Tara & Steve: A Tale of Swingers

by August MacGregor

  Tara had already reached that point of not being thrilled. Would I reach that point someday? I pictured myself as Kiefer, middle-aged and still a swinger. If that was me, then Tara wouldn’t be there, since she was ready to leave Strathmore behind. I might be alone—or I might be with someone else, a woman who was fine with living that lifestyle.

  Then there was the alternative. I could stay with Tara, marry her, and we would become one of those older couples strolling by the beach. Just like the younger folks, we’d be there to enjoy the sunshine and ocean. Of course, I’d still enjoy seeing the bikini ladies. But Tara and I would be bathing in our love. Walking while holding hands. Or sitting on a bench, side by side, and not having to talk, but simply smiling at the ocean.

  That vision of us struck me. I wanted to be one of those couples. With Tara. I couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone else. Not with Julie, Betty, Claire, any friend, or any co-worker. No other woman that I knew. Just Tara. Only Tara.

  I also realized that I didn’t want to fuck just any hottie for years and years. Sure, it was fun now. But I didn’t want to become Kiefer. He chose that lifestyle and was staying with it. But I didn’t want that when I became his age. Even if Tara stayed with me, and she became my Tiffany.

  Sitting there on South Beach, hearing the people talking and a guy playing acoustic guitar at a restaurant, I discovered that I wanted a life with Tara much more than I wanted a life at Strathmore.

  So, I went ring shopping in a jewelry store. The lovely woman helping me was named Melanie. She introduced herself with a firm handshake and a bright, toothy smile. Middle-aged and a lot of make-up. Sweet and eager to help me, saying, “If you have any questions, just let me know. Consider me a guide in this beautiful territory.”

  Yes, the jewelry was beautiful. And it was hard as hell to choose a ring that I thought Tara was going to like.

  While I looked at the many rings in the jewelry cases, I thought about how Tara was going to look when she reached Melanie’s age. I hoped that she wasn’t going to put on as much make-up. Tara didn’t put tons of make-up on her face, and hopefully that wasn’t going to change.

  Loads of make-up didn’t seem to be a necessary part of aging for women. The middle-aged women at Strathmore didn’t lay it on thick. They seemed to just put on natural-looking make-up. And some of the older women in the couples at South Beach didn’t plaster it on, either.

  Was I going to be aroused by Tara when she was middle-aged? Of course, I couldn’t get in a time machine and find out how she was going to look when she got to that point. But I knew that I loved and lusted for her now, and I didn’t see that changing.

  I realized that people change. They don’t always stay static. Hell, Tara’s opinion of Strathmore changed. It happened. I was going to change, too. I was going to reach middle-age like Melanie in the jewelry store—and I was going to be older, like the guys at South Beach. As I envisioned myself at each of those stages, I saw Tara by my side.

  That’s when I knew I was ready to take the plunge.

  I decided on a simple engagement ring. Not like the rings on Melanie’s fingers that had lots of stones and glittered like mini disco balls. Tara wasn’t like that. She was more about simplicity in how she dressed, how she faced the world.

  The ring had a single diamond in the middle, with a smaller sapphire on either side of it. The sapphires reminded me of the ocean and Tara’s eyes. I thought that the two sapphires symbolized Tara and me. Together, we were the diamond. Sure, that sounded corny as the thought occurred to me in the jewelry store, but I liked it. I liked that we were stronger and brighter together.

  Also corny. But it felt beautiful and right.

  *****

  My nerves soothed as we took off our shoes, and my bare feet touched the cool sand.

  Maybe it was the wine at dinner that helped calm me. Or maybe it was that we finally left the restaurant—when all during dinner, I had kept fingering the little box in my pocket, worried that it had fallen out, dropped to the floor, and another customer was going to pick it up and keep it.

  Or maybe it was the ocean that soothed me.

  We were on South Beach, where I had those two meditative trips and made the realization that I wanted to be with Tara through the rest of our years. It was the only place I thought of for this special moment.

  So it was probably the place, with the sand and waves and water that stretched for seemingly forever, to the line of the horizon. But you knew full well that it kept going far beyond that. Into forever.

  We weren’t going to stay young and wild forever. I wanted to hold on tight to my love for Tara forever, through all the changes and challenges we were going to go through. And I hoped that her love for me was going to do the same.

  Hand in hand, we walked down to the waves rolling in, and we turned to keep the ocean at our side. Like a good friend, it whispered gentle encouragement and comfort in our ears. The moon was a sliver up there in the darkness. It would’ve been more romantic to have a full moon, but you can’t order up that kind of thing. At least it wasn’t raining.

  I figured Tara was suspicious about my mission for having a date at South Beach, and then suggesting a walk along the beach. It wasn’t something we frequently do. Sure, we went out to restaurants on dates—but we typically didn’t head to South Beach, as other places were more convenient.

  But convenience wasn’t important in my plans for proposing. I wanted the setting to fit us. Not just me, with the beach helping clear my head for the big decision. But for both of us. The beach, the ocean, was deeply powerful for us, a source that lifted our spirits. So it had to be done next to the ocean.

  And the proposal simply had to be done. I was more convinced of that than any other decision I had ever made.

  I dropped my shoes. I let go of her hand. Simultaneously, I pulled out the little felt box and dropped to my one knee. The same position I’d assumed back in our apartment, when I first proposed to her.

  As with back then, Tara’s eyes widened. Staring at me, at the box in my palm as I raised it.

  “No,” she said before I could utter a word. “Not like that.”

  I stared back as she smoothed her hand down her dress and lowered to both her knees. A near mirror image to me. Reflexively, I pulled in my forward leg, so that we became a better reflection. Now, both of us fully knelt and faced each other.

  “Like this,” she said. “Equals.”

  I loved her even more for saying that. For fighting back against the knight in shining armor down on one knee and offering his heart and a sparkling treasure taken from the dragon. For meeting me eye to eye.

  “I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” I said softly. “Maybe that’s what everybody says, but that’s how I feel. I want to wake up every morning and see you there. I want to talk with you at dinner about how our day went. I want to be with you through whatever else happens in our lives, good or bad. I want to be there for you. And I want you to be there for me. You know me better than anyone else. I’ve told you things that I’ve never told anyone else. You’re my best friend and my lover, and I want you to be those things for as long as I live.”

  Her eyebrows knitted up, and her eyes were glassy, twinkling in the dim light from the sliver of moon. She looked at me for a couple of heartbeats, and a thin line of wetness appeared on her cheek, also twinkling.

  “You’ve given it a lot of thought,” she said. “And you really, truly mean all of that.”

  It wasn’t said as a question, but I wasn’t sure, so I gave her an answer anyway: “Yes. I do.”

  Her arms spread like an angel, and she embraced me. Her moist cheek touched my cheek. Then her hands were on my cheeks, and she kissed me. Deeply, lovingly, trying to flow all of her emotions into me through her lips. Mission accomplished.

  We kissed and kissed as the waves rolled in and caressed the sand. As the moonlight tickled the ceaseless water. As other walkers passed us and giggled.


  Finally, after wondrous kissing, we left the beach. When the sand changed to the concrete of the sidewalk, I pointed to a bench and told Tara about coming here to South Beach and seeing an older couple and wanting us to be that couple.

  “But,” I said, “that’s not for a long time, of course.”

  She gave me the same expression as during the proposal, with her eyes glassy and her eyebrows knitted. “That’s the most romantic, loving thing I’ve ever heard.” She kissed me again, another long one. “Except for what you said on the beach. That was the most romantic thing. I love you so fucking much.”

  “And I love you so fucking much,” I said.

  We went home and made love. Glorious, blissful lovemaking. Doing with our bodies what our lips had done on the beach. Moving with our emotions. Sharing, giving, loving. Just us, and not a sea of bodies at Strathmore. Just the two of us in our home, and not in a swingers’ paradise. And I loved it immensely. Making love with Tara felt deeply, profoundly right.

  Afterward, I said, “You’re enough for me. I hope I just showed that to you.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, her eyes twinkling. “Yes, you did.”

  *****

  “I’ve got to say, bud, I’m surprised. I thought you guys were going to hang around a lot longer.”

  Kiefer looked more disappointed than surprised. I supposed he was surprised when I first told him, over the phone, that Tara and I weren’t coming to Strathmore any longer. But now, as he and Tiffany were taking us out to lunch, that shock seemed to have changed into being let down about our decision.

  The four of us had met at the restaurant, exchanged hugs, and walked to our table. We went over the usual pleasantries of “How are you doing?” until our white wine was delivered, and then Kiefer got down the reason why we were there. He had insisted we go out for lunch to talk about Tara and I choosing to end our membership in the club.

  Kiefer started it off by saying how he was surprised, and how he thought we were going to stay at the club a lot longer.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “but we’ve decided to move on. We’re engaged now. We gave it lots and lots of thought, and we’re ready to move on from the club.”

  “Oh, don’t get us wrong,” Tiffany said. “We’re not trying to change your mind or anything.”

  Chuckling, Kiefer replied, “Well, I am, actually. I want to change your mind. You guys seem perfect for the club. Everybody loves you there. And you always look so happy when you’re there. Did I get that wrong, somehow?”

  “No,” I said. “Not at all. We were really happy there. I mean, we did stuff there that completely blew us away. I’m still blown away by it all.”

  “Tara, what about you?” Tiffany asked. She was leaning forward, and her voice was gentle.

  Tara blinked. “I was really happy there, it’s true. Like Steve said. I had experiences there that made me … that made my sexual spirit sing. And sing loudly.”

  I’ll say. She had certainly been singing loudly when we were at the bungalow, and the guy sitting across the lunch table from me had been ramming his cock into her. And she had sung loudly with Derek and his trademarked standing fucks. And when she was a cowgirl riding on the stallion that was Paolo.

  Yeah, she sang nice and loud.

  Tara continued: “But then, somewhere along the way, it got to be a bit much. Maybe if there weren’t as many people there, or maybe if we didn’t go as much, I’d feel different. But how it came about, the club became too much for me. Too many other people. Too much group sex. Just too much. I’m sorry, but that’s how I felt about it after awhile.”

  Tiffany rested her hand on top of Tara’s hand, and then the middle-aged swinger said, “You don’t have to apologize. Don’t apologize for your feelings.”

  Kiefer nodded. “She’s right. And I’m sorry we overwhelmed you. I never meant to do that. We set up the club to be a world for rejuvenating ourselves. A world away from work and negative people and how they can bring you down. A world where your spirit can sing out loud. Not just your sexual spirit, but your whole spirit.”

  He was trying to sell us on the place again. Trying hard, and I had to say he was doing a damn good job of it. I was almost ready to sign up again. But I knew that meant walking away from Tara. Away from the woman who made my spirit sing. And I wasn’t going to do that.

  Kiefer pressed onward: “We strive to get younger members to keep the place refreshed. You guys bring new life, new energy to the club. That’s very valuable to us who have been around for awhile. We need that wonderful energy there.”

  What he didn’t say was that us younger members brought new meat for the older ones. A new piece of ass for Kiefer to sink his thick cock into. I bet that was a big part of his motivation.

  Since Kiefer looked like he had wrapped up his sales job, I offered my thoughts: “It’s an amazing place. No doubt about it. It’s like a wonderland. A place to be free and play and feel really, really good.”

  “So true.” Tara nodded, encouraging me.

  “Not only that,” I said, “but the club’s healthy habits struck a chord with us. We’ve never been in better shape in our lives. At least that’s true for me.”

  “It’s true for me, too,” Tara pointed out. “I’ve never exercised this much.”

  I said. “With all the exercise and healthy eating and massages, I feel like I have a ton more energy than I used to.”

  “Well, at least there’s that.” Kiefer didn’t sound enthusiastic at all—his words came out flat.

  “But everything else got a bit much,” I lied.

  The club hadn’t been too much for me, but I had to form a united front with Tara in our decision to leave Strathmore. She deserved us having a united front. Our partnership deserved it.

  Kiefer sighed and took a drink of white wine. “Okay, okay. I gave it the old college try. I’m gonna miss you guys. You brought a great energy with you.”

  “You sure did,” Tiffany said. “I’ll miss just having lunch with you guys and how we talked about everything under the sun. We laughed so much together.”

  This time, Tara patted Tiffany’s hand, as she replied, “But we can still have lunch together. Like right now. We’ll still get together and chat.”

  I nodded, to back her up.

  But all four of us knew that it was going to be very different. Those lunches we’d have together were not going to be naked, with us basking in an orgasmic glow after we had just been sucked or licked or fucked into bliss. Those lunches were going to be normal, just like everybody else had.

  *****

  It felt like Tara and I were in another world. Not our usual, day-to-day world—and not the flesh-and-orgasm world of Strathmore, either. This was much different than those.

  Roots rose up, out of the dark water all around us. The roots merged together, forming the trunk of a thick tree that towered high above us. Multiply that tree over and over, and then you’ve got an idea of Big Cypress Swamp. It’s part of the Everglades, and this was a place that reminded you of a truly wild place.

  Yes, Strathmore removed some of society’s conventions, like wearing clothes and having sex in private, with just your partner.

  But this cypress swamp was wilder than that. There was no building with a restaurant and massage rooms. There was no bustling pool area with palm trees. There were no manicured golf fairways.

  Instead, there were strong cypress trees fighting for precious nutrients in the water and soil and sunlight. Air plants blossomed all over the cypress trees, looking like they were hanging onto the branches for dear life. Doing anything they could do to survive.

  You got the feeling that everything out here had the same plan every single day: to simply survive. And not just plants, but animals, too. The white ibis, alligator, snakes, panthers, manatees, and many more were trying to make it through the day.

  That wild mix of animals was why we settled on renting a canoe.

  “I’m gla
d we didn’t do the walking tour,” Tara said. “Hip boots or not, there are still snakes out there.”

  I said, “I’m sure there are many snakes in that water. But I’d bet you’d look sexy in hip boots.”

  She snorted. “Leave it to you to bring sex into it. You try to fit it into every conversation.”

  “I can’t help it. I’m a guy.”

  “That’s a sorry excuse. Here we are, in this gorgeous place, and all you can think of is sex.”

  “But isn’t that what a fiancé wants to hear?” I asked.

  “Not all the time.”

  Even though I couldn’t see her face, I was sure that she was rolling her eyes.

  Tara said, “Now get your brain off my pussy and enjoy all this beauty around us.”

  She was right about the natural beauty we were immersed in. I felt very lucky that we had come here. And we wouldn’t have been here if we were still members at Strathmore.

  Also, Tara hadn’t asked me any more if she was enough for me. I had shown her my lust for her again and again. She had no reason to doubt me any longer. And she accepted my advances for sex and answered my requests for blowjobs. Not that she turned me down all that much before we went to Strathmore.

  The big difference to before Strathmore? She was more enthusiastic with our sex life after leaving the club. Like being more open in talking about what she wanted. Not hesitating to ask me to go down on her—which, of course, I was eager to perform. She was also more vocal about the pleasure. Before Strathmore, she certainly moaned during sex. But now, it felt like she was letting her voice out more, being free about it.

  Not only that, but she was also more likely to do naughty things—like dressing up in costumes, spanking, having anal sex, swallowing my come, and letting me ejaculate on her tits (and sometimes on her face).

  Tara had said that Strathmore made her sexual spirit sing. Then, after we quit the club, she let her sexual spirit sing loudly with just me. And I loved it.

  But, of course, sex wasn’t everything.