Hello Again S

If I'm honest, I was avoiding him intentionally. I'm drawn to his energy, his magnificent interest in sex, an interest I take the credit for igniting. 

My old flame S has been back in touch. I find him hard to resist, but resist I have - answering his texts with sympathy, but I will never give in to him the way I did before. I simply have too much to lose this time around. I have a relationship I'm not willing to risk losing. 

He's lost his old pictures of me, can't he just have one for old time's sake? No. I wish we had been able to have just one whole night together. Me too, but it's not going to happen now, it just won't. 

I feel excited by it, which is pretty tame considering how insatiable I've been feeling in JB's absence, but very uneasy. I feel like I wouldn't want JB to see these texts, and so that makes me feel that I shouldn't be involved here. That unease is definitely not even polyamorous, so it's certainly not monogamy.....

I care for S deeply, and am so grateful for the time we had together. There was some pretty excellent sex had. But now, now that I've moved on at last from him, I find that he hasn't quite let go of me. Yet.

J from Cambridge

As I pounded the pavements in the rain this morning, for some reason my mind wandered to J. 

Lovely, wretched J who I knew was wrong for me from the beginning, but with whom I had the love affair I'd always wanted. 

We fundamentally wanted different things. I was looking for a way to ease myself out of a relationship where I was no longer happy, and the more I think about it the more I feel as though he was looking for a way to block the loneliness out. It ended in pain, for sure. Definitely mine, but I cannot say if he hurt at all. 

I've been so mad at him for not letting me into his life. For saying he "didn't see a future for us". Ouch. But now I just feel sad that the time I spent with him I also spent fantasising that it was something different, rather than really taking on board how lovely it was, right then. He definitely spoiled me with gifts. That was rather nice.

But then I also often felt low in his presence because I had no fucking idea what was going on. Just as the sex was fantastic and intimate one minute, he would switch and become very distant the next. 

He also liked to lick my teeth when we kissed. How in god's name do you actually tell someone you love that you find it utterly repulsive when they lick your teeth? Not just lick, either, but full on stick-your-tongue-in-my-mouth-and-swirl type affair. Shudder at the memory.

But still, now with the distance of time and a new love, I think what a shame. What a shame I didn't squeeze all the love out of that relationship when I had the chance. What a shame I didn't let him just be...what a shame indeed. 

There's just that little voice...

That says "I wasn't finished yet!"

That little voice that says "it's not going to work, you know, you just like sleeping around too much"

You're a cheater

You were never polyamorous

You won't be faithful

A day will come when you will falter.

When the thrill of the risk is too great to avoid

You will hurt him

You're not ready

You're not ready


Maybe that's what they mean when they say marriage is a big decision. It's a choice that you make to ignore that little voice who seems to have guided you (relatively) well in the past. That false friend.

I have anxiety about getting married, even to JB who is one of the most delightful creatures on the planet. I worry that we disagree too much on too many vital things, that I'm too soft on him or that I'm too harsh. That he's too stubborn but also too flexible. I'm worried that I won't be able to keep the promise I've decided to make to him.

Growing up, truly growing up and leaving childhood and adolescence behind has been the process of realising my dreams won't come true just because I dream them. Sacrifices have to be made to get the life that I want, and even then it won't be the kind of life you see in magazines. Once I thought I wanted that, but now I know I want a huge, messy, gloriously obese life full of love, with all the messiness that brings. That means choosing a life partner that wants to join you on that ride. He ain't perfect, but hey, neither am I.

But still there's that little voice! I find him shockingly rude.

Here's The Thing

JB asked me to marry him on a Friday night, after we'd been to the pub with some friends. I'd made a lemon cake to take with us the next day to a theatre show in a forest with his mother and sister.

As we ate the cake together, JB said "oh my god this cake is amazing. Will you marry me?" I assumed it was in jest until he said "actually, yeah. Will you marry me?" my only possible response being a mouth-full-of-cake "are you serious?".

Evidently he was. I accepted. I'm a polyamorous person who has just committed to a monogamous marriage. Holy fucking shit. JB and I have only been together a year. But it feels so right. He seems like the kind of partner I could spend the rest of my life with. FUCK! How did this even become a thing?

I am so happy to be marrying him. I don't know what will happen. I don't know how I will apply polyamory to my future life. I just don't know. But I have this belief that poly was never really about the sex or the romance. It was about the love, and I feel that I can get that love through platonic friendships. We'll see, obviously, but I am prepared to take that risk. Let's see how we go!

I Left T

I ended the romantic relationship.

I've been walking on sunshine for the last month with JB, but something is not right anymore. I don't know what it is. I think it's me. I think I miss TK, and I feel like I made a mistake.

I remind myself that I wasn't happy when we were together. I remind myself that the sex wasn't so great anymore, and I avoided it. I remember getting cross with him and the drudge of dragging him up again from his terrible moods.

But I think that was all worth it. I think. I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything. He was a constant, and now he is not. I've made my bed, and now I have to lie in it.

JB is so wonderful. He's kind, he's good looking, the sex is amazing. He's not T, but that's ok, I genuine love JB of his own accord and I'm grateful of his love in return. But fuck if this ain't half hard. I've never broken up with someone I still loved before.

My cousin is a neuroscientist and he said that the brain can take months, or even years to kill off the emotional pathways in our brain. He said it takes time to make new pathways, and develop new associations about who and what is familiar, and what represents love. I hope he's right, and this struggle is just part of that.

I’m a silly cunt sometimes

I’ve fallen for my housemate. I’m a total idiot, and should have known better. He’s called JB, he’s lovely, and had I met him in a different life, who knows? It could have been different.

The night I came to look at the house was so much fun. I wasn’t exactly sure how to find it, but I knew he was at home waiting for me, and in the quickly darkening evening I could see him sitting on the sofa  playing on an ipad and drinking red wine. All the signs were good that this was going to be somewhere I’d be happy living.

I can hear his voice so clearly, welcoming me. “Hello”. He was excited and nervous - we’d met once before at a mutual friend’s birthday party, and as we all left, JB and I danced to the train station. I found him on facebook, and found his art blog. He remembers me as his first following. We seemed to be quietly noteworthy in each others’ lives.

He showed me the house. A study (yay), with room for my sewing machine. filled with books. Heaven. A lobby, beautifully decorated to exactly my taste. A lovely bathroom and a new kitchen, just put in. He showed me the room, it was great. We went to the kitchen, and he gave me the key. It was that easy. He poured me some wine.

We chatted. We talked our way through three bottles of wine, and I was having a great time. We agreed on so many things, and agreed at how stupid those who didn’t agree with us were. I told him I was polyamorous. We watched Youtube clips and laughed together on the sofa. We let our bodies touch. I don’t really remember saying this (although definitely not out of the realm of possibility) but apparently I said “so is fucking part of the deal?”. Ugh

So we kissed, we really made out. He took me upstairs, I ripped his (and my own) clothes off. We touched, I sucked his cock. I remember a hazy and not very enjoyable 69 (those things scare me - too much chance for a nose up the bum) and then him not being able to keep it up. I remember waking up a lot, and feeling very thirsty. It was a little weird.

A few days later I came to show my four year old nephew the house. JB thanked me for being cool. I felt cool. I like fucking people and although it wasn’t my most successful drunken fuck, I had enjoyed myself. I moved in.

We started a weird friendship, a slight romance. We enjoyed each other so much, and began to fool around most weekends. I was fine - I was really ok with it all, and JB was so clear that a real relationship between us wasn’t really an option.

I ignored him. I wondered what it would be like if we were together. I thought if I pretended hard enough, he’d change his mind. He kept saying how excellent I was, and I thought that meant he wanted to be with me, and was coming around to the idea.

He wasn’t. I know that categorically, after starting to cry when we agreed we should probably stop the kissing, the fucking and the cuddling up to watch TV, I confessed I was upset because I loved him. Accidentally loved him. He was (is?) shocked, and as gently as possible told me that I would never make it into his heart.

I’m retreating now, trying to get some distance without being mean (although my lesser self wants him to be as hurt as I feel), but I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.

I want him.

Bye Bye Blackbird

J is gone. It is done and over with.

He returned from a working trip and when we spoke it came out that he doesn't think about any sort of future with me. I'm tired of being with people who don't want to be with me. Or who make no effort or room in their life for me to be. I won't be the one who always bends. I am resolute.

The night that I ended it I sobbed like a child. I've been more ok about it than I really expected, but waves of grief was over me a few times today, and I feel myself on the edge again.

This morning, as T and I were making gentle Saturday morning in the sun love, I was near to climax when I realised I was supposed to be with Cambridge with J, and I almost wept right then and there. Not fair for T, I know, but I don't consciously seek these thoughts out, they just hit me.

I am so sad.

Making Love

Things had been difficult with T for a while. Let's be honest, things hadn't been perfect for over a year. I don't know that they're necessarily perfect now, but they're getting better. Everything is getting better.

I hadn't seen him for a few days, and so on Sunday morning he came over. I was still in bed, still kind of ill and feeling lazy. He undressed, and came in with me. I had missed him, much more than I was used to missing him and that manifested in desire. His touch on my body was so welcome, so tender and sweet. I wanted him, and I felt relieved when he wanted me too.

His kisses were warm on my neck, and his skin supple beneath my hands. He made me gasp as he entered me, fucking me slowly, familiarly, in the way that he knew I liked. That is such a relief at times - being so in tune with someone physically, that even when that spark of anticipation (fear) is gone, the sex is so fulfilling because it's a song you both know the harmonies to.

God I love this man.

Coming up Roses

I've been reading over these posts, and despite the deliciousness of all of them, the ones that burn are the ones about S. I don't know what it is, and I certainly don't feel the way I used to about him, but still, I guess he was a catalyst in my life for a hell of a lot of change.

We've settled into a comfortable friendship with benefits now. He has a new girlfriend, but we still see each other. I've made it clear I don't want to get involved in something that's deceptive, but he's assured me that it's sufficiently casual between them that our continued fucking is acceptable. I trust him, and trust that he'll tell me when it's not ok anymore.

A few months ago he came to the new flat to check it out. T was still at work and likely to be so for a while. We made out a little, before he undid my dress and began to caress my breasts. He sat on the sofa and I snuck in between his legs before undoing his trousers and fishing out his beautiful cock.

That's really what it is - beautiful - it's very large, long and thick, but it's pretty and definitely not a violent cock. I put my mouth around it (just!) and began to suck him off. In the early days he told me he was mad about head, and back then I was so nervous about giving it. Really worried about my teeth...but I'm more confident now, and enjoy the process more. It has to be really varied with S as he's so big and it hurts my jaw if he fucks my mouth for too long.

His hands were in my hair, gently pressing me on to him. He's shy about expressing pleasure - I think I frighten him a little - and so I'm always surprised when he comes. He fills my mouth, and it tastes so good. I swallow, and we kiss before laying back on the sofa and chat.

I'm so surprised this time, about how tender he is. I realise how much he likes me, and how different his  liking me feels. It's not a passion for me, in the way that I wanted in the beginning, but it's a gentle affection and slight surprise that he knows me. I lay back in his arms and he stroked my body, my breasts. It's was lovely.

We dressed, and T came home. It was the first time they'd met in over a year, and in that time S and I had fucked. It could have been awful. It wasn't. They laughed and hugged, and S left. I was so pleased that everything seemed to be coming out ok.

Delicious R Strikes Again

After our first meeting I decide to play things cool - pretty much because I'm feeling decidedly un-cool about the whole thing, and I don't want to be humiliated or rejected. I bloody like this man, and I want him, and his now-fiancee to like me as well. Agonising stuff. BE NORMAL.

I didn't hear anything from him the next day, but the day after I get a little email note saying that he had a lot of fun, and would like to meet again. The same time, next week. I'm trying to be normal, verging on distant, so he doesn't think I'm too keen. Actually what I mean is so he doesn't actually figure out how keen I really am. Keep it together woman!

I'm also totally fucking skint, and am supposed to head up to London the following week anyway. Save costs, be uber cool - let's not meet again for another two weeks. He seems genuinely disappointed! I don't know why I still find this so surprising. 

So we text a few times over the next two weeks, until the day of the meet, where we decide what to do in the evening. A pub in Sarf Lahndahn was the decision. I was excited, he didn't seem to be so much. I got there about half an hour early, and he was suddenly fifteen minutes late. I was pleased to be early because it meant I had time to prepare to not be a weirdo, and get some breath mints and some cash. Nothing like being prepared for every possible eventuality to calm the nerves. 

I went to a decidedly trendy bar around the corner from the agreed meeting place, and had myself a little gin and tonic, and sat there contemplating life whilst I waited. I think this was an infinitely wonderful idea, and I will try and replicate on every date where I may be a bit doolally from now on. Calm down. Smile at the bartenders. Listen to other people speaking normally. Breathe. 

He turned up, we embraced. We walked to the pub. He gave me his arm to lean on and got to a lovely little place with high ceiling and a great warm atmosphere. We got a table in the corner, nice and private. 

The boy barely got a word in before I pounced and thrust my lips onto his delicious, slightly beardy face. That's a tiny bit of an exaggeration, we did talk a lot beforehand. He touched my arm. We ate food, he sweetly spilled drinks all over himself. I got the impression he was a bit nervous, and then after fucking up once, he just got a bit goofy and kept doing silly things. It was so sweet. We kissed a little more, ate our delicious food, and talked. Talked talked talked. I talked about my parents, my sister, my liberal upbringing. I told him about the love affair I had with my best friend at 16, and how foolish I'd felt about it, and for how long I'd pretended it didn't happen. 

He told me how he loved his lady E. It was lovely to hear. He told me about his slightly difficult relationship with his mother, and how he wasn't sure he wanted her at his wedding. He told me how he wanted to take me home and make out, but he didn't want E to feel she wasn't welcome. He said they'd spoken about it during the week, and whilst E is intellectually ok with it, she wasn't too keen on the idea of coming home to see me on my knees with R's cock in my mouth. Fair play. They didn't make a decision though, R said, because they wanted to ask me what I wanted. How fucking cool is that? Someone who actually gave a shit about my feelings! I'm a bit hooked. I haven't met E yet, although I think I would like her. But I also really like R, and I want enough time to get to know him independently first, before jumping into bed with the pair of them. 

Then we headed over to another pub. Got a little cuddly in a darkened corner and chatted even more. His hand caressing up and down my thigh. The other hand reached up and touched my neck, the hair around my ears, so gently. It was so lovely that I had to pretend it wasn't happening, otherwise I would melt. 

For a moment I was slightly overwhelmed and just had to bury my face in his chest. He put his arm around me, but I pulled back again before too long, for fear of weirding him out. I am so afraid of doing that - why? Can't let myself get too attached to this one, lessons must be learnt!

We finished our drinks, and decided to head out to some dark seedy corner and do terrible things to each other. More delicious kissing. More touching. I slowly undid his belt, slipped my hand in. He groaned. He fumbled for my skirt, drew it up and touched me. Went into my tights, under my knickers and slipped his finger inside me. God even thinking about it now is SO hot. Kissing him, wanting his tongue, and letting him know. I'd search his tongue out with my own, and it was heaven. 

"I want you in my mouth", I whisper, and he nods. "Can I do it?" He nods again. 

I get down on my knees in a dark alleyway in London and unveil his cock. It's impressive. Long and thick, tapering to a manageable size at the end. It feels so good in my mouth. He lightly grips my head and guides me back and forth, taking it as deep as I can go. I use my hand to pump him into me, alternating between softly and harder. He tastes great. He says "is it alright to come?" and I nod yes. I want him to come in my warm mouth. He groans a little, and so I keep going. He tells me he is about to come and he fills my mouth with salty come. It tastes amazing. I swallow, but keep him inside me. I lick the head once more and it is so good. I feel so rude, but it's hot. 

He kisses me, not hesitating. He tells me I'm good at giving head. I tell him how nervous I get doing it. We kiss more. We chat a little more this time compared with last, we're relaxed and having fun.

He walks me back to the train. 

Meeting R

So I've been on the poly-friendly dating site OkCupid for a few months now. I get quite a bit of interest, but it's widely spread across the complete 'hay sexi wanna fuk?' douchebags and the very-nice-but-I'm-just-not-into-you. Well it seems to be, anyway.

But every now and then I have stumbled across someone who really made me get a bit squeaky with their excellence. R was one of them. Charming, funny, intelligent, Kiwi. I was pleased when he messaged back. He was out of town for a while, and I didn't push it. Eventually I got a message from him, and I was glad! Really glad. He invited me to a 99% party he and his partner were throwing, where your OkC 99% matches were invited. I couldn't make it, but it sounded like fun. Then I went home and it all seemed a bit like hard work. But I did like him.

We eventually met a couple of weeks ago at a bar in Soho. I was running late, trying to find a cash point and not run out of phone battery, when I saw him standing outside of the pub. He looked sweet. Tall, and be-cardiganed. He gave me a hug when he saw me and a little kiss on the cheek. Kind of blissful. We went into the pub and we ordered a drink, then faffed around looking for a seat, before heading upstairs. Conversation was easy, funny. I didn't feel that nervous.

I was almost 100% sure that he wasn't that into me though, I could instantly tell that he totally adores his partner, which was completely fine, but I've come to realise it's not much fun hanging out with someone who wishes you were someone else. It wasn't quite that bad though. He was really fun to be around. We moved on to another pub, got some food, had another drink. Sat a little closer. I remember noticing he didn't pull his leg away from me when we touched. I was happy, but it was that amount of nice where it could be going really well, or also just quite excellent friends amount of well. He obviously had to make the decision.

Then I felt his hand on my back, and the warmth spreading across me. My first thought was "holy shit, he actually likes me!!" The rest of the conversation has been totally forgotten, because the sheer surprise and excitement has wiped everything else out. I do remember him saying that right behind me, there was a couple totally making out, and had been for the last hour. "I feel awkward kissing in public, and I feel sorry for the people that have to watch" he said "Otherwise I'd totally kiss you now" to which I replied "I think you probably should. I think I would like that"

I remember his lips being soft, and large (in a good way). He looked away, shifty before saying "it's not very gentlemanly of me to suggest going out into an alleyway and making out". I laughed, and asked "Do you want to go out into an alleyway and make out?" The answer was yes, amazingly, and we got our coats and went into the cold.

He took my hand, and led me up the road. We spied an alcove, almost walked passed it before he dragged me in. Dragged me under him and he pushed me up against the wall and began to kiss me. God he was a delicious kisser. Pushing up against me, touching me with his lovely hands, and kissing me in just the right not-too-much-tongue way. J is a pretty good kisser, but every now and then he gets really carried away and likes to lick my teeth. Like lick and suck my teeth. It's faintly alarming. R didn't do that, it was just blissful.

I remember him feeling my breasts through my sweater, before snaking his hands up to my throat and pressing gently on it. Talk about driving me crazy! So amazing to be a choked, just a little. "It's so hot that you're into that" he said. It was all I could do to nod, before leaning my head back and letting myself be kissed all over again.

I had a train to catch, so after spending the best part of an hour attached to his face, we had to disconnect, and he walked me to the tube station. God I like him. He's so nice.

Naked as a J-Bird

J and I have spend the last two months falling in love. It's been incredible, and I feel that it really is incredible that I've met him at all. How did it even really happen? How does one actually go from meeting someone for the first time, being a little frightened of them, to loving them? Even after reflection, when I have traced the path back to that day, it seems so unlikely, so reliant on chance that I could weep from the miraculousness.

The visit before last was the one that sealed the deal. Delicious texts, slightly rude (how lovely), let to me saying I totally adore you. I wasn't meaning to say that I loved him, even though by that point I did. But he did what I'm learning is his usual trick of wonderfully seeing right to my core, to my tenderest parts, already knowing what I haven't had the courage to say. Fuck. I totally adore you also. That's got it out in the open xxx Not that it was that well hidden...was his reply. Cue heart pang and melting into the bus seat. I'm like Charles Bingley from Pride and Prejudice - not confident to be fully in love withour proper encouragement - also known as doubting Thomas. I wasn't quite sure if that meant what I thought it did. So I waited until he said it again.

I'm now on the other side of the world, back home with family for Christmas. I miss him. I keep thinking of our last day together before I left. I keep thinking of having his head between my legs and how it was the first time he brought me to climax himself, without any help from me. That's awesome.

That leads me to last night with T, who has come home with me. He was massaging my body, and I knew he wanted sex. The arousal doesn't come so quickly with me anymore. I let him massage me, but told him that it wasn't a definite green light on the sex front (bit awkward at his mother's place) but he was ok with that. He made my body feel good, easing the tension in my shoulders and the pain in my thighs, before brushing his hands against me and massaging my pussy. He did it sweepingly, and I wasn't sure if he meant to do it or not (he totally did - well played T) and then continued to do it, until I was almost weeping with desire, and longing for him to touch my clit. When he did, he brought me to orgasm within about three minutes - my fastest ever!

I wonder whether I'm chilling out more on the orgasm front, and just riding the pleasure plains. Maybe letting go? Maybe somehow finding it easier to fantasise? I'm not sure, but T seemed delighted, and fuck it, so was I!! We finished off with him fucking me from behind and we watched ourselves in an enormous mirror. Hot. I wasn't wearing my glasses so my body was in delightful soft focus (for once), and I what I saw I definitely couldn't criticise! It was joyful.

The Weekend of You: Evening

We made it inside. J pushed me up against a wall, the one with no pictures on. Kissed me hard. Kept kissing me while I fumbled with his belt buckle, then his shirt. He began to unbutton my dress, but I pushed him away, and pulled the flimsy blue fabric over my head. He smiled, surprised at my lingerie, and pushed me into the lounge.

I lay back on his voluptuous sofa and J peeled off my tight jeans. More surprised smiling and my plan of impressing him through matching black lace lingerie seemed to have worked. He took it off, and threw it carelessly on the floor. J nudged my thighs apart and as I sat up briefly in mock protest he exclaimed at the soft roundness of my belly. He ran his hand over it pinchingly, and told me that he thought it was incredibly sexy. We kissed more, urgently, and my protests turned to encouranging sighs and moans. He pressed himself at my entrace and I snaked my moistened hand between him to make myself wet and ease the first heavenly thrust. He pushed inside my warmth, I felt my brow knit and the first sigh escape my lips.

You like it rough, don't you. I am now on the floor, on hands and knees, showing myself to him. He was quick to enter again, thrusting deeply into me. I arch my back and I hear him groan before he runs his hands down my back, tracing me from widened hips to slender waist, up, up my back and neck before taking hold, fingers clasped through locks of hair. Deeper and harder now, yes. Rocking my hips back to meet him I feel myself surrounding him deliciously, no room to spare. I'm pushed roughly up against the sofa, and his force surprises me. I'm hit with the realisation that he is a lot bigger than me, and could hurt me if he wanted to. He doesn't, not really, no more than I want him to. He's the first lover to discover this side of me for himself. I didn't even need to tell him. His thrusts are hard and fast now, slamming my face into the cushions. I like it, I think he comes, but can't quite tell, and soon he stops. He leads me upstairs to his white room with the colourful covers.

I find out later that when he comes, he slams himself into me and growls into my ear. A loud, unapologetic growl that is satisfying to my ears. I get to know that growl much better over the evening.

We lay in bed next to each other, slightly shocked at how much we're enjoying ourselves. Satisfaction breeds intimacy and our conversation become frank, candid. My hands can't keep away from his beautiful whiskered face. He looks back and I see the shy, delighted, naughty, interested boy in him, creeping out excitedly. Oh I do like him.

The next few hours are spent chatting, fucking, giggling. He leaves the room and I sneak his shirt on, a vast tunic on me. It doesn't smell of him. He seems to have no scent, but rather I can taste him when he kisses me. It's familiar. He likes me in his shirt and takes great pleasure in peeling it off my soft warm body several times over the course of the evening.

We try to watch a film, but in reality sit on each other, chatting and drinking champagne. I play him some music, and he plays me his favourite Beethoven symphony. I'm wrapped up in him, and gently drift off, hoping he wont notice. He does, and takes me softly back to his white room with the colourful covers and puts me to bed. He joins me soon after, and as we lay side by side I press myself into his warmth, and his arms snakes around me before holding me at the roundness of my belly.

1am. I'm awake, having not quite shaken off the stresses of the working week. My eyes hurt, sticking together from unremoved (but by this point certainly smudged) makeup. I creep out of bed, remove it and brush my teeth. Laying back next to him, I wonder distractedly if he will smell my face cream, whether he'll like it. He mutters I must pour you some more champagne in his sleep, and I giggle. He's dreaming about me, I like to believe. Sleep reluctantly comes again.

4:30am. The bed is empty next to me. My haziness thinks he's working, but I can't make out which room next to me he is in. I don't like being without him, and feel bereft. Tossing over whether to leave him alone or to join him, a few minutes later I rise, reaching for the door handle and seeing him at his computer. He smiles to see me, and apologises - he's still on Pacific time after a working trip away. He tenderly cuddles me, warming me and sweetly laughing at my blinkingness in the light. He makes tea, and joins me back in bed.We talk til sunrise.

The Weekend of You: Saturday

We arrived at J's house, a former worker's cottage of a nearby estate, and he led me through the garden to the back door of the house. We went inside, I de-coated and de-scarved, and perched on a chair whilst J made tea. The taxi ride to the house had been pleasant, but tentative, and I'm sure the taxi driver thought we were both completely nuts, sitting there and grinning like loons and teasing each other.

J has been calling me The White Witch of Narnia, because after speaking about it together, Cambridge had their first frost of the season. In the car he'd handed me a package, which I opened at his table. Turkish Delight.

We chatted, and grinned some more, before we re-coated and re-scarved and after thrusting a particularly unattractive hat on my head, he led me out of the house and we wandered into Cambridge city. He gave me the full tour experience, chatting confidently about writers who had lived in the villages near him, the history of the place and the reason that so many academics still revolved around this historic place.

He took me inside Cambridge, we saw King's College and Trinity. What heaven, and how marvellous to have studied there. There is a studious air there, and J is right, King's Student Bar was the only Student Bar I've ever been to where everyone is sitting around and talking about their subjects. We repaired to the cafe for a hot chocolate, and I think it was there that the first chipping away at the strangeness of my being there happened. I had to speak to T, and J called out to say hello. I liked it, it was new and a bit scary but I liked it. We confronted the nature of our meeting head on. We're both polyamorous. I'm in a 4 year relationship with T. I didn't really want to go to Cambridge to forget about that, but having said that I didn't want it to loom inauspiciously over the whole weekend. It was ok, J seemed to say. This is ok.

We then started to wander somewhat awkwardly holding hands or walking arm-in-arm. The next day I realised he was nervous and wasn't sure how much I wanted to do that, and at the time I felt the same way. He didn't seem to overly want me to hold his hand, but maybe he was just better and seeming cool and calm than I was. So I just touched him when I wanted to. It seemed to work just fine. Outside Trinity College he kissed me, and I felt my knees buckle with the arousal that come from finally being taken the way you crave.

From then on, I was hazy with desire and my only real wish was to go back to his warm cottage and have him inside me. But there was a whole lunch to get through! We shared a bottle of wine and some pasta at a well known Italian Restaurant in the city centre. We talked and talked and talked. And kissed. He told me who he was and then so did I. We talked about polyamory, and that T might go to see J's other lover. J liked that. He liked the synergy, and that we'd all come full circle. We had the kind of conversation that makes you not want to leave the table, as you know that as soon as the spell is broken it wont be the same when you come back. He told me I had the softest lips he'd ever kissed. I told him that I was so turned on I could hardly stand it. He paid, we left, I got his coat whilst he settled and he was delighted that I knew which one it was.

Back at the cottage he tried to unlock the door, but suddenly it was too much and we stood kissing on his stoop and undressing each other. His warm, wet kisses enveloping my face, his hands touching my breasts whilst I unbuttoned his coat. I stole my lips away from him to whisper open the door. We went inside.

Towards You

I'm now home after one of the most incredible weekends of my life. I don't know that I can explain what happened, but I feel different to the person that I was before, and yet exactly the same.

The train trip up to Cambridge was nothing spectacular, I found myself willing the time away. I made it to King's Cross earlier than anticipated and it gave me time for a quick snap of platform 4 and 3/4 before jumping on the train. A quick call to J to say I made the earlier train brought nerves wooshing into my stomach. To hear his voice again reminded me that he was still very much a stranger, and the last two weeks of crazy pining had been all on my own, and the intimacy I'd imagined was going to have to be created between us all over again. His voice you see, was so incredibly his, that I couldn't quite believe that after all the time I'd thought about seeing him, in 45 minutes I was really going to.

The train to Cambridge was worse. I tried to read, I tried to pay attention to the countryside and failed at both. I ended up just sitting there getting excited for about 25 minutes. For the last twenty, a particularly charming 2 year old played peekaboo with me - I don't think he realised he was actually helping me out more that I was him. We arrived, then the slow interminable walk from the platform to the entrance. Should I carry my bag on my shoulder or in my hand? I don't want him to think it's heavy, and that I've packed to many things, so it should be hand. But it is heavy. Ok so shoulder to the doors, and then you can suffer it in your hand from there. I arrived at the doors, and couldn't see him. Chill. Get your ticket out, and get through the gates. There he is. Don't panic. 

We said hello, then hugged and I leaned in for a kiss. I got it, but it was definitely a little awkward. I'd imagined that it might be, but I had steeled myself to do it regardless as I wanted to be unambiguous as to my feelings. I'd come to Cambridge to be J's lover, something that terrified and thrilled me. He took me to a taxi and we drove to his cottage. The weekend of J had begun!

Saturday Away

Off to go and spend the weekend in Cambridge with J. I'm SO fucking excited. The thought of this mini break has seriously been the only thing getting me through the last two weeks at work.

Somehow J knows exactly what I like best - we're wandering around the colleges before having a cream tea, then reading from our favourite books to each other. Can you believe it? It's my favourite thing! I can only hope that it transfers over to the bedroom....imagine someone who knows your desires before you have them! We shall see...

I might even post some incognito photos over the weekend, so stay tuned xx

Again And Again And Again

I've let myself go seriously cray-cray since the lovely date on Tuesday. CANNOT stop thinking about J, or more importantly, I DON'T WANT TO.

It's driving me slightly mad though! I can't concentrate at work, I'm constantly checking my phone, and mooning at every possible moment. It's tough.

I do feel really affectionate towards T, and being with him this week has been heavenly, although we haven't seen each other as much as we'd like. I told him how I was feeling about J, or at least tried to tell him, as I wasn't at my most articulate. He was lovely, and thankful that I brought him into my world, and showed him how I was feeling.

And I'm feeling weirdly cut up. I feel a bit desperate to see J again, and I think that if he's not as interested I'll be really hurt! I'm used to feeling a little more in control over this! He's flying out for work for a week, but then back next weekend. We briefly talked about me coming up to visit him the following weekend, but I'm not sure if he'll remember. I hope so!

This whole polyamory business is tricky! Even when it's going right!

The Date With J

Well.

I just had the most wonderful date of the year. I was utterly spoilt, and have been on a high since it ended. J is lovely, all my concerns about him have vanished and I find myself quivering like a schoolgirl waiting to hear from him. I totally need to calm the fuck down, but I'm not sure that I really actually want to just yet!

I was up in London for work, and whilst I finished late I still got to the restaurant too early. So I went for a petite meander, both to have a look around and possibly find a cash point. I wasn't expecting to see him on my travels, but we bumped into each other as he walked to the restaurant from the tube. He laughed and told me I was walking the wrong way. I knew I was, but it wasn't worth the energy explaining.

The restaurant was loud and busy. Possibly a more so than I would have liked, as I struggle to hear what people are saying at the best of times! We chatted, we drank sherry (gross - far too sweet), ate Basque ham and figs before ordering a fish pie to share. It was lovely - smoky, but lovely. We talked and talked and talked. There were some lulls in the conversation but I didn't mind them too much. I think we were just nervous. He also does this thing where he looks of into the distance as he's talking, or about to say  something, and I can't quite tell if he's bored or if he's thinking. It generally turned out to be thinking - I think that must be a little quirk. It could be worse. 

I picked a white wine and it was lovely. We had people that knew about the food and the wine (although the wine guy seemed to just repeat the word 'tannins' and I sort of lost interest). No pudding, and after he paid the bill (what a treat!) we left. We walked through Holborn, and he suddenly realised where we were - outside the supermarket where we'd all mucked about on PolyDay. We chatted about that day and how it had turned so silly. We'd both enjoyed ourselves/ 

We got in a cab, and he took me to Milk & Honey. It is a private members club in Soho. I was excited, with just a teensy bit of fear lurking in the background. The outside wasn't marked. We went in, and a lovely vintage lady greeted us. She rang up to The Red Room, where J had booked. This is when I tumbled into 'where the fuck have you brought me' territory. He had a somewhat crazed look on his face and I don't yet know him well enough to judge whether he was excited or about to offer me as a human sacrifice. The lovely lady said 'he's ready when you are', took my bags and we walked upstairs.

Heaven awaited me. A decadent 1930s style bar, with cocktail cabinets, Art Deco mirrors and dimmed lighting awaited us. He bought champagne. We chatted, it was heaven. He'd brought me somewhere he knew I would like and I was flushed with pleasure. Recently I've been feeling a little hard done by, and I felt I couldn't remember the last time someone went out of their way to do something nice for me. I'm sure they do, but to have J treat me so nicely was a real treasure. 

We chatted and chatted. Our hands touched slightly, then more, then more. Then caresses. Then holding hands, then kisses. Lots of delicious kisses. We talked about seeing each other again, and he walked me to the station and saw me off.

An email and a text the next day had me reeling with delight.

J

A couple of months ago, T and I went to an open day on polyamory, which is essentially what we do. Ethical non-monogamy.

I can't even begin to describe how lovely it was. It was reassuring to see all the weirdos I was expecting were there. It was even more reassuring to see all the normal people (like us?) there too. It made me so happy to see that T and I weren't totally alone out there, seeking new experiences together and opening our hearts and lives to others. It has really brought home how tribal humans really are, and how much we thrive when we associate with people who live the same way we do. What better community to be a part of, than one that is automatically accepting of:

1) The people involved are the ones who decide how the relationship goes
2) That you are free to make your own choices
3) That you and your partners can help each other live fuller lives
4) That you live in a way that most other people don't.

There were workshops on tantra, polyamory in academia, troubleshooting, how-to sessions and introductions for those new to poly. We rounded off the day with a discussion on poly parenting, led by More than Nuclear, who is an amazingly articulate woman who discusses aspects of her poly life on her blog. Do check it out.

After that, we all went out for dinner. T had met some groovy guys and gals that he wanted to dine with, as had I, so we parted ways for the time being. I went out to dinner with a most excellent bunch of people, one of which was J.

J is a scientist who was in a new relationship with J2 (who is a lovely excellent winner type of lady). He struck me as funny, but also a little dangerous, and seemed to like to make a point by ever so slightly putting J2 down, or making fun of her. I found that a slightly strange dynamic. We chatted a lot over dinner, and I could feel him becoming interested in me. The whole table was very engaged and engaging, and I had a lovely dinner. That's also where I met G2, but more on him later.

After dinner, we all went back to the hall for the final festivities and booze drinking. I remember quite clearly putting my arm around J and saying what a lovely time I'd had. He agreed. We had both come to polyamory that year and I could feel that we were both still slightly in shock that we'd managed to find something so simple, yet so extraordinarily empowering. It's still a bit of a shock that this is my wonderful life.

Anyway, a couple of months have passed since then and we've recently got back in touch after a short break. We're meeting up on Tuesday for dinner and drinks and I guess we're going to see how it goes! Again, he's quite a bit older than me (ten years maybe?) but I do like that. He's already asked me to spend the night with him in Cambridge where he lives, but I declined for the time being. I know what will happen if I did stay over and I'm not sure I want to keep going down that path straight away. It makes it awfully hard to come back from that place. There is a lesson there re boundaries though!!

I am excited to see him, I hope it goes well. I am also looking forward to going to Cambridge eventually, and having him show me the sights....

They Come Back, They Always Come Back

Time. Time time time. It passes, doesn't it? After six 30% lovely, 70% fraught months together, M and I have parted ways. It was for the best, although that doesn't mean I didn't the odd weeping session or two. I did like him an  awful lot, but I guess I always knew it wasn't going to work. Ever.

S and I have slept together again. Last time was better, but still not great. He lost his hard on, and while that doesn't bother me really (not my fault!) I know it's because we shouldn't really be fucking. T has expressed a bit of angst over it - S and I work together so that's not wholly unexpected - and then I dealt him a bit of a shit card, because I mentioned we'd fucked and T wasn't expecting that. To be perfectly clear, I thought that I had let T know. I'd never expressly said it, but that's because I was trying to be gentle and I thought it was implied. I'd asked for a day when the flat would be free....but lesson learnt. I'm not out to fuck people if it's going to hurt T.

I've learnt the pattern with S though. It used to get me down as I missed him, but now I see the absence is from distraction, or indeed life. I'm more settled now, happier and more solid with T, so I barely notice the time. I've watched S a couple of times over the last few weeks and noted that I had missed our chats, and mentally noting that he looked really hot lately. I'd also noticed that the short-sleeves-and-tie-combo has gone out the window, something I like to think I played a part in. After we fucked last time, I jokingly mentioned that only Real Estate Agents can pull that look off, and I think the poor darling took my words to heart. I'm not really sorry - it's for his benefit after all! (sarcasm font please!)

I literally thought of S this morning, brushing my teeth getting ready for work, and that it had been a while since we connected. Immediately following that thought was a revolutionary thought for me - the title of this post - he always comes back.