Blink. Blink. Blink. The cursor taunts me, flashing on my screen like it knows I’m stalling. What do I even write about today? I feel like writing, so wish me luck.

This past week has been dragging us under. One of our cars broke down, got towed to the repair shop, and as I sit here typing, I still have no clue what’s wrong with it, or how much the fix will cost. That kind of not-knowing weighs on you like you’re tied to a hundred-ton anchor and trying to keep your head above the water. Add in a handful of home-life issues, a crazy workload, and the fact we hadn’t been out in weeks… yeah, it felt like we were drowning for a bit. (When you were a kid, did you ever imagine adulthood would mostly mean choosing what not to do because there just isn’t enough time?)

One possible bright spot was a lifestyle meet-and-greet scheduled for Saturday. At the beginning of the week, we were ready to cancel, too many issues plus the idea of shelling out big money for the car repair, but at the last minute, meeting some new faces (and reconnecting with a few familiar ones) sounded like exactly what we needed.

Elise even had a new dress waiting. It arrived just in time, fit beautifully… except it was about nine inches too long. Luckily, I’m pretty handy with a sewing machine. Under her direction, I cut off the excess material and re-hemmed it. When she tried it back on, let’s just say it went from “too long” to “whoa, way too short.” Perfect for Desire maybe, but less so for a family-friendly bar.

Normally I’d just run out to Jo-Ann’s for trim or fabric, but since they’re gone (RIP random fabric hauls) I had to improvise. Michaels came through with a 10-yard roll of soft tulle for eight bucks after a coupon. After a few hours of measuring, folding, and swearing (only a little), I managed to add 3.5 inches of the very slippery multi-layered tulle to the skirt. Miraculously, it didn’t look like a homemade craft project. It actually looked hot. Still sexy, but now she could bend over without causing a public spectacle. Win/win.

With Elise’s dress worked out and our Airbnb still booked, though we still had a few minutes to cancel our reservations, we decided to go for it.

Our kid knew we were staying overnight for a social meet-and-greet, but she didn’t need to know what kind of meet-and-greet or see what I was packing. At first, I didn’t even know what I’d bring, so I solved that problem by just packing everything. Life’s full of what-ifs, you might as well be prepared.

I started with normal stuff: too many outfits for myself (Midwest weather roulette) and a cooler bag of breakfast food to keep costs down. Then came the secret stash: another cooler bag loaded with whatever alcohol and mixers we had at home, basically a portable bar. And then the big duffle bag: toys, condoms, rope, cuffs, lube, flogger, crop… but no paddle, because it’s mysteriously MIA. Pretty much something for any kind of play, which of course usually guarantees nothing actually happens. Elise and I had agreed ahead of time: no expectations, no pressure. Just focus on each other, and if something happened with others, great. If not, also great. It’s just a meet-and-greet afterall. 

Fast forward/time skip. We checked into the rental, unpacked, changed, and headed out the door, but not before taking a shot of Fireball for good luck. Elise rocked her freshly-altered pin-up style dress with back-seam stockings (sexy bonus points), and I wore a new lacey-but-not-lacy shirt that showed hints of skin. We skipped an Uber to be cheap and walked 15, maybe 20 minutes and we only showed up a half-hour late, which for us that’s impressive.

The bar was massive, two stories, but we found our group without trouble. Thanks to pre-gaming, introductions with new faces were easy. Drinks ordered, conversations flowing, and then came the question of the night: Have you ever tried a pickle-back shot?

Most people were squeamish about chasing tequila with pickle brine, but jokes on them. I love vinegar and have been known to sip pickle juice straight. No problem here. (I once ordered a pickled beet brine drink at a Middle Eastern restaurant and the owner came out personally to see who the hell ordered it. Spoiler: he did not expect a random white guy. He brought out two and we drank them together while Elise watched in amusement.) Back to Saturday, my only party foul was that after shooting the tequila, I sipped the pickle brine slowly instead of slamming it. I was enjoying it after all. 

The night continued on. We met some great couples we’d never talked to online or IRL before. Skipping lots of details and you’ll just have to imagine. I ended the night with an incredible goodnight kiss(es) from one woman, while Elise kissed her husband. I can’t speak about Elise’s kiss, but mine wasn’t just a quick polite peck either. It was long, slow, and sexy in a way that felt deliciously outside the “normal married couple goodbyes.” Probably went on longer than it should have for a public place.

Which brings me to the actual point of this post.

(Warning: cliché incoming) What is normal, anyway? Is anyone actually normal? I am pretty sure society would probably say that kiss wasn’t “normal” and that we should be in counseling or seeking forgiveness. Yet somehow it’s considered more normal for a husband to never lift a finger at home, or for people to sneak around cheating behind their partner’s back. Compared to so many, many things out there, an honest, mutually exchanged kiss and approved by all everyone involved, feels like the healthier option. 

Maybe normal isn’t what society says it is, but what works for us. (Honestly, I guess society would probably have actually said, “Get a room, you two.”)

Let’s be clear: If her husband would have said, “no”, or even hinted at it, I would have not gone any further.  I’m also not saying I’m better than anyone else or trying to decide who’s normal or abnormal. Maybe it just comes down to not judging a book by its cover. 

(I saw that eye-roll. I warned you about the clichés.)

And here’s the funny part: I stress about the tiniest, most mundane details on a daily basis, but this? This didn’t rattle me at all. I didn’t even feel jealous when I caught a glimpse of Elise kissing. Maybe that’s because we’ve been talking more lately. Not just about chores and schedules, but about real things that matter such as our future together and even some topics that usually get cast aside because they are difficult. Maybe it’s because we’re growing together, not just going through the motions.

I was friends with this person before the kiss, and we’re still friends after. Will it happen again? Maybe, but I’m not going to assume. As Master Yoda would say, “Difficult to see. Always in motion is the future.” For all I know, I’m a terrible kisser and she was just being polite. Elise has been my only repeat customer, so maybe that should tell me something.

Could it have gone further beyond a kiss? Sure, but not at this bar ;). It didn’t, and honestly that was probably for the best. It was late, the buzz was fading, and the logistics probably would have killed the vibe anyway. What mattered was the shared experience. 

Elise and I walked back hand in hand hoping we would pass by a late-night ice cream shop. We didn’t find any ice cream, but we did find some kind of fairy-light art installation and paused to make out under the twinkling lights. Back at the rental I made sure to inspect the seams of her stockings very closely to confirm they were still even. (Quality control is important.)

And that’s where the night ended, flirty, fun, and together.