Fast Girl (10 page)

“Are you okay?” Mark asked, looking over at me as he buttoned his dress shirt, which he was wearing with blue jeans. He looked handsome and casual. Nervous or not, this was exactly the kind of adventure I'd been craving. I looked in the mirror and shook out my light brown hair, which hung down loose over my shoulders.

“Yeah, I feel great,” I said, partly as a pep talk. “I'm really excited.”

“Do you want a little vodka to relax?” Mark asked, crossing to the bar.

“Sure,” I said.

We sat and sipped our vodkas together, unable to keep our eyes from drifting from our view of the Strip, where the sun was setting and the lights were pulsing even brighter against the darkening sky, to the clock by the bed. At exactly 7
P.M
., not a minute later, there was a knock on our door. My nerves pinched and fluttered as I jumped up to let Pearl in, excited to see what she looked like and to experience whatever would happen next. I opened the door slowly, and there she was.

Pearl strolled in looking happy and relaxed, like she'd known us forever. I was immediately impressed and already a little turned on. She was a beautiful girl, and she had a golden glow about her, as if she had just climbed out of the swimming pool at our hotel, sliding into her cute jean shorts to come up and see us. Her shoulder-length caramel-colored hair was streaked with blond, and although she was wearing makeup, it wasn't too heavy. She looked fresh-faced and cute, just like she had in her photo on the Internet.

“Feel free to take a seat,” Mark said, gesturing her toward one of the seats in the lounge area of our suite.

She looked at me and smiled, waiting to see where I would sit. When I slid onto the sleek cream-colored couch with its view of the Vegas Strip, she slowly and very deliberately sat down close to me, leaning her body slightly in toward mine.

“Is this your first time in Vegas?” she asked, her tone flirtatiously letting us know there was more to that question.

This is going to be fun,
I thought, my high ratcheting up even higher.

“We love Vegas,” I said. “We don't get out here as much as we'd like to because we live in Wisconsin, but we've been here a few times now.”

“And what's the occasion for this trip?” she asked.

“It's our twentieth wedding anniversary,” Mark said, approaching us with a drink for Pearl and a fresh drink for me.

“No,” she teased. “It can't possibly be. You don't look old enough.”

Mark and I both laughed, but he looked a little nervous beneath his cool demeanor.

“We met in college,” he said.

My nerves evaporated. I felt totally comfortable with what was happening, and after a few more pleasantries, I really liked this woman. She was bright and smart and could carry on a great conversation. If we'd met in our regular lives, we could have been friends.

“Do you love living in Vegas?” I asked.

“It's the best,” she said. “My other job is as a hostess at one of the big casinos. I get to meet all sorts of people from around the world. It's pretty amazing. I mean, I get to make people's fantasies come true. What could be better? I really enjoy it.”

“That does sound amazing,” I said, thinking it sounded like a great life, for sure a lot better than the boring and suffocating existence that I was beginning to see as grinding me down back in Madison.

She looked at me with real warmth and gave me a knowing grin. And then, still holding my gaze with hers, she finished her drink and, slow and sexy, stood up.

“Shall we?” she asked, already walking toward the bedroom.

Mark and I looked at each other and smiled with a look that said,
this is it
. My nervousness had left me as soon as I saw how nice and normal she was, but I still wondered what was going to happen and if I would like it. Mark still seemed a little nervous, which I wasn't used to, but I could tell by his forced smile that he wanted me to be happy and enjoy myself and he'd do everything he could to help make that happen.

We both followed her into the bedroom. Without any hesitation, she stripped down to her bra and panties and climbed up onto the bed. Her smooth skin looked very tan against the crisp white bedspread and the oversized quilted headboard, and my gaze was drawn to the sparkly earring in her belly button, just like she'd worn in her photo. She gestured me over to the bed and, kneeling to be at my height, helped me to slide my dress over my head, so in an instant, I was wearing only my bra and panties. We stood close together for a long moment, and then she kissed me, like
really
kissed me.

I'd fantasized about women for the last twenty years, but I'd never kissed a woman except a peck on the cheek, and I wasn't sure what to expect. She was gentle and smooth, and she smelled good, and all of her motions were slow and deliberate. I was very aware of the feeling of her tongue in my mouth, and how soft and silky her skin was as it grazed against mine where our limbs were touching as I stood in front of her. And then she pulled me down onto the bed next to her.
I'm kissing a woman.
But now, I wasn't daydreaming in a casual, curious way. I was really doing it, really having the
adventure I'd been craving. My head spun with the feeling and my body heated up.

I was very turned on and very happy. I'd long wondered what it would be like to be with a woman, and here I was having this incredible experience, and sharing it with Mark, my husband and my best friend. He stood nearby, still fully dressed, watching us. As Pearl took off my bra and started to kiss down my neck, he slowly undressed. Eventually, we had Mark join us on the bed. He clearly wanted this to be a great experience for us, and especially for me, and he was very gentle and positive. This was to be all about me.

I couldn't believe how relaxed I felt, like this was the most normal thing in the world.
Why didn't we try this sooner? Why don't people do this all the time?
As Pearl moved things along, she seemed so sweet and classy, and I genuinely felt myself connecting with her. At the same time, I felt closer to Mark than I had in a long time. As far as I was concerned, this was the perfect anniversary celebration. It felt really good.

And then, at exactly eight o'clock, Pearl got up and went into the bathroom. I could hear the shower go on and smell the soap drifting out toward us on a puff of hot steam. It seemed strange to me that she'd so abruptly finished what for me had been a life-changing experience, and jumped right up to clean herself off. But I figured that must be how it's done. I lay on the bed, floating inside my own skin, filled up with the pleasure of what had just happened and with all of the sensations and feelings it had released inside of me.

“Mark, you need to give her a huge tip,” I whispered, rolling over toward him.

He raised an eyebrow at me, knowing we were already paying a thousand dollars for the hour.

“Of course,” he said. “I will.”

As Pearl came out of the bathroom, she was clearly in a hurry to dress and leave, but was professional and polite.

“You guys are such a wonderful couple,” she said. “I hope I'll see you again.”

Of course you will,
I thought as I closed the door behind her.

Diagnosing bipolar disorder is a very tricky thing. There's no biological or genetic test, and the average time between when a patient shows her first symptom and receives an accurate diagnosis is ten to twelve years, according to recent studies. Misdiagnosis happens all the time. In my case, there was the added complication of my competitive running, which I now believe helped to keep my own symptoms at bay for years. When I stopped running competitively to have my daughter, the combination of this change to my system and my postpartum depression kicked my bipolar disorder into high gear. Not that anyone in my life—including my doctors—knew it at the time.

Because I thought I suffered from depression, which had been successfully treated with Prozac, it made sense when I was later prescribed Zoloft for my recurring depression. Little did we know at the time that giving a bipolar person Zoloft is worse than leaving them untreated. The drug not only made my symptoms worse, but it gave Mark and me the illusion that it had knocked out my illness and everything was great now. So when my behavior became more and more extreme, it never occurred to us that there was anything wrong. At the time, I didn't just feel not depressed. I felt on top of the world. Of course I wasn't going to go see a doctor when I felt this energetic and alive. It's only now that I've been successfully diagnosed as bipolar and medicated appropriately for my condition, as well as having so many triggers removed from my life, that I can see how dangerous the combination of bipolar disorder and Zoloft were.

I think the hardest part of my recovery has been looking back at my behavior that was so destructive to my marriage, my family, and myself, and finding a way to make sense of it as the illness working through me, not something I consciously chose myself. While Mark has helped me to reach a place where I have no shame about anything I did—because that would in essence mean being ashamed of being bipolar, which I absolutely am not—it's still difficult to forgive myself for the pain I caused, because of my illness, to people I love so much. Mostly, these days, I just try to focus on gratitude. I am so incredibly grateful that I was eventually diagnosed and treated, and that my loving husband and family stuck by me through all of this, because I know how easily I could have ended up like my brother Dan or so many other casualties of the disease.

J
ust like that, it was over, and Mark and I were alone in our hotel room, as we'd been alone together on so many occasions over the past twenty years. Only now, everything had changed. I knew it instantly. We'd spent the day jumping out of an airplane and having a threesome, things most people would only fantasize about doing, if even that. And I wanted every day to be just like this from now on. I was on fire, filled with energy. I never wanted this day to end. All at once, I was ravenous.

“I'm starving,” I said.

“Me, too,” Mark said. “It's almost time for our dinner reservation.”

As I got dressed and fixed my makeup, I couldn't stop looking at myself in the mirror. On the outside, I looked the same as I always had, but I had done things. I knew things. I wasn't just Suzy Favor Hamilton, the nice girl from Wisconsin who had been an Olympic runner and was now a real estate agent, wife, and mom. I was a woman who brought her fantasies to life, even if they were not the kind of things nice girls did.

As we got into the elevator, my high hadn't abated. I felt amazing.

I looked up at Mark, trying to sense how he felt and what all of this meant to him.

“Do you feel different?” I asked.

He looked down at me, his face a question.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, more confident, like you just did something most people wouldn't do.”

“Sure, it was pretty awesome, but I'm not sure I feel different,” he said. “I do know I'm starved as hell.”

I laughed at his joke, but I felt a little disappointed, too. Maybe he didn't get it. Maybe it didn't mean the same thing for him as it did for me. That was okay, I reassured myself. I knew we'd do it again. As the elevator doors opened, releasing us into the swarming crowds of people in the hotel lobby, I couldn't stop looking at everyone I saw, wondering if they'd ever had a threesome or what the craziest thing they'd ever done in bed was, and thinking how weird it was that they couldn't tell what I had just done or how it had changed me completely, how they had no idea what they were missing
out on—the best experience. I had found a new way to make myself feel good, to get the adventure I craved, and I wanted more. Mark hurried me along to the taxi that would take us to dinner at Bouchon at the Venetian, as I tried to make my point to Mark, struggling to keep up in my high heels.

“I mean it, Mark,” I said. “Wasn't that incredible?”

“Of course,” he said. “It was great, but maybe not quite up to my expectations.”

It was amazing,
I thought, trying to understand how he could have felt anything other than totally amazing.

Even as we settled into our candlelit table at Bouchon and I sipped a glass of pinot noir—my favorite—from the elegant oversized wineglass and listened to the murmur of dinner conversation around me, I couldn't relax and enjoy my dinner. Images and sensations from the day flashed through my mind in rapid-fire flashes. Next to me, Mark studied the menu and laughed off my enthusiasm about the experience. I realized I might have to make it happen on my own next time if Mark wasn't as into it as I was. And that was just fine with me. I still loved Mark deeply, and I enjoyed the rest of our night together, but something had shifted inside of me. I didn't want to be defined only by my marriage. I wanted more. And, as far as I was concerned, what I wanted wasn't in Madison anymore. It was in Las Vegas.

When we got home from our anniversary trip, life seemed flat and stale. There was nothing to look forward to now that our adventure was over, and I couldn't seem to concentrate on my regular life. Our marriage had been fairly strained going into Vegas, to the point where it sometimes felt as if we were
separated. Our anniversary was supposed to rekindle our passion for each other. We'd both held out hope that we'd reconnect during our weekend away, but when we returned to the real world, the bond just wasn't there. We avoided each other as much as we could around the house, and when we did talk, we were both short with each other and usually ended up arguing about something related to work or Kylie. It got to a place where I didn't even want to answer the phone when I saw Mark's name come up on the screen.

I thought we were being torn apart by our real estate business. Mark coped with the strain by immersing himself more and more in work and our daughter. I couldn't see how hypersensitive I was, or what a nightmare it was for him to deal with my mood swings and extreme irritability. I simply wanted him to leave me alone. We faced more of the same sexless, lifeless marriage we'd had before Vegas, but now, I couldn't stand it any longer. I'd found happiness in Vegas, which had finally taken me out of my anxiety and sadness, and I wanted more sex and thrills, even if it distanced me further from Mark, who was in a very different place.

I even had trouble focusing on Kylie, who had always brought me so much happiness. It was like my mind couldn't stay still long enough to follow the simple routines of my day with her, the regular snacks and games and television programs. My imagination went back again and again to the only place where I felt happy and satisfied—Las Vegas. I thought about our threesome constantly, replaying the details in my mind until they became so familiar they lost their luster for me, and then I started thinking about what
would happen the next time I went back to Vegas, about what I would do when I saw Pearl, and about things I might do with people other than Pearl. I thought about sex all the time, until it got to the point where my fantasy was more real than my real life was.

About a week after our anniversary, I was waiting up for Mark when he got home, even though it was almost midnight. When he walked into the bedroom, he seemed surprised to see me awake and alert, sitting up against the pillows.

“Mark, I've been thinking,” I said. “Do you think we should go back to Vegas?”

“But we were just in Vegas,” he said. “I'm not sure I can get away again.”

“Well, what if I just went, then?” I said.

“Yeah, sure,” Mark said. “It would probably be good for you. Get some alone time.”

“You know, if you ever want to go to Vegas by yourself, I'd be okay with that,” I said.

He nodded, both of us understanding that we were moving toward giving each other space within our marriage, maybe even giving each other permission to stray for the intimacy each of us was lacking and missing, as long as it was just sex and not an affair. We'd gone to Vegas on our anniversary as an attempt to reconnect and return the spark to our marriage. While we'd enjoyed our time together there, we'd come out of the experience in such different places that we'd both shifted our focus to finding ways to stay married while satisfying ourselves on our own terms, even if that meant opening up our marriage in ways not everyone would feel comfortable with.

“I'm okay with you going to Vegas alone, too,” he said. “But you've got to be safe and discreet.”

“Of course,” I said, feeling elated by the possibility of my new freedom.

That was all the encouragement I needed. I decided to meet up with an attractive young woman I'd befriended at one of the universities where I'd been hired to speak. We'd stayed in touch and began planning a fun girls' weekend in Las Vegas. Around this time, Mark and I went further in our mutual decision to explore possibly having an open marriage, admitting that both of us would enjoy having the chance to have sex with other people—not like an affair, because we were both committed to our marriage, but sex if the opportunity presented itself. I wasn't threatened by the idea of Mark being with another woman because I knew our marriage was something special and rare, even though we had hit a rough patch, and I knew he felt the same way. As with everything else, we were completely open with each other and discussed every aspect of how we were feeling and what this step would mean for our relationship. I was all for Mark's extramarital activity because it meant that I'd get to continue exploring my own desires, too. I even hoped he would see someone else because I felt guilty about my need to seek pleasure outside our relationship; if he did so, too, it would make me feel better about my own urges. I made it clear to him that I wanted intimacy and excitement I wasn't getting from our relationship at that point, and we both gave each other the green light to seek intimacy elsewhere. We were equally comfortable with transitioning into an open
marriage, and neither of us thought about divorce. We knew our marriage was in trouble, but we were both willing to do whatever it took to keep it together, even if we had to go to some unconventional lengths to do so.

When it came time for my next Vegas trip, I was thrilled that I was getting everything I wanted, especially because my new friend happened to be gay, and I hoped we might even have a little tryst while we were away. But even though we'd flirted by text before our rendezvous, from the moment I arrived, I was disappointed. I was looking for a few days of casual sex, whereas my new friend wanted a platonic relationship. We were there for different reasons. Our trip was fun, but it lacked the glamour and excitement I was craving, and it was instantly clear that we were better off as friends, which we are to this day. When Mark and I had gone to Las Vegas and had our threesome, it had been like we were part of an elite club where fantasies came true, and that's what I wanted to recapture. It hadn't happened this time around. I went back to Madison planning to return as soon as I could, laying my plan out for Mark.

“I know I was just in Vegas, but I want to go back,” I said.

“Again?” Mark said. “Why?”

“Well, I was thinking, maybe I could see Pearl again?” I said. “You know I've never been with anyone but you, and I've always been curious about that side of myself. I really enjoyed that, and it would make me happy.”

“Yeah, that would be okay,” he said, laughing. “I know you have a crush on her.”

“And . . .” I didn't know if I was asking for too much, but
honestly, I didn't know if I cared. “Maybe I could go see a male escort, too?”

He visibly flinched. Even though we'd talked about opening our marriage up, it felt different now that it was really happening. Mark found himself worrying that if I went to see a male escort, it could open things up too far, into dangerous territory.

“Why?” he asked.

“Come on, there's no harm in it,” I said. “He's an escort. It's not like I'm going to have a relationship with him. It's just for fun.”

Because we'd both always had fairly liberal views on sexuality, and believed there was a big difference between a committed relationship and “just sex,” Mark finally nodded his head.

“Thank you, Mark,” I said, filled with love and gratitude for him. Yes, I still loved my husband and believed in our marriage, but it wasn't enough to make me happy on its own anymore. Maybe, just maybe, I could have everything.

Sex and excitement were on my mind more than usual in those days, and specifically, my next sexual adventure in Vegas. Scenes from our appointment with Pearl played through my mind constantly, when I was washing the dishes, when I was driving to the grocery store, and especially when I was running, which I was back to doing as much as I could, because it gave me time alone with my increasingly elaborate fantasies. I did have the clarity to understand how lucky I was that I had a loving husband who was willing to try to make our marriage work. I knew that most other husbands would
not be so open-minded. At the same time, it all seemed completely normal. It was what I wanted, so it must be okay.

Mark didn't seem upset that I'd asked him for his blessing to have sex with another person. He seemed really tired, which was how he seemed a lot of the time. Not that I was in the habit of slowing down long enough to focus too much on what he was feeling. I was on a mission, devoted to my own feelings, experiencing pleasure and getting what I wanted—and I didn't want to slow down for anything. The thought of my trip to Vegas made me so excited I could hardly sleep most nights.

TWO WEEKS LATER, I WAS
in Vegas again. Mark and I had left it that I would definitely see Pearl, as well as a male escort, Sebastian, from the same service. Mark had helped me book my trip, which I think at least made him feel a little better about the whole endeavor from a safety standpoint. Not that I was thinking about Mark as soon as my plane touched down in Las Vegas. Experiencing complete independence for the time I was there felt amazing. It was a welcome break I was beginning to think I might need every so often while Mark and I figured out a way to work things out down the line. I was particularly happy to be away from the real estate business, which I detested and blamed for all of our problems. I'd recently suffered some nasty verbal abuse at the hands of an unhappy client who'd lost money on the sale of his home, his poor investment. I'd hated how small and stupid I felt as I sat in that coffee shop across from this man, allowing myself to just shut up and take it, even though I wanted to do
anything but. Such extreme suppression of myself felt almost as bad as it had when I'd made myself compete in the face of my worst anxiety, like I had no voice and what I wanted didn't matter. I didn't want to be that person anymore, and in Vegas, I didn't have to be. I could forget all that for the next seventy-two hours, and I would.

From the minute I arrived, I was on a mission. This was my playground, where I could be free to enjoy this new side of myself, and do whatever I wanted. Finally, I had the chance to make up for all that I had missed out on by being a nice girl my whole life. Who cared that I was in my forties?

I'd gone to Vegas with the intention to see Pearl, but when I got there I decided I wanted to see the male escort, Sebastian, first instead. It was easy enough to change my plan through the service, and I was soon anticipating my upcoming tryst. I spent a long time getting ready in front of the big mirrors in the bathroom, loving the knowledge that in a few hours Sebastian would arrive at my room. I carefully applied my makeup and straightened my hair, and then I counted out three hundred dollars in cash. As I'd learned, male escorts generally charged less than females because there wasn't as much demand for their services. I slid the money into an envelope and left it on the vanity in the bathroom, as I'd been instructed. Just at the hour we'd specified, Sebastian knocked on the door of my room and I felt a thrill of excitement and nerves. I'd chosen him over the service's other male escort because he looked the part of the gigolo, and that's what I wanted: pure fantasy. When I opened the door, there he was: six-foot-two, incredible body, beautiful black skin, his clothes
hanging on him just right, in a sexy, casual way, like he'd just stepped out of a magazine.