Starting Over

This is the fourth in a series of chapters about a widow and a widower who meet and are trying to rebuild their lives. It will work a lot better if you have read the prior chapters.

Dinner was Pasta Alfredo, a tossed green salad, and a good bottle of Sonoma Coast Pinot Noir. We ate in the nude on my back porch, not something I usually do, but the lady requested it. Who was I to object? When Britt came down the stairs she was scrubbed clean from the shower and, as she promised, naked. Her long blonde hair was freshly washed and combed out so it hung down her back well below her shoulders. I poured a glass of wine for each of us and then served the plates from the kitchen, discarding my apron on the way so I was as naked as she.

I had no idea where her head would be at now. We had just had an hour of intense sex, after which she told me that I was a better lover than her late husband Doug. That admission was traumatic. By the time we finished she was bawling miserably and covered in a messy mixture of running mascara and my cum.

"Feeling better?" I asked.

"Yes." She took a sip of her wine and then said, "I need to explain."

"About Doug?"

"Yes."

"Let me see. I think you already told me he was one of those golden people who is charismatic, beautiful, sexually aggressive, intelligent, and can and did seduce any woman (or man) he met if he felt like it, which he frequently did. Right?" I took a sip of my wine. "Oh and you were in love with him. Have I got it all?"

"More or less. But the relationship was complicated. He didn't treat me like the others. If he seduced a woman he made sure the sex was great for her and then he let her down easy. 'My time with you was fantastic,' he would tell them, 'but it can't continue because I'm married'."

She shook her head. "I was his excuse."

"I see."

"But there was more. I was... what do you men call it... I was his 'wingman'."

"Oh."

"That meant that I helped him seduce others, mostly women. And he did the same for me. He would pick out men, or women, he thought I should have, and then help me seduce them."

"Doug selected your lovers?"

"Yes, most of the time and if he didn't select them he always approved them, but it wasn't reciprocal. He always picked his own and I had nothing to say about his choice."

"A little domineering," I said.

"Yes. But there was more than that. Being his 'wingman' also meant we were in competition. He expected me to seduce the men or women he selected or approved and then shed them using the same excuse as he did. Afterwards we would compare notes. How good were our conquests: did he have a big cock; did she have sexy tits; could he cum more than once in a fuck session; was she multi-orgasmic; how good was he or she at oral sex. It went on and on. I swear, 'Somewhere in his head he had a check list'." She shook her head and then drank more wine, emptying her glass. I refilled it.

"After we compared notes about the evening's lovers there was always the big question: 'Was he or she better than me?' Each of us

always

answered, 'No'. That of course meant, 'No, you're still the best lover I've ever had.' Then we would make love. Not like you and Ellen. It was more like what we did upstairs tonight."

"You mean fucking," I said.

"Yes. Exactly.... Exactly like what we did upstairs tonight."

"Did you ever lie? I mean about whether others were better? Were there men who were better lovers than Doug?"

She laughed. "Of course and I'm sure he lied too. But neither of us ever admitted it, not even when he was lying on his death bed with cancer. He was always the best and I was always the best."

"Oh. I don't know what to think about that."

"I do. It was fucking stupid," Britt said. "We were so wrapped into ourselves that we couldn't admit that there was anyone who was better than we were and we had to go out and prove it again and again. We had the looks, we had the money, we had the brains, we had the credentials. He was a Stanford MBA and I was Stanford Med School psychiatric doc. We were the golden couple."

"And after he died?"

She laughed and took a long drink of wine. Then she shook her head and paused as though in deep thought. "We weren't perfect were we? We weren't the best anymore. He was dead and I was... I was..." she shook her head and stared at the floor.

"I was lost. Yes, is I guess is the best way to say it. I was lost."

"And where are you now?" I asked.

"I'm finding myself. It's slow, but I'm finding myself,... and you're helping."

"And do you like what you are finding?"

"Ooh. That's a hard question. You ask hard questions Dave Chandler. Let me eat some of this Alfredo you prepared and think about that one."

We ate, in silence at first, and then with off the subject chit chat avoiding the topic left hanging from before the meal started.

When we finished, she said, "Yes, I think so."

"You mean you want more wine?" I asked. We had been debating whether to open another bottle.

Britt laughed. "Oh that too, but I was answering your question about whether I liked who I was becoming. Remember? From an hour ago."

"Oh yes. That question. Let me get another bottle of wine. We'll need it if we are going to talk about that question."

"I agree. Get the wine," she responded.

When I returned, I opened the bottle and poured us each a glass and then sat down and said, "So tell me what you are learning about yourself. What are you becoming?"

"Well first I have to tell you, tonight isn't it. That is not what I am becoming. That is not what I want to be. I ran away from that. I became celibate for three years to avoid that. That was what I used to do with Doug, except there was no emotion. We just fucked each other for all we were worth. Just like I kept telling you to do tonight. And the whole point of it was to make sure that we were better than someone else our spouse had been screwing. But if it wasn't better, we sure as hell weren't going to admit it like I did tonight. Neither one of us was going to show any weakness on that issue. We were the best, the absolute, fucking, best.... "Damn it," she finished with tears rolling down her face.

"But you weren't of course," I said.

"No we weren't. We weren't the best. Not at all. But even if we didn't believe it, we weren't going to admit it."

"Did you ever think about sex with someone else while you were screwing Doug?"

She laughed. "Of course. Doesn't everyone. Didn't you when you were with Ellen?

I smiled. "Yes. I think you're right. Everyone does that." I was silent for a while thinking about my sex life with Ellen.

"So what happened tonight?" I asked Britt.

"That was it. I admitted it. You were better than Doug. That's what the catharsis was about. I've finally admitted it to myself. Doug wasn't the best lover and neither was I. It was all bullshit."

"That's pretty significant. At least it sounds that way to me. But I'm just a Fresno State English major, so what do I know. You're the shrink."

"Don't call me that. That was the old me. I don't do that anymore."

"Okay." I paused and took a drink of the wine. "What about your couples counseling?"

"That's different. I'm just helping people apply common sense to relationships. Helping them learn to accept each other for what they are, not what they want each other to be. I used to be the doc you sent your loved one to, or the police sent the homeless guy to, when he was so fucked up no one could even begin to communicate with him, or so fucked up she couldn't even communicate with herself. Mostly there was little hope for those people, but everyone thought I could do it. I was a fucking fraud. I tried some drugs and maybe some electroshock and when it didn't work we locked them up, or put them out on the street again, or sent them home with a tag that said, 'make sure she takes her meds.' But I always had an excuse because... after all I was perfect."

"I think you are being a bit hard on yourself, your old self that is. And what you are doing today sounds a lot like what you've been trying to do on your own for your and your late husband's relationship."

She smiled and drank more wine. Shaking her head, she said, "Yes, I guess you could say that. You would think it would be easier when the really obsessive half of the partnership is gone."

"Was he? Was he the most obsessive half of the partnership?"

"Oh fuck. I don't know." She was crying again. "Maybe it was me. That's what Ingrid's been telling me for three years now. She says Doug was a narcissistic asshole and I was just a bright young girl from Minnesota who was so in love with him, so obsessed with his charisma, I couldn't let go."

"Maybe," I said. "I didn't know Doug. From what you tell me, I wouldn't have liked him. I don't like people with egos like that."

Before she could speak, I continued, "But I do know you, or at least I am starting to, and I think Ingrid is right. You're just a bright young girl from Minnesota who fell in love with an asshole and couldn't let go when you realized where you were."

"And another thought," I continued. "I suspect you might have been satisfied with your old job if you hadn't been living with an asshole who was demanding perfection. Impossible and difficult jobs don't demand perfection. They demand humility."

"Young," she said through her tears. "I'm 48. Look at me. I'm 25 pounds over my senior cheerleading weight. I've screwed more men and women over the last 25 years than I can count, including my sister. No I'm not an innocent young girl from Minnesota anymore."

"And I'm not the innocent young kid from Modesto who married his high school sweetheart. I lived for twenty plus years in a passionless marriage and then watched my love slowly die in a coma. I lived for years in a nearby one bedroom budget rental and watched porn, that's when I wasn't working at a job that bored me, or watching my wife slowly, very slowly, dying. We're both in our late forties Britt and we've been living our lives and had experiences that made us what we are today which is a long way from what we were when we left home.

"But now," I said. "We are both starting over. Yes we have baggage we've accumulated, but we have an opportunity to grow and change and take what we learned from the baggage and use what was good and outgrow the rest."

"That's quite a speech Dave. "Were you your high school Valedictorian?"

I laughed, ignoring her sarcasm. "Not even close. Even getting into Fresno State College was a reach for me."

She refilled my wine glass and said, "Okay Dave, I've told you my baggage, at least the serious part. Now why don't you tell me yours. What part of your old life do you not want to go back too?"

"Oh you ask hard questions Britt Torkleson. If we are going there I think I will need some of that dope your Napa friends grow. That question is going to require me to put aside some serious inhibitions. Also it's getting cold out here. The fog is rolling in. We are either going to have to put clothes on or go inside."

Once inside we curled up on a couch, still naked but wrapped snugly in a blanket, while we shared a joint that Freya had left behind. It wasn't long before we were both more than a little stoned.

"All right Dave Chandler, I've pretty much told you what I would do differently if I had my life to live over. What about you?"

"Wow. That's hard," I said. I had some ideas spinning around in my head but beneath it all was a big one that I wasn't sure I wanted to admit to myself, much less confess to Britt. I took another hit on the joint and then said, "Fuck it. Here goes."

Without waiting or thinking anymore I just spit it out: "Britt, if I had it all to do over, I wouldn't have married Ellen."

She looked at me in silence for a moment and then said, "You mean because you had to spend several years watching her slowly waste away in a coma?"

"Well there was that, for sure. And no shit. Watching someone you love slowly die. That's a special level of hell I wouldn't wish on anyone."

"But no. That's not it. Not really. Ellen and I were in love. But our life was incomplete. There was no passion."

"You mean the sex was no good. Right?" Britt was stoned enough so that she wasn't going to pull any punches. "You just wanted a better lay?"

"No." I said. "No, not while we were married and living together. Damn it. this is hard." I paused. "See Ellen and I got married because... well shit, I don't know... because it seemed like the thing to do. It wasn't because we couldn't live without each other. It was more like we had been together for so long it never occurred to us we could live without each other. Our lack of passion was as much my fault as Ellen's. We didn't know any better. We had grown up together and taken our parents word that sex was not something to be pursued. So we didn't."

"Yeah sure I watched a lot of porn and I even wrote it while Ellen was in the hospital. But that's not the same as a real relationship with passion. When I listen to you describe your relationship with Doug, abusive as it was, I can see that there was a whole world that Ellen and I missed out on. If I haven't learned anything else from the time I've spent with you and Freya over the last month it is that sex, and by that I mean real sex with real people, not what you see in a porn video, is fun. Yes, sex, done right is exciting, scary, exhilarating and just plain fucking fun. And I missed out on all of that with Ellen."

"Okay," she said. "So what do you intend to do now—now that you are starting over. Are you going to go out and see how any women you can fuck?"

"No." I laughed "That is the body count theory of sex. That was Doug. That's not the me I am trying to create. I don't pretend to have it all figured out yet, but I'm sure that my life going forward is going to involve plenty of sex. Sex with real people. It's just too good to leave out."

"Hmmmm. Sounds pretty healthy," she said.

I sat in silence.

"What about perversions?" she asked.

"Perversions?"

"Yeah, you know like watching Freya masturbating through a hole in the fence, while you stroked your cock to a climax. Most people consider a peeping tom to be perverted."

I laughed. "Okay, I admit I enjoyed that. Are there other perversions I might like?"

Britt laughed. "My dear, you have no idea. The list I hear from my patients goes on and on. Like being obsessed with the color of the polish on a woman's toe nails. Freya has a couple of friends like that. If you're open to it, there is a whole new world for you to explore."

I shrugged. "I'm starting over. I'll just have to see where it goes."

"Good," she said. "Maybe I can help. I can be pretty perverted myself. But right now, I'm tired and what I would like to do is go upstairs with you, crawl under the blankets in that big bed upstairs and sleep with you curled up against my back while the cold fog rolls in the windows."

"That's not perverted," I said, "but it sounds really good right now."

So we did.

In the morning Britt was her usual cheery self and we returned to the relationship we had developed over the last few weeks—her sleeping over every night and some form of sex most nights or the next morning. For the most part our sex was what I had come to think of as straightforward. A bit of foreplay, followed by either oral sex or just good traditional fucking or some of both. Nothing I would think of as kinky or perverted. Well nothing I would have thought of that way now. Compared to my prior sex life with Ellen, Britt and I were doing things Ellen and I wouldn't even discuss, much less engage in. I didn't give it much thought. I was just enjoying myself.

Perhaps a month had gone by when Britt told me over breakfast that she would be bringing company to dinner. Since she had a full slate of clients scheduled for the day she asked that I plan dinner for three instead of our usual two.

"Sure no problem. Who is joining us."

She smiled. "You'll see. It's a surprise. Make the dinner a light meal. Perhaps we'll go out later."

When Britt returned about 5:30 I was in the kitchen puttering about with a light meal which would be composed of grilled vegetables, a lovely Acme baguette, and a good bottle of her friends garage cab. As I heard her coming in I was thinking about how much I enjoyed the cab her friends brewed up in their garage. Well it wasn't really their garage. It was a shed out behind their house.

When I heard her entering the kitchen I found myself facing not one but two middle aged Scandinavian beauties. At first I thought the second woman was Freya, but I knew I was wrong immediately when I saw that the tall blonde standing next to Britt was dressed in the same conservative fashion as Britt—knee length skirt, white blouse, modest heels, long blonde hair piled atop her head, and simplified make-up. Very professional looking, but not Britt's twin by any means.

"Dave, this is my friend Ingrid. Ingrid this is Dave. Ingrid and I were psychiatric residents together. She also does couples counseling now, like me." Ingrid smiled and stepped forward holding out her hand. I reached out and gripped her hand at which point she pulled me forward into an embrace. She smelled delicious and I could feel a generous pair of breasts pressed firmly against my chest.

"Oh yes Britt," she said. "He's every bit as handsome as you said." She released me and stepped back just enough so I wasn't smashed against her chest. Looking up into my eyes she said, "Dave, Britt and I have both had a full hard day of dealing with sex averse patients." I heard Britt laugh. "And she tells me Dave that you make a great gin and tonic. Can you do that and perhaps show me the G&T Deck she has been telling me about." I noticed that unlike Britt, who had been raised in Minnesota, Ingrid had just a hint of a Swedish accent. It made her voice sound lovely.

"Absolutely," I said. "I was just about to grill vegetables for dinner, but there is no rush on that. Britt, can you take Ingrid upstairs and I will bring the drinks up in a moment." As they walked from the room I couldn't help but notice Ingrid's broad hips—so much like Britt's and so tasty looking.

A few minutes later I walked out onto the deck outside my bedroom to find the two women seated in Adirondack chairs enjoying the view of San Francisco Bay. They had both let their hair down. I noticed that Ingrid's hair had just a bit of red in it that Britt's lacked. Beautiful hair, lovely accent, I thought. Britt was unwrapping a package of the marijuana candies she got from her friends in Napa. As I set the drinks down I said, "Britt it must have been a tough day. You are breaking out the relationship heavy artillery."

She giggled in a way that made me wonder if she had already indulged in some cannabis. "Yes it was a difficult day, wasn't it Ingrid? Oh but let me have that drink. This candy is for you Dave, so you can catch up with us."

"I see," I said, as I sat down. I took a sip from my drink and then chewed up the candy.

"Yes Dave," Ingrid said, "We had such a difficult consultation about one of Britt's patients that we just had to have a bit of her candy. Sometimes it just makes things clearer." She was looking at me a bit like a spider eyeing a fly caught in its web.

"Hmmm." I took another sip of my gin. "And are you two going to tell me about this difficult patient or will this violate your ethical standards?"

"Dave," Britt said. "The patient we were talking about was you."

"Oh, I didn't know I was a patient?"

"Well you aren't," Ingrid said, "but after we got a bit stoned Britt told me a lot about you. So I feel like I know you like a patient." Both women giggled. They sounded very stoned.

"And what did Britt tell you about me." I was thinking the worst, knowing that once Britt got high she couldn't keep secrets.