Today may be the last day of my life in which I am off and my wife is not so I figure I’d write up what’s happened to me, and us, since our story ended with us heading home from my Mom’s wedding to Tom Doyle last November.
Last Tuesday and Wednesday I took the New York State Bar Exam, which I have to pass to become a New York lawyer. It’s a two-day ordeal consisting of a combination of multi-state questions, including multiple-choices much like in any other standardized test, and essays and questions about New York law. I took it at the Javits Center, a cavernous convention-center along the Hudson in midtown. A big room with rows and rows of desks with rows and rows of aspiring lawyers. It’ll take months to find out if I passed.
If I do, I formally apply for admission, which is largely a formality. Then, assuming all goes well, I get admitted to practice law in the State of New York. I get a nice certificate. Being admitted in New York, though, does not let me practice in another state. While some states allow for reciprocity—you let my lawyers practice/I let yours—New York is not one of them.
My job at Sullivan & Wilson starts after a week off, and Suze and I will be taking it together. From then on, I expect my days off and my vacations will correspond with my wife’s days off and my wife’s vacations till we retire in forty or fifty years.
I wish I could say that everything went happily-ever-after from where this story began. It did for some—ME!!—but not all. Mom and Tom are going strong and Tom’s son James has set the date for getting married to his long-time girlfriend Jennie. They live in Brooklyn so I don’t see them as often as I’d like but I’m quite fond of her and the scuttlebutt is that she’s just about ready to get pregnant.
On that. While Suze and I have spoken about it for us, we’re waiting at least until I worked for a couple of years before taking that step. We keep going back and forth as to who will carry. For now, though, and notwithstanding Mom’s and Kate’s albeit subtle pressure, it’s still down the road for us. Kate, of course, being Suze’s Mother.
Suze’s brother Eric decided to take a break from Yale after his freshman year and is living in Kate’s extra room off Riverside Drive in the City while he shifts for gigs in the City on the piano. He’s good, but it’s tough. He still plays with Lynn Billings from time to time, but their relationship entered a cooling phase after Christmas. Kate’s a little concerned about him. She comes up every couple of weeks for dinner at our house, and Mom usually drives down to join us, and Mary and Betty often come over too. Mary, by the way, has written her own little memoir, “Mary Elizabeth Nelson.” Until I read it, I did not appreciate some of the shit she had to go through and I did not understand how hard it was to be separated from Betty for twenty years and how important it was to both of them to get together again.
One additional point. Kate Nelson became a single woman yesterday. Her divorce in California became official. Suze and I took her out to dinner at a nice place on the Upper West Side to celebrate. She laughed at the button we got her saying
Ask Me Out!
She declined to put it on. Her failure, frankly, is not helpful to the task that lies ahead of Suze and I: Finding her a suitable man. Or woman. I’m testament to the fact that you-never-know.
I should get out of the way that my never-met/never-spoken-to father-in-law is apparently “friendly with” a young widow he met at his church. This bit of intel came from Suze’s Aunt Liz, the only member (with her own family) of Kate’s family who still speaks to her. Kate’s parents, the Pughs, didn’t even call her at Christmas or on her birthday. Fucking hypocrites.
There’s an old joke, told to me by a nun in grammar school. St. Peter is showing a newcomer around Heaven. They encounter a wall. “That’s,” Peter says, “for all the Catholics. They think they’re the only ones up here.” That’s where they’ll be. If they make it to heaven. That’s the last I’ll say of him or them. Suze is an optimist and always thinks there can be a reconciliation. As there was with her Mother. I’m a realist. I don’t see it, and Kate never mentions him and immediately shuts down any attempt to bring him up. So she is ecstatic in being free of him.
One true family member had a very rough time though. That would be Andi Doyle, who I call “Doc” because she’s a doctor. She’s Tom’s daughter which technically makes her some kind of stepsister to me. Three or four months back, I ran into Andi at the law school. She took the subway down from Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital to see me and found someone who admitted knowing me. Andi tracked me down in the library. She was beyond upset. We had a special bond, developed when she and I had a jaunt to Dutchess County while Suze was in Ireland and she told me things she’d never told anyone else.
She was seeing Jack Olson, a fellow doctor, when Suze and I got married in September 2018. (I can’t believe it’s already nearly a year.) The day she came to the law school, she met him for lunch in the hospital cafeteria as they often did when their shifts aligned. She could tell he had something special to say. She thought he was going to propose. That he’d get on a knee and pull out a ring and when she said “Yes,” as she surely would, all their friends would jump up and cheer. Someone would do the video and they’d be a YouTube smash. He looked nervous. Surely he knew she’d say “Yes”?
But he did not get on a knee and he pulled nothing from his pocket and no one was videoing it. He told her—she told me this between flurries of tears—that he didn’t love her and that he loved someone else. He gave all the fucking excuses. He tried. It wasn’t working. She’s a wonderful woman.
“At least he didn’t fucking say, ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’ That’s when he got up and left. He didn’t even take his damn tray.”
Andi was able to smile at that last bit. “He was such a slob.”
So we walked across campus and took the Number 1 Train up to her place in Washington Heights. We didn’t say much on the trip. I held her hand and she leaned her head on my right shoulder. The Number 1 Train becomes an el—elevated train—shortly after clearing Columbia; it mostly stays above ground so you can look out. She was lightly looking out the window opposite us.
I’d never seen her like this. She was always a rock. Before she was with Dr. Jack, she, Suze, and I would joke about her wild-and-crazy sex life, even though we all knew it was fiction. She was so happy with him and we knew she was waiting for him to pop the question. The three of us, sometimes joined by my Mom (Andi’s stepmom) Eileen, talked about when and where.
And now. SHE THOUGHT HE WAS ABOUT TO PROPOSE AND HE DUMPED HER.
When we got to the apartment a little after four, she just wanted to lie down. While she went to the bathroom to take care of some things, including getting two aspirins, I went into her bedroom and removed the three or four pictures of Dr. Jack, smiling Dr. Jack, that I saw. The bed wasn’t made, but she came in and fell into it. I removed her shoes. I kissed her on the forehead and started to leave when she asked me to stay. To just be there with her.
I told her I had to pee and asked if I could give Suze and Mom a call and she nodded.
My wife and my mother were as stunned as I was. This was simply not an option. I was quick with them, and told them to stand down until Andi was in better shape. Mom said she’d tell Andi’s father, Tom.
I wasn’t gone for long when I got back to her room. She was on her side in a fetal position. Staring. Just staring. Completely out of tears. I wanted to go to the hospital and rip his fucking head off. He was at my wedding the schmuck.
I sat on the floor, my back to the bed so that my head was next to Andi’s. She was silent for a minute.
“I don’t know why I didn’t see it. There must have been signs but I didn’t see anything. It was so good.”
She paused. I brought my left arm up to rub her cheek. Her right hand grabbed it when she thought I was pulling it away. She kissed my hand and put it back on her cheek. I left it there.
I knew I was there but not there. She was in a place alternating among the past, the present, and the future.
“He always said I was all he ever wanted, all he could ever want. I did everything he asked me to do in bed and I loved it. I loved him. Why didn’t he love me? I did everything he wanted me to do.”
She was again quiet. I turned and saw that her eyes were glazed over.
“Kerry. Will you hold me?”
“We need to get you ready for bed.” She turned on her back and I unbuckled her belt and unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and she lifted her butt meekly and I pulled them down and off. She sat up, and I reached for her shirt and pulled that up and over. I was leaving her in her underwear. I took my shoes and pants off and climbed onto the bed when she turned back onto her left side. I scooted under the sheet and blanket and lay down, putting my right arm around her.
“That’s nice. I love you Kerry.”
“I love you too Andrea.” That may have been the first time I used her full name. “Now you need some sleep.”
“I need some sleep. I love you Kerry. And Suzanne.”
She was quiet and still. I knew she was awake and staring into some middle distance along the wall. After about ten minutes, though, I heard her snore. She had drifted off to a better place.
I snuck away about twenty minutes later. Sitting in the living room with some Special K and milk—Andi did not have much in her kitchen—I called Suze. She was still in her office and decided she’d take the subway up. I then spoke to Mom again. She’d spoken to Tom briefly. He was staying in his office in midtown until he got an update and would go up to Andi’s apartment if necessary. Mom would drive down. I was concerned about overwhelming Andi so I told Mom that I has the situation under control and that she and Tom should head home.
It was dark when Suze hit the buzzer and I let her in.
“How is she?”
“She’s asleep. It’s really not good. She thought he was about to propose. I can’t imagine—”
We sat on the sofa, and I brought a bowl of cereal for her.
“I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t ask me.”
I popped the question on the 8:13 train one otherwise-ordinary day and she immediately said yes. I, too, could not imagine what would have happened if she hadn’t. Now I was trying to put myself in Andi’s shoes. It was horrible. Especially in light of my knowledge of the day-to-day reality and wonder of being married to the person I love.
Suze and I sat next to each other on the sofa. We didn’t talk much because we didn’t want to wake her. But also because clever as we both are we couldn’t think of anything to say that was more important than sitting next to each other on the sofa.
We heard a panicked “Kerry.” I rushed into Andi’s room. She was shaking. She’d thrown the covers aside and was sitting on the side of the bed in distress. I sat beside her, wrapping my arm around her as she again put her head on my shoulder.
“I thought you’d abandoned me.”
“Never. We’re stuck with each other. You know that. Blame our folks.”
She smirked. “I know. Seriously it’s . . . It’s that I missed you being with me. I’m better now.”
I told her Suze was in the living room.
“Good. I have to pee.”
She refused my help getting to her bathroom. Suze and I waited in the living room and she came out to us in a short robe. She looked like shit.
“I’m starving. Can one of you order Chinese. There’s a menu on the fridge.”
After we ate, Andi insisted we leave, that she’d be OK alone. We called her when we got home, and she assured us she was fine. She seemed in control. Was worried about what would happen when she ran into Dr. Jack at the hospital the next day. It seemed, though, that she was over the hump. She’d be polite but no more. She’d ask about getting her things from his place and arranging for him to get his from hers. It would be polite and over.
I knew it would not be so easy but Suze and I went along. It wasn’t so easy. The two were civil and polite to one another but no more. If Dr. Jack regretted what he did or wanted to go back to Andi, he never gave a sign of it.
She called me almost every day while this was going on. Mostly she talked and I listened at first. As her anger abated, it slowly reverted to the normal pattern. I’ll deny it if asked, but it was good to be able to complain to her about Suze. I never had much to complain about—my wife had far more to complain about—but it was good to have someone listen to, or at least pretend to listen to, my wondering why Suze had to be out running every day. Stuff like that.
Then she stopped mentioning Dr. Jack. Like some switch had gone off and he ceased-to-be. Mentally, her brain was no longer shrouded in black and her stories dwelled on the idiot first-year residents that she could barely tolerate, albeit with a self-awareness that that was once her. Only when her thoughts turned to other MDs and one or two hunky patients was the old Andi back.
At about that point, a month or so after this all began, Suze and I swung our little Subaru to Washington Heights to pick Andi up and off we were, out of the City to Millbrook, the little village where Andi and I spent a wonderful Saturday while Suze was in Ireland. The time she told me about her one lesbian “experiment,” which only confirmed her undivided interest in men.
By the time we passed the City line, Andi was off, yapping away. “Turn it up” for and singing-along to songs she liked. “Next!” for those she didn’t. To Suze and me, it was delightful. Andi has an amazing mind and the ability to effortlessly provide a stream-of-consciousness that deserves its own podcast on NPR. The things she said about her father. That would be my stepfather by the way.
She sat in the rear, her back leaning against the right door and her legs stretched until they were behind the driver’s seat.
“You wouldn’t believe the skanks they tried to set him up with before he met your Mom.” She was terrible and hilarious as she autopsied—that’s the only word for it—those she “had the misfortune of meeting.” With each cadaver she relaxed more. The fake tits. The fake faces. The fake hair. The fake personalities.
“Your Mom should get a fucking Nobel for saving my Father from what they tried to pass off on him.”
How I was to look at these people if I ran into them in Chappaqua I did not know.
By the time we were off the parkway and heading to town, she was ready. “I need to get laid!” Shouted at no one in particular. I think.
And thus the pre-Dr. Jack Andi re-emerged. I won’t say when or how or with whom she got laid—although she spared no detail two weeks later in regaling us—but we knew the why and we were glad. Apparently there was a “what” but if she told us we’ve conveniently forgotten.
So now, a month or two after it began I was again the person to whom Andi confided and she was again the person to whom I did.
That’s where we are now. As I sit, though, I realize I’ve left out something about the bar exam. Not the exam itself. But the aftermath. It opened a floodgate.
Suze and I always love having sex. I think about the first times and they pale in comparison with what we know do. I’ll grant you, that first, long kiss we had and the first time we made love was beyond special. But if we worried we would settle into a world of mediocrity in bed we were fortunately and very-much mistaken.
In part it was my fault that we hit a dry spell. I was increasingly stressed out about the exam. You can retake if you fail. But you do not want to fail. You want to never again have to think of things you fill your head with for the test. Remember, being a lawyer doesn’t mean memorizing things. It’s understanding things. That’s what “thinking like a lawyer” is all about. But I had to load my head with all manner of things. Three words: Rule Against Perpetuity.
Each day I went into the City with Suze and while she was at work I was at an all-day class going over Contract Law and Constitutional Law and all sorts of “Laws” that I’d never need to know ever again after the exam. Plus unlike law school, this was a closed-book exam. So I spent evenings going through the material and taking practice tests. I was a bitch. Each night, though, Suze brought me a glass of milk and three Digestive Biscuits as I worked in the living room. She sat quietly reading or working in a chair.
Each night kissed each other good night and more often than not she spooned me from behind and rubbed me with her finger. Sometimes it was as simple as that and she’d fuck me with her finger until I had a nice orgasm. And I’d say “thank you” and she’d say “you’re welcome” and we fell into restful sleeps.
Once in a while, especially on weekends, we’d just go at it. Me on top. She on top. Lips. Mouths. Fingers. We’d fall into restful sleeps.
Then the exam was over. We had offers for a celebratory dinner with people at Sullivan & Wilson, where I would be working, but I was too blitzed and Suze and I took an early train home.
She made a spaghetti dinner while I took a bath and we celebrated alone with our pasta and our Chianti and a salad. When we were done, Suze said she wanted to show me something. But I had to wait in the living room and come up when I was summoned.
When she called and I ran up, she was standing in our bedroom. Naked except for a strap-on. The big one. She and I had enjoyed using the toys that we got when Andi took us to a sex shop in the City a while before, but we did not go there often. We decided to keep them for special occasions. This was a “special occasion.”
She stood there with it obscenely sticking out.
“Get naked and get your ass on the bed.” She’d pulled the covers down.
I was quickly naked and my ass was quickly on the bed.
She stood at the foot of the bed. She said, “Alexa. Play Mozart.” For some reason she likes to fuck to Mozart. One of his piano concertos began and it was her cue to put one and then the other knee on it. She bent down slightly.
“Tonight is all about you. . . . It is all about me enjoying you.”
Then her lips were kissing up and down my folds, soon joined by her lapping tongue. I was flying within seconds of first contact.
“I’m ready baby. I’m so ready.”
She leaned up and looked at me with something that I will not forget. A wonderful combination of lust and love and need and desire. And pure joy. I guided her into me and we were joined. The moment when my entire universe was in my bed and the woman who fulfilled everything to me was in me. Neither of us moved.
“I love you with every fiber of my being Kerry Neally.”
“I love you with everything I have or ever will have Suzanne Marie Neally.”
With that she pulled out and began to rock as our eyes locked. That couldn’t last as emotions were washing over me too quickly and my eyes shut. I wrapped my legs around her legs to pull her in. While this made it harder for her to piston me, I didn’t care. It made her closer to me so the distance the cock covered was not very great but easily far enough. I thanked god for the strength and endurance she had given this woman as she pounded away with no sign of ebbing.
Finally she knew how close I was. No edging.
She meant my eyes and I opened them wide as she rode me to something real and spectacular. Strangely, because of our eyes, neither of us made a sound, other than the noises from the pounding itself. It was if all of our energy was locked into our gaze. That there were no words or noises our mouths could make.
I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted to grunt and shout and fling obscenities at my wife but I would not allow myself to. I would not allow myself to not look into her as she was looking into me. Suddenly the bolt hit me and I stilled before shaking, my legs flying away from hers. Out of control except for my eyes. Somehow I managed to keep them on hers. I felt her shake as her own orgasm coursed through her. But she too was strong enough or determined enough to maintain our eye contact.
She discarded the strap-on and lay beside me. She always made me feel her love whatever we did. She often made me literally feel her love too.
It was so intense that neither of us thought of doing anything more that night. I awoke early the next morning. She had to go to work, but I was beginning my eleven-day hiatus before my job began. I peed and returned to the bedroom. It was warm, and I was glad she was only under a sheet. It was about 6:15. The early-morning birds were chatting, their chirps echoing across the yards and the trees on our street.
I delicately pulled the sheet off of her. She was on her side, so I had to be acrobatic. She was not wearing panties. We both trim our pussies, and I could make out her folds. I took my t-shirt and panties off and turned my head so that I could lick her. I hoped that she would roll onto her back and after less than a minute she did. Her legs were too close so I knelt to her side and leaned over to resume my licking, pulling my hair aside. When her legs opened enough, I moved between them, placing my chest down to the bed. My nose was near her clit and my eyes were looking towards her face. One of the many nice things about her spectacular, small tits is that they never obscure the view of her face from where I was.
I don’t know if she was awake yet—she denies it—but I could hear moans and I could feel motion in her hips. When I felt her hands grip my head I knew my wife was awake.
“Don’t you fucking stop.” Suze, unlike me although I am trying to get better, only curses when we have sex. She was cursing. Her hands were keeping rhythm with my tongue.
I made my tongue into a circle and pushed it into her, attempting to duplicate the pistoning that she gave me the night before. She liked this, but she liked something else more. I pulled my tongue out and replaced it with two fingers, with my tongue resuming its alphabeting on her labia. In short order, her pussy was humping my face and I was like a bull-rider trying to stay aboard. Which I did until she pushed my face away with a “fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”
Our eyes were locked until that moment and by the time I joined her at the head of the bed she was breathing heavily. Her eyes were blinking and staring at a spot on the ceiling, and her hand was on her forehead.
With that we kissed. And, sadly, an hour or so later I walked her down to the train for her morning commute. We were an incongruous couple on the platform. She in her light summer-dress and pumps. God she was gorgeous and damn if she didn’t know it. I was in my shorts, t-shirt, and trainers. When the 8:13 rolled in, I kissed her and she got on-board. First door, third car. I told her to say hello to Ms. Elliot. I waved to them as the train pulled out, heading to the City. I walked up the hill to the house, wondering how I would spend my vacation.
That was last week and we’ve both enjoyed the removal of the professional obstacle that’s hung over me, and hangs over every other law student, from that first day of law school, two days before she reached across and asked me to be in her study group after a Legal Method in August 2016.
The sex is always good. Usually great. She is beyond words.