Outer Banks to Maine

I am a 60+ year old bi woman. Many of my stories, originate in memories and recent events in my life. All contain a combination of real and fictional characters with names changed as appropriate to protect the 'guilty.' They are memoirs spiced with a kinky imagination.

If you like mature women I hope you will enjoy my stories and comment on what you liked and perhaps didn't like to help me improve.

This story is a continuation of a series of 'Outer Banks' stories highlighting Marjorie and my time with her. The first of those stories, 'Outer Banks -- Marjorie,' tells about meeting Marjorie and what we learned about each other, the beginning. The most recent story, 'Outer Banks -Portrait,' tells the continuing tale of my time with this woman as our relationship evolved and I learned of her talent as an artist.

From my story 'Outer Banks -- Portrait'

Marjorie has begun working at the resort almost every day, doing caricatures of tourists. Occasionally I join her, other days I remain at the cottage and work on my book.

She has finished my portrait. Not the one I expected but a pose with me in a beach chair with just the curve of my breast and the side of my thigh showing. She has modified the pose and In the image I am looking directly at the viewer. My lips and nails are red and she has somehow magically captured the hint of green in my eyes. I love it.

She tells me she has a surprise for me later in the day and without a hint she leaves for the resort.

At around noon a small motor home, a Rialta, arrives and parks behind Marjorie's cabin. I know it is a Rialta because it says so on the side. It's the same little camper van that was here on the Fourth of July. I go out to say hello to her son, the FBI guy, and his wife. They explain that they are early, I didn't know they were visiting, but I invite them in and it's my lucky day. They like beer!

We are settled in on the deck when Marjorie returns. She says hello to everyone, goes in the house, gets a beer and joins us. As she sits down she kisses me. Not a peck on the cheek but a real rather deliberate kiss. If there was a fan on my deck the shit would have hit it.

When I look at the 'FBI guy' son he is smiling. His wife appears to be in, mouth wide open, shock. In the next hour, and into the evening, we all would learn a lot.

Her son it seems was told by Marjorie that she and I were perhaps more than just neighbors. He had, I didn't know 'FBI guys' were cowards, not told his wife.

Marjorie, I learned, had traded them her almost new Range Rover for the little motor home and she had arranged transfer of all the registrations and license plates.

Was the motor home somehow my surprise? I didn't know I wanted one. I'd have to wait to find out.

The four of us go out to dinner and when we return FBI guy and his wife sleep in the rental cabin, 'Dolphin' and will be leaving early in the morning.

Finally Marjorie and I are alone and I can ask, "What's going on with the motor home?"

Although a lot of Marjorie's 'worldly goods' are in the rental cabin, Marjorie and I have chosen to live in my cabin, at least for now. Yes, I have named the cabins, mine 'Blue Herron' and the rental, Marjorie's cabin, 'Dolphin.' I even went out and bought those signs that until then I thought we're quite tacky. As I nailed it in place over the beach side door I was thinking that a dark feathered Great Blue lives it's life with all the other shore birds. They live in harmony. If only we humans could always do the same.

We are in bed and her face is an inch from mine, God she smells so good, "Yes the Rialta is the surprise but it's only 'your surprise' if you agree to get in it with me and travel." Before I could say anything she continued, "I feel sometimes like I am just an old lady, waiting to die. I need to see this country and it's people and draw their faces while I still can."

I'm uncomfortable with not having discussed this idea ahead of this decision she seems to have made. I start to say something but she senses something wrong and puts her finger on my lips.

"Robin, I know what you are thinking. We should have talked this through before now but before you say anything hear me out." As though I have agreed she continues, "You can write anywhere we find ourselves. In my mind, you keep the cabins as a base camp and we can return to your 'mother ocean' and refresh anytime we need to." Speaking faster, as if to just get it all out, she continues, "I have a buyer for my house in Tennessee and I really want to do this...... with you! If you sell your house in Florida, that money and the money from my home in Tennessee, will give us all the money we need to travel as long as we want to." Now, not only is she assuming I'm going along with this but that I will help finance it. This is the first time Marjorie has implied a concern about money. I wonder why?

We are both naked. Hell, her idea is romantic and I don't want to be a spoiler so I pull her closer and kiss her without saying anything. I need time to think this through. Our nipples touch.

Like we have been together forever and as though I said 'I love you', I didn't, she says, "I love you more."

OUTER BANKS to Maine.

We didn't talk any more about the Rialta or travel that night. Her hand found it's way to my hip when I kissed her and then my breast and nipple and I surrendered to her touch. It seemed like we should be talking but our bodies wanted something simpler, something more basic.

Marjorie has a tattoo bracelet on her right wrist, narrow but extremely detailed and colorful. When she touches my face with her hand I kiss that wrist, that bracelet. She notices and says, "I'll buy you one as we travel. I know the best tattoo artists on our way north." She also has a blue Dolphin tattooed to the left side of her neck with a date under it, a baby she lost when they first married. Marjorie is 61. My original suspicion that she is mixed race is true. Pale olive very light skin, part Italian with some uncertain Hispanic and Black ancestors.

Not at all average, her firm breasts are round and high on her chest. Her nipples, visibly pressing against her top regardless of what she is wearing, always suggest she is not wearing a bra. She has the very blond hair that screams Norwegian ancestors somewhere in the past and eyes that are the steel light blue that drills holes.

This night she is less aggressive than usual. I like sex with this less dominant Marjorie, we have been here before she and I. Eventually, both satisfied, we fall asleep.

I do not sleep well and very early the next morning I awake to the sound of the Range Rover starting. It's a diesel and sounds like a tin can full of nuts and bolts when it is first started. I glance at Marjorie and she is sound asleep. I can see in the moonlight coming through the bedroom window that the light weight covers have fallen away from her revealing the outward swelling of her hips and the curve of her untanned butt cheeks and breasts. She is still, as I am, completely naked and her long tanned legs trail off to the end of the bed. I lean in, kiss her hip gently and I am filled with the strong musk of her sex. I pull the covers over her and smile, happy she is in my bed.

I'm up and with shorts, a tee shirt and black coffee, I'm on the beach. It is still dark, the sun a few hours away. A glance at my watch, 4:15 a.m. I walk on in the moonlit darkness. I'm alone on the beach but it won't be long before the usual dawn seekers arrive.

Talking to her last night was as it always is, like reading a book by opening it at random places. Disconnected snippets of her ideas, her desires, her opinions. Like looking in a mirror on some things, polar opposites on other things.

As I walk I am not worried but I am not happy. This is all happening too quickly. I have to slow it down. It was only two weeks ago that I returned from a month in my Florida house. Marjorie had refused to join me in Florida citing some commitment at the resort where she 'worked.' She is not an employee, they allow her to draw tourists for a small fee because they see a resident artist as good for business.

I am troubled by last nights conversation. I'm not even sure I would call it a conversation, she talked, I listened. Oh, it all went well on the surface but I am not sure I am ready for what she is proposing. These cabins have been my escape for a long time. Oh sure, I go to my Florida house now and then but most of the time it is rented and my last trip there did not end well. I feel that I cheated on Marjorie with that woman Jillian, and I again escaped to the Outer Banks. I am rationalizing that 'cheating' is only how I feel, not what really happened. I had hoped for more but it seems that Marjorie and I are destined to be only close friends and sex partners.

Maybe this offer to travel signals more. Maybe. I hoped so but when I returned from Florida two things happened that shook my confidence. As I was unpacking and putting some cosmetics and personal things away I found a toothbrush in the bathroom wastebasket. I imagine it is one of the many toothbrushes I have saved from appointments with my dental hygienist. The proverbial 'in case someone sleeps over and needs one' tooth brush. The discarded packaging is also in the wastebasket.

I honestly should have no expectations about Marjorie's fidelity to me or anything like that and I'm still feeling bad about Florida and Jillian. We have not talked about our relationship that way at all. Suddenly, I'm tired and feel old and confused.

Sitting on the closed toilet seat I recall conversations Marjorie and I have had. Her telling me, "Even as I move into my sixties I still love sex but now, complicated relationships are more difficult to manage and most often unnecessary for sexual relief and pleasure." In the same discussion she had, I thought, been honest by telling me that for her, sex these days is better characterized as "catch and release." If the chemistry is there sex might follow, then again maybe not, but never really more than sex and perhaps friendship, certainly not love. Perhaps I listened but did not really hear. Almost from the first time I met her I had no real expectations just foolish aging woman hopes.

I did ask Marjorie about the tooth brush as casually as I could. She responded honestly I think, "Oh, a friend had a little too much to drink at dinner and slept over." Like it was nothing. I'm so insecure, I find myself trying to figure out how, having been here only a few months, she suddenly has a friend I never met over for dinner while I'm away. Let it go Robin, let it go.

Then, a second thing happened. While washing the bed an earring fell out from among the sheets. A single gold stud with a Tanzanite stone. Not mine and there is no match in her little jewelry tray on her night stand. I did not ask. I simply placed it on the hight stand near the tray. A day later it was gone and she never said a word. Let it go Robin, let it go.

When I noticed it was gone I looked again in the tray and in her nightstand drawer while she was at the resort. In the drawer we're a few simple things, a flashlight, lip balm, her vibrator dildo and some letter envelopes tied with twine. Yes, I did what I never should have done. I looked at a few of the letters, all postmarked from Tennessee where Marjorie was from, one postmarked from Maine. The first letter, postmarked weeks before I met Marjorie, was from a woman, Paula, expressing condolences over the passing of Marjorie's husband. Very personal words, Paula it seems had a very intimate relationship with Marjorie and her husband. This is where a sane person would have stopped and put them all back but noooooo not me. Let it go Robin, let it go.

The second envelope was postmarked only five weeks ago, again from Tennessee. When I opened the flap something fell, out onto the bed. The tanzanite earring. Marjorie had put it in the envelope. I read only the first few lines written in perfect small script and knew I had made a mistake. It was a love letter and from a woman named Lauren. After reading more, I'm sure that Lauren had visited while I was away. More than sure, the letter discussed her travel plans. I did not, but should have, looked at the letter from Maine.

~~

Now as I'm walking on the beach in the dark I'm thinking that she has really always been honest with me, perhaps too honest. When she told me about past relationships with women, sometimes with her husband, sometimes without him knowing, I thought at the time, that she was just testing me, testing my own openness, my own standards. The reality was that she was telling me who she was, what she valued. She was telling me there were Paulas and Laurens and perhaps others, in her life and I had to be able to accept that.

Not long after we met, at the very beginning, Marjorie told me that she was married and had a husband she loved and one child by him when she met the first woman in her life. She told me it all worked out when, after struggling with the problem and cheating on him for almost a year, she was honest with her husband and shared that woman and later others with him.

Somewhere along the line, Marjorie told me while discussing her husband, that her relationship with him was, what she thought, was very traditional with him almost always taking the initiative in sex. Her "other life" as she put it, the women in her life over the years, the times with both her hubby and a woman was just the opposite with her taking a decidedly dominant role.

I wonder if this traveling in an RV and not having first discussed it with me is a sign of that dominance. Have we moved into a relationship where she will call the shots and I will go along?

Let it go Robin, let it go.

At one time, she confessed that she was jealous as she watched her husband pleasuring himself with another woman's body, not really wanting to share either of them with each other. I remember her smiling, touching my hand and telling me that she didn't know why she was telling me all this, she had never shared those feelings with anyone. Thinking back now, perhaps she was signaling what life would be like with her.

~~

The sun is starting to announce its morning arrival on the beach and three miles out I turn around and head back. I'm pushing myself as Marjorie would expect.

I'm remembering our first time with Marjorie in control. It's hard not to remember and hope for more. It happened when she first proposed painting my portrait.

We 'exercise' walk each morning. We cover four miles pushing each other as much as possible. She says nothing about the painting. When we return we shower outdoors and she washes me as I wash her. I love the feeling of her hands washing me. She shuts off the water, turns and kisses me. As she takes a towel from the rack for each of us I'm thinking about that kiss. Not love, not sex, not passion, just an I can kiss you anytime I want kind of kiss. I like that. I like that a lot.

Marjorie invites me to stay and join her for coffee, she has something to show me. We are on the deck and she comes out with a covered easel. I'm sipping my coffee when she pulls the cover sheet off saying, "It's only a pencil drawing so don't judge it yet."

I look at the drawing then her then the drawing again, "Marjorie, it's beautiful. My God, is that me?"

She covers the drawing and takes it inside. When she returns, something has changed. She looks at me and says simply, "Robin, come inside. I need to fuck you now!"

There is a blur in my memory of the next moments. Marjorie is taking my clothes off. She is not at all the same but rough and demanding. She pushes me onto the bed and almost before I can react she is on me and I am handcuffed. Those are real! Damn that FBI son of hers.

There will be no safe word today. Did I remember to tell her about my safe word? Oh fuck I didn't tell her about the safe word. It doesn't matter because she is putting a second set of handcuffs on my ankles. I'm going nowhere. When I try to speak to her she slaps one of my nipples rather hard, "Robin, shut up! You want this." She is stuffing my panties in my mouth.

In 'Outer Banks -- Portrait you, dear reader, can read more about what happened.

~~

Walking back I really start to feel I have this sorted out. Marjorie has asked me to join her on a journey of indeterminate length to places not yet defined. What could go wrong? She has been as clear as I can expect that there are other people in her life and that our relationship on that journey will not be monogamous but she wants me in the passengers seat.

I must have been in a fog of thought or perhaps it was because I was walking toward the rising sun but I did not see Marjorie until she was very near. "Hey girl, I woke up alone, you were gone and I was worried." She takes my hand and says, "You never said yes to my offer of a life on the road and last night you did not tell me you love me. Are we ok?" Her hand is warm and firm in mine and as I look at her the sun catches in her eyes and I answer, "Yes, we are ok but I need to tell you I love you and we need to talk about what that means."

She stops, kisses me lightly and says, "Let's go home and talk, I haven't even had coffee yet."

We walk into the rising warming sun and I'm hopeful.

As we are making fresh coffee she is talking about a campground she knows of in the interior forests of Maine. She talks about hiking the trails as though it was like walking the beach. Mostly she is talking, I think to avoid talking about me or letting me talk.

I'm first to the deck, just in time to see a young family sneak onto the beach between houses and set up for the day. I love to watch happy families enjoying each other's company on vacation.

Marjorie comes out, sits beside me, and asks, "Tell me what you are thinking, what you were thinking as you walked the beach earlier."

"I'm not sure where to begin but .........maybe I should start by saying something about me you should know."

"A couple of years ago a man I knew, and came to love, asked me to marry him. He and I had never really talked about expectations as a couple. When we did we found that our real expectations if we, I, was honest were not compatible. He expected a monogamous relationship and I just knew that was not going to work for me. Call me what you will but I have learned that I am bisexual in sex but a lesbian in 'love.' Sure I loved him but sooner or later a woman would come along and I would leave him for her."

I was not sure this was making any sense but as long as I am really screwing things up, why not continue.

"Before that when I met Beth she and I started out as friends, became lovers and then a couple. Again I screwed up and did not understand what she needed. I was fine in what I thought was a monogamous relationship with her but she needed more. It hurt when I thought she was cheating when in reality she was just being true to herself."

"So, a few other people in between, nothing serious, and along came you. At first I had no expectations of life with you. You meet my every need sexually but not exclusively, at least not yet, if that makes any sense. There are not now but may be other women in the future."

Marjorie started to speak but a asked her to let me finish.

"So I want you to know that I know about Lauren. I didn't mean to snoop it just happened"

This time she stopped me and asked me to listen.

"I know you learned of my visit with Lauren. I left the clues for you to find. I saw that you found the letters. How many did you read?"

"Just two, the one from a woman named Paula and the one from Lauren."

"None of the others?"

"No, no, just the two."

"Robin, trust me, I want to be with you first and foremost. There were always a half dozen or so women in my life at any given time and none knew about the others. Most were married and couldn't risk a sexually transmitted decease and neither could I. Those letters were from all the women in my life, each one sent to me after my husband died. Since I moved here and met you I have not contacted or been contacted by anyone but Lauren. Yes, she came here to visit and yes we slept together." Long pause, deep breath, "So I'm just going to get this out.....while she and I were making love I was thinking about you. No, not that you were in my bed instead of her but rather that you were with in bed with us."