Road Trip

Kim wrapped her arms round me again. She whispered, "Jim, you couldn't have done anything, that was the doctors' job. She had one of those unfortunate things no one walks away from. You don't have to 'own' her passing. You did your best to protect her and get her care, but that's all you had to do – nothing else. Her death shouldn't be on your shoulders, or in your head as something your responsible for. Don't play mind games with yourself."

Kim was quiet for a moment; "I think of death as a wonderful rejoining with the One – with the Universe; that we came here to do or learn something, and then we pass on from this experience. Our personality or ego dies, but our soul continues, and remembers." She looked expectantly at me, waiting for my comments on death, or maybe my disagreement with her premise.

I asked, "Have you ever heard of a soul group – a group of souls? They decide to come back to this existence together to experience something together or for each other. It seems that we're destined to meet some people and then interact with them in some way. Maybe that's why we met – and June – and Karen – and who knows who else; we were all destined to interact in some way." I tried to blink my tears away.

Kim nodded in understanding and then stood on tiptoe and kissed me. She said, "Big philosophical discussion going on here suddenly – too deep for this early in the morning. Come on inside and I'll fix us breakfast."

Inside, Kim whipped on a t-shirt to remove the distraction of her nakedness. Over breakfast, Kim asked, "Have you ever traveled with a passenger on the back of the motorcycle? I mean a long distance?"

I told her, "I've never had anyone go with me until you last night. As you might guess, with all my gear, there's not too much room anyway."

"Ah, but I'm small – stacked but small." She laughed as she thrust her tits out in my direction. She then continued in a more serious tone, "How about you take me down to Florida with you – unless you really want to be alone? You can drop me off there. I have some work to do down there. Ron will come fetch me in his plane after he finishes his briefing on Monday."

My mouth dropped open at her request. "I'd love to have you travel with me. I'd cherish your company. It's a long way down there – the rest of the Carolinas and Georgia. Where in Florida?"

"Do you know where Amelia Island is? East of Jacksonville, so it's not too far over the state line. Ron and I have a house there overlooking the beach. You'll love it ... and I'll love traveling with you – for me this will be a dream come true. I've never taken a long motorcycle trip."

"How would you want to go? I've been meandering – avoiding Interstates and staying on back roads. I've been camping and using a small tent, but we could stay in motels."

Kim came up to me and put her arms around my neck, "I just want to be with you silly. I don't care where we go, how we go, or where we stay. I want an adventure with 'You'!" She gave me a very passionate kiss; I would have agreed to anything she asked.

"Leave today?" I asked, thinking of how long it would take us to get there.

"Let's eat, and then give me about thirty minutes, and I'll be ready to go. Can you handle another knapsack strapped on your bike somewhere?" I nodded.

My brain started to do somersaults; I would get to travel with this extraordinary woman, and we really liked each other – love? My heart kept skipping beats with joy.

We stopped at a motorcycle shop outside Chapel Hill, and I bought Kim a helmet. Kim wrapped her arms around me and hugged me and often laid her head against my back a good part of the trip. She had on running shoes, and I wore my boots – the ones that still carried the acrid odor of the fire in Camp Forge. We both wore shorts and tank tops. Kim's tank top engendered more excitement as she'd omitted bringing a bra. When I commented on my observation, she said with a large grin, "Well, you told me to travel light! Is something wrong?"

We stopped every hour to walk around and be sure that sitting in one position for so long didn't hobble us when we didn't know it. We aimed for Wilmington, North Carolina, a place Kim assured me that I would like and where we could find a nice place to camp. The trip took all day on back roads, although it included lunch at a romantic small inn.

We ate Mexican food for dinner at a restaurant in Carolina Beach, south of Wilmington. Kim briefly complained of 'helmet crush' of her hair as we sat, and she brushed at it continuously for five minutes. I assured her she looked beautiful and kissed her again. We camped near Cape Fear, made love twice surrounded by nature, and slept naked together in my small tent. Amazingly, the bugs left the lovers alone.

Saturday morning, Kim followed me on my morning run through the trails near our camp. We covered about five miles and then took a swim in the nearby bay. After a camp breakfast, we were underway about eight that morning. When we took our breaks and stopped, Kim and I conversed so easily and on so many topics; I felt as though we'd known each other all our lives. If I hadn't fallen in love with her that first night in North Carolina, I certainly was now.

After the past two weeks with Lauren, June, Jan, Trish, and Kim, I had to admit that I fell in love easily. I could envision a romantic life with any one or all of them. I wondered if these feelings resulted from the 'rebound effect' after losing Karen; would any woman I met make me feel this way? I chuckled aloud to myself at one point thinking that I had yet another email to share with Lauren. That said, I still didn't see this kind of thing – sex and romance – happening all across the country.

We headed southwest down the coast aiming for lunch in Georgetown. Over lunch at a charming inn beside the main road, I explained to Kim about my ritual of finding a nice place and spreading a smidgen of Karen's ashes. She understood fully, and I found her comments encouraging. We talked about how over the coming weeks that my healing would change how I felt when I released Karen's ashes. Kim speculated that with each envelope I'd feel better and better about myself hopefully come to grips with losing Karen, and I'd realize she was in a better place than struggling with some terrible illness or disability the rest of her life. I found it so easy to talk about sensitive subjects like this with Kim. I could also feel my heart open in her direction.

After lunch we continued to Charleston, stopping along a country road by a pretty inlet. Kim watched silently as I consigned the small amount of ash to the bay, holding the open envelope with her ashes high as an offshore breeze carried them down to the water. I had gratitude in my mind as the ashes floated away: gratitude for the years I'd had with Karen and how she'd taught me so much about love and self trust, and how she'd helped me transition from my military years into a tolerant and caring civilian.

My mind shifted to being grateful for friends like Kim whose generosity was helping me mend and heal from losing Karen. Kim didn't ask for exclusivity about her in my thoughts, nor, I realized, would have Karen. I'd learned something more from each of them that afternoon.

Kim nudged me suddenly, jarring me from my reverie: "Listen! Someone's yelling for help – over in that direction." She pointed further along the shore of the bay.

We ran in the direction Kim thought she'd heard someone holler. We rounded a thicket of brush to see an elderly black couple standing on the shore calling out to two children in a small dingy that drifted farther and farther away from the shore with each second. As we came up, they were already a hundred yards away and obviously in a tidal current.

I asked quickly, "What's wrong? How can we help?"

The man, stooped over by osteoporosis turned to me; "My grandchildren." He pointed to the boat and continued, "We had the boat tied in the shallows where they were playing as the missus and I fished. Next thing we know the boat is way out there – no oars either. No other boats in sight 'round here today. Neither of us can swim. I don't think the kids can swim either. No ones taught 'em yet."

We could hear the children screaming for help from the boat now, the small boy leaning dangerously over the side towards the four of us on the shore.

I yanked off my boots. I yelled for Kim to call '911' on her cell as I ran barefoot down the embankment and plunged into the swirling waters. I swam towards the dilapidated rowboat as it bobbed further and further away from shore. The children quieted as they saw the potential for help coming near.

My swim to the boat took about ten minutes because the boat kept moving farther away from the shore. As I neared the boat, I started to think about how to get the boat to safety. I doubted I could push the boat back to the area where their grandparents and Kim stood because of the strong tidal currents and offshore wind. The far shore of the small bay appeared miles away.

I talked calmly to the two children as I neared the boat, urging them to sit quietly and not to lean over the gunnels any more. The boy, around seven, and girl, about six, obediently sat, but both pleaded with me to get them back to safety. They admitted they'd untied the rope that had held the boat in the shallow water 'just to see what would happen.'

We started talking about how I needed to swim behind the boat and propel them back to shore. As I turned the boat to shore, further to the north, I saw a police car pull off the highway near where Kim and the grandparents stood – now hundreds of yards away. One officer emerged from the vehicle and talked to the others as they all looked out at us and gestured wildly.

I hooked both hands over the back of the boat and adopted a rapid kick to push us to shore. I wished I'd had on the flippers I'd worn during a night raid on a Kuwaiti beach years earlier – I could have made more progress in the currents. Slowly, the boat inched to shore, probably a half mile north of where the kids started their trip. I think they got more of a thrill than they expected.

When I could occasionally see the shore around the transom of the dingy, I noted that two police cars were now located about where they thought I'd beach the boat. One cop slid down the embankment so he could be on the small beach when we landed. The grandparents and Kim stood up by the other police car yelling support to the kids and me. About a dozen other people had also stopped to watch the rescue. There were lots of blinking lights. A fire truck roared onto the scene pulling a small-motorized boat, but by that time I was already near the shore.

One of the firemen waded into the bay up to his waist to meet us and to help pull the boat and children in the rest of the way to shore. My trip from the shore to the boat had taken about ten minutes. Then, after reaching the small craft, it took me about forty minutes to push the boat back to shore. I was spent from my efforts.

Amid a round of applause and cheers from the small crowd, plus congratulatory and grateful remarks from the police and grandparents, I staggered into Kim's arms as she helped me sit on a large piece of driftwood. My legs felt leaden from the effort – mostly kicking; I guess I was more out of shape than I realized. The children had run to their grandparents and hugged them.

Kim said with pride, "You, my love, are the hero of the day." She leaned closer and whispered in my ear, "I promise you'll get a big reward tonight in bed ... or maybe I'll get the big reward. Whatever! Just hold that thought the rest of the day." We both snickered at the sexual innuendo of her comments, and I collected several kisses from Kim.

A half-hour later, Kim and I were back on the bike heading down the South Carolina coast. I hadn't changed clothing, just allowing myself to air dry on the warm day. When we stopped, Kim talked about my rescue of the children the rest of the day, praising me for acting so fast.

I turned away some of her praise, citing that the two children hadn't really been in real danger; the boat was sound, and someone with a boat, such as the firemen, could have just as easily rescued them.

Kim pointed out, that I had done the rescue, and the kids were panicked and leaning way out over the side of the boat, and that neither of them could swim, and that, for sure, I'd been a hero – again. She reminded me that I'd also saved the life of a farmer in Camp Forge.

I just shrugged, and hoped that would end the onslaught of praise she wanted to aim in my direction.

That night Kim made good on her promises and innuendos about a heroes reward.

Kim and I reached Amelia Island, a.k.a. Fernandina Beach, on Monday afternoon. Because of weather and route, we'd stayed overnight and had eaten breakfast in a waterfront motel in Charleston, before crossing into Georgia early in the morning. I scattered a few of Karen's ashes along the banks of the Savannah River. My prayer for Karen involved her being in some peaceful eternity. I had a strong desire to reconnect with her in some way – in any way.

The two of us sat under an overpass during an impressive thunderstorm that probably deposited two inches of rain in about twenty minutes on southern Georgia. We sat and talked about Kim's company, how she'd started it as a graduate student – an engineering undergrad working on her MBA – with an entrepreneurial idea about solar technology.

Kim and her husband Ron had taken her company through an IPO two years earlier, a move that popped the company from a modest size venture into a well-known alternative energy enterprise that now employed over a thousand people in two locations: Chapel Hill and Jacksonville. She told me about following in her father's footsteps and becoming a pilot, and now using her skills to commute around the country on behalf of her business and on behalf of the alternate energy industry. She'd shifted her role to chairman in her company from day to day management to a more strategic role; thus, she could take off as she had with me with greater freedom.

'Spectacular' best described the house on Amelia Island: a beachfront home with windows from sand to sky, and a modern motif, the house sat with others in a way that molded into the scenery without being an affront to the trees, dunes, and beach nature had put there. As we walked through the house, Kim explained how the home had been hurricane proofed – a constant worry in this locale, and proudly how she had made it almost energy independent.

We pulled my bike into a bay of the garage, and while I did some unpacking and checking of the bike, Kim excused herself to get on the phone for a plethora of business telephone calls. Eventually, I found her sitting at the eat-in island in the kitchen; I gestured to her that I wanted to see the beach and she nodded and pointed to a trail through the dunes leading to the Atlantic Ocean and beach.

I ran on the beach for an hour – a half hour to the south, where I found the end of the spit of land making up the island, and a half-hour back. Kim had just started to walk to the beach when we saw each other. We met up with a huge hug and kiss; although a scattering of other people were walking the beach. Kim wore a bikini of infinitesimal proportions, and she'd kept me horny enough on our travels so that I hardened instantly as she ground her hips into mine during our kiss.

"Ugh," she said after our hug, "you're all drippy and smelly from running. Come on – it's into the ocean for you." She pushed me towards the rolling waves that crashed on the beach. I jerked off my running shoes, and we ran into the water, and floated around in the undulations just outside where the large waves broke onto the beach.

After swimming, we walked up to the house arm in arm, stopping at an outdoor shower to rinse the salt and sand from our bodies. Much to my surprise Kim seductively stripped the small bikini from her body while we showered. She also stole my nylon running-swim trunks from my body. I glanced along the beach; however, no one there seemed to be paying any attention to us if they could even see us in our shaded location next to the house.

Kim produced two towels and after drying off, she attacked me in the living room. Attacked isn't the right word, more as though she seduced me further until we had an absolutely wonderful series of orgasms that left us breathless.

Instead of panting ourselves back to normal in the living room, Kim pushed me back outside and into her pool. She and I cuddled in the water at the shallow end as the sky reddened, and the sun disappeared behind some thunderheads over the middle of Florida.

Kim told me, "I had a text from Ron. He can't get down here tonight. There's a squall line blocking a good part of the route all the way from Missouri, through the Carolinas, and out into the Atlantic. He's going to try to get away first thing tomorrow morning."

"Are you sure you want me to hang around? Won't it be awkward?" I felt elation that I'd have Kim to myself for another night, but I didn't want to face a problematic meeting with her husband that could turn in a bad direction.

Kim responded enthusiastically, "Oh, you have to meet him. I told him all about you and me – even did a little phone sex; he said to have fun. He approves totally that we made love. I'm eagerly awaiting his arrival; imagine, two men I love in the same house – how wonderful." She faked a little swoon, and then got serious; "It won't be awkward for more than a few seconds for you, and not at all for Ron. We share each other with the Circle in Camp Forge, and June told me you'd become a full-fledged member – so don't sweat anything about being here – or about Ron. You'll like him; he's open and approachable on all counts. I hope you'll stay all week. Besides, I'd like to show you my Jacksonville plant we just opened last year; I'm proud of it and what it means for the company and solar tech industry."

I stayed, and our last night alone together was memorable.

In the morning, I took the Karen envelope for Florida down to the peaceful beach at dawn and spilled the teaspoon of ashes into the Atlantic just as the sun broke through a low cloud layer offshore. At Kim's insistence and since I wasn't on a schedule, I had agreed to stay on the Island for a few more days. She could be convincing; besides, I wanted to see first hand the open relationship Kim and Ron appeared to have. Karen and I had described our relationship as 'open,' yet neither one of us ever pushed the boundaries so far as to involve other people. What would she have thought about my trip so far? If she'd been with me, how much would she have participated in the Circle or a ménage-a-trois with Kim?

I walked back to the house when I heard Kim give me a shout – a call to breakfast. She wanted to run into the plant for the day, promising me a tour the following day. Ron might arrive around noontime, weather permitting. She aimed me at her exercise room, the beach, and a resort and spa a mile or so away. I also wanted to get on my computer and email for a few hours, so I knew I'd have a full day. We kissed, and she drove away in her Prius.

I ran the beach for an hour, and then availed myself for another hour of Kim and Ron's exercise equipment that included weights and exercise bars. I swam in the pool to cool down, showered, and then got online with my laptop.

I had emails from both Anna and Lauren. A few days earlier, I'd posed questions to Lauren about Karen's and her views on polyamorous relationships when I vividly described what my experiences had been in the Camp Forge circle. Now, by way of an email, I had some answers ... answers about Karen that set me back on my heels.