The Junior Senator

"Same time next week?" I asked, as his hand gripped the knob.

"Sure," he answered, pulling the door ajar, but then stopping and looking back at me. "You know, not being my student doesn't mean you can't visit my office."

"I'll stop by later this week."

"Cool."

"Cool?"

"Cool."

*****

I spent the better part of Thursday afternoon in his office. We talked for almost three hours. I have no memory what either of us said or about what we talked, but I know we both said a lot, laughing hard and smiling widely, the intimacy we shared filling the empty space like sprayed insulation that expanded to fill all the gaps and holes.

I do remember that he clocked me. "You're staring at my mouth," he said.

"I can't help it," I answered. "I'm in love with your lips."

"Meh," he dismissed me. "You're not in love with anything but yourself."

I wanted to tell him he was wrong. I wanted to tell him that I was in love with him or at least vaulting in that direction. But, I didn't want to jeopardize the time I spent with him, and I thought such a confession would be like a sponge soaking up the water that was our time together.

When it was time for me to leave, he walked with me to the door. At the door, he extended his hand. I was worried he wouldn't, that my "I'm in love with your lips" would force a retreat.

I took his hand and pulled him into me. Our right hands were together between us, my left hand was around his neck, and his left hand was around my waist. It was the first hug that felt truly reciprocal, that had any warmth to it. It emboldened me.

"I really want to kiss your lips," I whispered.

"This is as far as it goes," he whispered back.

The next day, there was another envelope in my student mailbox. It was from him. It surprised me: "5:15 Tuesday at my home?"

I scrawled "yes" on the note and slipped it under his office door. I spent the next 72 hours wondering whether Claire and his girls were going to be present or whether we were going to be alone while they had another "Girls Night Out."

I didn't ask him. I was afraid to.

When I was getting ready, I decided I didn't have to play it down the middle. If it was only going to be the two of us, then I wanted to look nice for him. If it was going to be all of us, then I wanted to make a good impression, at least on Claire.

When I rang, Claire opened the door. As I handed her the bottle of red, I tried not to show my disappointment.

"It's good finally to meet you, Harold," she said, not splitting the infinitive. "Jackie has told me so much about you."

"Jackie?"

"Yes. I call him Jackie. He hates it. I'm the only one who's allowed to do it."

"You shouldn't have told me. It'll be difficult for me not to join in."

"He really likes you. I mean, he talks about you all the time. Maybe he'll allow it."

"Why do I feel like I'm breaking up a conspiracy?" he asked, striding into the room with his hand out.

"Because you are," Claire answered matter of factly.

I am an evil man. I had decided in advance that I would focus my attention on Eleanor and Evelyn, believing that the path to Jackson's heart wound through his daughters. And, I wanted him to see a side of me that he had never seen, the caring compassionate side that was not visible when we were talking precedents or theories, the whimsical side that often dazzled children, my happy audience.

"I read your final opinion," Claire said, while I was making faces at Eleanor and Evelyn over pastitsio. "It was excellent. I thought Jackie wrote it."

At the use of "Jackie," Jackson's eyes darted to Claire and then to me.

"I let him in," she said, "when we were conspiring."

"Claire, you don't know him. He's evil. He'll use it."

"Good," she said. "You need to be knocked down a couple of pegs."

"Not by a student."

"I'm not a student," I interjected. "I'm a friend. You wouldn't have a student to your home."

I overstayed my welcome. When it was time for Eleanor and Evelyn to go to bed, they each gave me a massive hug. As my grandmother had to me when I was a little boy, I told them I was going to "squeeze them 'til they squealed." And, I did, not letting go until they squealed, giggling and wheezing.

"I should go, too," I said to Jackson as he walked the girls to their room. "It's always a good idea to leave when people start going to bed."

"You don't have to," Jackson said over his shoulder.

"I do."

"Do you want me to put the girls down so you can see him out?" Claire asked.

"No," he answered, disappointing me. "You can see him out."

At the door, Claire responded to my "thank you again" with an "It was a pleasure to meet you. You're very charming. I see why my husband is so smitten with you."

As I drove home, Claire's word -- smitten -- bounced around like a fly inside my car, elusive but trapped.

*****

Two days later, I again visited his office.

"Thank you again for Tuesday," I said. "I really enjoyed it. Claire and your girls are lovely, Jackie."

"Thank you. They are. But," he added firmly, "don't ever call me that again. Ever."

"I was surprised by the invitation."

"Claire said 'you talk about him all the time' and accused me of having a man-crush on you. So, I thought I should de-mystify you."

"Do you," I asked, as coquettishly as I possibly could, "have a man-crush on me?"

"Nay," he answered. "I don't do man-crushes."

"I have a man-crush on you, JJ." I had discovered that his full name was Jackson James Masters, so I wanted to make "JJ" mine, have a moniker for him that belonged only to me, that no one else used.

"I know," he answered, not correcting the moniker, which I took to mean it was okay, that I could have it.

"Oh, do you?"

"Yes, it's as plain as the nose on your face."

"How did you two meet?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"At Harvard. We were the two finalists for Editor-In-Chief. When I got it, she said I could at least take her out to dinner as a consolation. I did. We started dating. She was the first girlfriend I ever had. I mean, I had taken girls to dances in high school and had hung out with a couple of girls at Duke, but I had never really done the whole 'romance' thing until Claire."

"Wow," I thought to myself.

"The same was true of Claire. Her parents were very strict. She went to an all girls boarding school for high school and then to an all girls college, so it was easy for her to focus on studying; there were no boys to distract her. And, at Harvard, all the boys were afraid of her, me included."

"She's driven."

"She is. I mean, she decided that I was to take her out, that we were to date, that we were to get engaged, that we were to get married, that we were to work in New York, that we were to have two children, that we were to go into academia, and that we were to choose Wisconsin over the other offers."

"Well," I laughed, "I bet you can't wait to see what she decides for you next."

"I can't," he laughed back. "I don't know what she'll decide, but I know the decision will be hers and that I'll execute it."

We talked and talked.

I was surprised by how much we talked. I was also surprised when JJ looked at his watch and startled.

"It's past six. I need to get home. I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry."

At the door, he did not extend his hand. Instead, he opened his arms. I stepped into them, and wrapped my arms around him, under his. For the first time, he wrapped his arms around me.

"Hmmm," I said, "you give great hug."

"You do, too."

I felt myself getting hard. To ensure he didn't feel me, I tried to pull away. He wouldn't let me.

"I haven't yet squealed," he said.

I almost fainted.

By the time he made a tiny squeal noise, I was rock hard. Rather than step back from the hug, I turned to the right out of it, hoping he hadn't felt and wouldn't see the erection that was pointing at my right hip.

"Tuesday?" he asked, to the back of my head.

"Tuesday," I answered.

I couldn't wait to get home. So, I ducked into the nearest men's room, went to the last stall, locked it shut, and resolved the erection sticking through my zipper as I stood over the toilet. I was so riled up that resolution -- and I -- came quickly.

I was surprised to run into Jackson as I was exiting the bathroom.

"Oh, I thought you were gone already," he said, slinging his soft briefcase over his shoulder.

"No, I had to, uh, pee," I said. But, I could feel my face reddening so deeply that he had to know I was lying and why I was lying.

"When nature calls.... " he said as he walked on. When he rounded the corner, I slid to the floor, embarrassment and shame tacking me to the ground.

******

On what we now called "Tangueray Tuesday," JJ was enthralled with a new theory of how to regulate the administrative state.

"I thought of it over the weekend," he said. "The more I think about it, the more I like it. I think it's a two part book. The first part is 'The Administrative State and How We Regulate'. The second part is 'The Administrative State How We Should Regulate'. We regulate today like we always have, like nothing has changed. But, the administrative state is actually very old and very stale. It's time to update it."

I could hear him, but I wasn't listening to him. I was watching his lips. "I'm going to kiss him Thursday," I thought to myself. "Or I'm going to die trying."

When it was time to leave, our restaurant -- which is how I now thought of it -- was packed. Aware of my surroundings, I held out my hand, thinking a handshake was as much I would get.

JJ responded by looking at me quizzically, taking my hand in his, and pulling me into him. Just as a smile was crossing my lips, he made the slightest squeal, and I released him.

We left the building and then hawed and hemmed on the sidewalk, both shifting foot to foot, knowing the evening should end, but trying to avoid the end. Finally, he said "alright, then" and turned and started toward his car.

"JJ," I called, running after him and grabbing the back of his coat. "I just want you to know. I love you. I know that's a weird thing to say. But I do, and you should know that I do."

"Thank you, Harold. Thank you. And, you should know that I love you back."

I pulled him into me. I wrapped my arms around him. I smelled him and held the smell of him in my nose.

"Back?" I asked, still holding him.

"Yes, back. I never understood 'I love you' and 'I love you, too'. Me saying 'I love you, too' would make sense if you said 'I love me'. But, that's not what you said. You said 'I love you,' to which there are only two responses.... 'I love me, too' or 'I love you back'."

"You're a literalist."

"I'm a literalist."

I soared away from him, his "I love you back" the wind beneath my wings.

I knew we were not talking about the same love, mine for him Eros and his for me Philia. But, I had surprised myself with my admission, which had popped out of me like it was like a cork under intense pressure. And, he had surprised me with his, as he didn't seem to be the kind of man who had a cork that popped.

Less than forty-eight hours later, I was in his office. In anticipation, I had primped like a drag queen, cleaning this and that, polishing what I could polish, plucking here and there. "Jesus Christ," I thought to myself as I worked and worked. "You've lost it.... You've totally fucking lost it."

Before leaving my apartment, I did a final check. I was pleased with what I saw. My hair looked maintained, but not overly so. My face was clean. My shirt was pressed. My body smelled good, a drop of my cologne poured onto my chest and allowed to run down my centerline into my pubic hair. My ass and balls were shaved.

Still, my hands were soaked with sweat when I knocked. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I could also be stepping off the plank. I had no idea how JJ was going to react.

We hadn't been speaking for long when I stood, walked to him, and took his tie in my hand, running it between my fore and middle fingers.

"Harold, what are you doing?" he asked.

"Harry.... Please call me Harry."

"Okay, Harry," he said, his voice low. "What are you doing?"

"JJ, I'm going to kiss you. You don't have to kiss me back. But I need to kiss you. I'll die if I don't."

As soon as I finished the words, I moved my hands to his cheeks, held his face, and placed my lips to his. I felt like a Roman Candle was going off inside of me.

JJ did not, in fact, kiss me back. But, he also didn't push me away. He just let me kiss him.

When I was finished, I pulled my lips from his, lowered my head, and pressed the top of my head to his chin. "I'm sorry, JJ. I just had to. I shouldn't have. But I had to."

"It's alright, Harry. Some things, we have to get them out of our system, or they get too big and weigh too much. Is it out?"

"I think so."

"Then we're good."

Embarrassed, I turned to leave. When my hand was on the knob, I stopped, pressed my forehead against the door, and asked "Are we still on for Tangueray Tuesday?" When he said "of course," I breathed for the first time since my lips left his.

*****

The next Tangueray Tuesday was fraught and stilted. We tried to converse, but there was a flame burning between us. And, neither of us dared to touch it.

We finished our first drink in virtual silence. When the second arrived, I couldn't take any more. I reached over and ran my forefinger through the whorl of hair on the back of his right hand.

"Harry," he admonished.

"I know," I admitted, pulling my hand back and taking a deep breath, before standing and going to the bathroom to try, somehow, to regain control of my senses.

"Get ahold of yourself," I said to myself in the mirror, trying to quell the desire that filled me with too much air, like a balloon just before it pops. "Get... ahold... of... yourself."

When I returned to the table, JJ was gone, but there was a note on a napkin on the table: "Sorry, but I had to go. Don't fret."

I couldn't do anything but fret. I was in love with JJ, that much was true. But, I was also in lust with him, and it was the lust that was threatening him and me. I had trod this path before, the lust, the giving in, the recrimination, the rift. It was a story with which I was too familiar. The sating was sublime, but the after -- the averted eyes, the fraught silences, the avoidance until everything was gone -- was misery. The hard way, I had learned that the sating was not worth the after.

I attempted to avoid JJ after. I thought that, if I turned the flame down a bit, if I let the desire evanesce to a tolerable temperature, then I could go on as we were, no action, just want.

My attempt was half-hearted. On Tuesday, I saw him through the window of our restaurant, flirting with his drink, waiting for me. I left him there, alone. It killed me, but I left him.

On Thursday, I saw him around the corner, scanning the hallway at my customary arrival time. I didn't visit him. Again, it killed me, but I didn't.

The following Tuesday, there was a simple note: "Yes or no?" I clipped back "no" and slipped it under his door when I knew he was in class, that I wouldn't encounter him, advertently or inadvertently.

On a lark, I checked our restaurant at 5:15. I was stunned to see him sitting there, flirting with his drink, looking around, presumably in case I turned up.

I knocked on the window. When his eyes caught mine, he smiled broadly. It was like a whirlpool, disorienting and pulling me under.

He signaled me in. I shook my head back and forth and mouthed "I'm sorry. I can't." He moved to stand, so I bolted off.

The next day, there was a note in my student mailbox: "I'd like to see you."

I wanted to write back something funny like "you saw me last night," but I didn't. Instead, I wrote back "I'm protecting you from me."

The following morning, I received his answer: "I'm responsible for my own protection."

"We'll see," I thought to myself and vowed to visit him that afternoon, as it was Thursday.

At precisely 2 p.m., I knocked. I was put together (I had put in some effort), but I was jangled when I heard, "Come in." I didn't know that I'd be able to stop myself from doing what I dreamed of doing.

As soon as I saw his smile, I knew that I would not.

"I'm going to kiss you," I announced, as I strode toward him. "You don't have to kiss me back, but I hope you do."

I pressed my lips to his, my upper lip between his lips, and my lower lip beneath his. I gave him little, almost imperceptible kisses.

"Please kiss me back, please kiss me back, please kiss me back," I thought to myself, my lips barely pursing over and over again.

He didn't. His lips were as impassive as they had been the first time I had put mine to them.

My heart sank and I stopped kissing him, my hands still on his face, my forehead against his, our noses juxtaposed.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, the words catching in my throat and barely eking out. "I shouldn't have done that. I'm not creepy."

"It's okay," he whispered back, his tone intended to quell me. "It's okay."

Neither of us moved. We were breathing into each other, when we weren't holding our breath.

"Third time's the charm," he whispered. "Try again."

"Are you sure?"

"No."

I placed my lips to his again, my top lip above his, my bottom lip between his. I barely moved my lips, again giving him little, almost imperceptible kisses.

When I was about to give up again, he barely moved his lips, responding to my little kiss with one of his own.

The first kiss can be a revelation. It doesn't have to be, but it can be. In my life, I've had first kisses that told me no, first kisses that told me yes, and first kisses that told me nothing, which meant they, too, told me no.

The first kiss with JJ -- at least the first one that was mutual -- was a definite yes. It caught in my throat and then rended my heart.

I gave him another little kiss, and he gave me another little kiss back, more quickly than he'd given me the first one.

I don't know how long we went on like that, little kiss met with little kiss. But, it was long enough that I thought "I'm lost."

My lips still on his, I licked his lips. He groaned.

When I opened my mouth, he stiffened and pulled back. "Uh oh," I thought, "that's that."

"I've never," he croaked, his voice hoarse, "done that... kissed like that... with my tongue."

"Never?" I asked, disbelieving.

"Never."

"We don't have to."

"No, I want to. I just wanted you to know I've never. In case I'm bad at it, as I suspect I will be."

"Just follow me," I urged, my mouth back on his, softly.

When I opened my mouth, he opened his.

When our tongues touched, I felt like I had been shot from a gun.

I have been told I'm a good kisser. I hope it's true. I've certainly had a lot of practice.

JJ was also a very good kisser. Instinctively, he gave me just the right amount of tongue, fiercely when I was fierce, and gently when I was gentle.

We got swept away. The kiss was like a dam bursting, the water that had been held at bay now free and wild, roaring uncontrollably down the channel.

We kissed and kissed and kissed. We got lost in the kissing, moving around his office, his back against one wall, mine against the other, bumping against the door, jimmying the desk, scooting the filing cabinet a little.

We were reckless and wanton.

We were also gentle and sweet.

If you have seen the painting scene in SKAM France, then you know how we kissed. Only, our kissing lasted hours, not minutes.

"Oh, my," he finally said, his hand in my chest and his eyes on his watch. "It's 6:15. I have to go."

We had been kissing for more than four hours. My penis was so hard I thought it might burst. He had to feel it against him, although -- no matter how hard I tried -- I couldn't feel his against me. And I had tried hard.