IaW Ch. 03: What a Long, Strange Trip

On the way back west, we checked Organ Pipe Monument in the Sonoran Desert. It was the perfect place for a photo-op (Sex in the desert? Yes, thank you).

That night, we stayed at a little motel in Gila Bend. She insisted on eating healthy, so it was all vegetables and protein shakes. We had the motel TV on for background noise, and "Seven" was playing.

At the time, we were talking sex (go figure). Most of it was wondering how to define our relationship. If she was my "Veronica," this obviously had to be some sort of open relationship. Was it wide-open? Secretly open ("cheaty")? Half-open?

That's when Gin learned I had two close buddies living in LA, and two more "Friends with Benefits" (both actresses).

"Innnteresting..." She cocked her head at me. "Have you hooked up with either of them since we started going out?"

"No. Hell, I haven't had time to hangout with anybody."

"Can you see yourself... wanting those 'benefits' again?"

Nothing in her demeanor had changed, yet I suddenly felt like I was in a minefield. "Maybe?"

"Are your friends the type of guys to hit on... your fiancée?"

"I trust them with my money and my life... but not my wife."

"Would you trust your wife with your friends?"

"I'd trust that even less."

After a moment to process, a coy smile crept across her face. "When are you gonna introduce me?"

"Lemme see... if we get back Saturday night..."

That earned its own kiss -- and led to its own mess on the motel's comforter.

###

The next morning, she woke up in a sweat.

"You okay?"

She pointed at the TV. "Fucking 'Seven'."

"What, like a gangbang?"

"No!" she plonked me on the forehead. "The movie last night, doofus."

"What about it?"

"I nightmared about a cactus dildo!"

"Oh! Oh, that would be bad."

After another painfully healthy meal, we hit the road, picking up the I-10 west of Phoenix. There was more desolate vs. beautiful debate, but her grasp of all things geological also bubbled back. Against the sex, I'd forgotten all about that little easter egg. It was another of those cool surprises that only comes out on something like a road trip.

We crossed the State Line and back in California, I was sad the trip was coming to an end. We decided to cap off the grand tour of the Southwest with a visit to Joshua Tree National Park. The photo op was artfully... pornographic.

Just a bit further and we traded Coachella stories. We'd both been there, likely at the same time. She'd been hit on -- a lot -- but was never relaxed enough to really trust the old "What happens at Coachella, stays at Coachella" code. On the other hand, I been there with an ex-girlfriend... who just happened to be one of my current Friends-With-Benefits.

This brought the FWBs back to the surface. Ginny did not have any, technically, which I thought a crying shame.

She squinted at me. "You know my history, inside and out--"

"Kinda-sorta," I countered.

"Still more than I know about yours."

Really, I didn't know nearly as much about her as I wanted to. She'd had three serious boyfriends, the only men she'd ever actually slept with. Which made it doubly amazing that I'd been able to resist an "inside and out" pun.

Sorry.

On her history, she'd had six "casuals." Those were men that she'd gone down on. In today's day and age, that actually leaned on the conservative side.

Now, beyond that, all bets were off. Kissing, fondling...? Did that fall under "flirting"? Probably, yes, but I had no idea.

As for me...? Let's just say I was in no place to be judgmental.

"A string of flings, mostly. I've never kept count. Except for two."

"Two serious relationships?"

I nodded. "Both girls... women, I should say... they broke up with me. Both times, the next step would've been, like, moving in together. Both times, I was told, point-blank: 'It's not me, it's you'."

She looked at me like I was a criminal. "What did you do?!"

"I didn't 'do' anything. I get hit on. A lot. I don't try and flirt, I'm just friendly and..."

Ginny pointed at me: "Okay, I can totally see it."

"Fuck. Now you, too?"

"I understand it. You, being a voyeur, aren't going to see it as easy. For every 'normal' person out there, though, having your Significant Other hit-on can be infuriating. It might excite you, but it can absolutely crush a normal person's self-confidence."

"Are you saying I'm abnormal?"

"I'm saying you're, like, weirdly bullet-proof. Don't get me wrong: that confidence gets me a little wet, but don't assume everybody sees things the same way you do."

I shrugged. "Maybe that's another one of the things that attracts me to you. You're a flirt. On purpose. I'm guessing that other girls flirting with me isn't going to affect you as much."

"Oh, it still affects me," she muttered. "I notice. That might be one of the things that pushes me to flirt a little more. With you and with... whoever."

I had to fight back a grin. "The games we play."

"So they broke up with you. Was it bad?"

"Yeah, it hurt. They were cool chicks. I got over it, mostly, but it stung."

"You ever run into them?"

"They, uh... Yeah. Not for the last month, no, but yeah."

"What do you mean?"

"We stayed friends. Skylar and I were steady about a year and a half during my last year in college. We broke up but stayed in contact, and eventually just hung out as friends. After a 2am drunken call, that sorta became 'Friends with Benefits.' She was there when I got serious with Laura. Laura and I went for about two years. Fucking blew my mind when Laura broke up with me over the same thing Sky did."

"Did you ever cheat?"

"Nah. Plenty of opportunity, but we never had 'that' understanding. So I never did. Funny thing: Laura knew Sky as my friend, but she also knew we had history. They became friends, but after the break-up, they became besties, mostly as the Post-Rick Support Group. Which is great. At least I can bring people together."

"But you still talk to them?"

"Uhh..." I gave my fiancée a sidelong glance. "After Laura broke up with me, I didn't feel like wading back into singles scene. Skylar... had a couple of boyfriends at the time and our 'with benefits' part just sort of started up again."

"While she was consoling Laura?"

"Laura did the breaking, remember? I'd say more commiserating than consoling."

"Fuck," Gin muttered. "That's... fucked up."

"It gets better. Or worse, depending."

"How?"

"A 2am drunken call from Laura."

"You didn't!"

"I didn't. We did."

"We?!"

"I was with Sky at the time. We picked up Laura stumbling drunk and went to an IHOP. That's when I learned they had anti-Rick interventions with each other and I was there to see it. Coffee and pancakes somehow turned into a threesome."

"Seriously? Fuck!" Ginny was slack-jawed a moment. "How the fuck am I supposed to compete with that?"

"Well, neither one wants to marry me -- and neither one is you. It's not a competition. Also, IHOP bacon is just fucking enchanted."

Gin tried not to laugh, wound up snorting instead.

After, there was a long minute of just shaking her head. "So your two past Significant Others are now both Friends With Benefits?"

It took a while to spin up the courage for a simple: "Yeah."

"Shit." She was tapping her chin, thinking about it. "Would you mind..."

"What?"

"Rick, are you Facebook friends with them?"

"Yeah. And yes, they've asked about you."

"Would you mind if I 'friended' them?"

"That would fucking terrify me... but go ahead."

We were almost back home when we decided to stay out one last night. Mostly because we'd be heading into Saturday evening LA traffic. Instead, we got a motel room in Palm Springs.

Over dinner, we talked sex and jealousy -- hers and mine. There were still pangs of concern, from both of us, and it was worth a talk. It was healthy relationship communication, almost as healthy as the salads in front of us.

There was a pause, then a question seemed to get stuck in her throat. When she could finally cough it out: "What makes me any different from Sky or Laura?"

"They both have a kinky streak, but you ARE kinky. You have a weird little streak of 'wholesome' but those two ARE wholesome. Which is weird, because they both have three years on you and I'm damned sure they're already past that magic '37'."

"Which seems like it would turn you on."

"It does. That's Veronica's number. But if we got serious, they'd want to close it up... which kinda kills my inner voyeur. I want a partner that's going to keep that game going. I don't know what 'open' looks like when we're thirty. Or forty. Or fifty years old. Maybe things change, maybe we decide to circle the wagons. We'll make that decision when we get to it, and we make it together. Right now, though? Let's play."

Ginnifer looked at me from across the table. "Do you really want me to be your 'Veronica'? Last chance to keep me to yourself."

"Do you really want to be my Veronica?"

"That small, wholesome part of my heart says 'no.' I want to be yours and yours alone. And I want you all to myself. But..." She paused, then nodded. "...If we're being honest, then 'yes.' Totally, YES. I want to be your Veronica!"

"Good. I think you're meant for it."

"You're the fourth guy I've slept with in my entire life, the tenth guy I've gone down on--"

"Stop. You're headed towards the magic 'Veronica Count', right?"

"Yes."

"Please pardon my sex nerd." --she giggled at me-- "Okay, when Veronica met Dante, she'd gone down on 36 guys before him. He was #37. You've gone down on 9 before me. Which is a great start, but '10' is not '37.' So is there a 'slash' in there? A before and after number? An asterisk of sorts?"

"Well, I guess, yeah."

"So, you're Ginnifer, not Veronica. You're MY Veronica. So let's reset what a 'Veronica Count' means... because this is an US thing now. Let's start your Veronica Count at zero."

"And you still want me to hit '37'?"

"Yeah. I think we talked about this: when you hit '37', we'll look at the wedding calendar and set the date."

"That is so fucking kinky!"

"Is it?"

"How do we do this? I mean... am I yours to loan out? Or do you want me to take the shots when they come? She said..." rolling her eyes.

She gotten to the pun before I could. "Ha! Both. The idea of loaning you out is fucking kinky. Yes, thank you, I'd love to do that. However... I figure most of your moments will just be spontaneous. If one of your daily flirts seems like it could go there...?"

"Do you want details? Pictures? Can I cheat?"

"Wait, what?" I think we'd touched on this before and I still didn't understand it. "How can you actually cheat if I've given you permission?"

"That's easy: I don't tell you all of them. I keep some for myself."

Zen and the Art of Being Naughty. "Interesting. Do those count toward the 37?"

"Maybe, maybe not..." It seemed like she was still figuring this out. "Maybe I tell you the number has gone up, but not with whom and I give no details."

"Mysterious. I would like details on all of them. Hell, I'd like video..." I thought about it a second: she'd used the word "cheaty" before. If I gave flat-out blanket permission, that would drain the thrill from it. Purpose: defeated. "Okay, I am NOT going to give you permission to cheat... But I am never, EVER going break up with you over cheating."

She looked down, her big green eyes disheartened. She was sliding toward shattered when those eyes went wide. She bit her lip as it sunk in. A second later, she grabbed my shirt and pulled herself across the table to kiss me. "Gawd, I love you."

"I know..."

She was grinning so wide she had a hard time sipping her margarita. "Okay, 37 guys! Can some be repeats?"

"Sure, but they only count once."

She smiled again and it tumbled into a full giggle. "Okay... because I think some are... definitely... going to be repeats."

"I'm excited. Like who?"

"Well, probably your friends and..." It's like she was trying not to say it. "Sexual harassment attorneys are The Worst!"

"Your bosses?"

She nodded. "I'm not sure if that's ironic or just human nature..."

I had to sip my beer and hit the reset button, my head spinning as my fiancée shared thoughts of becoming the office slut. "You mentioned you were the 'forgiving type.' What does that mean, exactly?"

"They're not part of the six casuals, if that's what you're wondering."

"The thought crossed my mind."

"There are 12 attorneys at the firm," she reminded me. "But there's really only five that work out of the office. All five of them are married, and all five of them are handsy. Like every day."

"Holy shit. Is your office stuck in 1962?"

"You have no idea. It's not just the occasional ass grab, it's that they put the 'dick' in dictation. I sit on more boners than a lap dancer. Full disclosure...?"

"What?"

"I never complained about it. I might even, um... have pointed out how wrong it was... as I was giving some butt wiggle."

"Ah. Thus you became known as the 'forgiving type'. And you established a precedent."

Ginny took a deep breath. "Four months ago, when I came back after that medical leave, it got worse."

"Worse?"

"First day I was back, I asked them what 'my friend' could do about that video. Pretty sure they saw right through that. Suddenly, I'm in a deposition with all five bosses and the answer was 'not much'."

"I remember: bedroom talk, you gave Ed oral permission."

"That's what she said! 'She' being me, in this case..." Ginny drained the last of her margarita and hoisted the glass for another. "My lunch had been a protein shake, a Valium and a Xanax. That same afternoon, when Morty requested--"

"'Morty'? Seriously?"

Gin nodded. "When Morty requested dictation, old habits... just... kicked in. The biology was strong and that complicated things."

My mouth was hanging open at this violation, yet my dick was hard. "How?"

"My butt wiggles turned into his boob touches, which turned into me getting fingered which turned into a hand job for Morty."

"Just one? Did he blab?"

"No, more than one; kind of a weekly thing, but only for Morty. Did he blab? Probably, but maybe it was just my own signals? Between the Valium and the Xanax, I could no longer deny that I have a 'thing' for older guys."

"And there you were, in the lion's den."

"I was a kid in a candy store. Old, hard... tasty candies. By the end of the week, with all five partners, what used to be just 'incidental touches' became full groping."

"Is that... still going?"

She nodded. "Even after the Valium ran out, and I rarely take Xanax anymore, and I'm trying to wean myself from the Prozac... I'm sorry, sort of, but I enjoy going to work."

"No shit?" I leaned on my elbows. "That is so incredibly wrong, and yet..."

"Incredibly right for me?" She nodded. "I feel like a traitor to Women's Lib, and that makes me feel guilty, but I have a High School diploma with C- average... and I make $60 an hour just being squeezable eye-candy. I have to look good, but there's no other pressure. It's kinda my dream job."

"So, Morty's hand jobs aren't in your 'casual sex' count?"

She shook her head. "I never considered kissing or fondling as anything more than flirting."

"Fondling and groping, though--"

"It's in the context. Also, getting fingered or giving a hand job is just kind of an extended mutual grope."

"Holy shit. You ARE Veronica."

She nodded, slightly trembling. "Rick... are you mad? Do you still love me?"

Words weren't coming to me, so I reached across the table and took her hand in mine, doing what I could to soothe her fears. Even I was surprised by the words, but it was truth: "I love you more now than I did five minutes ago..."

She dropped her head. "I need to have a job, but... I'll quit if you want me to."

"If you want to quit, now or at any time in the future, I'm your safety net. Things change, and that's okay. Otherwise, you're in the perfect place to be you."

She nodded, and finally looked up, tears of relief streaming down her face.

"How did they react when they saw the ring?"

She held up her hand. "Oh, I made the big announcement that Monday morning. Showed everybody. There were congratulations all around. They're going to buy everything on the registry... but literally, not a minute later, Morty cornered me in the copier room and had a hand in my panties."

"Did you say anything?"

"Other than embarrassing myself on how much I enjoyed it? No..." She shook her head, then dropped her head a moment later. "No. By the end of the week, everybody figured out that I'll be married, but nothing else has really changed."

"Oh, I think something is going to change, Veronica."

"Okay, probably yes, so... being a married office slut is a kinky dream-cum-true. But I have another special favor I'm going to ask... Of you." She sipped her margarita, working out details. "It won't be cheating, but it'll be cheaty: I don't want to tell them that I have your permission."

"So..." I had to adjust my dick, which was cycling back and forth between wood and rock. "You want them to think you're cheating on me?"

"It's complicated," Ginny nodded. "Is that okay?"

"Kinky. We can roll with it, see how it plays out."

"Yay!" She took a deep breath and finished her margarita. "So, what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Well, you have friends with benefits. You do get hit on. A lot."

"Umm, yeah... I suppose."

"How did you put it? Oh, right..." She stared up at the ceiling as she composed. "Rick, I am NOT going to give you permission to cheat... But you should know that I will NEVER break up with you over cheating."

"Fair enough. And thank you! But I'd rather have the permission..."

"Done and done! Just one request?"

"Name it."

"Just don't leave me?"

"Never." I took her hand in mine. "Did Ed ever actually propose?"

"No. My first two serious boyfriends did, like, weekly, but not Ed."

I kissed the engagement ring I'd put on her finger. "You know, my parents got divorced. They both remarried different people and got divorced again. It was idiotic. Whatever comes up, we will talk through it and work it out. Cool?"

"Cool!"

###

Honestly, part of me wanted to drive home tonight and call my horndog friends over, just so my new favorite pornstar would cross that threshold.

Instead, we hit the motel bar after dinner, had a few drinks and people-watched. There was a lot of "Would you fuck [that person]?"

The answer, for both of us, was probably not. We had very high standards. She admit, however, that there was a loophole: she regularly flirted with people she wasn't attracted to... and if they knew how to flirt, that totally changed the game.

The most fun I could remember having for a while was hearing how she'd flirt with whoever we were looking at. She'd tell me what caught her eye, what she'd do, and what she'd say based on what she could see. It was cool to see how her mind worked.

We'd been leaning at actually playing the pickup game. We were going to take advantage of being away from home, in a motel lounge on a Saturday night. She'd go up to the bar, alone, play the role of cheating fiancée, and let a guy pick her up. It would be an epic, archetypal way to cross that threshold.

Instead, last call came and left and neither of us felt like talking to anybody else.

We got to our room -- making out -- and by then, she was glad we hadn't done it. Not that she'd changed her mind in the big picture, but she wanted me to watch the first time. She wanted me to see it. She wanted live, real-time approval and the validation.

Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk... then we're laying next to each other in bed. It seemed so anticlimactic -- but we'd kind of settled in for the night. That is, she'd already changed into her night shirt, which was another sheer t-shirt that stopped even with the bottom of her ass cheeks.