Away on Vacation

It was a Saturday in February, a couple of years ago, and my wife Claire and I were at a resort in Loreto, Mexico, on our first vacation since our second son was born. We had gone there with a group of about fifteen couples organized by a swingers organization.

I love my wife. I also find her extremely attractive - even at the grand old age of 40 and after a dozen years of marriage. Claire is a classic peaches and cream beauty, with shoulder-length nearly-auburn hair, chestnut colored eyes, and lips the same dark red rose color of her nipples. As for her body, she's got nice everything, with everything in proportion. Neither of us are as skinny as we once were, but she really is still a beauty, and routinely catches the eye of surfer guys in their 20's.

Unfortunately, for the last ten years of our marriage - since a couple of years before our first child showed up - our erotic life has not been what I wished it were. I instigate. Sometimes she acquiesces. It's a tender moment while disposing of a biological need. It isn't an erotic adventure. She is a 'good girl' who isn't even comfortable talking about sex outside the margins, let alone going there. In the past, I had girlfriends who were into all sort of things: ropes, outdoor sex, rape fantasies, public sex, other women (lots of those), and so on. They had enthusiasm. But I didn't want to be married to any of them.

Over the last decade, I've tried all sorts of things to raise our sexual amperage. Nothing worked. The only reason I didn't just give up is that Claire has one strong, recurring fantasy: multiple men. That's close enough my own idea of a pleasant evening: multiple women.

So actually trying it was my idea. We had discussed the idea of sex with other people off and on for a couple of years, but Claire would run hot and cold on the subject. Sometimes, she was clearly turned on by the idea, and she would run our minds over possible partners with relish before having a better than average session together. We even visited a couple of swing clubs as observers only. Other times I would broach the subject, and she would bite my nose off, as though it was suddenly sinful, embarrassing, or distasteful. I could never predict what her mood would be. Naturally, I brought it up less and less.

But then a few months ago, late one night in our hot tub after a party, naked with some friends, she was groped by a guy almost half her age - and liked it. I figured it out when I put my arm around her (underwater) and found this other guy's hand there. She was obviously perfectly happy, chatting away, sitting close to him, so after pushing my dropped jaw back into place I gave her some room. She put her arm around him a bit later, but that was it (she wouldn't let him get his fingers to her pussy, which is where he was headed, of course). Later that night, when we were in bed alone, she said the only reason she didn't let him have his way was that she didn't know how I would feel about it. So I told her. Not only wasn't I jealous (surprise), seeing her turned on turned me on. The bottom line: anything is fine by me, as long as she wants it, and I'm present. She was-shall we say-intrigued with the possibilities. Our sex life sang for the next couple of weeks.

But then it got quiet again. And quieter. And we were back to tender moments while disposing of a biological need-infrequently. I had to do something. So I pushed, and she came to Mexico.

So we went on this trip to Loreto, Mexico.

As our plane descended into Loreto, Claire began to cry in pain. She was over a bad case of the flu and her ears wouldn't clear. Not a good start.

On the bus coming in, we checked out the rest of the couples in our tour group. Most were older than we are and none were anyone we could imagine getting intimate with. We did the psychological equivalent of circling the wagons and kept to ourselves. Also not a good start.

The resort itself was a pleasant collection of two-story dorm-like buildings spread out along a beach with a big pool in the middle. The whole place can accommodate maybe 250 people, and it was fairly full with regular tourists. Our little group of 30 or so sex fiends was isolated in a wing at the far southern edge of the complex, near the nude beach and clothing-optional Jacuzzi. Our room was on the second floor, overlooking the nude beach and the Sea of Cortez beyond. The room itself was fine; simple and clean. It had a king-sized bed, a television, and a modern bathroom.

The wind blew hard that week, making fishing and diving impossible, leaving us with little to do but ride around in a rented jeep and sunbathe at the nude beach. The group we came with more or less hung out together, headquartered at our own bar between the nude beach and the huge Jacuzzi. Claire's flu hung on, however, and she was usually back in the room, trying to sleep. The trip wasn't looking like a winner on any front.

At dinner the first night we did talk to one couple. Steve and Mary were 50 and 47, respectively. Steve, who was about my size and in about the same reasonably okay shape (for a couple of guys who work behind desks), is a management consultant with a Roman nose and a cheerfully lecherous attitude. As we talked, his eyes tracked each of the pretty young Mexican waitresses in their comings and goings. Mary is a blue-eyed blonde, curly hair, and pleasant. She works as a middle manager for a large technology company.

But sexual adventure wasn't on the menu. Claire and I made love with each other several times a day, between Claire's naps, and we continued to check out the other couples and idly consider the possibilities.

The day before we were to leave Claire's attitude towards extracurricular sex went cold again. At dinner, she said she didn't want anything to do with sex with other people - no matter what her fantasies were - because it just wasn't right. The fearful, obedient, good little girl had suddenly emerged again.

What I heard was that the last, best fantasy was being outlawed, and our sex life was forever going to stay within her margins. I just wouldn't be able to do that. It meant affairs and deception. It meant anger. It meant - sooner or later - divorce. But wasn't going to force Claire to do anything.

The next morning, our last full day in Mexico, we rented a jeep and drove down the coast to a village called Puerto Escondido. It was a grim ride. Back at the hotel, I told her I wouldn't bring up anything out of the ordinary again if that's what she wanted, but I thought she was making a mistake, and I told her why. Then I went for a run. When I came back, she was taking a nap. I showered, picked up a book, went down to the cabana bar and ordered a double vodka on the rocks, and then went out onto the nude beach to read. Five minutes later I ordered a second double vodka.

About 2:00 I was laying on a chaise lounge half-shaded by an umbrella, naked, reading, when Claire came out and joined me. She dropped her sarong and positioned her recliner in the sun, a little sideways to me.

I was still depressed, but not so much that I didn't notice how pretty she is. I also saw that she had missed a spot with the sunscreen on the side of her left breast. A patch the size of a stamp was looking too red. She started reading. I ordered my third vodka and went back to my book.

A few minutes later Steve came over. He was drinking a beer and, like everyone else on that part of the sand, was naked except for his sunglasses. We three began talking, mostly about his career. Claire had once considered a career as a management consultant herself and Steve happily went into details on some of his projects. His wife Mary, he said, was off on a whale-watching trip on the other side of the peninsula.

During this conversation, an interesting thing began to happen. Claire was clearly interested in both the conversation and in Steve. He was getting subtle signs of welcome and squatted down at the foot of her recliner. Claire said something about the sand being hard on her feet, which was his cue to put down his beer and give her a foot massage while we talked. At first, Claire was tense. I could see the big muscle in her thigh. This near stranger was, after all, right there at her feet, in the bright sunshine, looking up between her legs at god knows what. But he chatted on and rubbed on, and soon her legs began to relax. Then they relaxed a little more. Then I remembered that our young friend in the hot tub had started by massaging her feet.

I got up to get us another round. I brought him a beer, while I switched to water. Claire told me later that when I left Steve had asked us about our experience in the Lifestyle. She told him it was basically none.

I was back in a few minutes and retook my seat. I noticed Claire seemed very relaxed. Her legs were open enough that if he hadn't been able to see her pussy lips before, he certainly could now. His hands occasionally slid up her calves toward her thighs. She told me later, "He could have reached up and fondled me right there, and I would have liked it."

I suddenly found myself looking at Steve a little more closely, and maybe a little more competitively. For a guy his age, he was in excellent shape. Fleshier around the waist than I am, just as hairy (but "fluffier"), and while his soft cock was fatter than mine, mine was longer. All very male, I'm sure. In any case, squatting at the feet of my wife as he was, the tip of his cock had gotten covered with sand.

At one point Claire got up and went to the bathroom. While she was gone, I told Steve about her running hot and cold on the idea, but that it seemed pretty clear to me that he was the right guy at the right time. I told him he had to take it easy and back off if she got uncomfortable.

She came back, laid down to resume her foot massage, and I went for more water. While I was gone he filled her in on our conversation. (She told me later that she didn't like the idea of us "conspiring").

When I came back, Steve was working upward, passing her calf occasionally, on the way to her inner thighs. We talked for a minute or two more, but then I sensed it was time to make a move. Either way, it was going to be all right. I announced I was heading back to the room and asked Claire if she wanted to invite Steve to join us. She actually gulped, but gave us both a nervous, unsteady grin and said, "I guess so. I'm scared."

Steve laughed and said he couldn't go anywhere. He pointed to his cock, which had gotten semi-hard all of a sudden and he didn't want to walk across the beach like that.

I told Claire it was entirely up to her, and that'd I'd go back to the room and let them decide. I got up, picked up my book and towel, and headed back.

A maid had just gotten to our room and had the towels in a pile by the door. She was a beautiful young woman by the way, and I didn't miss the irony of finding a beautiful woman in our room, given the scenario outside. I was also feeling we were one woman short, but this wasn't the time.

I crossed over to the window to see if I could see Claire and Steve on the beach. They were gone. Had they gone to his room without me? No, they were probably on their way back here. I hustled the maid out of the room as Claire came in.

Claire was wearing her sarong, looking excited and nervous, but all smiles. It was her "sly, guilty, but having fun" look. I loved it.

"We're going to have a visitor in a few minutes, " she said.

I went to pee, came back out, drew the shade partly, and turned the TV on to a Carole King infomercial, which would play her songs in the background for the duration. Claire said she wanted a drink and found a small bottle of Mexican liqueur, which we called "Fat Lady" because that was how the bottle was shaped. She read the label to me. It claimed the liquor was an aphrodisiac.

Steve knocked and came in, wearing only a bathing suit. The three of us were standing at the foot of the bed, Claire and he on other side of me. There was very little preamble.

"Well, if we're going to do it...," Claire said, and Steve and I helped her off with her sarong. Not that it took much helping.

Steve dropped his shorts.

Claire's shyness dropped away also.

"Well, I know what I want to do first," she said, and she bent over and took his dick into her mouth.

Steve sat at the foot of the bed, and Claire took him deeper into her mouth, cupping his balls in one hand, his ass in her other. In seconds he was fully hard, and she threw herself into her work. He moved farther up on the bed, and she got up on it too, kneeling as she sucked him, her butt toward me.

As she ate him, I massaged her hips and ass from behind, gently working up between her thighs. I found her thoroughly wet, her pussy dripping and open. She spread her legs apart, and her lips seemed to suck my fingers inside. She made a wonderful little noise when I reached her clit. She pressed her hand down on top of mind, hard, pushing my fingers deeper into her. She was as turned on as I had ever seen her.

All of this was a relief. I knew that she had started this for my benefit. But it apparently wasn't all for my benefit. She was, in fact, going at Steve's cock with a degree of enthusiasm that really surprised me. She also looked incredibly damn sexy, and it turned me on.

Steve said it was her turn, and she got up on the bed and laid down on her back, propped up on her elbows, watching him as he moved down to eat her. She sighed when his mouth made contact, and then when his hands reached up to hold her hips. She relaxed and lay back on the pillows, her hands on his head, tentatively.

"Ahh," she moaned, "there's nothing like penetration."

"That means she wants a finger in her," I said, trying to be helpful.

"He's already there," Claire said.

What I couldn't see was that he had worked his fingers up into her. I felt a little silly.

Steve ate her for a while, while I worked on any parts that were otherwise unoccupied. I was almost, but not entirely, out of the picture for her. I was surprised at how much she was into the touching and kissing and stroking with him - the softer, romantic stuff one does more of with a new lover. She would compliment him on his cock, or his technique. He would admire her breasts, stroking them, sucking on them, talking about her "world class nipples." She kept a certain blissfully erotic look on her face that I love.

I had to pee again and got up. I took longer than usual because I had to wait for my penis to get soft enough for my bladder to release.

When I got back, she was she blowing him. I was hard again and lay down behind her. She raised a leg so that I could slip my cock between her thighs, but not quite in her. After a few more pumps with her hand and mouth, she pulled away from his cock to give me a kiss. She caught herself and stopped to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand first, apologizing with a laugh for being sloppy.

We moved around again, and Steve asked if he could come into her. She said yes, and asked me to get a rubber out of a small blue felt bag we had brought with us. We were using rubbers ourselves because Claire wasn't on any other birth control at the time. But we had agreed, if we ever did something like this, to use them, regardless.

Claire got the little foil packet and opened it. He lay back on his side.

"There's only one rule," she said to him, "no coming inside, even with the rubber."

He asked why.

"So at least I can keep up the pretext of being faithful," she said.

He laughed and agreed.

Claire and I had also talked in the past, when contemplating another couple, about a "no cock in pussy" rule. It was her idea, not mine, and supposedly the same reason. I noticed she didn't bring up that one.

He moved closer to her and Claire opened the rubber foil and tried to roll it onto him, but the process took too long, and he began to get soft, making it more difficult to get the slippery thing on him. He rested on his side, and she started using her hand on him, saying, "Don't you come too early!"

I thought he had come in her hand, but apparently not. Finally, the rubber was on.

One of us - I can't remember who - brought up her fantasy of double entry, that is, taking one cock in her pussy, the other up her ass. We had KY jelly in that little blue bag also.

After some discussion, we decided he would lie on his back, she would lower herself on his cock, and I would enter her from behind. She and I got up as he rolled onto his back. She then climbed over him, straddling his hips, and started to lower herself onto him. But it wouldn't go in, and in a second or two, he was too soft to keep trying. (Months later, she said she regretted that we hadn't been able to do the double penetration. "There we were, and he couldn't get it up!" she said. "It's like being at the Taj Mahal on the night of a full moon, and having it overcast," she said.)

He took off the rubber and said he wanted to watch us for a while. So she rolled off him onto the bed, the two of them facing each other, while I lay down behind her and slid my cock into her pussy from behind. I pumped her slowly, reaching around to finger her clitoris. In the meantime, her hand was between his legs, holding his cock and balls while they kissed. They kissed while I fucked her and fingered her, and she played with this cock. We went on that way for quite a while. He got hard again.

It finally dawned on me that I was hogging her, and said so, pulled out and got up to pee again. As I left, she moved down his chest and his stomach and went back to sucking his cock.

I came back, and we went through a number of low-key permutations, with several ebbs and flows. He offered to leave us alone, twice, just being polite and sensitive, but Claire was in no hurry.

"No one has come yet," she said the second time. She was right. We had been pleasantly not goal-oriented. But we rallied and focused, and I decided she would be first.

I rolled Claire on her back and moved down between her legs and began eating her. Steve lay down on her left, kissing her breasts, and her hand went to his soft cock, inches from my eyes. As I tongued her clit and dragged my fingers in and out between her very swollen and wet lips, she pumped him faster with her hand. He was getting hard again. He moved up a bit and began kissing her. She started to make her "I'm about to come noises," and he pulled back to watch her, her eyes closed, her face going into the orgasmic grimace. She pumped harder on his cock, now fully inflated, and I closed my eyes, not wanting to get a load in them if he came.

But Claire came first. It was a good one, she said later, but not earthshaking. (Or did she downplay it for my benefit? She also said, with awe - at herself, I suppose -- "He got to see me come.")

I got up to pee. Again. While I was gone, waiting for my hard-on to subside, Claire asked Steve what she could do for him. He said he wanted to fuck her.)

When I got back, they were fucking in basic missionary position. He was on top, resting on his elbows, kissing her. Her legs were up high, almost straight up, as he gently pounded away. I could see all this from the foot of the bed. I could see his sheathed cock sliding in and out of her, and I could hear her making those wonderful animal noises again.

Thinking of the double penetration thing again, I slipped the tip of my finger into her asshole. She jumped. "It's me," I said, but it this was their moment, and I backed off, not wanting to distract her.

The Carole King infomercial was still on the television behind me. I had an odd few moments where I felt compelled to watch the tv. I would turn to look at Claire and Steve fucking, from up between their legs, then switch back to the television. I couldn't help myself. It was weird. Maybe it was my brain's way of dealing with overload.

(I also forgot we had a camera on the dresser next to the television. Claire later said, "Hmmm. Someone was taking pictures. THAT would have been interesting.")

But my distraction didn't last long. I moved around to the top of the bed, watching him on top of her, most of the weight still on his arms, her legs still up high, rocking back and forth under the pressure of his fucking. His eyes were open, looking into her face. Her eyes are closed. She looked blissful, like she was riding a horse in a dream.

"Can I break the rule?" he asked. He meant about not coming in her. She didn't answer right away. I thought she was thinking about how I would feel about it.

I wanted her to know it was up to her and spoke up. "No problem ... as far as I was concerned."

"Go for it," she said to him. (Later I told her I was surprised how easily she abandoned her last rule. "At that point," she said, "what's the point?" She couldn't even remember who put the second rubber on, or even that there was a second rubber. "I probably did," she said, "he wasn't inclined to use one.")

He began to pump harder, and she arched upward into him with every thrust. He picked up the pace even more, and she laid back down, eyes closed, looking like she is coming again herself. Pain, delight, transport. I thought for a minute she was, in fact, coming again. He gave one last thrust with a moan, held motionless for three seconds, and then lowered himself down onto her. She put her arms around him, her hands on the back of his head. She had her legs around him too, and locked her ankles together, pulling him into her.

He pulled out and rolled off to the side, and she rolled to face him. I slipped into her from the back. He had been out of her maybe fifteen seconds. She felt tighter. I noticed she was tight. She felt somehow different, I thought, and it wasn't just my imagination, but it wasn't a problem. I came.

We lay there together for a few minutes. Claire was suddenly sleepy. Steve said he could stay all night, but said he would see us later. He kissed her and got up to leave. She sat up and gave the head of his softening cock a parting kiss. We agreed to meet later at the hotel's nightclub.

After Steve left, Claire wanted to clean up the "refuse," as she put it, before taking her nap. I noticed she saved the now-empty little Fat Lady bottle. She then crawled into bed, already half asleep. We kissed long and very sweetly. I asked her how she felt, and she smiled and said "great. It was great." I tucked her in, kissed her again, and went out to finish my book by the Jacuzzi.

It was a full moon that night. Claire had napped, we'd had a light dinner, and we were headed over to the nightclub. Claire was dressed in a fetching short black shirt and a red leather jacket, with only a black silk blouse on underneath. No bra, either, which for her was unusual. I thought she looked incredibly sexy.

The nightclub was in a sort of high-tech concrete bunker. It was basically a disco, with a disk jockey queuing records. Most if not all of the group we had come with were in there. Steve was there, dancing with a blonde woman at the far end of the dance floor. I looked at Claire's face as we found a seat. She was watching him.

"Feeling jealous?" I asked.

She admitted she was, a little. She said, mocking herself, that she wanted to feel special. She asked me how many other women I thought he had been with. I assumed she meant over time and started to calculate. She stopped me and said she meant just this weekend. I said she had probably been the only one that day. Perhaps there had been one or two others earlier in the trip.

We were invited to go sit with others from our group, and we did. This was the first time we'd talked to most of them. They said they'd known about the "poor sick woman" who had barely made an appearance. A couple of the men were obviously interested in helping Claire make up for lost time.

But Claire's eyes were on a young Mexican guy, one of the resort employees, who was dancing with some of the women. Claire wanted him. Even when she danced with Steve, I could see her watching the young guy.

The Mexican guy was dancing with a tall blonde at one point when Claire talked me into cutting in. I took the blonde and Claire got her dance. And then another. Her confidence was high, and she looked great. I made a mental note to buy my wife sexier dresses and better jackets. When a woman glows like she was, you want to show it off.

The blonde's name was Karma, and my duty was not unpleasant. She claimed to be a grandmother, but even Claire commented on how pretty she was. She was also a sweetheart, and I regretted not having met her earlier.

Outside at the end of the evening, I talked to Mary, Steve's wife. I asked her why Steve hadn't gone whale watching, and she answered saying he had told her about the afternoon, and that it was terrific. But she said it could have been better. I asked how.

"If I had been there, of course," she said with a smile.

"Maybe not," I said. "Maybe it was easier for Claire to be the center of attention the first time, and not have to deal with jealousy on top of everything else."

Mary gave me a little hug, and said, "Yeah, but next time it will be different."

We met up with Steve and Mary the next morning for a paddle in the hotel's kayaks. On the way to meet them at the beach, Claire asked me if it would be impolite to skip the paddling and just ask them to fuck. But we didn't fuck, we paddled. Afterward, Claire prompted me again to ask Steve if he and Mary wanted an "encounter" before we got on the bus to the airport.

"Claire likes to play," Steve answered, "and there just isn't time."

As it was, we were late to the bus anyway. The Mexican boy from the night before waved to Claire on our way out.

On the flight home, Claire said she was sorry I had thrown away the list of attendees because she wanted to match the people with the faces. She was into it. We agreed that a woman named Pam, who I don't think we talked to at all, was the cutest. Claire said she could see us "tangling" with her.

Later, echoing my conversation with Mary, Claire pointed out how convenient it was that the most suitable man's wife happened to be whale watching that afternoon. Claire said she was not sure she would be as "unjealous," when my turn came. Said she definitely owed me one, but she isn't sure she can handle it, watching me "pounding into a beautiful woman." I suggested she be right there next to me-or not-or I could come in her first. She was unconvinced. She said she should have thanked Mary for her generosity.

Claire actually apologized to me sometime later, for focusing on Steve. He was the new one, after all, but she was always aware of me. I told her I understood. It was fine. But my turn would come, I reminded her.

Claire said that while Steve wasn't unattractive, she wouldn't have looked at him twice on the street. But it was nice to have a chance to compare us two men.

"His head was so much smaller," she said. I was surprised, but then she clarified that she meant his cranium, not his cock head.

She ruminated out loud on our respective penises, coming to the conclusion that when we were soft, his was fatter. When we were hard, mine was longer.

She asked me if it would have been more difficult for me if the other guy had been a young hardbody? I told her I didn't think so. The kick for me was getting and seeing her turned on.

She thought she had to tell me that Steve wasn't a threat. That's nice.

I asked Claire if she was going to tell her best friend, Joan, about our menage a trois. She said no, she wouldn't. She made me promise not to tell anyone either, "out of pride, or whatever." I told her it wasn't something that I wanted to have to explain.

The night we got home, Sunday, I noticed the empty little Fat Lady bottle on Claire's bureau. We made love, and I came twice, in the same rubber. She took a long time to come, but when she did it was a big one - a sheet grabbing, top-of-the-lungs, fuck-me-harder orgasm.

One thing we noticed was how much semen I was producing. Gallons of it with each blast, comparatively. We figured it was nature's way, given the mock biological challenge, of making sure that my seed prevailed.

At work the next day, images from the afternoon in Mexico would pop into my head at every spare moment. It was like having drug flashbacks. It was pleasant. I came home and told Claire and asked her if she were getting the same flashbacks.

"I'm looking ahead," she said, with a confident grin. "I feel like I could fuck any guy in the world, and I want to. There is a whole new universe opening up."

On another occasion (as we talked in bed, before or after making love - we made love a lot in the weeks after the trip), she mentioned her disappointment in not being able to try double entry.

"Well, something to look forward to next time," she said.

I asked her how she felt about our "main rule," which is her not fucking without me present. Was it still in effect? No answer. I had to ask her twice before I got an answer. I suspect she would have liked time alone with Steve.

We talked about inviting them up to our house (they live a hundred miles south). Mary and I could go going diving, I said, and Claire added, "...and Steve and I could stay home and ..."

If Claire and let go of some rules, I suppose I can too.

On another occasion, talking about a visit with them, Claire said she imagined just hanging out around their house (theirs is kid-less, ours is not), taking showers together, making love leisurely when we felt like it. That sort of relaxed, unhurried weekend sounded pretty good to me too.

Several weeks after our return the intensity began to fade, and our regular lives started to impose themselves. One night about this time we had just gotten into bed when Claire said she wanted to "talk about the activities."

My first thought is that she had slid back into "cold mode" and was now starting to regret the sortie. I thought I was going to get the "it was interesting, but I never want to do it again" speech.

Hardly.

She wanted to talk about the next event. We talked about the clubs we could visit, and how a face-to-face meeting was preferable to trying to find compatible people over the web or by ads, and so forth.

She wanted more.

But not too much. We agreed that there was such a thing as going overboard. And we certainly didn't want to think of ourselves as "swingers" or being "in the lifestyle," given the baggage those terms carry. A couple of adventures a year would be fine. Maybe three. Or four. We'd know.

Once or twice I was surprised by her new-found confidence about sex, and her willingness to explore it. It was a remarkable transformation. I told her so.

"You let the genie out of the bottle," she said, smiling mischievously.

Later that evening she went to a woman's group meeting and told me later that she told them "carpe diem" was the only way to live.

There was something to that genie comment. I may have instigated the adventure, but she ran with it. I have never seen her so strong and confident or felt her so much out of my influence or less dependent on me. It was absolutely wonderful. I respected her in a way I hadn't since we'd been married. I was proud of her. I also found her incredibly attractive.

It's been four months, and kids, work, and lack of sleep continue to have their effect on our love life. But I am still living with the wife and partner I had always wanted. She is still more powerful, confident, and passionate than she ever was before. The Mexican adventure was a good thing.

I told her I was going to write this down before we forget the details.

"Maybe YOU will forget the details, she said, "I won't."

But I wrote it down anyway.