Time Out

Both Loraine and I raised our eyebrows in approval and smiled at each other. "Only 94% of Americans believe that man landed on the moon," I mused, indicating that an 88% success rate was great.

"Now – some explanation as to why I chose what I'm going to propose to you," Judy said with a big grin as she stood up, cracked her knuckles, and then started pacing, something both Loraine and I were used to when she was on a roll.

"Do you realize that in the twenty years that you two have been married you have only been apart a total of roughly thirty nights? That's an unbelievably small number of times. You also clearly have a deep love for each other, but you both think that you might be missing something because of your completely conventional marriage, family, and careers. You are also both clearly concerned about how your spouse views your approach to sex and don't want the other to have any apprehension about trying new things. Finally, it is only because you are economically well off that I can offer this option. So..."

Judy got a diabolical smile on her face as Loraine and I leaned up to the edges of our chairs in anticipation.

"So..." Judy continued, "you two are going to spend eleven days apart and before you do you will sign a formal separation agreement suspending your marriage. You'll have a marriage 'time out!'"

Loraine and I each moved from the edge of our seat to collapsed against the back of it; broke our hand-hold as our hands either moved to our mouths or an arm of the chair we were sitting in.

"Say what?" was my intelligent question after I finally regained my composure about thirty seconds after Judy dropped her bomb.

"You're going to take – at the same time but in different places – a sabbatical from your marriage. You'll be doing so with other married people within ten years of your age one way or the other who are in the same situation you are – they are in love with their spouse, but they have marital malaise. You will be required – on penalty of forfeiting your security deposit which I'll explain soon – to come see me for at least two more sessions after you get back. You'll be counseled not to share anything about your experience with your spouse – nothing at all. As part of the cost, you'll have an hour consultation with an attorney – a different one for each of you – who has experience with these types of contracts. I'll hand a contract to each of you, and you can ask any and all questions that you want to until our time is up."

Loraine and I each snatched our copy of the contract from Judy and read it over twice before we even asked any questions. The major provisions that jumped out at us were:

–The cost of the accommodations from late Friday night until late Tuesday night a week later was $4500 each. Transportation to the location was extra.

–There were only a certain number of times available. The first was three weeks from the time we were reviewing the contract, the second eleven weeks later.

–We were required to give Judy a $2,000 security deposit that would be forfeited if each of us didn't come for at least one legitimate counselling session after we returned.

–"All legal, and any other aspects of and incidents to, the marriage are suspended until client lands back in the U. S. from the Time Out resort location."

–There was to be no contact whatsoever with anyone from the resort after our return on penalty of forfeiting 20% of any value we would otherwise be entitled to if there was a divorce as a result of the contact.

Loraine asked the first question – the one that was foremost in my mind but which I was reluctant to ask. "This seems to imply that under this agreement we would be free to have sex with someone else as long as it was restricted to the time and place provided. Is that correct?"

"Yes," was Judy's succinct reply.

Both Loraine and I sighed heavily, and then furtively glanced at each other, before we squirmed in our chairs.

That would be the major hurdle we would have to overcome, and not right then – but we wanted to be fully educated on everything associated with the proposed scenario, so we asked lots of other questions.

Where were the other participants from? What were their backgrounds? Would we know their real names? Would they know ours? Would the resort know who we were? How would we explain this to our family? etc., etc., etc.

The basic facts were that: the other people had backgrounds similar to ours, no one would know or use real names, including the people at the resort, a background story was available, our passports were not really necessary for our travel even though we would be outside the continental U. S., but identical fake passport stamps for the British Virgin Islands would be provided on our passports.

"When can we meet with the attorneys?" was Loraine's last question.

"Anytime this week with six hours advance notice," Judy quickly replied.

"When do we have to decide?" was my final one.

"If you want the three week opening, within seven days; if you want the eleven week opening, within eight weeks," Judy responded.

"Thanks, we'll think about it," I said as both Loraine and I hugged Judy goodbye.

Her last words, delivered with a big smile, when we exited her office were "88.5% chance of your sex life being as good as the rest of your lives!"

Loraine and I were shell-shocked as we drove home – we probably didn't say more than two words to each other. However, when we got home we kissed passionately in our bedroom, showered together – no hanky-panky but showering together alone was almost unique over the last decade – and the cuddled, attempting sleep that was difficult to come by.

************

The kids asked Loraine and me "What's up 'rents?" on more than one occasion the Saturday after our bombshell since our minds were in outer space, not on Earth, the entire day. We went to a family movie that night, although I couldn't tell you what it was about when we left; Loraine and I shared popcorn and a Coke.

When the kids went to bed we pulled up a couple of armchairs in the living room and sat face-to-face. "What are we going to do, Hon?" I whispered.

Loraine paused then said "Let's see the attorneys next week, Dan, and make a decision by Thursday."

I smiled, kissed her hands, and then squeezed her.

We each went to a different attorney and discussed the contract. They didn't tell us anything that we didn't already know from reading it and from Judy's responses to our questions, but they did assure us that the contract was entirely legal, appropriate, and enforceable.

Thursday Loraine and I went out to dinner together. As we were chowing down on rock lobster I said "What's your take on things?"

"I am not disinclined to go along with the time out – but I'm not inclined to go along with it either. I have reservations about the sex aspect of the time away from each other; I don't know how I would handle it, or how I would view you handling it."

"I feel the same way," I responded after washing down my last bite with a swig of wine.

"My recommendation is that we see if exercise alone works out, and if it doesn't by a week before the commit date for the session eleven weeks from now – I guess it's ten weeks now – that we sign the contract at that time," Loraine continued after leaning back in her chair.

I realized why we had had such a solid marriage – her views were the same as mine. I smiled widely, squeezed her hands, leaned over the table and gave her a kiss, and said "OK."

***********

Unfortunately the "exercise only" therapy didn't work. While it did put us both in the best shape our bodies were in for at least the last fifteen years, the problems that Judy had identified did not evaporate along with our fat and fatigue. To be sure our sex life was better than before we started exercising, but the pizazz still wasn't there although the apprehension was.

After a nice, but uninspiring, sex session two days before we had to make the decision, after Loraine and I kissed she asked. "Do we sign the contract Dan?"

"I think that if we want to reach our goals we should – 88% is a lot better bet than any we could place anywhere else," I replied.

"We'll sign tomorrow, then – let's call Judy first thing," she smiled.

That's exactly what we did. Judy agreed to meet us after-hours with a notary. We each signed and had notarized four copies of the contract, one for each of us, one for Judy, and one to be filed by one of the attorneys, under seal, with the Court. We handed Judy our check to cover all costs.

"I've given your cellphone numbers to a rep for Time Out. She is the only person who will know your real names. She'll be in touch about details," Judy said with a smile. "This WILL work out," were her last words.

***********

Banner Friday finally arrived. Both Lorraine and I were nervous. We were flying to Miami together, but after that we were taking different planes to different locations, and were advised not to tell each other what the destinations of our planes were. Apparently we each also had a boat ride after our second flight.

We had been briefed completely on what to bring (including an STD-free certificate from a lab sanctioned by Time Out, and a general health certificate showing that we were up to date on all shots), what not to bring (any nice clothes, jewelry, or makeup), and were told to never reveal our real name to anyone (I knew that I was "Jay" and Loraine was "Kate," but nothing else about her situation, or her about mine).

I was given a complete list of all the other people who would be at the resort I was going to. The guests were married men whose ages were 34, 35, 37, 39, 40, 41, 43 (me), two 46s, 47, 49, and 51, and married women ages 33, 36, 37, 40, two 41s, two 43s, 45, 50, 51, and 52. There were two female "facilitators," ages unknown, three male "facilitators" ages unknown, a female camp director, a male assistant camp director, and a cook and her helper. First names were associated with all of the people, as well as head shot photos of the employees, but all names were known to be fake.

Loraine and I started calling each other "Kate" and "Jay" once we were dropped off at the airport Friday morning by our seventeen year old daughter. While our kids are very responsible, we're not crazy; so both sets of grandparents were staying with them for the first six nights that we'd be gone, and Loraine's sister and her husband the last five nights.

Loraine and I kissed goodbye at the Miami airport; her flight was from a different terminal than mine. I never felt so nervous or excited in my life waiting for my flight – a small commercial propeller plane – to board; of course this was an entirely unique experience one that I was having trouble wrapping my brain around.

The takeoff and landing about an hour later were without incident. At the tiny airport we landed at I was met by a trim black man probably in his early twenties carrying a sign that said "Bob, Carol, Jack, Jay, Jill, Sally, Tim;" I had thought that some of the people on my plane were going to Time Out, and I was right. All of us only had carryon luggage, we introduced ourselves to the young black man whose name was Simon and who I recognized from his head shot as the assistant camp director, and to each other, and took a three minute van ride to the boat, a 28 foot SeaRay.

We chatted each other up on the twenty minute ride to the Time Out resort. Carol was the person I talked most with. Although not entirely possible to tell because she had a sun dress on, she looked like she might have been the twin of the woman whose photo Judy showed me in describing my new "type" during our last individual session together. I couldn't see her eyes because of her sunglasses, but her face – though not beautiful – was friendly and open, and she had a cheery disposition.

In a first of many surprises for me, Jack and Jill were married to each other.

When we got to the island Simon showed us all to our cabins to look around and drop off what little luggage we had. We were each given a perforated (for comfort allowing airflow through it) T-shirt with our name and age on the front and back, and encouraged to wear it for the activities that night.

"Please meet here at the rec center once you drop off your luggage," Simon said in the beautiful Jamaican lilt his voice had, "and I'll provide snacks and take you on a tour."

All the cabins were on the edge of the beach, just above the sand, partially shaded by palm trees. Everyone who was on the trip alone had his or her own cabin.

The cabins were – for lack of better words – cozy and rustic. There was only one drawer, in a cheap bedside table, and the closet was about eight inches wide, with just three hangers and no door. I was very pleased to see that everything was exceptionally clean since I'm kind of a neat/clean freak. There were only two things that weren't "cozy." The bed was a legitimate queen sized bed, and the shower was very large, although we were warned that the hot water for it was heated by a solar bladder on the roof that had only a twenty gallon capacity. The shower and sink faucets also turned off automatically if left on for more than two minutes, and had to be reactivated if you were still using it.

We munched on papaya, bagel chips, and cookies as we took the half hour tour, noticing that other guests had arrived before us. We were told that Jersey, the female camp director, a slim black woman in her early thirties, was picking up the rest of the guests at the airport. We were also introduced to the five facilitators and the cook and her helper.

Once all of the guests had arrived we had a leisurely dinner. The resort had a number of tents set up to block the sun so that we could be outdoors yet not be in direct sunlight. Once the sun set we had a cocktail party, more or less. Everyone was wearing their T-shirts with their name and age on them. I found out that Carol was one of the two forty one year old females in the group.

I got another surprise once I saw all of the guests assembled. My exercise the last few months had paid off. I dare say that I was in the best shape – at least by looks – of any of the male guests.

It was just before the cocktail party that I finally became aware that the guests were really in three different groups. There were three married couples that were working on their marriages together; three of the facilitators, two male, one female, were licensed marriage counselors and therapists. Four of the spouse-less married guests were working on personal issues with the three facilitators who were certified marriage counselors and therapists. The remaining fourteen guests, seven men, seven women, were in my group, all of us in "marital malaise" back home. The functions of the remaining male and female facilitators were not described.

To make sure that everyone got to know everyone else, there was a session with the fourteen of us in the marital malaise group that was akin to what I've heard "speed dating" sessions are like, except that everyone had five minutes with everyone else, not just members of the opposite sex. Since Carol and I already knew quite a bit about each other we used the five minutes together to act as goofy and funny as possible, such as me messing up my hair and pretending that I had buck teeth. In the silliest voice I could conjure I asked Carol "So, what's your sign," "Did you just fart because you blew me away," "Do you work at Subway because you gave me a foot long," "Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again," "I hear you're looking for a stud; well I've got the STD and all I need is you," "OK, I'm here – what's your next wish," and a couple of other lines so inane and absurd that I thought that Carol was actually going to fall off her chair she was laughing so hard.

The "speed introduction" was actually a good way to meet everyone. I was surprised at how successful that it was, but that was in part due to the fact that all fourteen of us seemed to be decent, likeable people.

After the speed introduction, the fourteen of us went and mingled with the other guests, the facilitators, the directors – in fact everyone on the island except for the cook and her assistant. Carol and I occasionally ran into each other or were talking in the same group, but we did our best to talk to everyone there. With the exception of one of the married couples, Charles and Diana, everyone at the party was pleasant and made an effort to be friendly. Charles and Diana appeared to be sullen and stuck up; I was hoping that the facilitators could turn them around.

Probably the most interesting person – aside from Carol – and the one that I spent the second most time with, including a one-on-one twenty minute conversation, was the female facilitator who was not a licensed marriage counselor. Her resort name was Jen; she was twenty four, looked like a prototypical Texas or California college cheerleader, with the cutest butt and face imaginable. She was about five feet six inches tall, maybe 120 pounds, with long blond hair with red-dyed streaks in it. That wouldn't work for many people, but for her it really did.

Jen was also probably more toward drunk than anyone else there – something that the camp director didn't seem to like, which is one reason why I squirreled her away for a one-on-one conversation. At the start of our conversation I gave Jen a club soda to replace the vodka tonic that she had just finished. The most salient part of our conversation went something like this:

"So Jen, when Jersey introduced three of the facilitators she mentioned that they were therapists, but she didn't mention your specialty. What is it?"

Jen giggled. "I'm not supposed to say, Jay – hey, that rhymes," more giggles, clearly illustrating her state of inebriation.

"Hey, Jen, I can keep a secret better than anyone else in the world. I'm ex-CIA." The last part was delivered with a smile because of course it was totally bogus, but at that point Jen thought that I was serious, and I saw no reason to correct her.

"No shit;" pause; "well I guess I can say if you promise not to tell anyone else."

"CIA promise, Jen – no one hears about it from me, and in fact I don't even confirm or deny it," I grinned.

"Well, I'm studying to be a sex therapist but not certified yet. School isn't in session right now so I took this part time job. I was a call girl to pay my way through undergraduate school, but I don't ever put that on my resume," she stage-whispered, then burped. "Sorry," she giggled.

"Better out than in," I smiled trying to digest what I had just been told, and which resulted in another round of giggles from Jen.

"Anyway, so my role here is if any of the guests in the marital malaise," she really butchered the pronunciation of "marital malaise;" I can't even attempt to repeat it; "category have a problem then I'm to help them out, by – promise not to tell," she giggled again.

"I've given you my CIA oath," I fake snarled.

"OK, don't get your panties in a bunch," she giggled again before continuing. "Anyway, if things go really bad then I'm supposed to be nice to them, maybe even fuck them or give them a blow job. I fuck really good, you know," the last part delivered seriously, but then followed a few seconds later with "I shouldn't have said that. Forget I did, OK – J-A-Y," she then said, reading my name from my shirt.

Jen then continued unprompted: "I'm sure that you're going to get into Carol's pants – she really likes you – but if you get hard up or want a threesome, I'm your girl, Jay." Then her eyes got glassy, she dropped her club soda, and looked like she might faint. I glanced over to see that Jersey had her back to us and was in an animated discussion with three other guests, so I quickly led Jen the cabin that she shared with the other female facilitator, which had been pointed out to me by Simon on the tour.