Chapter 4: Florida

I sat in Kim’s kitchen stunned by the long email message on my laptop. I reread the message a dozen times. I thought I knew Karen so well, but I guess there were secrets she’d saved to tell me later in our marriage – if at all. I recalled some of the fantasies Karen and I had shared with each other and cringed at some of the details that I recalled. I thought back to the discussions we’d had together about her past – lies? Now that I knew what to look for, I started to remember little signs and hints that Karen had dropped for me the last couple of years she was alive.

My mind became a jumble of thoughts about Karen and our time together: our dating, discussions, travels, interests, fantasies, her history, and our lovemaking. I walked back to the beach and started walking aimlessly north to the commercial district. Partway there, I turned around. With every step, I tried to understand what Karen actually thought about me and why she’d hidden these key facets of her life from me.

Along my walk, I also felt guilty again: guilt for becoming intimate with Lauren, and even falling in love with her; guilt for my participation in the open and loving style of the Circle at Bob’s in Camp Forge; and guilt for my time with Kim and how she too could make my heart beat faster. I felt guilt that I couldn’t have been more opened minded with Karen so she could share her early life with me.

Lauren was right though. I would not have thought well of Karen and her living arrangement when we started dating. That alone would have been sufficient to terminate our burgeoning relationship right when it had probably started to blossom. The other thing that came to mind, and now I was starting to understand myself better, I’d been a very ‘plain vanilla’ lover all those years, and now I’d begun to think that Karen had been too. I wondered if she’d ‘dumbed down’ for me because I was so staid.

Sure, we had sex, but ‘we’ weren’t very adventurous, or maybe it was just ‘me.’ I had some things I would have liked that I didn’t pursue with her – fellatio, cunnilingus, getting a little wilder, exhibitionism, and voyeurism, and I don’t know what else. Instead, we made love twice a week, did little foreplay or after-play, never had sex more than once at a single session, and always kept body fluids to a minimum. I bet that most of the time we were in the missionary position too.

I thought, ‘God, how plain vanilla can you get?’ I kicked myself around mentally for not being more of a leader about this stuff in our relationship. I did remember Karen turning down some of these kinks, but did that mean forever? Had she gotten all that out of her system and never wanted to do that stuff again?

My irrational brain wanted to wallow in these feelings; my rational mind asserted that I had become a bachelor and had to account to no one for my behavior or emotions. I did resolve to be more open-minded, a point that came back to me over and over again the rest of the journey on across the country.

Eventually, I found myself at the Amelia Island Plantation – the resort and spa Kim had mentioned. I strolled up to the buildings and looked around. At the spa, I decided to go in and get a massage. The few I’d had in my life reduced stress and helped me clarify my mind around one issue or another. I asked the attendant if they had an opening, explaining my visit up the beach.

“You must be Jim Mellon, Kim’s friend?” the exuberant attendant asked with some degree of certainty.

“Why, yes, I am. How do you know?”

“Kim’s a regular here. She called us this morning and described you for us: tall, ruggedly handsome, dark hair, brown eyes that can see right through you, a tattoo on your left arm, and you’re in better shape than all our trainers put together.” She giggled at my helpless look and added, “She said you were a perfect gentleman, and, yes, we can take you immediately. No charge.”

Kim had beaten me to the punch by setting this up, just in case I decided to stop by. I’d find some way to repay her.

The massage and sauna proved heavenly; the attractive young woman knew the male body well. She found muscles, tendons, and sinew I’d long forgotten, practically pulling them from my body and replacing them with care after they’d been kneaded and rubbed to perfection – at least it felt that way. After I came out of the sauna, the masseuse had me lie on my stomach, assured I was aligned around my axis, and then she placed hot rocks along my spine – at the location of key charkas and meridians, she told me. She left me for a while, and then returned and smudged my body with white sage to purify me and to remove all the problems, pain, and worries I carried. I left a very large tip.

I left the spa relaxed and in a different place mentally than when I’d walked into the spa from the beach. I decided Karen had good reasons for not telling me about her group experience and her bisexual tendencies. ’I’ was the big reason; she’d known how I’d disapprove. I knew she loved me unconditionally, so much so that I could imagine her protecting me from knowledge that might have hurt me or fractured our relationship in some way. She always told me how important our relationship was to her. Besides, her love and warmth, Karen had a protective side to her. Overtime, I’d probably learn more about her that I hadn’t known; Lauren probably would be a key element in my discovery process.

I suddenly recalled the angst Lauren must have experienced after sending me such a revealing email. I loved Lauren in many special ways that no one else could ever replace because she was my wife’s older sister and because she’d weathered the same grief that I felt about losing Karen. I resolved to call her when I got to the house, although I was still working to fully accept what she’d revealed to me.

I walked up the beach back to the house, the surf lapping at my feet and ankles. I retrieved my cell phone and called Lauren. She didn’t answer, but I left a simple message for her: “Got your long email. Wow. A lot to think about. Not to worry. I’ll call next week ... and I still love you. Oh, I have another little experience of the sexual variety to share with you – a beautiful experience with June’s sister. Take care darling. Bye.” I also sent her an email that told her I’d left a voice message on her phone. I felt sure all that the words would allow her to relax until we could talk.

My first sighting of Ron Hume happened about one o’clock when a Cessna Cardinal circled over the house. I waved. The aircraft’s wings waggled a little and then the plane disappeared to the north on the final stages of landing at the small airport on the island. I went and moved my motorcycle out of the garage, borrowing a tarp to cover the bike after parking it under a palm tree.

Ron appeared at ground level a half-hour later. I’d just finished having a sandwich on the pool patio and heard the garage door go up. I walked around the side of the house just in time to see him pull a vintage Porsche 944 into the garage.

As he got out, I complimented him on the car: “Nice Porsche. What year is it?” I also took in Ron’s physical appearance: trim, about six feet tall, salt and pepper hair, square jaw, and penetrating eyes. He did look all his sixty years, yet had an air of friendliness around him.

“Hi. You must be Jim. It’s a 1984. Not too old, but not too unique either. There are many these around.” He paused and put his hand out, “Nice to meet you. Kim has raved about you. I’m guessing that since she hasn’t appeared that she’s left you on your own while she went to work.”

“Yes, although she did set me up at the resort down the road for a lovely massage and sauna that I will long remember.”

Ron glanced over at my motorcycle and the tarp; “Is that your Harley? She told me about her ride down with you; she loved it. Will you show me? Kim said you’d restored the entire machine.”

“Of course,” I said proudly. We walked over the bike, and I pulled the tarp off. I prattled on about how the bike had been my father’s and how I’d rebuilt the bike and its sordid history. Ron seemed interested and asked intelligent questions, both of us feeling increasingly at ease with each other. I had the feeling that as we talked about the motorcycle, we were communicating at yet another level. I got strong ‘I like you’ messages from him, that I also hoped extended to include ‘Don’t worry about your sleeping with my wife’ messages.

Eventually, I re-covered the bike to keep tree droppings off it, and we walked back to the garage. Ron popped the rear hatchback on the vehicle, and I saw several briefcases and a suitcase. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Yes, thanks. Take these two. I have an office off the living room.” I followed Ron into the house. He shut the garage door as we came into the main house.

I offered, “I just had a sandwich. Have you eaten? Can I fix you something ... in your own house?”

Ron waved me away with a smile: “I’ll get something for myself in a minute. I want to put on some shorts and a t-shirt; I’ll meet you on the pool patio in five.” He went up the stairs to the second floor, taking two steps at a time.

I waited in the kitchen. Ron appeared a few minutes later in ultra casual clothes – just right for Florida. He went to the refrigerator, opened the door, and said, “Beer? Wine? Soda? I’m having a Corona.”

“Beer, please. I ran your beach earlier, plus the massage. I probably need some more fluids.”

Ron said, “And I won’t be flying again for a few days, so I don’t need to worry about the ‘eight-hours-from-bottle-to-throttle’ rule.” He popped off the bottle caps and presented the bottle to me. He also prepared a quick sandwich for himself. We walked out to the seats on the patio.

“Kim tells me you’re on a fantastic road trip around the states ... and that you’ve run into two situations where you’ve distinguished yourself as a bona fide hero. Tell me about them.” He started to eat.

I gave brief summaries of my rescue of the farmer and animals in Camp Forge, and of the children adrift in the dingy a few days earlier. I felt embarrassed by the events, and I guess it showed in my voice. At Ron’s encouragement, I also described my plans to visit all the forty-eight states before I got to my sister’s home in San Diego, and to have had some interesting experiences along the way.

Ron laughed and said, “And, I also hear that you had a wonderful time in Camp Forge – at the Circle.” He smiled knowingly.

I blushed at the implications of his statement.

He continued, “Kim and I don’t get up there enough, but when we do, we are always welcomed by their love and warmth.” In response to my blush, he said, “Oh, don’t worry about the sex and all that, we take that as a given ... and, just to take the edge off any awkwardness, I know that you and Kim have been intimate and loving with each other. She’s mad about you – and in my book, that’s good – very good. She very rarely feels that way about others. Matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard her be so over-the-moon about someone as she is about you.” He smiled warmly as he said it.

I stammered, “Errrr ... I don’t ... Well, I’m new to situations like this ... like the Circle ... like Kim and you. It’s seemed so natural, but by conventional standards I guess it’s not. I’m certainly not trying to steal her away from you; that’s the furthest thing from my mind.”

Ron said, “I am very comfortable about what she’s doing. You are a nice addition to our small circle of intimate friends – mostly the Circle. I trust in the depth of our relationship. She will think of you as an ’and’ not an ’or’ to her relationship with me. I’ve heard others use that ‘and-or’ phrase.”

I nodded.

Ron laughed and continued, “Groups like the Circle happen more often than you’d expect. By one estimate, there are a half-million to a million living units like the Circle in the country. Unmarried households – about 51 million of them – are now the majority in this country for the first time ever, but some of the polyamorous groups involve married people – like the Circle – so it’s hard to understand the statistics. People keep their options open, and increasingly look to build something larger than what the institution of marriage offers. I do too, and that’s why I love the Circle, plus when we have the opportunity to share ourselves with someone like you.”

I didn’t quite get that, so I gently probed: “And you don’t care if Kim sleeps with me ... or someone?” I thought if I didn’t like the answer or if fists started to fly, I might out run Hume and be on my bike in seconds.

Ron smiled, “Oh, I care a lot. I want her to be very selective. For me – for us – but the answer to your questions starts earlier – with unselfish and unconditional love; with trust, dignity, honesty, and respect; and with boundaries we’ve talked about beforehand. In our relationship, unconditional love means I love you and I support your quest to develop and grow in every dimension of your life – mind, body, emotionally, and spiritually, even when that quest takes you to other places with other people, and that may even include falling in love – and having sex. I sometimes use the term ‘unselfish love’ too; by that I mean I don’t withhold my love if you do something I don’t approve of or if you don’t follow my rules, even if there are others involved. I’m not possessive.”

Ron checked to make sure I had followed his logic and words before continuing; “Sleeping around doesn’t do much for someone’s happiness. You get a sexual need satisfied in the short-term, but then for most people regrets take away any happiness you think you found. Also, if you have to sneak around to have an affair, I expect that it wouldn’t take too long before you wouldn’t respect yourself. You would label yourself a ‘cheater’ or worse. If you build a relationship in the daylight, so to speak, then you can feel proud to be supportive and loving to this other person, even sharing them with your partner or conversely as you all grow together. I know this sounds radical, but when you consider the alternatives, such as breakups of perfectly good relationships or hateful divorces, and how much pain and sorrow most of them bring, I wonder why so few other people think this way. We do have the capability to love more than one person at a time, yet a huge majority of the population deny that experience.”

“Now, more to the point, Kim and I have an open relationship – and I had one with my first wife before she died a few years ago. Such relationships are not for the faint of heart, especially if one gets jealous easily. I don’t. Kim doesn’t either, nor did my late wife.” Ron paused and added, “I’ve talked too much maybe. Does this make any sense to you?”

I answered, “Oh, yes it does. In Pennsylvania, Bob used some of the same terms, and you’ve made it clearer now. Thank you.”

The urge to confess my feelings for Kim more explicitly swept over me. I loved her. As I formed that thought, I realized I felt similar giddy and loving feelings for Lauren, June, Jan, and Trish with varying intensities. What about Karen? I was in the midst of grieving the loss of the most important person in my life – the woman I had loved, my wife. Had our love gotten that stale that at the first opportunity I fell in love with someone else? I believed I felt a lifetime affection, closeness, and commitment to Karen; now, I’d started to feel that way about the other women I’d just been with. I sat with Kim’s husband, my heart beating doubly fast and my mind consumed with thoughts about Kim, wanting that intense level of love, closeness, and commitment.

With those thoughts, I took a risk with my next comment to Ron: “Kim is so smart and beautiful. To be honest with you, I’ve fallen in love with her, although I know she’s married to you. I guess that’s my cross to bear.”

Ron chuckled and said, “I know Kim has also fallen for you. At this stage, you can both experience the elation and palpations characteristic of the honeymoon stage in your relationship. People call it ‘New Relationship Energy’ – and it’s fun and wonderful and exciting to feel it. You want to share it and have the whole world feel the way you do. It does pass; you must have felt that way about your wife at one time, and then things level out and become a little more rational. Kim and I managed to get to the other side of this stage in about six months and then moved into something more mature and lasting – not to say that your affection for each other won’t also last the way ours has. That will depend on the two of you, and if she’s pining for you, I may just have her fly somewhere to see you. I love her that much – that I’d want her to savor those feelings again with you.”

I said, “Thank you for that. I guess I should also thank you for being so ... liberal ... so understanding ... of Kim and of how I feel about her. Thank you.

“No thanks are necessary. Just realize that love carries a lot of responsibility with it. Don’t treat that lightly.”

I nodded my head in agreement. I couldn’t agree more.

Our discussion wandered around a bit at that point, Ron talking about aviation and his flying, including the corporate jet for Kim’s company – TransSolarium Inc. or TSI. He’d kept the smaller prop plane he’d had for years despite qualifying and often piloting the larger jet that cost twenty times as much to fly on a per hour basis. I learned some of the details about Kim also being a pilot, and a few other analytical skills she had been too modest to mention.

Ron said at one point, referring to our earlier discussion, “Jim, I’m over sixty and some of the zip has left the corral – on some days much of it. I mention this because Kim is peaking sexually as I’m sinking. Little blue pills help, but I’m still not the way I used to be, and positively not the way I want to be – if I ever was. Now, she tells me that the age difference, frequency, libido, and energy are not issues, and I don’t want them to be, but I’m glad she found you ... someone she really likes that’s near her own age and that can keep up with her desires and needs. I know you’ll ride away, but your presence, even for a few days will remind her that she’s young and vital. Sometimes, I think she acts old beyond her years just because she’s around me.”

Kim had mentioned Ron’s hypersensitivity to his age relative to hers – a twenty-year difference. However, Ron looked fit. I said, “Well you look fit for anything. I wouldn’t want to try to out macho you for anything. I agree with Kim; age and that other stuff doesn’t matter unless you let it.”

After a few more zigs and zags to our conversation, Ron asked, “Kim said you were a recent widow. You have my sympathy. I know what it’s like to lose someone dear; my first wife Mindy died of cancer a few years before I met Kim.”

When Ron had mentioned he was a widow, I wanted to come back to that point. Ron looked as though he had made the ‘grief to grace’ transition. I volunteered information about my marriage with Karen, her sudden illness, and the anguish of watching her fade away over a month. I told him of my own pain, even choking back tears as we talked.

I felt conflicted again, although my grief for Karen stood juxtaposed with my intense loving feelings for Kim. Could I hold both feelings at the same time? Was I compartmentalizing things or was I rapidly forgetting Karen? I didn’t want to do that.

Ron reached over and in a fatherly way, put his hand on my shoulder. He talked to me about his own journey and pain, and somehow that made me feel better. “Jim, I can remember how painful the whole experience was, even six or twelve months afterwards. You will get through it. The pain does fade, and you’re left with beautiful memories.”

Ron made some suggestions. A few, I’d tried, but he gave me a few more – start a gratitude journal and diary; don’t bottle it up – talk to others, almost the opposite of what I’d been doing; and help others. These were three of his suggestions I resonated with.

Ron got us another couple of beers. We shifted seats so we remained in the shade the house offered on part of the patio.

My comfort level with Ron had risen immeasurably, so much so that I thought I could broach other sensitive subjects with him. I started, “Ron, I need your thoughts on something I learned about my late wife this morning from her sister.”

Ron nodded for me to continue. I went on, “After my experience with the Circle in Camp Forge, I casually asked Karen’s sister Lauren what my wife would have thought about that experience. She told me two things today that have given me a jolt: first, before we got serious my wife lived and loved for three years in an ‘open relationship’ setting with five other people, two other women and three guys, and they were all sexually active with each other, and with a few others; and second that my wife was more or less bi-sexual with some women and even with her sister. Karen had never told me any of this, and even conjured up a story or two to brush over her past living arrangements. My question is this: if you were me, what would you think if you suddenly discovered these facts about your late wife?”

As Ron cogitated, I also filled him in on my recent relationship with Lauren, and asked whether I’d made a big mistake by becoming intimate with her.

This time Ron laughed. “Hell, no! You have a loving history with your sister-in-law – you love and have loved her for a long time and conversely; now you just added a beautiful dimension to that love. With the death of someone you both loved, the normal social barriers were removed. Of course, you did the right thing. The fact that she’d like a longer and more solid relationship with you speaks to her good taste.” I bowed my head to acknowledge Ron’s flattery.

As Ron went on, I had the feeling of being a student at the feet of a master; “Your wife had a loving relationship with five other people, etcetera, and with her sister ... so what? Sounds as if she put love before convention. She picked you in the end as the key relationship she wanted in her life, and that should count for more than anything else. That she hid these experiences from you may speak more to your own past reactions to other things than to what Karen held back.”

Ron’s last comment hit home, and I winced. I acknowledged that I’d been raised in a conservative family where sex was not an open topic, and where love had been meted out by austere parents. I’d broadened my thinking in college and the Army, but was still pretty conservative when Karen and I dated and married. I held back mention of my sister; I still had to think that situation through.

Ron asked, “Were there things you didn’t tell Karen?”

I admitted there were: experiences I’d had in the Army that might have shocked an innocent, or a few details about an old girlfriend. Overall, though, I’d been Mr. Plain Vanilla.

“Why did you hold back?” Ron posed.

I thought before answering; “At least three or four reasons I can think of: some of the Army stuff was gruesome – even hard for me to think about now, so I held it back to protect her from some of the stark realities half a world away. If Karen had known my role in some of my Army missions, she would have thought less of me as a man; she wouldn’t have seen me as the more loving person I am – that she made me – and a gentleman. I guess as far as some of the old girlfriend experiences, I feared she’d be embarrassed, or worried about my sanity, or feel she had to compete with some experience that happened years earlier. We knew we weren’t virgins when we started dating; now, I’m beginning to think I’d been one in spirit but not in fact. I was pretty naïve. I guess overall I was either protecting her or protecting my reputation. I wanted her to respect me.”

“And you don’t think Karen had a right to do the same thing?”

My silence spoke volumes about what Ron had just taught me. I nodded my understanding of his lesson.

Ron said, “Another thing, about your late wife’s openness to other women; it sounds like the people you said she’d had sexual experiences with were all loved by her in some way and they apparently loved her. How wonderful that she felt she could ‘let go’ in expressing her love with all her faculties. I recently read that about fifteen percent of women have had a sapphic experience, and that five to ten percent are more regularly bisexual or lesbian. There’s more of a stigma if men are that way. Anyway, I wouldn’t waste time worrying the whole issue – either issue.”