Junction X by Erastes (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

I sighed and turned round. “Depends if they decide to make an offer on Arkinhol.” I didn’t get excited; we both knew the criteria needed for the stock to rise, and we both had clients that would want to buy if so.

“What’s wrong?” He dumped his paper on the seat and leaned forward. “Valerie? Children all right?”

I stared at him evenly. When he was like this, being the concerned friend, it was hard to believe that sometimes he was so horny he couldn’t take no for an answer. I hardly knew how to say what I wanted, but I needed to speak of it, to bring it out in the open between us. “It’s about…us.”

The atmosphere changed immediately. He sat up ramrod-straight and a look came over his face, one I’d seen in meetings when his suggestions had been disparaged. It was a face wiped of all emotion. I stumbled on, regardless, feeling my cheeks grow hot as if I were a child again and caught out in some pettiness. “Not…us, exactly.”

“Spit it out, Ed.” His voice was cold, as if I’d already insulted him.

“What is it? I mean…what do you think it is?” I was so stupid back then. I didn’t even have the words, words I learned later from the unlikeliest of sources. “Are we queer? Are you?”

He picked up the paper and snapped it into submission. Once again, I saw something in his face I didn’t recognise, something I didn’t like, and I wondered if Claire had seen that face—or whether his girlfriends had, those girls who’d been so desperate to keep him. “Of course not. Now shut up, Eddie, do. The gingerbread twins will be getting on soon, and they’d never understand what you were on about. God knows if I do, at times.” His voice was acerbic and I felt I’d been slapped.

I never brought it up with him again. And yes, I let him continue with his needy little episodes. Weak? Yes. But I was as needy as he was by then, addicted to the touch of hot hard flesh and the rare times he’d let me kiss him. There was no way, while he still wanted some kind of contact, that I was going to say no. And he knew it.

So, four months after he’d left The Avenue, here he was again, zipping himself up and looking smug and sated while I was still letting him run the show. I sat there staring moodily out of the window as the train rattled on towards London while the carriage filled up and the dark-suited men around me caught up with the markets. I was as hurt by Phil’s four-month silence as by his sudden reappearance. I felt that he’d only missed my mouth on his cock, not all the other things I thought we’d been to each other over the years. I wanted to shout that at him. I wanted one more dark hot night, a step back in Mr. Wells’ time machine. This time, I’d make it different. This time when I pushed him up against a wall, I imagined that I’d punch him and leave him there. Better still, I wouldn’t let him push me down onto the sand. Or I wouldn’t walk down to the beach. I wouldn’t take that cigarette.

Who was I kidding? Only myself, I suppose.

We walked from Waterloo into the city, as usual. I hated the Underground, and although Phil fell into step beside me and I should have been pleased to see him, should have caught up on our news, I was silent and troubled. The train journey had paled into insignificance against my wife’s mood and the reception I’d get tonight if I played squash and got home late.

The day, as it turned out, had other plans for me. The market was as stubborn as cold treacle and a lot of deals went as hard as they could go. I finished the day hot and bothered, having made a profit on the trading but only just and only by skipping lunch and working till the last bell. One good thing about my work was that I could usually lose myself in the daily battle of wits—me against the numbers, me against the clock. I wasn’t the best—there were men who had better cars, better houses, better wives—but I was good.

I remember Alex asking me once why I wasn’t higher up on the ladder, if I was so good. I didn’t know the answer then, but now, when I look back, I wasn’t just unable or unwilling to brown-nose my way into the Board’s attention like Phil had. I suppose I could have cantilevered Phil into pushing me forward, as galling as that would have been. But no. I was happiest where I was. I loved the trading floor.

I didn’t see Phil again that day, and I wasn’t surprised. He’d stayed away from me since moving from The Avenue, and we didn’t move in the same circles at work anymore. I walked back to the station on my own, lost in thought, winding down from the stressful day and letting my thoughts mull over my relationship with my best friend. The resumption of our episodes had left me feeling more resentful towards him than ever, although it was his neglect rather than his casual use of my mouth that morning that galled me the most. Next time, I swore to myself, if there is a next time, I’ll tell him no. And mean it.

On the train home there wasn’t room to swing a cat and I had to strap-hang until three stops from the Junction. It wasn’t until I stepped onto the platform and my eyes caught the wilting begonias of the station forecourt that I remembered I had been going to buy Valerie something to try and melt the ice between us. I stood on the platform like an idiot for several minutes, assessing my options, but it