SC-Epilogue, Part 4a

July 1996

✧ ✧ ✧

Our little two-car caravan arrived at the Pines in July 1996 with four tired adults and five very cranky kids. We’d been up since the crack of dawn, when we’d left Boston and flown commercial to Atlanta. We planned to return and do some house-hunting after a week at camp, so we’d rented two minivans and had driven from there.

I wasn’t quite ready to walk into the woods and keep going, but it was tempting. My parents had never had to deal with dead batteries in Game Boys, leaky juice boxes, or stinky diapers. Then again, Erin and I had been older when we’d started coming to camp, so we’d probably driven them crazy in different ways. I loved my little girls, but I had a newfound respect for my mother’s patience.

I handed backpacks to Laurie and Emily, and Christy shepherded them into the bungalow. Then I unbuckled Susie from her car seat. She gave me one of her dubious looks. She didn’t like the heat, the humidity, or the sounds of nature. She did, however, recognize the swimming pool.

She pointed. “Poo?”

“Uh-huh. That’s the pool.”

“Poo? Sim?”

“Sure, we can go swimming. But we need to unload the car first.”

She glowered. “Sim?”

“After we unload. We need to—” I had an idea, so I grabbed the duffel bag with all our swim gear.

Some part of me wondered if my own parents had had to deal with so much stuff when we’d come to camp. I only remembered a single laundry basket of food and another with sheets, towels, and flip-flops. I was probably forgetting a lot, but we hadn’t brought bags full of things, and certainly not loaded suitcases. Granted, the suitcases were for when we returned to Atlanta, but they still reminded me that we didn’t travel light, especially when Christy did the packing.

“Come on,” I said to Susie, “let’s go find Mommy. You all can go for a swim while I unload the car. What do you think about that?”

“Sim?” Susie said hopefully.

“Yes, swim.”

“Sim! Sim!”

✧ ✧ ✧

We hadn’t been there long when a group returned from the main camp. Leah, Mark, and McKenna had arrived a day earlier, along with Kara, Victor, and their ten-year-old twins, Jana and Kyra.

The adults waved when they saw me. Then the twins picked up McKenna between them. The little girl shrieked in delight as they swung her and ran toward the pool, where Christy and Wren were playing with our own girls.

“Hey, welcome,” Mark said to me when they drew near.

“Thanks.” We exchanged pleasantries, and he asked about our trip. “It was okay,” I said. “It’s been a long day, but we survived.”

“Well, now you can relax,” he said. “We’ll get you something to drink, and—” He frowned and nodded toward the pool. “Hold on, where’re Trip and Davis?”

“Oh, they’re in the clubhouse, watching a ballgame. The Braves’re playing the Cowboys.”

Victor looked puzzled, but Mark knew my running joke.

“At Madison Square Garden?”

“Exactly,” I chuckled.

He turned to Victor and explained, “Paul isn’t a fan of sportsball.”

That only made things worse, but at least Victor understood Mark’s sense of humor. I decided to change the subject anyway.

“Where are the others?”

“It’s just us chickens for now,” Mark said.

“Hold on, I thought…?”

Kara spoke up, “I talked to Stacy. She and Jason’ll be here tomorrow. They decided to take their kids to stay with his parents. The same with Sydney and Woody.”

“Ah, okay. Cool.”

“Doug and Olivia are here,” Mark added, “but they’re staying with Susan tonight. Gina and John arrived yesterday too. You can meet him tomorrow. You’ll like him.” He glanced at Leah, and something passed between them. “And… um… we talked to Brooke.”

My eyebrows rose with a dozen questions, but he answered the obvious one.

“They had to change their flight. Something about her work. But they’ll be here before Thursday.” He added a look that said he’d explain later, so I kept my questions to myself. Then I thought of another.

“So… where’s Erin?” I said. “She was supposed to be here yesterday.”

Mark cleared his throat, and Leah picked up the thread.

“They decided to drive instead of fly.”

“They?” I wondered aloud.

“She’s… um… bringing someone.”

My eyebrows flew up. “Here? This week? Is she serious?”

“Evidently,” Leah said.

What the…?

I’ll tell you later, she answered.

I nodded and sighed, pacified if not satisfied.

Kara spoke into the silence. “So… who’s left?”

“Carter and Kim,” Mark prompted.

“What? Oh, yeah, right,” I said. I shook off my questions about Erin and her mystery guest. “Carter was in court today,” I said. “They’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Okay… remind me who they are,” Victor said.

“Friends of ours from Charlotte.”

Leah sighed. “I told you, remember?”

“Maybe. But I’ve slept since then.”

“You’ll like them,” I said. “Carter’s an attorney, duh, and really smart. Handsome, too. Blond, blue eyes, about six feet.”

Kara’s eyebrows rose with interest.

“Kim’s blonde and busty,” I added, which grabbed Victor’s attention, “slender instead of voluptuous. She’s bigger than Christy, but they could be sisters otherwise.”

“Why haven’t we partied with them before?” he asked.

“I told you that, too!” Leah said in exasperation. “I’m beginning to think you don’t listen to a word I say.”

“Join the club,” Kara joked.

“They’re normally part of another group,” I said, which was a half-truth.

Carter was into bondage and discipline more than pure swinging. Christy and I had visited them many times over the years, but we’d always kept that part of our lives separate from the swinging group. She’d had a change of heart when we’d first talked about the summer get-together.

“I think we should invite them,” she’d said. Then she’d gone through her reasons with typical Christy-leaps. “Erin totally loves them. Oh my gosh, I thought she was going to simmer for weeks after last time. But you know that already. You were there. Right. Moving on. Wren and Trip already think we swing with them, so they won’t be a problem. Carter isn’t Wren’s type anyway. Kim is definitely Trip’s, but…”

Christy had frowned to let me know what she thought of that. Trip still had an annoying habit of focusing on looks instead of brains. Kim wasn’t a bimbo, but she looked like it. And she liked to please men, so she had a tendency to act like she thought they expected, which meant an airhead blonde for Trip.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Christy’d continued. “He’ll have enough of a distraction with Brooke. Ugh! He’s a total horndog where she’s concerned. I don’t get it, either. Her, I mean. She totally likes him. Yeah, I know, it’s ’cause they talk baseball. Still, I can’t understand— Oh, never mind. You know what I mean.”

She’d kept going with barely a pause for breath. “Leah and Mark know everything anyway, even if it isn’t their cup of tea. I still think she’d like it if she’d give it a try, but… ‘different strokes.’ Anyway, where was I? Erin… Wren… Leah… Oh, Brooke! Right. She wants to join us next time we’re in Charlotte. What? Don’t look so surprised. Nate’s like Carter, remember? I told you…”

She’d chattered for another minute or two before she’d finally wound down.

“So… what do you think?” she’d said at last.

“Okay?”

“Ugh! Mr. Taciturn. Is that all you have to say?”

“Um… yes?”

And so we’d invited Carter and Kim. They’d been to camp in the mid-eighties heyday, after all, even if they hadn’t been a part of the wider swinger group at the time.

“Ah, okay,” Victor said. “Then I can’t wait to meet them.”

“I dunno about you guys,” Mark said, “but I’m ready for a drink.”

“And to get your dick sucked?” Leah teased.

He feigned surprise. “How’d you know?”

“How indeed? But you’re out of luck.” She looped her arm through mine. “Paul’s had a long day, and I think he needs it more than you.”

“You can say that again,” I muttered.

“You know, it’s a wonder she ever married me,” he joked.

“I didn’t have much choice!” Leah laughed. “I was pregnant, remember?”

“Do we know who the father is?”

“No clue.” Leah studied her fingernails and shrugged. “I was sleeping with so many men at the time…”

Kara rolled her eyes. “Come on, you all. I could use a drink too. And I’ll be happy to suck your dick,” she added to Mark. “After the girls go to bed.”

He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Okay, let’s do this!”

✧ ✧ ✧

Leah and I fell silent and shared a companionable moment before I shot a glance at my watch. We’d been talking longer than either of us had realized. Worse, I was comfortable on the couch, while she was still on the floor. She rose to her knees and caressed my thighs.

“Ready for more?”

The little head refused to cooperate.

“Either I’m losing my touch,” Leah laughed affectionately, “or you need a little more time.”

“The latter. Sorry. It’s been a really long day.”

“I know. Don’t worry about it. We aren’t teenagers anymore. But I need to get off my knees.” She stood and gave me a moment to admire her body before she extended a hand. “Come on, I’m thirsty.”

“Yeah, me too. I get dehydrated when I fly, and I haven’t drunk enough water today.”

“I could tell.”

“Oh?”

“Your load was thicker than usual. It tasted fine,” she added quickly, “but… Yeah, you need to drink more.”

“You’re a come connoisseur,” I teased, “more than Christy.”

“Oh, much more,” Leah agreed. “I can’t help it. It’s genetic.”

“The same with her.”

“Maybe, but we like it for different reasons.”

“Fair enough. Anyway, let’s get something to drink.”

July welcomed us with a sultry embrace as we left the air-conditioned comfort of the bungalow. The moon hadn’t risen yet, but the sodium light over the clubhouse painted the scene in monochrome yellow, with blue shadows between the buildings and under the patio furniture. Crickets chirred, and a pair of whippoorwills called to each other across the clearing. I had a sudden memory of a similar night with Christy, from before I’d asked her to marry me.

“Any idea how long birds live?” I asked Leah, who shrugged. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Why? Never mind. I think I know. You’re such a romantic.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“I’ve always loved that about you.”

“I thought it was my big dick.”

“Uh-uh. Erin’s the size queen. I care more about the results.”

“Lucky for me.”

“Me too.”

Cool air spilled out of the clubhouse when Leah opened the door. She flipped on the lights, and I chuckled to myself at the signs that Christy had been in the kitchen. She’d left the jar of peanut butter on the counter, surrounded by bread crumbs and a stray blob of jelly. I cleaned up without even thinking about it, while Leah filled two glasses with ice and water from the tap.

“For here,” she asked, “or back in the room?”

“Back in the room.”

She sipped her water to cover her grin, and a dark eyebrow rose with a challenge.

“I’m tired, not dead,” I replied.

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“I’m counting on it.”

She handed me the other glass, and I admired her from behind as she headed toward the door. She must have felt my gaze, because she turned and gave me a speculative look.

“See anything you like?”

“All of it, the whole package.”

“You aren’t so bad yourself.” Her dark eyes flashed playfully. “Especially your package.”

“He says thanks.”

Outside, she became serious and nodded toward the dark bungalows to our right. “You mind if we…? I wanna check on McKenna.”

“Yeah, me too.”

My family’s bungalow was #2, so we stopped there first. I opened the door and stepped inside to let my eyes adjust.

The girls were asleep on a pallet of blankets in the living room. Emily had kicked off her covers, but Laurie hugged her from behind and kept her warm. Emily’s metabolism was the same as Christy’s, and she suffered the same nighttime chills.

Susie was more like me, and she ran hot. She’d scooted away from her sisters, to the very edge of the blanket. She clutched her favorite stuffed animal for company, a purple dinosaur that she called Boopie instead of Barney.

They all looked so peaceful and angelic that I lingered a moment and simply watched them.

“This is why we let them live,” I whispered to Leah.

“Oh, I know,” she agreed softly. Then she nodded toward the back. “Do you need to check on Christy?”

The bedroom was dark, so she was probably asleep. I shook my head and pulled the door closed.

We looked in on McKenna next. She was asleep on the couch. Leah pulled the blanket higher and returned a stuffed giraffe from the floor to the little girl’s side. We closed the door and skipped an empty bungalow on our way to #5, the couples bungalow. On the other side of the pool, dim light glowed in the windows of the group bungalow.

I gestured toward it. “Do you wanna join the others?”

Leah considered but then shook her head.

“Cool. I’m not in the mood either. But I thought I’d ask.”

We entered #5 and returned to the couch where we’d started. Leah rested an arm on the back and tucked her foot under her thigh. Her smooth, dark labia parted slightly, and she grinned when I noticed. Mr. Big still didn’t rise to the occasion, and I winced guiltily.

“Quit apologizing,” Leah chided. “I’m in the mood to talk anyway. So… when’re you moving back to Atlanta? Do you have an official date yet?”

“Not really. As soon as we find someplace to live. By the time school starts, for sure.”

“Do you have a realtor?”

“Not yet. We’ll find one next week.”

“I know someone,” she said. “I’ll give you her number. It’ll be faster. Besides, she and her husband might be interested in our little group, so I want you to meet her.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Moving on, I need to tell you about Erin.”

“Start with Brooke,” I suggested.

“Oh, that’s right! Yeah, sorry. Why did she call us instead of you?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, she knew you all were traveling today, but…” She paused and winced, like she couldn’t decide whether she was guilty or happy. “She called us because…”

I waited.

“Well, she wanted to see if Nate could handle swinging. Like, for real. She knew you were busy with school, so she called us. We got together in February in Atlanta. Things worked out, so we visited them in March.”

“Ah, okay. Is that all?”

“Yeah. She thought you might be upset.”

“No,” I said immediately, although I wasn’t entirely sure. “I mean, yeah, I’m a little disappointed, but she’s right, we were swamped with school until about a month ago.”

“She was going to tell you,” Leah said, “but then she got busy with her project, and Nate had his own work.”

“It’s all right. So… do we like him?”

“Yeah, he’s nice. He’s totally her type. He’s more of an introvert than I thought she’d find, but he doesn’t have a cabin in Montana or anything.”

My brow furrowed in confusion. “Sorry, you lost me.”

“The Unabomber? Ted Kaczynski? He lived off the grid in a cabin in Montana.”

“Oh, yeah! Right. I heard they’d caught him. Couldn’t miss it, really.”

“No. Anyway, Nate’s an introvert but not a loner, if that makes sense.”

“It does.”

“So, that’s what’s going on with Brooke,” Leah finished. “It was just a timing thing. And she was feeling a little guilty, so…”

“No worries.”

“Good. I was a bit worried too. I mean, she’s Christy’s girlfriend. I know how I’d feel if I thought someone had tried to steal Erin…”

“Speaking of which,” I said, “good segue.”

Leah grinned. “Almost like I do this for a living.”

“Ha! No kidding. Anyway… Erin? What the hell is she thinking, bringing a completely new guy to the Retreat?”

“That’s… a bit more complicated,” Leah said after a moment. “And, bear in mind, I haven’t actually met the guy. So I’m going by what she’s told me.”

“Go on,” I prompted.

All of a sudden she laughed.

“What?”

“Remember I always said she’d be thirty before she settled down? Well, looks like I was right.”

“If this guy is really The One.”

“Oh, I think he is. At least, the way Erin talks about him. Tom this and Tom that. It’s kinda cute, actually, like they’re teenagers. She’s head-over-heels, like you were, back when you figured out that Christy wasn’t such a choirgirl.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” I objected. “She was trying to fool me.”

“She did a good job, too!” Leah laughed.

“Very funny. Now, tell me about Erin’s guy.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Erin and her mystery man arrived at the Retreat around midnight, although no one heard them. Leah and I were the last ones to go to bed, and we probably missed them by about fifteen minutes. Christy woke me in the wee hours of the morning, but she went back to sleep soon after. Then I lay awake for nearly an hour before I finally decided to get up, about six o’clock.

I put on a T-shirt, shorts, and running shoes. Then I checked on the girls before I slipped out the door. The morning was foggy and cool, unusual for July, although the scent of gardenias lingered in the air and made me smile.

I stretched and did some warmups on the patio before I walked around the clubhouse. I stopped at the sight of an unfamiliar car, a black Porsche 911 Carrera. At first I thought it was Carter’s, but it had Florida tags. And it practically screamed “midlife crisis,” so I immediately worried that Erin was dating another guy like the needy professor.

He’d been trying to recapture his youth by dating someone half his age, a twenty-year-old coed. But now Erin was ten years older. If she kept to her usual standards, her current guy would be fifty-something. He’d be in his sixties or even his seventies by the time their kids graduated from high school. What was she thinking?

“Hey, you must be Paul,” a man said from behind me.

His voice was deep and resonant, and I formed a picture of him in my head—older and distinguished, with dark hair gone to gray at the temples. He’d be tall and broad-shouldered, but with a few extra pounds around the middle.

I compressed my lips and fought down a wave of annoyance and concern for my sister. She was a grown woman, I reminded myself. She could take care of herself. She didn’t need me to look out for her.

I forced a smile, turned around, and prepared to meet my potential brother-in-law. My jaw went slack almost immediately, and I had to lower my gaze by six inches.

“Not what you were expecting?” the guy chuckled.

My cheeks glowed. “Sorry. Was it that obvious?”

“Not really,” he lied graciously. Then he extended a hand. His grip was firm and strong, confident without being a challenge.

He was much younger than I’d been expecting, closer to my age. He was small, too, barely 5’6” and maybe 140 pounds, although I looked him over and revised that upward. His forearms were corded with muscle, and his shirt was tight enough to show off the definition in his arms, shoulders, and chest.

He was attractive, with light brown hair and no gray at all. It was naturally wavy instead of straight like mine and Dad’s. He also wore glasses, fashionable tortoiseshell frames that made him look intelligent and friendly at the same time.

“I’m Thomas,” he said. “Tom. Ryland. Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And I’ve heard practically nothing about you,” I said truthfully.

His lips quirked in a grin, and I found myself warming to him.

“Er wanted to surprise everyone.” He said it exactly like I would’ve, with the same familiarity and affection. “So, how do I measure up?”

“Never judge a book by its cover.”

He laughed. “That’s what she thought you’d say.”

I decided to change the subject, so I hooked a thumb at the Porsche. “Yours?”

“Yeah,” he said with just the right amount of self-conscious embarrassment. “It’s a bit flashy, isn’t it? Like I’m compensating for something?”

“I was thinking midlife crisis, to be honest.”

“Ha! You might be right.”

“Although… you’re a bit young for that,” I hinted.

“Oh, I dunno,” he said with a shrug, “I’ve always been precocious.” He let the words hang in the air before he grinned. “Yeah, Erin said she dated older guys before me.”

“‘Older’ might be a bit of an understatement.”

“Well, I’m thirty-five. Still older, but more age-appropriate.”

“No kidding. To be honest, I’m relieved.”

“Me too,” he chuckled. Then he asked, “Are you going for a run? Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.” I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and felt a wave of relief. Nope, I don’t mind at all.

✧ ✧ ✧

Tom might have looked like a porn star, but he actually had a PhD in psychology and was a professor at the University of South Florida. In addition to his day job, he was a bestselling author, which explained why he could afford an expensive new Porsche. He wrote relationship self-help books along the lines of Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus.

“Except that mine are based on, you know, science.”

I glanced at him sideways. We were jogging at an easy pace so we could talk.

“No disrespect to John Gray,” he added. “He’s written some excellent books about relationships. But they’re pop psychology more than actual psychology.”

“How’re yours different?”

“I study real people and real relationships. Again, no disrespect to Gray, but I’m interested in the full spectrum of sexuality, not just the Judeo-Christian one-man, one-woman concept of marriage and monogamy.”

He shrugged and then continued, “The science itself is fairly straightforward. My subjects fill out questionnaires, and I do extensive interviews and follow-ups. My research and scientific publications rely on established methodology and are peer-reviewed.” He paused before he shot me a sideways grin. “Then I write pop psychology books about the naughty parts.”

“Ha! Okay. But why do both?”

“The scholarly work because I want the respect and credibility. And, to be completely honest, I like having a job that doesn’t depend on the whims of public morals.”

“Makes sense,” I said.

“The mass-market books because I feel like someone should be writing for the people who aren’t Gray’s stereotypes. We’re hiding in plain sight,” he revealed. “And there are a lot more of us than people realize.”

I nodded in more than agreement. If he and Erin were serious, he had to know a little about her history. Besides, he was here, wasn’t he? He knew we were swingers already, and it didn’t take a PhD in psychology to figure out the rest.

“I’m writing for us,” he continued, “and for the ‘normals,’ as Erin calls them. I want people who read my books to appreciate the broad range of human sexuality. You can like something ‘different’ without being a deviant.”

“Or a pervert,” I added.

“Exactly. One person’s foot is another’s fetish, so to speak.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Gee, ya think?” he deadpanned, and we shared a grin.

“Sounds like we’re a lot alike,” I ventured.

“I suspect we are. No, I take that back. I know we are.”

He filled me in on his background. In addition to his formal education, he’d experimented with just about everything under the sun, sexually speaking.

“Some of the fetish communities are a little weird,” he said, “but I get it. Different strokes.”

I nodded.

“Swinging and wife-swapping are about the thrill of something new within the bounds of a committed relationship. The same with dress-up and role-play.”

“You could probably say the same about anything,” I said. “Couples who’re into voyeurism, exhibitionism, BDSM, you name it.”

“Exactly. And they’re all normal. That’s what I tell people in my books. Although… I think most are reading for the descriptions of subcultures they might not be familiar with. They can experience them vicariously.”

“And you’ve tried them all?”

“Uh-huh, everything I’ve written about.”

“Anything you didn’t like?” I asked.

“Gay sex,” he said immediately. “I gave it the ol’ college try, but I’m just not wired that way.”

“Neither am I.”

“You sound relieved,” he chuckled. “You were worried I might be bi?”

“Something like that.”

“Yeah, I get it. As far as the rest…?” he went on. “I enjoy some things more than others.”

“Such as?”

“Swinging, obviously, although Erin’s the first woman I’ve ever met who’s part of a long-term, stable group like yours.”

“Is that why you’re thirty-five and still single?” I ventured.

“Probably.”

I studied him out of the corner of my eye. “So… you aren’t the lifelong bachelor type?”

“No. I’m surprisingly normal. I want a wife and children. I’ve just never met a woman who shared my concept of a relationship. I call it open monogamy.”

“That’s us, all right,” I chuckled.

“I know.”

“Most women want real monogamy, though, closed monogamy.”

“So do most men, if we’re being honest.”

I shrugged. “I’m not so sure.”

“Trust me, I’ve seen the data.”

“Fair enough,” I said. Then I wondered aloud, “Do you think it’s nature or nurture? I mean, are people monogamous because they’re wired that way or because society says they should be?”

“Ah, now you’re thinking like a scientist!” His grin widened. “See? I told you we have a lot in common. Probably more, if we started to compare notes.”

I looked at him sideways but didn’t reply.

“I try to approach things with an open mind.”

Alarm bells went off in my head, and I wondered where he was going with that little come-on. Did he want me to tell him my taboo fantasies? Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “Er’s told me so much about you that I feel like I know you, while you’ve only just met me.”

“Mmm.”

“And… the walls just went up.”

Duh. What was your first clue?

“That’s cool,” he said after a moment. “I shouldn’t’ve pushed so hard.”

We jogged into sight of the Retreat, and he slowed to a walk.

“The thing is,” he said, “I want you to like me.”

“I do,” I said immediately, although it sounded unconvincing, even to me.

“No, not yet,” he said. “But I hope you will. At your own pace. I can’t force it.” He’d been lighthearted throughout the conversation, but he turned serious now. “There’s something I want you to know, though.”

“What’s that?”

“I love Erin.”

I paused at the conviction in his voice. He didn’t waffle, either.

“I’ve never met anyone like her,” he went on. “And I’d never do anything to hurt her. That includes alienating you.”

“You haven’t.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But I tend to be blunt, especially about sex. I apologize.”

“Nothing to apologize for.”

“I don’t believe you, but thanks anyway.” He even managed to say it sincerely, without a hint of condescension. He was hard not to like. Still, I wasn’t going to open up and tell all my secrets after less than an hour.

“I’m glad we had a chance to talk,” he said as we approached the clubhouse. “Candidly, I mean. I don’t get to do it very often. I think that’s why I fell in love with Erin.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. We’re made for each other, two halves of the same whole.”

“More pop psychology?” I teased.

“Probably, but also true. You’ll see.”

✧ ✧ ✧