“Oh, I dunno,” he said with a shrug, “I’ve always been precocious.” He let the words hang in the air before he grinned. “Yeah, Erin said she dated older guys before me.”
“‘Older’ might be a bit of an understatement.”
“Well, I’m thirty-five. Still older, but more age-appropriate.”
“No kidding. To be honest, I’m relieved.”
“Me too,” he chuckled. Then he asked, “Are you going for a run? Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.” I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and felt a wave of relief. Nope, I don’t mind at all.
* * *
Tom might have looked like a porn star, but he actually had a PhD in psychology and was a professor at the University of South Florida. In addition to his day job, he was a bestselling author, which explained why he could afford an expensive new Porsche. He wrote relationship self-help books along the lines of Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus.
“Except that mine are based on, you know, science.”
I glanced at him sideways. We were jogging at an easy pace so we could talk.
“No disrespect to John Gray,” he added. “He’s written some excellent books about relationships. But they’re pop psychology more than actual psychology.”
“How’re yours different?”
“I study real people and real relationships. Again, no disrespect to Gray, but I’m interested in the full spectrum of sexuality, not just the Judeo-Christian one-man, one-woman concept of marriage and monogamy.”
He shrugged and then continued, “The science itself is fairly straightforward. My subjects fill out questionnaires, and I do extensive interviews and follow-ups. My research and scientific publications rely on established methodology and are peer-reviewed.” He paused before he shot me a sideways grin. “Then I write pop psychology books about the naughty parts.”
“Ha! Okay. But why do both?”
“The scholarly work because I want the respect and credibility. And, to be completely honest, I like having a job that doesn’t depend on the whims of public morals.”
“Makes sense,” I said.
“The mass-market books because I feel like someone should be writing for the people who aren’t Gray’s stereotypes. We’re hiding in plain sight,” he revealed. “And there are a lot more of us than people realize.”
I nodded in more than agreement. If he and Erin were serious, he had to know a little about her history. Besides, he was here, wasn’t he? He knew we were swingers already, and it didn’t take a PhD in psychology to figure out the rest.
“I’m writing for us,” he continued, “and for the ‘normals,’ as Erin calls them. I want people who read my books to appreciate the broad range of human sexuality. You can like something ‘different’ without being a deviant.”
“Or a pervert,” I added.
“Exactly. One person’s foot is another’s fetish, so to speak.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“Gee, ya think?” he deadpanned, and we shared a grin.
“Sounds like we’re a lot alike,” I ventured.
“I suspect we are. No, I take that back. I know we are.”
He filled me in on his background. In addition to his formal education, he’d experimented with just about everything under the sun, sexually speaking.
“Some of the fetish communities are a little weird,” he said, “but I get it. Different strokes.”
I nodded.
“Swinging and wife-swapping are about the thrill of something new within the bounds of a committed relationship. The same with dress-up and role-play.”
“You could probably say the same about anything,” I said. “Couples who’re into voyeurism, exhibitionism, BDSM, you name it.”
“Exactly. And they’re all normal. That’s what I tell people in my books. Although… I think most are reading for the descriptions of subcultures they might not be familiar with. They can experience them vicariously.”
“And you’ve tried them all?”
“Uh-huh, everything I’ve written about.”
“Anything you didn’t like?” I asked.
“Gay sex,” he said immediately. “I gave it the ol’ college try, but I’m just not wired that way.”
“Neither am I.”
“You sound relieved,” he chuckled. “You were worried I might be bi?”
“Something like that.”
“Yeah, I get it. As far as the rest…?” he went on. “I enjoy some things more than others.”
“Such as?”
“Swinging, obviously, although Erin’s the first woman I’ve ever met who’s part of a long-term, stable group like yours.”
“Is that why you’re thirty-five and still single?” I ventured.
“Probably.”
I studied him out of the corner of my eye. “So… you aren’t the lifelong bachelor type?”
“No. I’m surprisingly normal. I want a wife and children. I’ve just never met a woman who shared my concept of a relationship. I call it open monogamy.”
“That’s us, all right,” I chuckled.
“I know.”
“Most women want real monogamy, though, closed monogamy.”
“So do most men, if we’re being honest.”
I shrugged. “I’m not so sure.”
“Trust me, I’ve seen the data.”
“Fair enough,” I said. Then I wondered aloud, “Do you think it’s nature or nurture? I mean, are people monogamous because they’re wired that way or because society says they should be?”
“Ah, now you’re thinking like a scientist!” His grin widened. “See? I told you we have a lot in common. Probably more, if we started to compare notes.”
I looked at him sideways but didn’t reply.
“I try to approach things with an open mind.”
Alarm bells went off in my head, and I wondered where he was going with that little come-on. Did he want me to tell him my taboo fantasies? Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.
“Sorry,” he chuckled. “Er’s told me so much about you that I feel like I know you, while you’ve only just met me.”
“Mmm.”
“And… the walls just went up.”
Duh. What was your first clue?
“That’s cool,” he said after a moment. “I shouldn’t’ve pushed so hard.”
We jogged into sight of the Retreat, and he slowed to a walk.
“The thing is,” he said, “I want you to like me.”
“I do,” I said immediately, although it sounded unconvincing, even to me.
“No, not yet,” he said. “But I hope you will. At your own pace. I can’t force it.” He’d been lighthearted throughout the conversation, but he turned serious now. “There’s something I want you to know, though.”
“What’s that?”
“I love Erin.”
I paused at the conviction in his voice. He didn’t waffle, either.
“I’ve never met anyone like her,” he went on. “And I’d never do anything to hurt her. That includes alienating you.”
“You haven’t.”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “But I tend to be blunt, especially about sex. I apologize.”
“Nothing to apologize for.”
“I don’t believe you, but thanks anyway.” He even managed to say it sincerely, without a hint of condescension. He was hard not to like. Still, I wasn’t going to open up and tell all my secrets after less than an hour.
“I’m glad we had a chance to talk,” he said as we approached the clubhouse. “Candidly, I mean. I don’t get to do it very often. I think that’s why I fell in love with Erin.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. We’re made for each other, two halves of the same whole.”
“More pop psychology?” I teased.
“Probably, but also true. You’ll see.”
* * *
Leah and I walked around the lake toward the others. Then she glanced over my shoulder and grinned.
“Oh, this should be fun,” she said.