This is the first part of a two-part recounting of my relationship with two magnificent women - my 'wives'. I wrote the first part several years ago so I wouldn't forget the details of how we met. Part 2 gives an update to our lives and answers many questions people have e-mailed me about our life style and us. If you want some erotic passages they're in here, but not right at the beginning of either part. I could post this under Romance, Incest, Group, Erotic Couplings, or Mature -- all reflect our life style and how we live; I chose the later since I still stand in amazement that a guy my age could keep two young and fascinating women happy. (Edited by Jeriscol. My thanks to him.)
*
I heard someone crying from a distance.
The afternoon had a bite to it, crispness in the air that hadn't been there for months. The sun's rays were more slanted too, as I'd run along on the Boston side of the Charles River. Surprisingly, there were few people out for this beautiful late Friday afternoon. I'd already put in six miles and had another mile to go to get back across the river to where I worked in Cambridge.
But getting there was problematic. Today was what I called "sprint day"; that meant I would run as fast and as hard as I could until my body throbbed in pain, then I'd slow to even a walk until I could again bear the punishment. "No pain, no gain" I kept telling myself. I hadn't done a 'sprint day' in months.
I had just finished the longest sprint yet that afternoon, possibly a quarter mile. I'd pulled up in pain -- a side stitch under my left ribs warning how out of shape I was to be putting my 45-year old body through this kind of torture. I tried to walk it off but the pain persisted. I'd decided lying in the grass and gasping in pain for a few minutes was the best plan of the day when I heard the crying again.
As I lay there panting, I looked around and saw the source of the crying was a young woman by a tree about a hundred feet further off the foot path from me. My first instinct was to leave the poor girl in peace, and so I just lay back and continued gasping for air and massaging my side.
Gradually my body accepted its fate, and my pain subsided. My young friend was still sobbing mightily into a Kleenex. Several other people that went by noticed her too, but left her alone.
Involvement is my middle name. I have to be involved. My ex-wife had often told me that there were some things that were better left alone; she was one of them. My approach was if it were happening, and I saw it, I wanted to be involved, to help, to know the details.
I finally got up and walked across the space that separated us until I was in her view. She continued to cry.
"Can I help? Are you O.K?" I said to her as I tentatively approached and stooped to make eye contact with her.
She looked at me through her tears and sobbed even harder, throwing her face down into her hands as she sat cross-legged on the ground.
She was young, perhaps a college undergrad. She was a light brunette with some pretend blond streaked into her very disorderly locks. She had sneakers, shorts, and a Red Sox sweatshirt on, and had a small pocketbook around her neck. A cell phone lay at her side.
I tried to talk to her again, "I just need to know whether you're O.K. Do you need help for any reason? Are you in pain?"
She looked up at me again through her sobs and somehow managed to haltingly say, "No," sob, "I'm," sob, "O.K," wild sobbing. "My," sob, "boyfriend," sob, "just broke," sob "upwithme."
Wild sobbing again prevailed. I kneeled down about six feet in front of her afraid if I got any closer she'd get a whiff of my body odor, keel over and die. After a minute, when she started to try to get some control over herself, I dared to say a little more.
"You're beautiful; probably more so when your face isn't all screwed up crying. I can introduce you to a dozen guys that would fall all over themselves to be your boyfriend -- probably including me. Whoever tossed you to the curb just doesn't realize what a catch you are. His loss will be someone else's gain. I'd just bet you'll find someone so much better than your ex, you just wait and see."
I paused to see whether the words were having any effect. The crying was dying down, and the sniffling and nose-blowing phase were starting.
She looked over at me, and snuffled out a big "Why?" Then burst in a crying jag again.
I answered, "Guys can be really callous and careless. Sometimes shit just happens. Sometimes I guess it's necessary for guys to get all macho and tell someone we really care about that we don't love them anymore. We push away the thing we love. Maybe it's a statement about our independence from women, or maybe we feel that we're not worthy of being loved by someone as nice as you. Sometimes we rationalize that the other person made us do it too, although they didn't."
She blinked rapidly and dabbed eyes and nose with the shredded remnants of her tissue. Still snuffling she said, "Did you do that?" Her face screwed up again, and she let out a single long sob.
"Yea. I guess I did in some ways. That's how you get to be my age and single again."
"Huh? Oh dear, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry." Sniffle! "I mean you're a stranger. What's your name?"
"I'm Jim Allen. I work over there," and I pointed across the river to a fifteen-story building I spent most of my waking hours in. "And you are?"
"I'm Kim. Kim Windsor. I live back there a couple of blocks," and she gestured over her shoulder towards some of the brownstones on the other side of Storrow Drive in Back Bay.
"Are you in college?" I asked.
She actually smiled through her sorrowful face. "I graduated about five years ago; I just look young." She put her legs straight out in front of her, pulled her sweatshirt from her body and leaned down and wiped her entire face with it. I think she was through crying. She managed one long, loud sigh and took in a huge amount of air then slowly expelled it and shuddered. She was emotionally drained.
"Walk with me," I suggested. "You pick the direction. The act of moving will help you feel better. At least you'll be doing something."
Kim looked up at me with watery eyes and a questioning look. I stepped closer and offered a hand up. She took it and I pulled her to her feet. She gathered her purse and phone.
"I apologize for my sweaty condition. I probably smell like a camel. I'll understand if you want to walk the other way. Just tell me and I'll get lost."
"No. I'll walk with you." She hesitated with a weak smile. "I'd like to talk to someone and not be alone."
We started to walk slowly along the river towards the Half Shell -- the outdoor stage where the Boston Pops gives summer concerts.
"What do you do over there?" Kim asked through some sniffles and pointed towards my office building.
"I run a small design and engineering shop. There are fifty of us. I started it about ten years ago. Somehow we ended up here in Cambridge. The rent was right at the time; we did a long-term lease. I couldn't afford the rates they're charging today. We'll probably have to move the business to the 'burbs in another ten when the lease runs out." I was babbling. She was looking better.