Rick had been an “I’ll save you” relationship and the fulfillment of this Kansas girl’s dream of the all-American cowboy. It felt so natural to just love him. He had survived Vietnam and was my way of serving the cause. He was my partner in rebellion—rebellion against my dad, rebellion at the confined though expansive container of a life I had created with Arnie. Was I so unprepared? Was I truly just a rebellious, lost and lonely teenager acting out unexpected behavior?
Rick was also a man I loved sharing my sexuality with. I felt safe with Rick in many ways. Life with him had been a grand adventure. But my romantic fantasies of loving a cowboy had failed to include the realities of living with an emotionally damaged Vietnam vet. I had thought he would rehabilitate simply by our being together, or that my love for him could cure anything, but it was proving to be a long and arduous return for this wounded cowboy.
We talked about my situation and what possibilities there might be for better living conditions than having scorpions for bedmates. Barry was a problem solver, and we were soon creating solutions for me. These solutions would require me to become more responsible and more accountable. I was ready for it.
Barry explained why a fifty-four-year-old man his size welcomed visitors in his sunny bedroom. Barry craved complete presence by anyone within his range. Two years earlier he had undergone intestinal bypass surgery and he was still recovering from the new and radical surgery. He had weighed 600 pounds when he went in for the surgery, which involved removing most of his intestinal tract. Barely digested food went straight to the colon, where it was eliminated many times throughout the day and night. He was proud to weigh only 450 pounds now, but the dozens of trips to the bathroom were exhausting and much of the nutrients from the food he ate were never absorbed due to the removal of his intestines.
Barry was part of the in-club in Hollywood, and well-known producers and directors were often on the other end of his phone line. He had achieved enormous success with several hit films that decade, and he continued to sell his screenplays. Barry was commanding and clear. He wasted no time on small talk. He quickly gathered the information he needed to identify me—I was thirty-four and divorced with a daughter living with her dad. Rick and I had recently moved to Ojai from the North Coast, where I practiced Hatha yoga and dabbled in self-taught massage, metaphysics, and past-life regression. I offered to show him a few of the stretches from my yoga practice. I was very flexible, and he was delighted to see my movements. It was an extreme contrast to him, as he could barely even walk to the bathroom or to the large tub near his bed.
From his bed—his throne—Barry watched life on his ranch through a large picture window. He needed and wanted to be informed of everything, and he was thoroughly entertained by Madeleine’s prowess with her Arabians. She would ride by his window on her favorite black stallion, spectacular in her riding pants and leather boots, her lovely breasts bouncing in a thin tee-shirt. As she passed she would call out a greeting to “Barr.” Soon we were twinkling sensual magnetism to one another, and I had to admit I felt turned on. When we said goodbye, the Levines invited me to come back and visit anytime.
The next morning, our phone rang. The Levines wanted to know if we had a portable TV they could borrow. Their television had broken and Barry needed a TV as soon as possible. Rick had to return that day to finish shoeing Madeleine’s horses, so we put our 24-inch TV in the trailer along with Rick’s anvil, dozens of pairs of horseshoes, mallets, nails, an acetylene torch for heating steel, and other tools of the trade. I rode in the trailer to make sure the TV reached its destination safely.
“It’s not color!” Barry wailed, when he saw what we had brought him.
But we were still saving the day for Barry, as watching TV helped him relax and kept him tuned into shows that were important for his work. He and Madeleine were grateful for our generosity and assured us Barry’s TV would be working again soon.
Barry and I talked through another afternoon, and at the end of it he told Madeleine I wanted to relocate. “Why don’t you move in here?” she said. “We have a small cottage here you could rent.”
That night I told Rick my plans. I explained it was time for us to take some space and for him to get his financial life together. I could not sleep in a house with scorpions, and I wanted more. I wanted someone to help me buy my own vehicle, help me invest my new money, and show me some family love. I invited Rick to spend one night a week with me in my new cottage and be my lover, but I wanted to live apart.
Rick was in a spin. “You just met them!”
“I know.”
It had only been a week since we’d met the Levines. But what choice did I have? I couldn’t do the adventurous existence of hand-to-mouth survival anymore.
After all those months in a trailer and then in the rental on the dry creek bed, the cottage was a relief with its relative comforts. I spent the days cleaning and setting up my house, planting flowers out front, and running errands in town for Barry or Madeleine. Madeleine came into Barry’s room in the evenings and brought dinner to us on trays. I liked giving nurturing and healing touch and she asked me to sit with Barry as often as I wanted and massage him. “He needs touch more than anything,” she had said. I massaged Barry’s huge expanse of back, neck, legs, and feet, and enjoyed flirtatious play with this amazing creature draped in velvet caftans. As I massaged Barry, he drifted in and out of lazy naps and moaned with delight. Sometimes Madeleine would come in and sit in the easy chair across from the bed, playing her guitar and capturing my heart as she sang haunting love songs she and Barry had written about their love for each other. Between songs, she told me stories of her career as a singer/songwriter, playing with Kenny Loggins and appearing on the Smothers Brothers show. She told me how she had met Barry and how he had seduced her. Madeleine came from a Mafia-connected family, and Barry was a New York Jew who had started his career in New York City clubs, where he discovered a famous comedy act in the 1960s. In Hollywood he rose fast to the top, but he was unhappy there and he ate his way to this immense weight, stopping only when he realized the threat it was to his life. With Madeleine’s support he had agreed to the radical surgery that could save his life from the ravages of obesity.
The Levines were different from anyone I had known. They were vibrant and loving. I loved talking with Barry and laughing at his stories. His wit earned him millions before it was all used up keeping him alive. But besides his great creative wit, Barry and Madeleine were dedicated to emotional authenticity and to speaking their minds; you never had to wonder how they felt. I needed that and found it easier to do it myself with their support and modeling. They knew that emotional health meant physical health, and both were top priority. Their nutritionist taught me how to eat to maximize my health and energy. In a year, I cleansed a lifetime of pizza and cheeseburgers and lost the last of my baby fat.
In the beginning I was in denial of the sexual attraction between Barry and me. I couldn’t imagine how sex could fit into this unfolding new relationship. But I was melted butter under his gaze. Barry had confided to me that Madeleine was not terribly interested in sex, and he needed pleasure—he wanted passion. He was also distressed that because of the size of his belly he couldn’t even reach his penis to pleasure himself. My compassionate heart responded. Three years before I would meet Charles Muir and eight years before I would hear of Tantra or sexual healing, I offered to assist Barry with his dilemma and surprised myself with my own sexual healing: Here was a penis so unthreatening I began healing my confusing fear of them. A vulnerable penis belonging to a vulnerable man was nothing to be afraid of.
Barry insisted that his fiery Italian wife would not want to know what we did. Even if she did know, she would not want to be told. I knew she loved Barry, but their differences were obvious, too. Madeleine was always outdoors—repairing buildings, grooming or riding her horses, or playing music in her studio. She stopped in throughout the day to confer with Barry or bring him lunch. Sometimes she picked up her guitar and sang for us. I loved their connection and creativity, loved being part of their daily concerns and commitments. I wanted to help in any way I could, even if it meant taking care of Barry’s needs and fantasies without sharing it with his wife. We talked constantly about sex, and when he asked me one day to touch my own “pussy” while he watched, I shyly agreed. The curtains were drawn and we