19 Days

I am 19 days away from reuniting with JB. 19 days, by which time it will have been 5 months apart. Five terrible months where, as my aunt recently said, "life lost it's colour".

Being apart is not so much difficult as it is terribly dull. I occasionally feel the desire to go out dancing, but more times than not I can't think that it would be at all interesting without him. I've lazily daydreamed about going out to pick someone up to get the energy in my body dealt with, but more than that I crave a night alone with JB. There's some change that's happened here, I was sure you weren't supposed to find your partner this attractive. This consistently arousing after 18 months. But I do.

I've moved into a new phase of my sexuality. I've spent 5 months alone, so have well and truly used the time to get reacquainted with myself and with what I find arousing. My fantasies now involve bareback sex, impregnation risk and definitely, definitely JB. I have no real explanation for this, other than perhaps I've decided that I want to surrender my body to him, not in a possessive way (that couldn't be further from reality) but in a way that pays homage to the union between partners. In the way that recognises the love that passes between people who want to have children together. I love him, and I want to have children with him. More to the point, I want to practice getting pregnant with him!

It's a weird sensation. I wish he would get here!

A 1920's love, wrapped in white gold and diamonds

I was a very lucky girl who got a very lovely engagement ring. It's also very distinctive, but if a pictured didn't give me a way entirely I show you a photograph.

The process of buying a ring was strange, uncomfortable, fraught. Different expectations of cost, different stages of readiness. JB had no idea how much rings cost, and his initial reluctance left me feeling that my expectations were way over the top. Ouchy hurty heart, and embarrassed tears.

But we managed to get through it - JB realised some of his hesitation was to do with his in-between-jobs status (now thankfully remedied), and he wanted to make me happy. So with a slightly awkward heart we set off down the high street to find a ring.

What a ring we found. It's Art Deco, octagonal, and diamond. I never expected the diamond part, always assuming more of a modest sapphire or coloured gemstone. I'd feel terrible about confessing that anywhere else in my life, apart from these anonymous online pages, showing my materialistic side, that part of me that is judgemental, aspirational, conceited and proud. But there you go, I suppose we all have parts of our personality that we'd rather not show to the ones we love. I love my ring, and it was never a certainty that I would get something valuable - I grew up poor, and so perhaps I put more stock in valuable things than someone raised in a better off family might do.

But putting the mercenary details to one side, I keep finding myself utterly transfixed by the sparkles now permanently attached to my left hand. The design I find fascinating, and the glittering nature of real diamonds is blowing my tiny mind. This is mine. I get to have this. 

The weight felt strange on my hand for weeks. It didn't look right in the store. The name fiancee felt heavy, awkward and uncomfortable. I couldn't believe it was all happening. But it did. JB loved the ring, which made me love it more, abad now with the bright clear diamond on my most symbolic finger I can't imagine myself with anything else. My finger is in the cast of a phalangeal Great Gatsby.

I'd never truly considered how symbolic an engagement ring was. Our love is something valuable, something special that you would never normally have. This relationship is the start of building your wealth with someone else - and I don't really mean that in the financial sense. My riches are easy dinners at home with the cats. My bank account is full with Sunday morning fucking and Friday evening cuddles. I'm dripping with the diamonds of kisses. And so is JB.

But I just get to wear the sparkling reminder on my finger.

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.

S again

So S and I have reconnected. It’s weird but I feel like I can handle it better now, with the buffer of M between us. S seems less vital to me now, and I feel as though I can handle the base pull towards him a little better. I may well be fooling myself, but at the moment that’s what I am feeling and it seems to be working.

S is coming over and this afternoon we’re going to be lovers. I am so crapping myself. I can’t really believe it’s happening and feel frightened that the months of yearning for him will cumulate in nothing very special. I don’t even know. But it seems like it’s going to happy and I am rolling with it. I wasn’t sure it was going to happen until about an hour ago, and shamefully, I took my frustration at the uncertainty of it out on T. I shouldn’t have, and I have apologised for my behaviour, but in the name of openness and honest communication, I should probably tell T why I was acting that way.

I don’t know how this afternoon is going to go, to be honest, it could be great, and everything I hoped and dreamed, or it could be incredibly awkward! So I’ve broken my no-booze rule and am currently enjoying a beer, just to take the edge off. I think it’s working. I wasn’t this nervous with M - in fact I felt positively serene when I went to meet him! I think it’s because of the history between S and I, and the build up. Because for a while, I genuinely felt as though my world would fall down around me if I even looked at him once more. It’s funny that there are people who, through no fault of their own, play a role in your life as The One For Whom I Would Lose Everything.

I really hope I am past that feeling now. Things with T are good, and they type of good that’s just going to get better, and really with the way things went with N, the last thing I need is to feel overly emotional again. I just want some peace. So perhaps introducing new lovers into the scene isn’t the wisest thing in the world. We will see. I don’t know if I am using this new phase of my life to mask another, potentially more secret pain (so secret that even I am not sure what it is) or if I am actually just okay with the whole thing. I think that I am, but if I am not, then I have to trust that I have the skills to get through the hurt and confusion. That’s what this whole journey is about.

March 2012, Never to be Forgotten, Never to be Repeated

I won’t pretend like I’ve not had the occasional thought that maybe I have made a terrible mistake, opening my relationship up. It has really made me realise that we all have this huge capacity to feel. Not even love or lust, but all kinds of emotion. I didn’t know I could feel so much!

I’m feeling a bit sorry for myself right now, because for all the excitement I’ve had in March, I am still on my own on a Saturday night, and just as alone as I was a month ago. I’ve had these amazing and surprising connections, and yet I still feel like none of them have really even touched me. I feel no closer to anyone.

That’s actually not true. The reason I keep coming back to, and that reassures me that this wasn’t a fuckup is that I am closer to T than I have ever been. We’ve been able to share much more than I thought was possible at this stage of our relationship.

I just feel sad right now.

Monday Night

So I went to meet N for our tete a tete. The one I had ever so slightly been avoiding, whilst trying to appear casually no-avoiding and just busy. Not entirely sure it works that way, but oh well.

I went to his flat, and N opened the door wearing, surprisingly for him, a t-shirt. He was also wearing his custom black trousers, and braces which he’d left draping, rather than hoisted over his shoulders. It was a sweet look.

 He made me a cup of tea and ask for a hug, to get rid of any awkwardness. I guffawed about, proclaiming there was none, but I’m pretty sure I shot myself in the foot there, because when he went to kiss me, I did the super elegant thing of converting a full on pash into an clumsy kiss on the cheek. Elegant as always.

We sat on his sofa and chatted. We chatted about T and I, and also about N, and what his life was like. He looked me in the eye and said I was the only person he’d been attracted to in the last six months. I swore, and he told me it turned him on when I spoke like that. It was so straightforward, it was shocking. Much more shocking than any of the coy texts or flirting I got from S or M or even T. He told me what he wanted to do to me. He told me he wanted me to go to Paris with him. To stay in his hotel room. He told me he wanted me to call him Sir. That bit made me laugh/cringe, I have to say.

In a way, it was very appealing. It obviously had some appeal, because despite myself I felt myself being drawn into this dream, this fantasy, when if I’m honest I knew I didn’t want to get into even as I walked to his lovely flat. I said ‘yes', when what I really meant was ‘I don’t know’. The deal for me was sealed when he kissed me, and I felt nothing. It wasn’t even horror, or disgust or anything negative. It was simply the pressure of his large moist lips on mine. And that was all.

I haven’t kissed many people but I know it’s not supposed to feel like that. But I was weak, and I let him kiss me and I kissed him back. But down deep I knew I couldn’t give him what I wanted and more to the point, I didn’t want him. In the end, I don’t want a lover that I will never love. That’s not what this journey is supposed to be about.

I don’t know why I find it so hard to follow my own advice, and realise that when it’s not right, it’s not right. When you don’t follow that gut instinct is when you get into trouble. N would never hurt me (at least not in a way that we hadn’t agreed) but I felt the weight of his feeling to be so oppressive. I’ve often longed for someone to tell me that I am beautiful, and attractive and that they’ve never met anyone like me, and that after I leave they say how lovely it was to kiss me. But I never realised how unhappy it could make me, when I don’t feel the same way. It’s only a blessing when it’s reciprocated. How do you tell someone that it’s not you, it’s them? That you just don’t feel the same way, not because of something they’ve done, but because intrinsically you just aren’t attracted to them.

Three days went past, and the more time apart made me realise I couldn’t go through with it. It was making T unhappy, and I felt trapped and scared. I knew the longer it went on the worse it would get, and the more damage would be done to our friendship (in that I would play the avoiding game - that one that I am so good at). So on Thursday I called him and told him that the ‘yes’ I had given on Monday had become a ‘no’. It had always been a ‘no’, but I guess I just needed to work that bit out on my own.

N

N is a relatively recent friend of mine that has turned out to be quite the surprising chap indeed. His thing is authority, and after seeing him rather too deftly facilitate discussions I’ve been involved in, I knew that I never really wanted to get on the wrong side of him. He’s very self possessed, with just a touch of arrogance that makes people do pretty much whatever he wants them to do. If it wasn’t vaguely frightening, it’d be quite entertaining to watch him whip people into line.

As I said, I knew I had absolutely no desire to get on the wrong side of N, but as it turns out, N would rather like me to. We’re involved in a project together, and due to my incredibly non-amazing skills of attention to detail, N sent me a text saying I’d made an error that had been published. I tried to make light of it, and was surprised (shocked?) to read his reply involved giving me a rather red bottom. Turns out N is one for a bit of the old spanking, and he made no secret that he wanted me to be the recipient of his authoritative smacks.

I’m by no means adverse to a bit of a blurry pain/pleasure line in the bedroom, but knowing N the way I do I was surprised to find myself the object of his desire. Perhaps it’s because I am so spectacularly crap that he feels justified in doling out punishment? Who is to know? The idea of being submissive makes me a little bit wet and I’d like to know for sure if it’s something I’d like, but is N the person to find that out with? Or is because I’m ever so slightly afraid of him the exact reason that I should try it? I can tell that T is not super into the idea, but he finds N remarkably unattractive personally and he can’t look past it.

What frightens me is that I know N. That path is a one way street and once you drive down it, you can’t come back. Having M as my lover is easy for me, because I have never known him as anything else, but N.....I don’t know. But I should like to find out.

Monday, about 6pm

I had an hour and a half on Monday night to see M. He lives pretty close to my work so it wasn’t unfeasible to squeeze in a little meet up before going to the theatre with T. I felt kind of bad about it, and deservedly so, because I’d planned to see him all day and only discussed it with T at about lunch time. Not exactly great form there, but T was forgiving, as it is all so new.
M asked me how long he had with me, and I got a pang of sadness. It suddenly seemed unfair to ask him to settle for snatched hours here and there with me, but then swiftly following that thought was maybe he only wanted snatched hours with me and that maybe our arrangement suited him just fine. One of my aims of this venture is to trust myself and to trust others. I don’t need to be responsible for what a 32 year old man isn’t saying to me. The look on M’s face when he sees me says to me that he wants me and right now that’s enough.
The hour went quickly, as I guess they always will, and it was a wrench to tear myself away. Another semi-unsuccessful night on the penetration front but the intimacy is growing. It’s so nice to be around him and to feel again that newness, and that the person lying next to you wants you to stay.
I got on my bike and rode to the theatre to meet T. He wasn’t there but another friend, N was. N revealed to me the night before that he quite fancied taking a paddle to my backside, and was rather keen in getting me involved. I wasn’t so shocked at the idea, more shocked that it was me he wanted to take a paddle to, so I am determined not to let it get weird. If I’m honest, N isn’t the sort of person I had ever imagined would take a paddle to me, and there is a slightly weird dynamic in our relationship already - but who knows, never say never. It’s off the cards for the time being.
Anyway I saw N and briefly chatted after a kiss on the cheek. I couldn’t see T and our tickets had already been collected from the box office so was kind of confused. M had also given me quite the hammering earlier, and I had a pain. It felt like my uterus was throbbing and about to fall straight out of me (I’m sure that’s normal -right?) so I was in no mood for shenanigans. I tried to call, to no avail, when suddenly T walks in the foyer of the theatre with A, a mutual friend and the current object of T’s desire. They looked very chummy, and whilst I felt a small teensy pang of something related to jealousy, I reminded myself I’d only just had my brains fucked out by M and so I was one to talk. I like A too, and she’s a bit of a sauce-pot herself, so all in all I would be glad for her to be T’s lover.
As is my style, I fell asleep in the theatre, and woke in time to see the credits roll and a text from M to appear telling me that he was thinking about me naked. It was very pleasing. T, A and myself walked home and I fell into T’s arms in bed, thinking how wondrously bizarre these few days had been.

Saturday, 2pm

Saturday 11am I get a text from M saying ‘Good Morning’. I’m in a meeting at my favourite cafe discussing an upcoming event and I’m trying to secretly reply to him whilst maintaining a look of supreme and uninterrupted interest in what we’re discussing.

I thought I was the scaredy puss one, but it turns out it was M. We’d drunkenly agreed to meet in the afternoon - M had wanted to kidnap me - but I wasn’t sure if it would go ahead. Turns out M wasn't sure either. But fuck it, what am I here for if not to be honest and get something I am looking for? Something I want? It sounds so horribly selfish to put that in words but it’s the truth. I wanted a lover, I wanted someone in addition to T and I wanted to fuck them. M showed up and I liked him, so why should I bother beating around the proverbial bush?

I replied enthusiastically in the affirmative, and we discussed where and what time to meet. I knew vaguely of the place where he lived but hadn’t actually been there. My sense of direction in interpretive at best. We agreed and I pretended I knew where he was talking about and then dashed home for a quick and hopefully accurate de-hairing and effortless make-up applying session.

Choosing clothes to meet your first non-monogamous lover in is surprisingly difficult. I’d mentioned M to T that morning, and he’d okay’d the afternoon meet up, so I was free to race home alone and make the necessary preparations. I thought I would chance it and so wore a bra but no knickers. Then I left to meet him. I got lost on the route even though I’d walked that way a thousand times before and when I saw M and his lovely grey hoodie walk towards me my heart gave a subtle leap into my mouth and I suddenly realised how damn fucking excited I was! We kissed straight away, and although my mind registered that I should be careful who saw me, I didn’t actually care because I knew I wasn’t doing anything wrong. That is quite the best thing.

We made it to his room before ripping each others’ clothes off. The quantity of alcohol consumed the night before had meant that last night’s performance hadn’t been the best for either of us but today was different. I could feel his stubble take the skin off my face, but I didn’t care, I loved it. I loved the roughness of him, the thickness of him where T was thin and his lovely Northern humour that was so different yet familiar to my own. He fucking lavished me with attention and spent most of the afternoon between my legs. When he tasted me he looked like he enjoyed it and for the first time in a really long time I wasn’t afraid of my taste. Or my smell or how he found me. I’ve been so scared of cunnilingus - god knows why when I have a very enthusiastic and kind partner at home - but today it was ok. Although having said that I’m really sensitive there and if I am being painfully honest, the gasps that he thought were of pleasure were sometimes a bit of ‘holy fuck too fucking sensitive!!!’

He seemed to love it though, which relaxed me. He made me revel in my own womanliness and although I can’t think of a single thing M said to make me feel so at ease, they are the exact words I would use to describe how I felt that afternoon. Even awkward putting-on-condom moments seemed fine, and funny and normal and not scary with him. Maybe it’s an age thing, I get the impression that being somewhat older than me (the best part of a decade) and in his particular job role, M has had quite a bit more experience than me. There were some tricky moments though, like when he couldn’t stop his body from freaking out about using a condom and he couldn’t get it up. That sort of sucked but I’m sure not nearly as much for me as it did for him. It must be totally shit to be trying to impress someone with your sexing skills only to lose your hard on. His deftness in the licking-out department hinted that this wasn’t the first time it had happened but who cares. I liked being naked with him and I liked being licked out so it was really him that was suffering.

We worked out a pattern of getting all hot and bothered - kissing and grinding each other and just about getting out shit together, and then taking a break. Getting to know each other in the most obvious way - by asking direct questions. I found myself looking at his face and stroking it with the palm of my hand. ‘So sweet’ I remember thinking. So very sweet.

I left at six, and had walked around the corner when I realised I’d left my glasses in M's room, so had to come back. His grey hoodie walked towards me again and that reassuring feeling of excitement came back as we kissed goodbye again.