Two Loves

We abandoned the car and strolled into the hotel, taking the elevators and a maze of hallways to her doorway. As she opened the door she said with authority, "We're not going to have sex tonight. We're going to hold each other and kiss a lot."

I nodded my acceptance of her boundaries, and she pulled me into her room.

We met for breakfast again on Friday morning. Our lips were both chapped from the passionate make-out session we'd shared for several hours the previous evening. We'd petted some, and I'd confirmed that all curves and bumps on her sexy body were genuine. I'd eventually tiptoed out of her room after we'd both fallen asleep in each other's arms.

Over breakfast Em said in a soft voice, "Thank you for last night. It was special falling asleep in your arms ... and all the other stuff we did." She smiled warmly at me and added, "Do you have plans for tonight?"

"I'm all yours, Em; in more ways than you may realize."

We repeated our activities of the previous day, attending conference sessions, and taking a sunshine bath over the lunch break. Em and I touched a lot, romantically and sensually. We stroked each other's arms, hands, necks, and anything else that seemed socially acceptable as we sat in the darkened rooms listening to technical papers. My focus was almost completely on her; every move, touch, whispered word, or look carried a new and important significance to me.

Between sessions and over lunch we talked about the sessions we'd been in, analyzing the import of the breakthroughs being presented. My estimate of Em increased even further. She was brilliant, seeing insights and drawing conclusions the speakers had missed. Further, she linked together several of the talks, drawing other conclusions about the future of computer technology.

As we completed the first afternoon session, Em said to me, "Is the next session crucial to you? Could we skip it and go someplace special?"

I didn't have to even think about it. "Let's go," I replied. "Where?"

"I have some elderly relatives about an hour east of here. I've wanted to see them for over a decade. I thought we could just stop in for an hour or so, and say hello. You'll like them. They're colorful; and they've been here since forever."

An hour later Em introduced me to Nancy Belle and Eli. Both were in their late eighties, yet appeared healthy, spry, and alert. I forget the family connection, but they were ecstatic to see Emma and glad that she'd brought her 'boyfriend' with her. They were solicitous of our visit and served us herbal tea. Em and I sat beside each other and she held my arm in hers for most of the visit. I actually reflected that we probably looked 'cute' to the octogenarians.

I learned that the two of them had ridden into San Bernardino in a covered wagon pulled by six oxen in the early 1920s. They'd weathered all these decades and raised a slew of children, grandchildren, and now great grandchildren. We left after a fascinating hour. I had a renewed interest in history given their unique perspective on the past seventy years or so.

When we got close to the hotel, we stopped and had Chinese dinners. Again, we shared multiple dishes, laughing at some of the taste sensations we'd purchased. Em had experimented with food much more than I had.

Towards the end of dinner, Em asked, "Do you have to go back tomorrow? Could you stay an extra day? I'll drive you to the airport on Sunday morning. I'll stay over too and go back north at the same time."

I had no firm commitments back east, so told her that was a great idea. I'd change my flight back at the hotel. I wasn't sure what Em had planned, however, being with her pleased me, even if we just sat around the pool for the day.

We headed back to the hotel and Em invited me to her room again.

We made love.

There was no hesitation, no shyness, no vacillation or equivocation. Once the door to her room shut, Em turned to me and floated into my arms. We kissed, passionately, and then she just said softly, "Make love to me."

Hours later, our spent bodies woven together across her bed, we kissed yet again and then drifted to sleep. I spooned behind Emma, cradling her head on my arm, the other arm wrapped around her and holding a breast with her hand atop mine. I wondered if there had ever been greater contentment on the planet.

In the dark morning hours, Em woke me, and we made love again. As she sat astride my hips, she told me that like the sunshine she was soaking up, she wanted to soak up as much of me as she could because our time together had to 'last' until the next time, whenever that would be. After our session, we cuddled back to sleep again.

Saturday morning we made love again before we showered together and dressed. At Em's suggestion, I checked out and moved my bags to her room. We spent most of the day in bed, taking time out only for breakfast and lunch in the hotel, and then dinner at a nearby steak house. We made love into the morning hours.

We'd allowed time between the wake-up call and our departure for one more romantic interlude. We used every second of the time, ultimately rushing through our showers and checkout. With some laughter and some tears we raced to LAX for my morning flight to Boston. Em would take a commuter flight back to San Francisco after I left. We stood and kissed goodbye with a passion I'd not known before. I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut after I left her. Em and I both had tears in our eyes.

Chapter 2

I not only slept on the plane back to Boston, but also ruminated about Emma and where the relationship might go, particularly since we were three thousand miles apart. During the few days since we'd met we hadn't talked about the future of our relationship. The only future was Em's request for me to call her soon -- to stay in touch the way a boyfriend and girlfriend might. Given the flash with which it had started, I wondered if it would survive the following week.

The closer the plane got to east coast, the more my thoughts also turned to Megan -- pretty, conservative, intellectual, artsy Megan. I liked her too. Thinking about her so close to my encounter with Em made me feel torn -- torn between the east coast and the west coast, between Megan and Emma, between a free spirit and a conservative one, and between a polite non-physical relationship and passionate sexual one.

The more I thought about it, the more contrasts I saw. I saw myself as the bridge between the contrasts. I liked them both -- maybe even loved them. I'd postpone the choice as long as I could.

Back in my studio apartment, I found I had a couple of messages from Megan, the last one suggesting dinner that night. I returned the call with a rather lame apology about not calling in to empty my answering machine while I'd been in California. She wasn't too miffed and any irritation passed quickly. After some other chitchat, we agreed to meet for dinner at a small Italian restaurant in Burlington.

Thus, two hours later over dinner, I found myself talking about the ACM Conference with Megan, wondering how much of what I was saying she was taking in. She showed genuine interest; however, technology, engineering, and databases were outside her sphere of interest. I conveniently left out any mention of Emma.

Megan shared her week with me. She worked part time as a docent at the DeCordova Museum in Lincoln, Massachusetts, only a few minutes from her home. During the week, they'd opened up a new exhibit for the fall season, and she waxed eloquent about the exhibits and the artists for a good part of the meal.

After dinner, as we left the restaurant, Megan gave me a functional goodnight kiss on the lips. I tried to nudge her into something more significant, but the moment passed and she slid into her car and drove away. We had talked briefly about when we'd see each other again.

Since we'd met, Megan had been determined to turn me into someone that not only appreciated the arts, but also had a discerning eye and ear for its fine points. Thus, many of our dates took us to a concert, the theater, a gallery, a poetry reading, an author's forum, or a show at one of the many museums in and around Boston.

Megan wasn't a false intellectual, trying to feign interest in the arts so she appeared cultured. She was cultured, and her interest in the arts was genuine and enthusiastic. Discovering a new artist or author she liked brought her great delight.

I found my immersion into the arts pleasing, and liked the fact Megan expanded my horizons into areas I'd left untouched by my focus on engineering and technology. I liked most of the events or places we attended, and already had a burgeoning hobby studying many of the things she placed at my feet. I was open to learning, and the opinions and viewpoints Megan taught me.

Megan lived with her parents. She'd graduated from Wellesley College only thirty minutes from home, and although she'd lived on campus, I noted that she still shared an exceptionally close relationship with her mother and younger sister. Megan was a carbon copy of her mother, a lovely and matronly woman in her early fifties devoted to the arts as well as several charitable causes in the western suburbs.

One drawback to Megan living at home was that it severely limited the opportunity for us to have moments of physical intimacy. I wasn't at all sure that such moments even appealed to her. Usually, when we went out, I'd pick her up at her house and drop her off there. If there were an invitation to come in for coffee after our date, that was what the invitation really meant.

However, after the time I'd spent in Los Angeles I decided to be more assertive about Megan and me creating a more physical and romantic relationship. I needed to know if there was something there other than a polite kiss or two. The Friday evening after I'd returned from LA, we attended the opening of a new exhibit at the Steven's Gallery in Cambridge. I then brought Megan back to my small apartment in Lexington. I'd romanced her more than usual that evening, even plying her with a flowers and new Pinot Noir I'd bought. I was soon rewarded with a physical passion from her I didn't know existed. We cuddled for a couple of hours on my sofa, exploring at least superficially each other's bodies without the removal of any clothing.

The evening was transformational. I'd been uncertain of Megan's ultimate appeal to me or, for that matter, my appeal to her. The next day a different Megan greeted me, one that hugged and kissed and wasn't shy about displaying her affection for me to her family.

The relation with her family changed too. I suddenly became increasingly involved in Megan's family functions -- her sister's birthday, a family dinner at some exclusive club, an overnight cruise with her family on the magnificent yacht of a family friend, and even her mother's birthday. Of course, turnabout is fair play. Megan started to play a more evident role in the doings of my family as well.

Megan and I became increasingly physical with each other too, much to my pleasure, and I was pleased to discover hers too. About a month after I'd come back from Los Angeles we consummated our relationship at my apartment. The shy Megan turned out to have a passionate streak that could turn almost wild during sex. She'd been a virgin when we made love the first time, but after our first time together she would try anything.

Things changed even more profoundly after that between us. We both tacitly assumed that sometime, in the not too distant future, we'd marry and start a family.

Basically, over the following couple of months Megan and I became an event -- we were officially a couple, and one with a long-term future as far as both families were concerned. I knew we'd get married soon when I was at my parent's home alone, and my mother started to talk about giving some of her jewelry to Megan. My mother would only consider such an act if Megan would be a long-term part of the family. Thus, a couple of months later, after confiding in my parents, I had my grandmother's diamond engagement ring re-sized so that it would fit Megan's ring finger.

I decided to wait for a special occasion and decided that Christmas Eve day would be the right event. I was a guest for a large afternoon dinner at Megan's home. A television in their den allowed frequent diversions into several football games during the day. I finally captured Megan and pulled her into the vacant living room while the rest of her family hovered in the kitchen or watching television.

"Megan," I started as she studied my face, "You make me very happy and I think I make you happy. I think we are a good couple ... well ... Megan will you marry me?" I reached into my jacket pocket and produced the flashy ring.

Megan let me slip it on her finger, kissed me with renewed passion, and then shrieked at the top of her lungs about how she accepted. "YES, YES, YES," she screamed as we hugged again. The racket attracted the rest of the family who proceeded to fawn all over us the rest of the day. I felt happy, and that I'd made the right decision.

Christmas day we brought both families together at my parent's home in Dillon for an impromptu family-only engagement party. By the time all the aunts, uncles, cousins, and other assorted relatives from both families paid a visit, over sixty people had come by to wish us well. We had a great time being the center of attention.

As the holidays faded, Megan and her mother went into wedding planning mode. I acceded to the decision the pair made to have a large wedding. As far as I was concerned, it was a large party; if they wanted to spend their money to that extent it was fine with me. I made it clear that I'd do any size wedding, even just standing with the local justice of the peace with close family members present.

The spring and summer months passed with amazing speed. Occasionally, I'd get asked my opinion about how an invitation looked or whether I liked this place setting or that. Towards summer, our first wedding presents arrived. This was becoming all too real, but I kept my cool and didn't let the anxiety of a life-changing event sweep me away.

In late August, over three hundred of our 'closest' friends and relatives gathered for our wedding. We used the Congregational church in Concord, Massachusetts, for the ceremony, and a mammoth tent in Megan's parent's spacious backyard for the reception. A live band provided the entertainment, and about thirty caterers and bartenders kept a supply of food and drink flowing into the crowd for the rest of the afternoon and early evening. Out of deference for the neighbors, the Winston's shut things down about ten o'clock that evening.

Megan and I and about thirty of our real friends then had a party after the party at my friend Bob's house in Bedford. Bob had an above ground pool that we all crowded into, singing, carousing, and carrying on until the wee hours of the morning. We eventually called it quits about three a.m.; Megan and I went back to my apartment. We were so exhausted, we just fell into bed together.

In the winter, Megan and I moved to a bigger apartment in Lexington. I could almost walk to work. Megan continued with her volunteer work only a few miles away at the DeCordova Museum. She also helped in her mother's volunteer work at a black tie gala for the American Cancer Society. I finally bought a tuxedo.

"Matt, we have to talk!" Megan announced to me with authority one Saturday afternoon in early spring. I could tell she'd had something on her mind for the previous week, but even when I'd asked she'd brushed off her mood as nothing unusual. I had a unique sensitivity to 'we have to talk' statements, believing with each one that my continuing relationship with Emma might have been uncovered despite my care.

Megan led me into our new living room. I felt comfortable in the room, a mix of furniture from my apartment and several new pieces Megan and I had purchased. We both sat on the sofa. Megan took my hand in hers and squeezed affectionately. My angst subsided slightly.

"I'm going back to school," Megan announced.

Inside, I breathed a sigh of relief. Outwardly, I asked, "Tell me what your thinking."

"I want to contribute more to the world than just be a docent at the museum and do charity stuff. Right now, the best I can do with my education is a clerical job of some kind. What was I thinking when I signed up for an art degree?" Megan rolled her eyes. "I'd need a doctorate in art to teach, or at a minimum a masters in education so I could get a teaching certificate in some school system. But, that's not enough; I don't want to teach or play guide in a museum." She took a deep breath and said, "I want to be a doctor -- or at least a physician's assistant."

"Wow!" I exclaimed aloud. "You have been thinking."

Megan pulled out a glossy folder out of the drawer in the coffee table. "I've been in town to talk to Simmons College about their program. I went through a lot of other places too, but settled on Simmons' School of Health Services. My advisor there thinks that if I start full time this summer and take a course overload now and then, I can finish their PA program in two-and-a-half years. I want to make sure it's all right with you before I apply."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"The more I get into it, the more excited I get." The tone of her voice rose in obvious excitement. She flipped a few pages in one brochure and laid a list of courses in front of me. "This coming summer and most of my first year I'll be taking a lot of basic courses: anatomy, physiology, chemistry, microbiology, statistics, and psychology. After that, I start to get into the practical clinic work and patient care courses, possibly with a couple of electives to direct me into specialized training. If I want to go further, to become an MD, they have all the right connections to other nearby schools and hospitals."

I thought for a minute and said, "Megan, I'll support you in this, but I don't want you to set yourself up for disappointment. Only a few months ago, we talked about starting a family in a couple of years. Have you forgotten that discussion?"

"No, no," She insisted. "I'm just not going to start popping babies out this year or next. After I finish, I think there'll be some time for all that. I'm just postponing." She looked at me eager for my approval of her idea.

"Have you talked to your parents -- your mother?"

"No. Mom would just try to talk me out of it. For her, the museum thing and maybe a charitable gala once a year would be adequate. I realize I've been burning up inside wanting something significant in my life, and I'm sure this is it."

"How will it affect us?" I asked, although I could already feel the wheels turning about a curtailed social life -- something I'd been getting used to.

Megan answered slowly, "I guess a lot." She moved closer and sat right beside me, holding my hand in hers again. "I'd be a co-ed again. This place would become my dorm room. I wouldn't be the chief cook or laundry queen I've been. Our social life would suffer. I'd be sure to pay lots of attention to you -- lots of quality time though." She grinned at me, and then went on, "I don't know beyond that. I can't envision it until I'm doing it, I guess."

I approved. Something inside me felt that Megan was making a move to a more substantive life. I just hoped that she could handle the pressures and workload of being a wife and student at the same time. I knew she'd pour her heart and mind into the endeavor.

In June, Megan started commuting every day into the Boston's Fenway. My sophisticated intellectual artsy wife became a co-ed again. The heels and dresses gave way to Levis, a sweatshirt, and running shoes. The evening discussions we'd had about art and authors, gave way to quick synopses of some physiology class or having me quiz her about anatomy. I started to learn a lot about bones and muscles.