Tara & Steve: A Tale of Swingers

by August MacGregor

  “So, what then?” she asked. “What’s with the attitude?”

  To be honest, I was mad at myself for being impatient with Tara for not being at our apartment. I didn’t want to be the type of boyfriend—almost husband—that demanded his woman be available whenever he needed her for sex.

  And I was mad at myself for thinking Julie was a good idea. That would’ve been disastrous, and I should’ve seen that right away—rather than playing out the fantasy of hooking up with her again.

  I took a long drink and said, “I’m just frustrated the timing didn’t work out, that’s all.”

  Tara’s face eased its puzzled expression. “Honey, you know I would’ve rather taken care of you than you having to do it. Especially after you got all worked up by the strip club.”

  “I almost called Julie.”

  It blurted out of me. I couldn’t help it. Blame the drinking or my frustration or anger. But it just leaped out of my mouth.

  “You … almost called Julie?” Her sluggish echo. Her eyes were like a deer in headlights.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t. I thought about it, but I didn’t. That’s the important thing.”

  She blinked, still absorbing this shock. “Why would you have called her?”

  “Because—”

  Tara held up a hand as a stop sign. “Wait. That’s obvious. You wanted to fuck her. I get it. I wasn’t here for you to fuck, so you were about to call Julie and fuck her.”

  My cheeks felt hot as they flushed. I nodded.

  “But you didn’t call her,” Tara said. “Is that right?”

  “Yeah. That’s right.” My voice sounded really small.

  A frown had taken over from Tara’s shocked expression. “Thank God. I would’ve kicked your ass if you did.”

  I nodded, showing her that I understood.

  Tara continued: “But you thought about calling her.”

  “Can you blame me? We haven’t been away from Strathmore all that long, and the thought came to me, as I was so … desperate.”

  Tara tilted her head, like she’d just had an idea. “You miss her, don’t you? You still want her tits, don’t you?”

  Fuck. I didn’t want the conversation to go like this. I cursed myself for confessing my thoughts of calling Julie.

  I said, “Do you remember the first day we went to Strathmore?”

  Tara folded her arms in front of her chest. “Of course.”

  “Do you remember how much you wanted to hook me up with Julie? As a payback for me setting us up with Kiefer at that bungalow?”

  Tara replied, “Of course I remember all that. So what?”

  “So, you know full well how I feel about Julie. What did you say one time about me? That I was like a baby at a milk jug store when I looked at Julie?”

  She closed her eyes while she sighed, then opened them. “Yeah, I remember saying that.”

  “You said that before Strathmore. You said that back at the Christmas party. You had picked up on my … my desire early on.”

  “Because it was so fucking obvious. I have eyes, you know.”

  “Do you think I could simply turn it off after we quit going to Strathmore?”

  Her face fell and her shoulders slumped. The fight was drained out of her. She probably had already figured that out, but it was a different matter hearing me say it.

  “Am I really enough for you?” she asked.

  “Yes, yes, yes. A thousand percent yes.” I pointed at her with every yes. I’m not proud of it, but I automatically did it. I said, “Being in a relationship doesn’t mean you don’t have desires for other people, it means you don’t act on those desires. Just like you got all worked up by those stripper dudes, but you came back home wanting to get in the sack with me. You didn’t go home with any of the strippers. Because I’m sure you could have if you wanted to.”

  She slowly walked to the couch and plunked down and looked at her lap for a long moment.

  “You’re right,” she said, sounding different now. Dejected. Not fiery any more. “You’re right. I knew that on some level, deep down. Even after you said all those things on the beach. I still knew it. It’s not like you can flip a switch and turn off your lust for Julie. Or Claire. Or any of them.”

  I slid onto the couch next to her, and thankfully she turned to face me. Déjà vu hit me. We were in the same position as before. Back when she had first asked me if she was enough for me, and we had talked for awhile.

  Tara looked up at me and said, “I’m sorry I made you quit Strathmore before you were ready.”

  “Huh?” I asked. “No, I realized I was ready to quit. It took you to show me that.”

  Shaking her head, Tara replied, “That’s not completely true. I think eventually you would’ve been ready to quit. But you weren’t ready to leave just yet. Not with your favorite two members. Not with Julie and Claire. Or maybe your favorite three, if you add Betty.”

  She had me. And I couldn’t deny it. I could’ve tried to deny it, but my face already told the truth—and Tara had read it clearly.

  “Nothing’s changed,” I said. “Okay? I still want to spend the rest of my life with you. That hasn’t changed one single bit. I’m totally serious. I still want to get married and see you there every morning when I wake up. Absolutely none of that has changed.”

  She wiped her eye and sighed. “I know. Just like I know you can’t flip a switch and not want Julie any more.” She sniffed. “I guess that’s something I’ll have to deal with.”

  “Like I have to deal with you still lusting after Derek or Paolo.”

  “It’s not the same,” Tara said. “Not exactly. Yes, it’s true that I still think they’re sexy. But I was ready to move on from Strathmore before you were. And that’s the difference.”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that.” My turn to heft a sigh. “So, now what?”

  “Now we sleep. We’re still drunk, so we need to sleep. And tomorrow, we’ll talk some more.”

  The next morning, hangovers throbbed our heads and dragged our spirits down even more. Thank goodness, it was a Sunday and we didn’t have to go to work. We sipped coffee and nibbled on toast.

  We talked more, and the conversation felt better than the previous night. I felt less angry and frustrated and embarrassed about admitting to nearly calling Julie. And Tara seemed less angry as well. She seemed more resolved.

  “I still want to marry you, honey,” she said, the coffee mug held in both of her hands, steam rising up and slithering before her face. “That hasn’t changed.”

  “Good,” I said. “I told you last night that nothing’s changed for me. But what about for you? Has something changed? ’Cause it feels like something has.”

  Tara nodded slowly. “Yeah. I guess it was being hit with something I knew already, but tried to hide. I tried to hide it even from myself. I was so focused on our future together, that I didn’t realize the consequences of pulling you out of Strathmore before you were ready.”

  “I wish you’d stop saying that. I became ready.”

  “But there were still consequences. You can’t deny that.”

  I took a moment before answering. “No, I can’t.”

  She said, “And it’s those consequences that I need to sort through. Because I still want a future together with you, but I feel like something needs to happen. Something to put things back in balance.”

  “Huh?” I asked. “You mean like that Evie Stevie stuff? But we did that already. Back at Strathmore, we made sure things were balanced. Every time we went there.”

  “We sure did,” Tara said. “We were careful about that. But it’s not that. I feel out of balance because of how we ended it.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t. You and I were both ready to move on. Sure, you were ready first. But the fact is still there, that we were both ready.”

  Thoughtful, she took a sip of coffee. I liked how the steam danced on her face. Kind of like how the strippers danc
ed on stage. I told myself to stop thinking of strippers.

  Tara said, “I’m going to put things back in balance.”

  That confounded me—what was she planning?

  I asked, “Meaning … what?”

  “Meaning I’m going to do something for you. For us. For me to resolve these feelings that I have. So we can forge ahead without this hanging over me.”

  “And what will that something be?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Tara said. “I need to think it over. Like when you gave a lot of thought about us before you proposed on the beach. And when I decide on what to do, you’re just going to have to be surprised.”

  *****

  Things smoothed between us after that Sunday. At least they did for me.

  Tara may have been putting on a nice face and covering up her feelings about what we talked about that night of our bachelor and bachelorette parties. I asked her several times if she was okay, if she was bothered by the things we had discussed. She simply said she was sorting through her emotions and thoughts. I respected that and gave her space. After all, she’d done that for me.

  We continued planning for the wedding. We tried out various caterers, and we checked into various musicians. Other guys may have thought these activities were boring, but I didn’t. Maybe it was due to all those months at Strathmore and seeing her with other guys, then me making the decision to cement our relationship by proposing.

  You see, I wanted to spend time with Tara. I wanted to work on strengthening our bonds.

  If that meant going to caterers and sampling their food, so be it. Actually, that was fun, too. I liked how the caterers tried to impress us, bringing out their sample dishes and wanting to win our business. It was nice being waited on like that.

  Which reminded me about being waited on at Strathmore, but I put those thoughts to the side. Everyone was clothed, so that made for a huge difference.

  Tara took over planning our honeymoon. We decided to go to the Caribbean, but we hadn’t picked a specific spot yet. Lots of wonderful choices enticed us from the websites of several resorts. There were so many gorgeous spots around, and it was difficult to pick which one.

  Then Tara said she wanted to chose the resort and plan the trip herself.

  She said, “You’ve been so good being involved for all the wedding decisions, and I want the honeymoon to be a surprise for you.”

  I thought about arguing against that, since planning for the honeymoon seemed more exciting than planning for the wedding. But I accepted her wish. Something about the firmness in her eyes as she said it.

  And her facial expression reminded me of how she looked in that hungover morning, when she talked about putting us in balance. The resolve that was clear as she said those things. So, I figured it was something I should give her space about.

  But, damn, I was curious.

  *****

  My curiosity over our honeymoon was no-where to be found when I saw Tara walking down the aisle toward me.

  She was like a cloud, floating in a luxurious white dress that struck a stark—and beautiful—contrast next to all of the colorful plants around her. Or maybe she was more like a rare white orchid, and I was lucky to find her in this lush jungle.

  The setting was perfect. The Livingston Mansion and its gardens, the ocean right next to them. The place was old world charm matched with gorgeous plants.

  Rows and rows of family and friends ooo-ed and aah-ed at the rare orchid walking toward me. Our guests had come from various places—some from pretty far away—to be in this very spot and see Tara and me strengthen our bond together. Sitting out there in the audience were our parents, my sister, her sister, some cousins, and one grandparent. Then lots of friends and close co-workers.

  The men in the wedding party formed a line behind me. The women in the wedding party were in a line behind the space where Tara was soon going to populate. All those friends who had brought us to our bachelor and bachelorette parties. But they had no idea about the deep conversation that Tara and I had afterward.

  Kiefer and Tiffany out were there in the audience, but they were completely forgotten in this moment.

  Actually, everyone else faded into the background as I watched the beautiful orchid float toward me. My gorgeous bride, looking like Eve wrapped in a cloud as she walked in Eden.

  The moment had that dream-like feeling. Similar to how I had felt at different points in our swinging adventures, like during the Valentine’s threesome and our first day at Strathmore. It was a blurry, fuzzy sensation that I figured came to me when I was faced with something extraordinary, something that wowed me with its immensity.

  But this was different. Tara wasn’t blurry at all. She was crystal clear and finely edged. She was brilliant in white and joy.

  She was perfect.

  I’d never seen her in a wedding dress before, of course. I had seen her in elegant dresses with her hair swooped up in that fancy style. I’ve seen her in office clothes, bikinis, lingerie, tight gym shorts and sports bra, pajamas, jeans, and t-shirts. She’s thrown on my buttoned-down shirts for lazy days at home. But never, ever had I seen her wearing a wedding dress. And she was stunning.

  If she could’ve looked in my heart, she would’ve seen evidence that she was enough for me. Beautiful, loving, kind, intelligent, funny, wonderful. A woman I was incredibly lucky to be with. And, given all the challenges we had taken on, I was incredibly lucky to still be with.

  Actually, I thought all of those challenges had made us a stronger couple. We had tested our relationship again and again, with each cock she took inside of her and each pussy and mouth I slid my dick into. We’d been through all that, and we were still getting married.

  That amazed me. She amazed me. With her strength and her love.

  She was able to pull emotions out of me like nobody had ever done—or had tried to do. We discussed difficult matters, we cooked together, we explored the world together, and we laughed so very much together.

  I couldn’t imagine life without her. I was grateful for the older couples for being at South Beach when I had visited the place in my meditations. Those older couples were in the right place at the right time to show me what my future could look like—if I stayed with Tara. If I had broken up with Tara, the future would’ve looked much different. More bleak.

  There was nothing bleak about this moment. I was most certainly in the right place at the right time. It was just her and me. Her, a white orchid in her beautiful dress. Me, a black orchid in my tux. Everyone else was blurry, in the background. There was just Tara and me, and nobody else.

  Indeed, she was perfect. Perfect for me.

  After her father left her side, she walked a few more steps and arrived at my side.

  I whispered in her ear, so that nobody else would hear: “You’re perfect, and I love you.”

  She didn’t say anything back, but I thought she was going to cry for a moment. Her eyes spoke for her, and I knew she loved me back.

  I took her hand in mine, and we turned to face the minister. To promise to stay side by side for the rest of our days. As we said the words, my heart believed in every one.

  Chapter 6. Drama at the Resort

  Tara looks amazing in a bikini. But then, she looks amazing in pretty much everything. Except when she’s sick. In sickness and in health, right? We’ve been through that, each of us sick at different times, and the partner stayed by and nurtured.

  People’s eyes follow Tara as she walks out of the pool. She pauses for a second to adjust her bikini bottom. Men around the pool probably wish they could’ve done that for her. Help her with that bikini bottom that covers her ass so nice and tight and wet. Dripping, Tara walks to her lounge chair. Eyes follow her. They’re so obvious. Men ogling the bikini babe.

  Tara pats her face with a towel. Then she kicks it up a notch. She tugs the strap of her bikini top, popping the knot undone. Just like that, she’s topless.

  Men
gawk. Oblivious to their girlfriends or wives nudging them in the ribs.

  Tara’s not oblivious. She knows the reaction she’s getting. She smiles with closed eyes as she settles back in the lounge chair. Soaking up the Caribbean sunshine along with the lust of her audience.

  What would these people do at Strathmore? Tara’s just one rack here, not the sea of skin at Strathmore.

  We’re at a topless pool in an adults-only tropical resort. Tara’s the first one to throw down the gauntlet—and her top—to bare her breasts today. Late morning is typical when the first boobs come out. And every time, men gawk their appreciation.

  These gawkers would love Strathmore. Not just one nice set of tits, but a whole crowd of them. Tits and asses and dicks. All out in the open as members swim in the pool, lounge in the sun, eat healthy foods, bump a volleyball. Oh, and let’s not forget the fucking. Lots of fucking. All out in the open.

  That guy over there, sitting on the edge of the pool with his feet in the water. Grinning at his wife or girlfriend who’s swimming in the pool. His margarita glass resting on the ground next to him. Here, he’s simply enjoying a pool scene.

  But at Strathmore, he’d be getting a blowjob. It’s a common practice at that fantasy land. Guy or chick sits on the pool’s edge and gets head from a guy or chick in the pool. Happens all the time there. Tara’s done it to me, as have other hotties. Of course, I returned the favor many times. To Tara and other babes. Given them the chance to sit on the edge and get their cookies. Evie Stevie.

  Yeah, I know exactly how these gawkers would act at Strathmore. The same way I acted in my first time there. The club defies imagination. A paradise for nudity, pleasure of the flesh, and good health. All safe behind a strong gate, high privacy walls, and tall shrubs. It’s a fantastical place—but one that Tara and I moved away from.

  Which was why I was surprised when Tara chose this place for our honeymoon: Lujuria, a clothing-optional resort in Jamaica. I’d been wondering about our honeymoon spot since getting on a plane at the Miami airport, flying to Jamaica, and then stepping onto a shuttle bus with Lujuria on the side of it.