Chapter 1: Jill's Journeys

“A musician must make music, an artist must paint, an poet must write, if he is to be ultimately at peace with himself. What a man can be, he must be. This weed we call self-actualization ... It refers to man’s desire for self-fulfillment, namely to the tendency for him to become actually in what he is potentially: to become everything one is capable of becoming.”

Abraham Maslow

Had Jill Ohman’s mind stayed in the same path as when I met her, I suspect we’d be happily married. She was among the few people who might have convinced me to be a parent, because I loved her, even though I did not love children. Nevertheless, she will always be part of my life. I can love her, but, for a time, was not in love with her. Today, we keep reevaluating and redefining our feelings, in a good way.

Of Swedish heritage, she was tall, perhaps 5’8”, not unduly slender but with no excess weight. She enjoyed lying in the sun, first because it felt wonderful, but that it also bleached to a glorious gold, complementing her ice-blue eyes. Jill tanned deeply and well. When she took off her clothes, the tan lines were emphatic and erotic.

We met at a New Age human potential movement course. My ex-wife, Camille, with whom I was by then friends, introduced us. Jill came to the Wednesday through Friday evening sessions straight from work. As a technical writer, editor, and instructor, she wore a dress-for-success style. Her favorite outfit was a camel-colored suit with a blue oxford shirt, but she also liked Harris tweed, occasionally a black suit, and sometimes power red.

Eventually, I noticed that the gold chain around her neck was not simple decoration, but something was suspended from it. “Is that a religious symbol around your neck, Jill?”

“Not in the usual sense, but I do think of it as a spiritual symbol. It’s Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, with self-actualization at the top. Self-actualization, sometimes called a peak experience, is on top. It’s the state in which I want to spend my life:

• Self-actualization

• Esteem

• Love/belonging

• Safety

• Physiological

Jill looked sad. “So much of the time, I don’t get above the level of safety.” Very softly and gently, she touched my face. “Maybe we can climb some of the pyramid together.” She sniffled slightly. I sensed intense longing.

If it wasn’t too warm, she preferred knee boots with a moderate heel. The boots set off some of the finest thighs that I’ve ever admired, hiding slightly thick ankles. When the weather permitted, Jill liked to walk three miles to work, definitely firming up her legs. On the weekend casual days, she wore flattering stretch jeans.

Since I worked from home, near her office, we began meeting for lunch. Jill was a superb conversationalist, although I did not ignore her lovely face and hair, nor the shapely legs that, seated, her skirt rode up above her boots. For most workdays, she wore no makeup, but, after a couple of lunches, added a bit of lipstick and mascara. I sensed that makeup was something was a courtesy, perhaps a gift, to me.

At our first lunch, I was impressed by the intensity of our eye contact. It was quickly obvious that she was expert in space technology, but we drifted into the romance of older technologies.

“To Scots engineers.”

Lord, Thou hast made this world below the shadow of a dream,
An’, taught by time, I tak’ it so - exceptin’ always Steam.
From coupler-flange to spindle-guide I see Thy Hand, O God
Predestination in the stride o’ yon connectin’-rod.
John Calvin might ha’ forged the same - enorrmous, certain, slow -
Ay, wrought it in the furnace-flame - my “Institutio.”
I cannot get my sleep to-night; old bones are hard to please;
I’ll stand the middle watch up here - alone wi’ God an’ these
My engines, after ninety days o’ race an’ rack an’ strain
Through all the seas of all Thy world, slam-bangin’ home again.

“Howard, I really like the way you look into my eyes as we talk. It honors me to have you have such a focus on my mind.

“I talked with Camille, and she encouraged me to be very frank with you. She said that both of us have some needs and desires that might shock other people, but, at worst, I might simply choose not to do something, or vice versa. Camille told me that you’re horny as hell, in the nicest way, but you’ll never take liberties. So, let me clarify something...” Jill pulled her chair back from the table, half-stood, pulled her skirt very high on her legs, and sat back down with a brilliant smile. “I like being physically admired. In this outfit, this is about all I can show off at the moment, but please enjoy my legs until I can show you more.” She wiggled again, and I felt her shoe running up my calf.

“For details, let’s wait until we can do something about it. But from what Camille tells me, and my imagination, at the very least, we both like some leg-related games. They just may be games where we haven’t gotten much satisfaction.

“I’m really sorry, but I have to get back to work. It is Friday, so we can have the weekend. You know that I usually walk to work. Pick me up after work. We’ll have dinner at my place--I’ll have an assortment of munchies so we can graze.” She paused. “Not making any specific suggestions yet, but why don’t you bring an overnight or weekend bag, just in case?

“Camille told me that you really, really, want a woman to be frank, and that it confuses you when you have to guess at signals. Believe me, I’m being incredibly frank -- I’m taking risks like hell. Is this what you want?”

“Oh yes. Oh yes.”

She took my hand. “I like you looking at my body, but I adore the way you look into my eyes. The first is at Maslow’s lower levels, maybe at love, but the latter moves higher, into true esteem.”

The perfect response struck me.

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

Jill picked it up,

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

With our eyes locked, I continued

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulcher
In this kingdom by the sea.

Were there tears in Jill’s eyes?

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes! - that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

We began to chant together.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulcher there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

“Jill, as much as that moves me, my Vulcan side makes me wish that Annabel’s lover had some appropriate antibiotics on hand. I’d prescribe azithromycin and levofloxacin.”

Jill laughed in delight. “Me too. Me too. You and I really need to explore Vulcan lust. Why can’t humans always have pon farr?”

At her apartment, Jill excused herself, and went into what I saw was a walk-in closet and dressing room. When she came out, I was to know that she enjoyed my looking at her.

Rather than her business conservative camel, navy, or tweed, she was a vision in white, which set off her deep tan. Her shirt still was buttoned, but sheer. I could see a soft darkness on her chest. Below it, however, was an extremely short skirt, displaying her tanned legs and what must have been five-inch heeled sandals. “This is the first course, dear.” She gestured to the couch, waited for me to sit, and then posing. Jill came over and sat on my lap, facing me.

“Let me share a little about myself. I guess I’m in that category of spiritual, not religious. If I have a deity, it’s the humanistic psychologist, Abraham Maslow.

“When we talk about many psychologists and therapists, like Freud, the focus is on what is wrong with people, and how to fix emotional illness. Maslow was less about fixing and more about being the best we possibly can be. He called that peak state self-actualization.

Self-actualizing people enjoy life in general and practically all its aspects, while most other people enjoy only stray moments of triumph.

Abraham Maslow, Toward a Psychology of Being

While I was a little hesitant, I put my hand on her thigh and started to stroke. She sighed. “Oh, yes. Kiss me, you fool.” My lips met hers, to which she responded first with a tongue flicking between them, and then a fully open mouth. Our arms, unbidden, wrapped around us. She slid a knee, gently, between my legs.

“I have never been this explicit, but what I’m doing, I think, is good for both of us. If you haven’t noticed yet, I’m wearing a thong. I’m not doing that to hide anything from you. Push it aside if you want to feel my pussy.

“But I have what may be an unusual way to masturbate. I like to pull some cloth tightly against my pussy, and then rub.”

From under the bed came a somewhat indignant “rrowROW!”

Jill laughed in delight. “Oh, I see I need to disambiguate pussies.” She bent, reached, and brought out a large black cat, looking dubiously at me, but clearly comfortable in her arms. “This is Spook. It’s a good sign that he isn’t running away just from your presence.”

Very carefully, I extended a hand, and let Spook sniff it. He head-bumped me, and I explored, finding a spot behind his ear that was fine scratching territory. From there, I went to That Spot in front of his tail, and scratched there. He frantically licked my arm, then fell onto his side, rolled over, and presented his belly. I stroked him in what seemed to be a very good place.

“I am impressed. He usually hides from strangers.

“Howard, I hope you are OK with my directing the event. I’m not trying to be dominant. I’m trying both to be sure that some of our individual desires and fears are honored. For example, please don’t penetrate my orifices until I’m ready for that.

“Camille may or may not have said anything about it, but a good deal of my sexual experience is with women. That may wind up being my preference.

“On the other hand, I hope for sex to me a Maslow peak experience. There have been rare occasions where really good sex puts me into a wonderful alternate reality. It’s more than a great orgasm. That happens only every few years.”

I laughed. “Mine, too. Uh, like most guys that are honest about it, I’ve played with guys at camp and such. It’s not my focus. I have thought quite a bit, though, about scening with both sexes.”

“Some things might be a long way off, but I promise that you won’t leave here unsatisfied.”

“I believe that, dear. It sounds like there are some things that both of us like yet rarely can experience.”

“Yes. For those, we need sustenance.” Gracefully, she rose, and with a pleasantly exaggerated swing of her hips, she went into the kitchen. Jill returned with a tray of sushi, a pitcher of orange juice, and several bottles of beer.

“First, drink some orange juice.” I complied, but was puzzled. “Now, I’d like you to take off, at least, your pants. I’ve got robes if you like. Why do I ask? I want to have skin-to-skin contact for the length of our legs. You’ll notice I didn’t put on any hose. My thighs are very sensitive, which is one reason that I know we can have fun even if we don’t do all the standard stuff right away.”