I guarantee there'd be an issue, and I'd get the, 'as long as you're here, do you think,' message, and I'd be expected to sort it out." I was to remember those words.

There'd been a few times I'd toyed with the idea of flying over and surprising her in Hong Kong. The logistics were complicated, and when I'd mentioned it, she'd keep on insisting she'd be too busy to spend enough time with me to justify the trip. She seemed to prefer keeping her two lives far apart, so much so that occasionally I wondered if she had an ulterior motive for keeping me away from her place of business.

One time after an argument about her not willing to reschedule her flight so she could come to a close friend's wedding, I'd suggested that she had a lover in Hong Kong, and that was the reason she wouldn't change her schedule. In my defense, I was upset, and it just came out. But honestly, I'd always had the odd niggling doubts about what she got up to on the weeks she was away.

Her response was sharp and to the point. "You are the only lover I've had since the first day we met. I don't want another. I promised you I'd be faithful, and I have been."