It is 2:11 AM on Sunday morning. The memory of a rather unseemly, if not immoral, incident from my second marriage came to mind.
It involved A, my ex-wife, M, her long time friend, and me. I had sexually “awakened”, thought I could do anything. M lived in Raleigh. She was a writer , a harpist, and a massage therapist. We were all in our 30’s at the time. We were down in the area for a visit.
I wanted a ménage à trois, among the three of us. However, I didn’t really communicate this desire to either woman. M was giving me a massage. There was that hippie New Age-y music playing. We were smoking reefer. I wanted to have sex with both women. They weren’t interested, so nothing happened. Except I got a pretty good massage. All in all, the best outcome all around.
But it was pretty creepy, me wanting to do this stuff. And not being up front about what I wanted.
A died four years ago. I don’t know what happened to M. And here I am, living with the wreckage of my past.