Confessions

There is just no place on earth like Key West. The Florida Keys are beautiful, of course-white, sandy beaches and long, rolling shores of clear water so warm swimming feels more like bathing-but Key West is a whole different world altogether.

We were young when we went for the first time, in our twenties, and we’d only been married a few years. It was one of the first trips we’d made away from the kids, and the freedom of not having two little ones hanging onto my skirts all day was exhilarating.

We’d traveled with, among others, my brother-in-law and his girlfriend and her two older teen girls. They were more energetic than we were after the long plane ride, and spent their first night out in a bar-slash-nightclub. In the morning over a free hotel breakfast muffin, my brother-in-law related the night’s events with wide, naive eyes.

“A guy tried to pick me up!” he professed, lowering his voice and looking around as if to make sure no one overheard him to whisper, “He was gay!” As if we hadn’t understood the first time. I hid a smile and exchanged a quick, amused look with my husband. His entire family-aside from him-was wildly homophobic. It had surprised me when his parents suggested a trip to the Florida Keys, with a stay in Key West, considering the population, but who was I to argue with a week away?

“Really?” I took a sip of orange juice to hide my smile. “So what club was this?” He told me, and then went on to describe the compromising position he’d found himself in, speaking in hushed tones. I was tempted to ask, “So why didn’t you take him up on his offer?” but I knew the teasing could only go so far before I crossed a line.

That’s the way it was with them.

But things were different in my marriage. We’d recently been talking about “other people,” talking about jealousy and commitment and what sex had to do with all of that.

Neither of us was in any way homophobic-rather strange, given his Mormon upbringing and my prejudice father-and in fact, both of us were open to the point of having experimented with a member of the opposite sex at one time or another.

He loved hearing about my exploits with my college roommate, and would often ask me to relate a “bedtime story,” about the times she and I had spent in bed together.

The thought of watching or being with me and another woman inevitably turned him on, almost instantly. All I had to do, it seemed, was suggest the idea, and I could make him hard. And I had to admit-the thought appealed to me, too.

I’d joked, packing my suitcase for our trip, that maybe we’d find someone to take back to the hotel when we were staying in Key West. I was half-kidding, half-not, and his response matched mine, “Maybe. Who knows?”

Of course, talking about it wasn’t doing it. Actually doing something crossed a line, it seemed, and as we spent the afternoon at the beach, swimming and soaking up the sun, I thought about how we could eat our cake and have it, too. Was it possible?

Would things change forever, if we did something like that?

We all ate dinner together, but when he took my elbow as we were leaving and murmured, “Want to go hit that club?” in my ear, I smiled, and felt my bottom clench in excitement. It was within walking distance of the hotel, and when we all parted, I grabbed his hand and started walking. We were dressed for dinner-nice, but not too nice. It was still warm, although the last of the sun had faded out of the sky over an hour ago, and my skin was just slightly damp with perspiration.

His hand moved around my waist, massaging my hip through my skirt as we walked. We didn’t talk, but the air was charged around us, electric with possibility. I had no idea what might happen, but I hoped. I think he was hoping, too. The truth was, I’d never been inside a gay bar. In fact, I hadn’t spent much time in bars at all. Neither of us were big partiers, but we both had adventuresome spirits that longed for…more.

It wasn’t anything like I expected. Somehow I’d stereotypically pictured something out of The Birdcage. What we found wasn’t very different from most other night clubs or bars. It wasn’t full of flashy costumes, although both the men and women wore more leather than the general population, and had more tattoos and piercings. Or maybe that was just the bar crowd.

He brought a drink to a table I found near the back-something girly and fruity, because I hated the taste of alcohol-and we sat together, quiet, drinking and watching, through several songs. He ordered more drinks, and I didn’t object, although I was a lightweight. Two drinks and I was feeling warm and fuzzy, everything softening around the edges. Three drinks and I was bold enough to grab his hand and pull him onto the dance floor-another thing we didn’t do very often.

The heat, the darkness, the music, all combined to move my body all on its own.