A Borrowed Wife The Covid Camper Ch 07

...There I stand, freshly stripped nude by Ken and potentially putting on one hell of a show, save for this bathtub warm ocean. My mind is in a serious turmoil, hard to put to words; "how the flip did I actually get here?" I ask myself. Not on this island's pristine beach obviously, but so adroitly dominated in a few simple moves by Ken. I consider myself somewhat dominant, but more out of necessity these days to fill that proverbial void while in the company of my submissive husband. In Ken's company I'm a rank amateur though, but Ken's also done this to me naturally, where I have to work at it with hubby. I suppose hubby might be asking himself similar "how did I get here" questions himself though, stranded himself in a camper in the middle of nowhere with clothes he may or may not wish to wear.

In my particular case, if just wearing a rather conservative bikini out on this beach (where pretty much nobody knows me) was challenging for me an hour ago, this was a completely different level of commitment. Simply put, I can't walk to the beach to retrieve my bikini without putting on a show for the few people there, and it's not wise to swim out farther either, nearer the fishing boats.

Mixed in with my physical entrapment is the fact that I feel a bit emotionally abandoned by Ken at the moment, perhaps playfully-so, but I also seem to get a bit of strength and courage by being on his arm in this foreign place, being in close proximality to him; and this lets me have a taste of what not having that might feel like going forward. Fair to say that I don't think I'd like that option for myself as I've discovered that I need Ken in my life too now. Yes I have confidence in myself, (I pretty much have to these days) but perhaps just a bit less so down here being removed from the more familiar trappings of my daily life.

That being said, I'm not trading hubby's loving familiarity and devotion for Ken, but I'm also not willing to live without Ken in my life either. So in short, I've rather foolishly walked myself into a bit of a quagmire here. Vacation-Ken, where new and exiting outside the box things happen on a regular basis, where making love is fun again, vs dependable at-home hubby, the man that's always been there for me since we were teenagers, always willing to serve in any capacity he could. Two different men, with different needs of their own now, two slightly different roles in my life to be filled going forward as well, suggesting a singular non-traditional clear path for myself out of my self-created quagmire mess...

I'm watching Ken's progression as my mind churns over all this, he's getting further away by the moment. He isn't even all the way up on the beach yet, (it's a long relatively shallow expanse of water) but he's apparently close enough for one couple to recognize him and wave, and based on both their statures and distant body-language, I assume this is our new plane-friends Cathy and Henry. I'm thinking with luck like this maybe I should go home and buy a fricken lottery ticket. Anyway, eventually they stand close together and Cathy hugs Ken, perhaps both men even shake hands too for all I know, but I just can't see that part. Ken and I are people from "back home" though, and I therefore get Cathy's hug of familiarity in this distant land.

I'm really making some logical identity-assumptions here though, that it's Cathy huggin-up on my Ken, as this is challenging the limits of my eyesight. They've surely see my bikini in his hands either way though, and I wonder what story Ken was spinning on the fly to explain such.

Motion further up the beach catches my attention, and I see a local man approaching the trio on a slow moving quad, wearing bright red swim trunks with a flotation device slung over his back, and he stops by Ken and the others to presumably share a few words. He then rides slowly to the lifeguard chair and climbs up; my predicament getting more desperate by the moment. "Did Ken tell him that I was already out in the water, maybe even that I 'lost' my suit somehow, explaining how Ken came to be holding such a garment in the first place?" I wonder.

The lifeguard has binoculars though, and his job is literally to keep an eye on myself and any other vacationing swimmers. I see him scanning his assigned piece of ocean, and then looking directly at me, so I swim a few strokes on my back to look like I'm not in any kind of distress. I don't wave to acknowledge him though, as I kind of have it in mind that this is the universal "I need help" gesture, despite this water's modest below my head depth. With the lifeguard on duty now more people are arriving by the minute, with some claiming their own chairs and then making their way towards the water. I'm left wondering what Ken's waiting for, the lifeguard too apparently, as he blows his whistle and motions for Ken to come to his chair.

So the two apparently talk for a moment as I watch, and then Ken makes his way towards me with my suit in hand, my actual public embarrassment perhaps minimal all things considered. It was a bit odd having Ken actually help me get back into my untied string bikini though, as he's far more practiced at getting me out of such things rather than in. I did have to see the youngish lifeguard when I emerged from the water, getting a bit of a private talking-to at first, but in the end he obviously thought Ken's prank was harmless, just as long as the other guests didn't get to see something they shouldn't. He tells me there's a clothing optional beach down a ways, but I claim ignorance on the subject. I'm sure he sees all sorts of bodies out here every day of the week, and his smile at least tells me I'm maybe not the worst of the lot. Then another thought occurs to me; "how good are his binoculars, like good enough that I perhaps gave him a bit of a show when I was swimming on my back?"

It was a bit more difficult for me to make proper eye contact with either Cathy or Henry though, but in the end we all sat together on the lounge chairs laughed about Ken's prank, Cathy even retying my strings for some proper symmetry as her husband looked on. So the unintended consequence of Ken's prank was that I found myself in a kind of social submission to all three, not exactly good for building confidence in anybody; my mind again drifting towards hubby's own predicament.

At the same time though, Cathy in her very nice one piece suit looked "hard-body athlete" fit, her near six-pack abs half-showing through the tight spandex, her suit itself surely not an off the shelf department store one like my own. But as firm and fit as her twenty-five year old body looked, I also got the distinct feeling that Henry was somewhat mesmerized while watching his wife untie and adjust my strings.

Speaking of Henry, he was thin and fit himself, with a body that reminded me of hubby's back when he was that age himself. Henry also played it very cool though, while also trying not to look at my bikini-body with his sunglasses off; so lots of purposeful eye contact, which I found charming. Henry was a gentleman, Cathy had chosen wisely. So while I myself wasn't interested in another's "half my age" husband, the fact that I had drawn the attention of this rather nice looking young man did pump my ego. So in other words, the entire "incident" was a bit of an emotional rollercoaster for me that left me a bit off balance.

That morning was also the highwater mark on our being "look at me" crazy though, (or so we had discussed) but it was a lower profile more befitting our ages in the following days at least. This then turned into a bit of a settled and rather nice "dare I say husband and wife-like" vacation routine for us, one that had me texting with hubby every morning to get my "legitimate-husband-fix," all while insuring he was settled himself. With that box checked Ken and I found ourselves doing both romantic and fun-touristy kinds things the rest to the days on this quasi-honeymoon vacation. These were designed to be romantic little experiences for the new husband and wife, or in my particular case with my stand-in "husband" Ken.

Hubby sent me his bikini selfie picture that I had prompted, suitable for blackmail purposes if necessary, as I discovered that Ken had already send him some of mine; so a quid-pro-quo I assume. I also chose not to share the picture of hubby in his own bikini with Ken just yet though, it felt private and personal to me, odd really bearing in mind all that we three have been through over the years, and obviously more recently too. "Was nude more or less humbling that wearing a little string bikini for Ken?" I wondered; a question that could equally apply to either hubby or myself I realized.

The bikini truthfully didn't look bad on him at all, it certainly fit his body with his little device presumably tucked, and it's cut even flattered his little "man-boobs," but to call it straight-up sexy would be a bit of a stretch. Still, at any distance at all, most especially with that wig on, hubby was transformed into a lean woman in a bikini, with a rectangular body shape and a proportionally small chest. So, just a tiny bit like Cathy's physique really, explaining perhaps why Henry seemed a bit distracted by my softer and more mature large-bust hourglass shape.

...So something magical was happening here over the course of our first week alone together, as in six whole days of all-Ken, all the time... without seeing hubby's smiling face in person. Ken and I have always had a kind of love for each other, actually several different kinds of love over the years that comes in and out of focus, depending on the specific situations we find ourselves in. One was the ever-present enduring lifelong love of a best friend to be sure, but the hot and passionate stand-in lover-kind also made it's appearance every now and again.

Down here for almost a whole week straight though, our hot and passionate "I need you now" love (so perhaps more accurately stated, physical-lust) was slowly being replaced with "I just love being with you, wrapped up together and NOT actually making-love love." It's communicating a thought without uttering a word, a certain shared look preceding a spontaneous make-out session, it's also soft loving kisses on the couch for no reason at all. It's all of that and more, without expecting sex, it's "I love the way you feel and smell, I love your strong and familiar arms hugging me tightly, telling me I'm wanted as a woman again." In short, I really just love being near him. In a few words, for me, it's like falling in love as a teen the first time all over again, but this time as a mature adult. Hubby had been that first love too though, my first real love, and my first lover as well, and Ken had watched all that as a teen himself, respectfully from the outside though; a fact that tugged at my heart strings in my quiet reflective moments. "I had no regrets on choosing hubby all those years ago, (present dysfunction and all) but did Ken have some himself?" I wondered. "Was I the one that got away for him, unapproachable because of his best friend, that line further blurred by Ken's and my own permitted mischief? Was I (and to a lesser extent my sharing husband) the unintentional reason his other relationships eventually failed?" I further asked myself critically.

"I already have a husband though, one who selflessly made all this possible in the first place" I remind myself. He's allowed himself to be further humbled and parked out of the way, so that Ken and I can take this new version of our already unique relationship for a serious "road-test," to see if it works for us in a more long-term way.

Hubby may be naturally submissive anyway, passive socially in all but a few circumstances, but really he's grown exponentially more so over the last few years of diminished ability, but that isn't to say that he's unintelligent, or insensitive; quite the opposite. This tells me he may well have seen this precise scenario with Ken on the horizon, and still he allowed it, dare I say he even promoted it. Not given away in charity to just any man off the street though, specifically gifted to Ken, a man we both know well, so an established history of safety, with both of us.

...So it's fair to say that I've been a tiny bit self-centered since that heatwave back in the summer, ever since I had that brief helping of what I'd been trying to live without, on our back deck in the middle of the night with Ken. He's single once again, so no excuses, but I really miss the passion and lust, the "toes-curled" orgasms, like I don't want to live without any of it. So while maybe considering others' needs, I'm also putting my own front and center. Not to make excuses or anything, but hubby places me first in everything himself, and perhaps the expectation of such has imprinted on my psyche over our long years together, as if I'm deserving of such deference. As far as my present attitude, if I'd been "hangry" for proper lovin earlier, now I'm properly fed, so sated and sexually comfortable now that the proverbial itch has been scratched, and scratched again.

I'm therefore capable of a bit of empathy and introspection now, and this leads me to wonder what both men really want. Kink is fun, ( I generally speaking have a fairly naughty mind) the permissible "hall-pass" kink of a married woman having an occasional lover on the side doubly so. It's exciting and naughty, the built-in hazards of the illicit relationship perhaps part of the draw to be honest, but it's also a short-term "scratch that itch" kind of fun. This thing we're potentially working towards requires a more long-term mindset, as in "what's the endgame?"

They're called summer-flings and affairs for a reason, they're ordinarily measured in weeks and months, not twenty years plus of happy matrimony. So, there is no log-term anything associated with them; in other words, raw hot untempered passion, without planning, nor pondered consequences. Generally the only planning is planning not to get caught, but hubby's long established hall-pass has negated that single real-world consequence. We've already had the passion part, (several glorious times in different locals) but now we must sort out how to nurture and grow this crazy thing into something else; something good, healthy, and enduring, hopefully for all three of us. Nothing traditional, relationship wise, but that doesn't mean it's impossible either.

...We have a couple that we know, they're more than acquaintances, but not exactly close friends; Bob and Sheila are their names. Anyway, this couple's married relationship eventually morphed into having the legitimate husband Bob living on his own in a little makeshift basement apartment unit, all while Sheila the wife lives on the top floor with her long-term boyfriend Roy. So nothing traditional in something that at all, but I'm not here to judge either, most especially with what I've had going on myself over the years. It still works for them somehow, they eat meals together more times than not, but good manners prevents us from asking about the more awkward details too though. I can imagine Bob hears quite a bit through the floors though, something "angst-wise" hubby might get off on himself...

"Good morning, how are you?" I text, I'm up early; hubby and all this seriously weighing on my mind. There's still a way this can work going forward, but one of the trio that we three now form will be getting a bit less of a part than the other two. It's still a necessary part, but a bit in the shadows in a supporting role.

"Right back at you!" hubby sends. So far, so good, at least in as much as one can deduce tone and context in text form. I'm the only proverbial game in town, well more accurately Ken and I are, but I'm assuming he's a bit hungry himself for even this limited remote human interaction. He seems upbeat, and I did give him the opportunity to tell me if something was amiss first, but I also have something nagging at me, so I selfishly jump right in while Ken is still sleeping.

"What do you see as the 'end-game' here?" I ask. I'm jumping right in to the meat of the dilemma for me, as I generally like things settled in my life, and this obviously is anything but. I have growing new emotions for Ken, and this presents a complex new problem, but perhaps a new opportunity as well. For a different husband this might be like coldly asking for a divorce, or maybe a trial-separation first via text, but hubby knows that I can't live without him any more than he can live without me, we're lifelong friends, with or without sex. We love each other dearly even without sex, but maybe this is morphing into a slightly different form of love between us. I doubt most eighty year old couples have all that much sex, but they still seem very much in love with each other, so perhaps just a different kind of love like that for us now; providing a vacancy in a part of my heart for Ken's own love to now occupy.

"Like today, or in the next week?" hubby asks. We're just not on the same page here, hubby's being practical, but his immediate "camper" concerns are survival and comfort, and perhaps not getting seen by anybody in the week to come. To be fair this texting nonsense was a bit impersonal for this kind of discussion, and it would be far wiser to have this talk face to face. So it's not his fault that he's handicapped here, not looking into my eyes, hearing my "I need to sort this out now!" tone either. I'm not looking into his eyes either though, so truthfully it was unwise of me to open this difficult discussion under these conditions; but here we are.

"A year, five maybe; where do you see all of us then?" I text.

"Can I call?" he texts, to which I tell him yes, if of course our phones will work together. I'm half-dreading having this particular conversation, but as it turned out that was unnecessary; unconditional love is, after all, without condition.

So the short story is the phones are actually working well enough this morning, just a garbled word here and there, but it's wonderful to hear his voice again; so no projected guilt at all from him. There are a million fond memories associated with that voice and the adventures we've had together, lots of love in that voice of his too, even separated by a thousand miles plus. This is perhaps just another new adventure for us, (or simply a longer version of an adventure we've already had a few times with Ken in the mix) and if it goes as I desire hubby will be there for this one too, but in more of a supporting role this time. He tells me he thought it possible that Ken and I might collectively decide to take things to the next level together, that he and Ken even discussed it hypothetically on the drive up they took together, with the camper in tow.

"Not a divorce" I clarify, to which he concurs. He tells me quite sincerely that he's open to almost anything but that. I hear the full submission, the resignation in his tone telling me he understands this is simply the way things will be. He's perhaps happy for me, even happy for Ken as well, although his tone suggest something else too, something he's not sharing at the moment.

In other words, being alone is the only "big" problem for him here, that his time in the camper has told him that he doesn't want to be on his own when he's old. I tell him that's fair, that I can work with that, as truthfully neither do I. I'll even jump out on a limb here and answer for Ken as well, that all three of us share this singular desire. Ken is on a relationship rebound himself, and our intimate and private discussions tells me being alone is a serious concern for him too, but also that there would be no more marriages for him either. Hubby still needs a purpose though, well a new purpose in this new life really, and he's apparently adjusted to that rather naturally. If he had an ego to feed he'd resent Ken taking proper care of the womanly part of me in his place, forming this additional bond with me too I suppose, but he doesn't, so therefore he apparently doesn't, at least in any way he wished to verbalize...