Is This All There Is?
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“What do you want to do, Randi? Do you want to go upstairs and freshen up or do you want to go sit out on the boat dock?”“The boat dock? Was he crazy?” The heat was still oppressive outside, even at 7 in the evening. “I’ll go upstairs.”
“I ran. Into the master bathroom. Man, I looked a mess. Mascara all over my face. My eyes redder than they were when I’d arrived an hour earlier. “Where’s a towel?” I soaked it in cold water and applied it to my face as a compress.
I heard her voice. Isabel was always gracious—and flirtatious—when she interacted with Tank. We’d met her a few weeks earlier With her partner. He’d contacted me online, wanting to learn more about me. I quickly set the record straight that I had a swing partner and wasn’t interested in playing alone. Much to my surprise, he said he had a partner, too.
She asked to chat with me by phone before the four of us met. I thought I’d met a kindred spirit: a jewish woman, a year older than me. Fairly new to the lifestyle with a kink for spanking, not during sex, but beforehand as a stimulant. She’d been the BDSM route and pulled back a bit in favor of swinging.
It was a Friday evening when we all had dinner together at a brewery. The three of them did most of the talking; I chose to sit back and observe the interactions. This was the first meeting with a couple where Tank and I agreed all we’d do is meet—no play.
We met a second time at a meet-and-greet the following Saturday night. She was all over Tank like a wet noodle. And he was into her in a big way. She was getting the sorts of passion kisses I hadn’t had from him in a while. But that’s the life of a swinger—especially when you’re a single. Sometimes your partner is more turned on by newness than by familiarity and what he can have on a regular basis.
Isabel had shown up at his house this evening for a posture assessment. Her body had been wracked with pain for years—sciatica she said—and Tank felt differently—and had offered to see her professionally for free. She’d been without work a long while and had just started a new sales position.
Once I put myself together, I quietly walked down the stairs and sat on the fourth one from the bottom. I watched through the step railings as Tank had her position her body in various ways so he could assess her pain and her multiple problems. She finally saw me.
“You okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
“You don’t look well.”
“I know.”
“We have to get together and play soon—the four of us. I’m sooooo looking forward to it.”
Like I didn’t know. She’d been calling me almost daily to say how much she was looking forward to that opportunity. I remember one day in particular when she called to gush about Tank for 45 minutes. And then called back five minutes later to say how sorry she was not to have mentioned her interest in both of us as a couple.
Before she left, she pulled out her calendar and rattled off dates that she and her partner had available to meet with us. Tank had told her at the meet-and-greet he thought it’d be fun to spend the whole night together as a foursome and have breakfast together in the morning. He agreed to a date a few weekends later. I kept quiet.
After she left, he walked me over to the kitchen table and turned two chairs to face each other. I sat down. So did he. And he held my hands in his. We sat quiet for a few minutes.
“I’m not going to see you any more if you decide to no longer continue our relationship.”
“Well, that’s the problem, Randi. It’s a relationship. That’s now how things got started. You were seeking another swing partner to add to the mix and then things changed. Although I am jealous that you know how you feel.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be. It’s painful to love somebody who doesn’t love you back. I’ve known that for a long time. That’s why I never told you how I felt. Was it ever good?”
“It was great in Palm Springs. Everything was moving along great. Then things changed. I had to focus my attention on my daughter because of what happened on our trip (side note: she’d decided to act out at home and Tank pulled in all the reins on her when he got home). And you wanted more time with me—and I didn’t have it. There were birthdays and high school graduations.”
“But you never asked me out.”
“You never gave me a chance, Randi. Every week you were telling me about a party or who’d written to you to play with us. There was never time for me to ask you out.”
“But you told me to orchestrate everything. I was just doing what you told me to do. And now you’re telling me what I’ve done hasn’t been working. What do you want? You need to tell me. Otherwise, I won’t know what to do.”
“I want us to take a break from swinging. For at least a month.”
“What about us? Do you want a break from us too? I told you a long time ago that if ‘we’ don’t find ourselves going forward as a couple, I will disappear. I don’t think I could be your friend given how I feel about you. It would be too hard for me emotionally.” (But truth be told, I didn’t fully understand why this was so important to me. I just knew it was.)
“I want to see you. But I want us to stop having sex. It’s too much. I need to figure out how I feel about you. Without the physical stuff.”
“So what are you saying? You want to press the reset button? What do we call ourselves?”
“Well, I’m not planning to see anyone else so I would be dating you exclusively. So I guess you’d be my girlfriend. Does that work for you?”
“Yes, only we also need to talk about the rules. What I can and can’t do. I’m not going to call you anymore. If you want to see me, you’ll need to call me. And we need to recalibrate regularly so we know if things are going okay. The airline ticket I gave you for the end of September. It’s yours no matter what. I just need to know if you plan on using it with me. I got us a hotel room and things would change for the bat mitzvah we are to attend if you don’t come with me.”
“I need space, Randi. And I need to make sure that my brain, my heart and my physical reactions match. Right now, this (he pointed to his head) isn’t connecting with you.”
I was devastated. He knew how much I prized an intellectual—a brain connection. I felt like a dagger had pierced my heart.
“I understand. But there’s more. God told me to ask you why you’re sabotaging this relationship. Every time things get good, you back away. And your daughter—there are ways you interact with her that are more like interacting with a significant other than a daughter. Sometimes you talk baby talk to her and she pulls hairs out of your back. Those are more intimate acts. I know the two of you have been alone a long time, but I need you to reflect on these things.”
“I need to think about this. You’re telling me things I haven’t thought about.”
I left Tank’s home that evening, not knowing exactly when I’d hear from him again. Whatever lesson I needed to learn had been set in motion.
I Talked to God: Who Did You Speak With?
By · Comments“How are you?”
“Uhmmm, I’m a bit nervous.”
“How come?”
“I think you broke up with me over the phone on Monday and Tuesday night. I’m not quite sure what to say or how to act. I don’t even know why I’m here.”
I don’t recall the lengthy conversations we’d had prior to this moment. My mind has this ability to forget difficult moments. It’s a habit I picked up with my first husband—to live through the pain of being hit repeatedly.
He sat down next to me and I started to sob. Not small tears. Crocodile tears. And I began to shake. Uncontrollably. 
How did this happen? How did the amazing connection we had get reduced to this moment?
I couldn’t breathe, I’d been crying for close to 72 hours and my sinuses were swollen and inflamed. I looked towards the ceiling, a technique I’d learned from a colleague. A way to stop tears. Try it sometime. It works—until you look down again.
My brain engaged again when I heard:
“I called Lyzette. We talked for two and a half hours. She said the easy way out would be to break up with you. But I said, ‘Lyzette, When have you ever taken the easy way out?’”
I lost it. I mean really lost it. I stood up. Ran to get my purse and keys, turned around and screamed.
“I don’t care how good a friend she is. How dare you talk to her about our issues without talking to me about how you truly feel. I called no one. Not a soul. None of my friends. Not even my sister … I talked G-d. And you say you’re a spiritual man. How dare you do this to me. That’s it. I’m done. Damn it. Take the easy way out. ”
Tank’s face turned pale. He got up from the sofa and walked towards me. He took the purse from my hand and set it on the floor. Softly, he said:
“What did God say?”
“He said, ‘If you were to die tomorrow, what would I regret not having told you?’” (What I couldn’t admit was that this question was one that Tank was to answer about me. What would he regret not having told me if I were to die tomorrow.)
“And, what would that be?”
I put one hand on each side of his face and said for the first time, “I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment we met. I can’t explain it. It just is.”
“You know I don’t feel that way about you. And it bothers me. I should know. After six months I should know. I tried to tell you months ago how difficult this is for me.”
At that very instant, the doorbell rang. She’d arrived.
(to be continued)
Where Does Fun Go to Die?
By · Comments
I’m a Leo. A flaming Leo. The descriptions associated with this astrology sign fit me like a glove. Each week I receive an e-mail from Rob Brezsny, Free Will Astrology, with a weekly horoscope that runs from Thursday to Thursday. I’ve always found them to be exactly what I’ve needed to hear, and have even used them as triggers for chapter titles in books I’ve written and as idea starters for articles.
On June 23rd, I received this horoscope for the week starting with June 24th.
Each year, Playboy magazine publishes a list of the best colleges to go to if you prefer partying to studying. In its recent rankings, a top spot went to the University of Wisconsin, which was dubbed “the best beer-drinking school in the country.” As a counterpoint to this helpful information, HuffingtonPost.com offered a compendium of the best anti-party schools. Brigham Young got favorable mention since it has a policy forbidding students from drinking, smoking, and having sex. The University of Chicago was also highly regarded, being “the place where fun goes to die.” For the next three weeks, Leo, I recommend that you opt for environments that resemble the latter more than the former. It’s time for you to get way down to business, cull the activities that distract you from your main purpose, and cultivate a hell of a lot of gravitas.
It stopped me in my tracks. Not so much because I’m an alumna of UW Madison, best party school in the nation, but because I felt like this message had started back in May.
So many things have happened that have “sucked the fun out of my life.” Not being one to write about sad or horribly disappointing situations, I’ve sat on my hands for weeks. Waiting for things to change.
But, I’m afraid they haven’t. Not in the way I would have liked. And, given this horoscope, I’m not expecting the clouds to part any time soon. So, with this note, I’ve committed myself to writing here again. I’ll start with the latest Peyton Place episode (look it up if this doesn’t resonate with you). And then I’ll go backwards and forwards as the situation demands.
Hang I there with me okay? I guarantee the experiences I’ve had aren’t dull. They just don’t make my heart sing.
I’m Back … and Here’s What Happened
By · CommentsI did as I promised in my last post. I put the bad girl to sleep and slipped into good girl mode to meet Tank’s family.
It was nothing like I’d expected based on my past experiences. Tank’s daughter gave me a big hug when she greeted me. She’s a joy to chat with—a bright, cute, energetic young woman. Very petite. I could feel her bones as I embraced her.
It didn’t surprise me that she’s very protective of her father. That came out loud and clear as the three of us chatted before dinner. And as she watched his behavior with me at the restaurant. Her concern is palpable. She wasn’t shy about expressing her views about his health and wellbeing.
All the stress I went through trying to decide what to wear and how to look wasn’t worth it in the end. There’s no false pretense with these folks. Only, I really didn’t get to know them—or them know me. The way the seating occurred when we dined is that Tank and I were at the end of the 12-person table that housed his daughter and her cousins, ranging in age from 10 to 18.
So it was only as we were leaving the place that I had a direct question asked of me by his father as we walked to our respective cars in the parking lot:
“What do you do?”
“Well, that depends on the time of the day, the day of the week, and the month of the year.”
“So what will you be doing next week?”
“I’ll be speaking in front of a thousand people. And selling books.”
“Has my son seen your books?”
“Nope. He hasn’t asked me about them.”
“He won’t. I suggest you give him a copy of your latest book and assign a couple of chapters of reading, followed by a test.”
Of all the things I could “test” Tank on, my last book wasn’t at the top of the list in my mind!
We drove back to Tank’s house. I stayed till midnight, then drove myself home, anticipating the fun we’d have Saturday night at a swing party with my friends. On Saturday morning, while still in slumber mode, I found myself scratching my legs. When I looked at them, I noticed a few red marks where my nails had been. So I decided to get up and take a closer look. That’s when I noticed the hives on my stomach and my breasts. When I turned around, I realized they were all over my back, my ass, and my upper legs.
Crap. Where did they come from? I was taking antibiotics for my sinus infection. But it had been a week already. And the hives had just shown up. Ah. I bet it was the newborn kitties. Tank’s sister’s cat had had four babies and I’d held two of them and snuggled them close to my body and my face at her home before we’d gone out to eat.
I immediately called the pharmacy. That’s when I learned it would take at least three days for them to subside—that’s if I took Benadryl every four hours. I fired off a text message to Tank.
“I have hives. From the kitties. I’m going to get drugs.”
“Maybe we should cancel tonite. You should rest. You have a big week ahead of you. Why don’t you see if we can meet your friends for drinks and dinner instead.”
Cancel? Cancel going to a party? No way! I’d been waiting for weeks for this party.
I looked at myself in the mirror again. He was right. There was no way I could bare my skin looking the way I did. Even with the lights down low, someone was sure to feel all the bumps on my skin.
So I wrote the host a note and sent our regrets. And proceeded to call my friends to see if we could alter our evening plans. Which they all agreed to do.
And then I sat down and laughed. Never in a million years have I had something like this happen upon meeting a man’s family. What a memory to behold.
Here it is, a week, later, and the vestiges of my hives are still visible on my ankles and feet. The result of wearing hosiery for four consecutive days. With my St. John knit dresses and skirts. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Wearing four inch heels and showing a little leg as a speaker goes a long way in getting high marks from a mostly male audience.
That reminds me. I need to go take some more pills :) Tank and I are meeting a couple for lunch tomorrow. And there’s a chance I might be back at his sister’s home this evening!
Take a Walk on the Wild Side
By · CommentsTank and I’ve been chatting about it for a couple weeks. How and when to cross the line from the private world we’ve created for ourselves into the vanilla part of our lives. My memory is fuzzy on the specifics. But somehow, somewhere we started talking about the possibility of having me meeting his daughter.
It may have begun with the sandals I left at his home a few weeks ago. His daughter was enchanted by them. Thought maybe they were for her. So I know they talked about me. I didn’t ask what they discussed. It just didn’t seem to be all that important.
And then I had my epiphany. On my daily walk. I get these very strong intuitions. About people. Situations. What I need to do. They’ve compelled me to act all my life.
I thought, “Wouldn’t it be cool if I could find the exact same sandals for his daughter and pair them with a journal as a gift?” This month, not only does she graduate from high school but she also turns 18. And I know from her dad that she likes to write. So, I came up with this idea of giving her a new set of shoes for the next part of her journey—the journal is for her to capture memorable moments walking in them.
I told her dad my idea on the phone. He actually liked it. Liked it so much that he told her about it. Now, I must tell you I was taken aback just a bit about the disclosure. In my world, gifts are meant to be a surprise.
And then he told me why. He wanted to find a way for her to ask to meet me. Which she did. She said she couldn’t accept a gift from someone she hadn’t met. Which gave him the entrée to say he could solve that problem. So we scheduled a dinner for this evening. Just the three of us.
Only, things changed yesterday. I learned about it when Tank and I connected late in the afternoon.
“Tomorrow night . . . it’s going to be more like trial by fire.”
“What do you mean, Tank?”
“Well, it’s my nephew’s birthday. And everyone is getting together for dinner.”
“What do you mean, everyone?”
“My parents, my sister and her roommate, me and my daughter, my brother and his family. And you.”
And me. Me. The woman who hasn’t met a guy’s family in eons. Truth be told, I’ve only met the kids and family connected to three men that I’ve dated in the last 11 years—the last encounter being five years ago.
This change made dressing for a house party or the gangbang seem like child’s play. Last night I tore my closet apart, trying to find just the right outfit for that first impression. And here it is, Friday morning, and I still haven’t made that decision. Which means I haven’t decided what color eye shadow would look best (or whether to wear any at all) or what shoes to wear or what jewelry to put on. And a million other items ….
I’m very mindful of the fact that the bad girl side of me needs to go dormant for the rest of today. And that the good girl needs to come forward. Wish me luck, eh? And I promise to tell you all after I take a walk on the wild side!
Welcome to Randi Buckmen's adventures in intimacy—beyond the world of sex. Hear how I’m embracing the possibilities of what can be while remaining a “good girl” in the public’s eye. How did I go from being celibate for three years—and wearing flannel pj's to bed with socks when I was married—to where I am today?
