New England Triad

Chapter 09

Stephen and Ann agree to equal rights--and much personal freedom--for both spouses. Stephen works on adjusting to the implications--with a little help from Beth and Dev.

************

Author's note:

This is the last regular chapter of

New England Triad.

A short Epilog chapter will follow.

If you are unacquainted with the previous eight chapters, #9 may still work okay for you, as the narrator (Stephen) does a lot of reminiscing about key events of the past.

Here is some more background.

Stephen and Ann Lancome have been married for ten years. It is now late October. Stephen's love affair with Beth--begun in early July, in a field just off a bike trail (Chapter 1)--is now winding down. In early September, Ann had a one-night fling with Justin (Ch. 5); and Stephen, Beth, and Beth's housemate Dev had quite a wild evening together (Ch. 4). Stephen and Dev had some intimate contact that night but not genital sex. Ann and Beth had sex with each other one evening in August (Ch. 3) and again one afternoon in October (Ch. 7). Just four days ago, Ann learned that Justin is coming to town.

Where's the sex?

There are erotic descriptions of Ann early in the chapter. Two detailed, explicit scenes of sexual coupling begin about midway through the chapter.

************

It was now Wednesday night, two days before Ann's dinner date with Justin.

Hitachi and Raytheon were cooking up something together. A small team from Hitachi's Waltham operations, including Justin, was spending Thursday and Friday on Raytheon's Farmington campus, about 20 miles west of here. Justin was staying over an extra day so he could see Ann again. Raytheon, the Marriott, and Ann's employer Edson-Kelly were all within a couple miles of one another, so Justin would pick up Ann at her office after work on Friday.

Ann and Justin had dated in their first semester at college but had drifted apart. That was 17 years ago. Physically, the two had not gone much beyond kissing and breast-fondling. Ann had held onto her virginity until spring semester. By then Justin had wandered off.

The two reconnected in early September, about six weeks ago, at a trade show in Pittsburgh. Much to my surprise, they ended up having sex together and then sleeping together, one night only, in Ann's room. All I knew about the man was that he was good looking, unmarried, an engineer at Hitachi R&D, a decent dancer, a good lover, and Ann liked him a lot. He was Black, dark-skinned, had an average-sized penis, and lived too close for comfort.

I guess Ann's transgression left me more impressed than pleased, but I was in no position to make a fuss. Since early July I had been enjoying a wonderful extramarital affair with Beth. Ann knew about that from the beginning. In Pittsburgh, the goose had basted the gander with a small amount of the sauce he had been pouring onto her.

This Friday's dinner date might again include sex--I'd give that 4-to-1 odds, in favor--and might or might not include an overnight stay in Justin's room at the Marriott.

You'd think that--since I had been carrying on with Beth for three and a half months--I would hardly raise an eyebrow at a rare occasional dalliance on the part of my wife.

And if I were a better man than I am--and if Ann and I had done a better job of communicating with each other about our personal needs, beliefs, fears, and expectations--then you would be correct. But I'm not, and we hadn't. So you wouldn't be.

At least Ann and I were now making progress. This past Saturday we had finally acknowledged that we needed some explicit rules for our marriage--rules on what was required, what was permitted, and what was not permitted. Better ten years late than never.

We decided we'd think for a couple of days and then have a long talk Wednesday evening--tonight. But by 10 PM we had realized we could not possibly work out all the necessary details before Friday.

Surprisingly, the classic book

Open Marriage

had been of little help. I had read it over the past two days. Published in 1972, it now seemed badly dated. Basically, it tried to persuade spouses not to be just "a couple" but to allow each other to grow as individuals.

That may have seemed radical fifty years ago. But at least 90 percent of everything the book advocates had long been practiced by every professional couple Ann and I knew, including us. Nobody we knew had the slightest desire to be Ozzie and Harriet.

The term "open marriage" had come to mean a marriage in which the partners are free to have sex with other people. So I was dismayed to find that the book actually said very little about sex and still less about extramarital sex. Just: extramarital sex could happen. It's not necessarily bad, and it might be good--but it isn't required, either. Ann and I had long since figured that much out!

But the book did have several good suggestions about marriage. Between those and some ideas of our own, Ann and I managed to agree on enough general principles and specific rules to get us through the weekend. We could refine the program as time went on.

No need to go through every item now, but here are some of the highlights. We agreed that each person has sole ownership and control of his or her body. Our marriage is always our most important relationship. Healthy relationships with other people are encouraged. Extramarital sex is neither required nor forbidden. All questions from a spouse are answered promptly, honestly, and fully. Condoms are required for genital or anal sex with Justin and any newer partners.

Many practical questions still needed to be decided, though. Overnight stays, for example. Condoms with Beth? Condoms for oral? Should the amount of time spent with other people have a firm limit? But by 10 PM Ann's and my brains were fatigued. We agreed to quit now and have another round of discussions next week. For Friday, we decided that Ann could use her best judgment in all matters not explicitly covered by our agreement.

From time to time during tonight's negotiations, my mind would wander. Wander from the complex ethical issues we were pondering to the proximate cause of the whole discussion: Ann's lovely body. I pictured those beautiful breasts that faced me behind the white blouse. Behind that flimsy A-cup bra that I could remove with one hand. Thought of those pink areolas and nipples, thought of the breasts' five freckles--I knew exactly where each one of that quintet was hiding.

I also knew exactly how Ann's breasts move as her torso moves, both with and without clothes. Under her slacks: I could picture those long legs, picture how lovely she looked in her low-cut white panties. And how lovely she looked with the panties at her ankles. The beautiful thin, curly, honey-blond pubic hair; the wonderful smell and taste and feel of her moisture; the lovely curve of her bottom. Before me was the vital, delightful

object

of the theoretical, abstract, tiring discussion we were having

. Res ipsa loquitur

. The thing speaks for itself. I wished we could just stop talking and let it.

Justin too had heard it speak. He knew well those pink nipples, those five freckles--knew them years before I did. Now he knew all the rest, too: the panties around the ankles, the smells, the tastes, the wonderful feel of her vagina contracting around his penis during those remarkably quiet orgasms of hers. Knew too the warm, tight grip of her anus and rectum. Only six men in the world knew that. Maybe only five--I wasn't sure if Paul had had that pleasure or not, come to think of it.

I wanted to have sex with that beautiful, desirable woman right now. I wanted to possess her--at nearly the same moment we were agreeing that nobody could possess her but herself. Fuck her, yes, if and when she consented. Possess her, no. She was self-possessed. Logically, I had known that for 12 years. And the agreement we were negotiating was a triumph of logic.

But was there any connection between logic and sex? If not, this logical masterpiece of ours would be pretty fucking useless.

But to return to what was

not

in our agreement. The biggest gap in the text was overnight stays. In July--when Beth first came into our lives--I had promised I would not spend the night with anyone but Ann. Ann had not yet made the same promise to me. And by now we had neither the time nor the mental energy to hash out the matter. Nor would we tomorrow evening, after my seminar: we both could see that.

I was hoping that, out of a sense of fair play, Ann would voluntarily promise to come home Friday night, but she didn't. I was afraid to make that request overtly, feeling that forcing the issue now would make a firm "No" more likely. That fear probably made no logical sense--but again, what do sex and logic have to do with each other? Let alone adultery and logic.

************

Friday morning--the day of the dinner date--we both were a little tense. I stayed in the bedroom, watching, as Ann dressed for work. She put on her typical work clothes: unremarkable panties and bra, white blouse, wristwatch, thin gold necklace, dressy slacks, Peds, and flat shoes.

No trauma for me so far. I felt more awkward when she retrieved a small, light-blue carry-on bag for tonight's evening wear. The last time I had seen that bag open was five years ago, the morning of the Christmas party at Telechron, where Ann used to work. I had chosen not to attend. After that party, for the first time in her married life, Ann had--I almost said "given herself to." No, Ann retained inalienable ownership of her body. But in the company parking lot she had opened her legs and fucked another man. Paul.

She saw that I recognized the bag but said nothing. Into it she placed a pair of dressy low heels in a plastic bag, then a nice dress--not exactly a "little black dress" but close. Pantyhose, pretty bra and panty set--nothing outrageous, nothing that screamed, "Fuck me!" but very becoming. Pearl necklace and earrings; thin, gold hoop-bracelets; personal grooming kit; makeup kit.

She opened the drawer to the bedside table. Into the carry-on bag went the contraceptive jelly and the beige plastic case that held her diaphragm. I guess I didn't need to see that. Well, since she had raised the subject...

"Condoms?" I inquired.

"I don't have any. Do you?"

"No."

"I'll stop at CVS on the way out."

"Do you know where you're going for dinner?" I asked.

"Anabel's, in Simsbury."

A nice choice. Upscale but not pretentious. The food is good. The place looks like a country inn, though I don't think it has any actual lodging. It does have an atmosphere that women would describe as "romantic." The ladies' room is said to be haunted--a jilted lover or something.

"Your idea?" I asked.

"Justin's. He actually knows this area a bit. His maiden aunt lives in Hartford. That's the story he gave to Hitachi. He's not carpooling back to Waltham because he's staying an extra day to visit with dear Aunt Minerva. And don't ever call her 'Minnie.' He'll rent a car and drive back on his own over the weekend or possibly take a bus. Actually, he probably will visit Aunt Minerva before he returns."

Decent chap.

For some reason I found myself wondering where Ann would insert her diaphragm. At her office? In his motel room? No: at the restaurant. In a stall in the ladies' room. The ghost will probably shake her head wistfully.

"Nice place, Anabel's," I said. "I hope you have a good evening."

Ann came over, put her arms around me, kissed me. "Thank you, Stephen. I will come home to you, I promise.... I'm feeling awkward too. All this is new to me too. I'm not an experienced floozy. A floozy, maybe, but not an experienced one."

She was half-joking. "Floozy" is not a word or a concept that either of us took seriously. I suppose one could argue she

was

an experienced adulteress--if a bit out of practice at the moment. The pot calling the kettle black here.

"You don't have to go tonight," I said.

"I know. I want to go."

"You don't have to have sex with him."

"I know. We both agreed that's neither required nor prohibited. I'll decide later."

No sense reminding her that she didn't have to spend the night: she knew that too. And surely she knew my preference.

"Stephen, I know you're not happy about my seeing Justin tonight. Believe me, your feelings do matter to me, and they do affect how I act. But we've never had the sort of marriage our grandparents tried to have, right? We never wanted to be June and Ward Cleaver. There's no way we could ever be June and Ward Cleaver, with or without Wally and Beaver underfoot. If I shouted 'Fuck the Patriarchy!' you'd probably raise

your

fist too."

True enough...

She continued: "I think we took a good step forwards on Wednesday night. Clarified a lot of issues that had been murky forever. I like the blueprint for our marriage that we've started to draw. I like it intellectually and emotionally too. It feels right to me.

"I think we both grew this summer. Maybe our marriage did too. Personally, I could have done just fine without Beth. And--speaking of feelings--perhaps you can imagine what some of

my

feelings were, these past three or four months. But I think Beth did us some real good too. I've grown since July. Maybe you have too.

"I have to say, actually

seeing

you and Beth fuck made a difference. That night we all had sex together, back in August.

Seeing

that nothing changed afterwards, and the sky did not fall, and the only thing that happened was all three of us felt good. And afterwards you and I loved and trusted each other just as much as before. Maybe I even trusted you more, now that I had seen the worst, and the worst did me no harm. I also saw that you and Beth had something very sweet going on between you. For some reason, that felt much less threatening to me, that night, than it normally would have.... You love her, don't you."

All questions from a spouse are answered promptly, honestly, and fully. I took a breath.

"Yes," I said. "Of course."

"That's good. I'm glad."

"Not the way I love you, Ann."

"I understand. Every love is different.... It's not zero-sum.... I guess I loved Paul, too. On some level, maybe I still do a little."

"I know," I said. "It's good. More love is better than less. And throughout everything these past ten years, you and I kept loving each other, rather deeply."

"Yes, we did," she said. "Do."

She snapped the carry-on bag shut. The bedroom was silent for thirty seconds as she checked her hair and makeup in the mirror.

"I'll call or text you," she said, "let you know what the plans are, when I have any plans. Okay?"

"Okay."

She gave me a quick kiss then carried the bag downstairs. I simmered a bit then followed.

************

I knew I could still pull the plug on tonight's date with Justin. I only had to object strongly and firmly enough

right now

. State that we were acting crazy. Loudly declare my renewed commitment to sexual fidelity and forsaking all others. Had I done that, I believe Ann would have picked up her phone, called Justin on the spot, and cancelled their date.

Pulling the plug like that would end my affair with Beth immediately. But the affair was on a downhill slide anyway. More importantly, pulling the plug like that would trash the new agreement Ann and I were drafting. It would return us to the

status quo ante

.

And how well had that worked for us? No better than it had worked for anyone else. Over the past five years or so, Ann and I--and also Paul and his wife Teresa--were all in conventional, sexually exclusive, eternal-fidelity marriages. And at least 75 percent of our quartet had transgressed, big-time--Ann, with two different men and one woman! So much for the protective effect of solemn vows plus wishful thinking!

And, along with Ann, I liked our new agreement both intellectually and emotionally. It set up good protections, inducements to honest communication. It affirmed our equality as partners. Regardless of any outside relationships, I wanted that agreement in place to guide the two of us in our relationship with each other.

At the front door I kissed Ann goodbye and gave her one last bit of husbandly advice. "Drive safe," I said.

Ann had promised, "I will come home to you." And I knew that promise would be kept. Unfortunately, Ann didn't specify

when

.

************

After my last class came an office half-hour. I got home at 4:30. Then I drove myself crazy for awhile, trying to figure out the sequence of steps Ann would take to prepare for tonight's date and the time of day she would take each step. That way madness lies, I finally realized. If I really, truly need to know exactly when she changed her clothes, exactly when she dropped her diaphragm case into her handbag, I could ask her later tonight. Or, if not, then tomorrow.

Ann's wing-stretching would have been easier for me, had my affair with Beth still been on the upswing. But last Saturday afternoon Beth had finally said openly what, deep down inside, we both knew to be true. No matter how much we loved each other, there was no forward path our relationship could reasonably take. No security for Beth for the future, no legal protections, no known blueprint to help build what she needed. In 21st-century America, there was simply no way to merge an unmarried woman with two people who were already in a solid, functioning, legally-protected marriage. Beth had no choice but to seek "fresh woods, and pastures new."

Saturday afternoon, on the Bolton town green, we had told each other,"I love you" for the first time, finally said it. And we had admitted that we couldn't find a way to make it work.

She also told me she was going out to dinner that evening with a man she knew.

But now, six days later, I needed her. At 5 PM I called her.

"Short notice I know, Beth. Have plans for dinner?"

"Just finishing an early meal now," she said. "Is tonight Ann's date with Justin?"

Clearly the two women had been communicating.

"Yes, I'm playing bachelor this evening."

"Can I do anything to help?" she asked.

"'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished."

Beth giggled. "You'd like us to read Shakespeare together?"

"We could start off with that. Maybe the dirty parts of

Romeo and Juliet.

"

Beth sighed. "Stephen, I'm sorry, but tonight I can't give you all the time I wish I could.... I'm going out later."

I knew what Shakespeare would say to that. "Whither?" I inquired.

"The Boiler Room, in Collinsville. Feldspar is playing tonight. We have reservations for the 9:00 set."

"You and Jimmy?"

"Yes." There was a long pause. "He's picking me up about 8. I'll be glad to spend a little time with you before that. I have some things I need to do here first. I'll be free between, say, 6:30 and 7:45. Want to come over?"

I guess that was the best I could manage tonight. My pride urged me to say, "Forget it. I'll see you some other time." But now I needed care more than I needed my pride.

"Sure," I said. "See you about 6:30."

************

Beth's driveway was empty. Probably her car was in the single-car garage--though its door was still up--and Dev hadn't come home yet. I decided to park in the street so Dev could get in without blocking me. It would have to be a couple of house-lengths away: some near neighbor seemed to be having a big get-together. Well, it was a nice night for a little walk. I zipped up my jacket.

Beth, looking as beautiful as I had ever seen her, met me at the front door. I entered the house and took off my jacket. Then I took a good look.

She wore a lovely dress, dark blue with a subtle paisley pattern, a sash tied about the waist. The dress revealed her curves but looked elegant more than blatantly sexy. Beth had done something subtle with her hair--I don't know exactly how to describe it, but it was partly down and partly up, and it looked lustrous and curly and very nice indeed. She wore gold bracelets, necklace, and earrings, and lipstick in a darker red than I had seen on her before. She looked stunning.