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!

Our Nights In

With JB, there's no rushing. No pressure to see the latest gallery opening or to spend half a soggy evening in line to a new bar. 

Maybe it's because he's a near-decade older than me, but the story of our relationship is much more about cosy evenings in getting gently sozzled on wine and doing a puzzle. Just like this evening. I can't imagine anything I'd rather be doing. 

Here we are now

So...long time no see!

It's been a crazy old time, but now, I have to say I'm in one of the best and scariest times of my life. 

I ended things with T. In August last year, I said goodbye to my lover and friends of five years. Hardest thing I have ever done. He was at his sister's house, and as I walked away I saw him standing alone in the kitchen looking at the ceiling. It was dreadful, and I try not to think about it too often because that guilt and pain of saying it is still there, under the surface. Three weeks later we had a picnic for our five year anniversary, and I sobbed in front of him. 

The reason for all of this was that I had fallen hard for JB, and we had spent five months trying to work out whether being together was what we actually wanted. It was a tough decision. He had so many barriers, and had reconciled himself to a single life. He didn't want to be polyamorous, which was a big deal for me, as it meant that I would have to say goodbye to T. I wasn't sure if that was what I wanted at all. To be truthful I couldn't really imagine a life without T in it. 

But I wasn't happy with T, it's true. Our sex life was all over the place and I found it hard to get over the resentment I had developed over the last years. So I made the choice to end things with Thomas and go into a monogamous relationship with JB. Huge fucking change.

I am still with JB now, it's been almost a year. I know I made the right decision and I feel like this is sustainable. In hindsight it would have been good for me to have a break in between relationships, to get my head straight and take care of myself. But JB and I had already been seeing each other at the point that T and I split up, so it made sort of sense to just go on the way we were going. 

I am so happy now. There will be more adventures to come I dare say, so expect more!

S

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.