So I mentioned life being fucked up. And yes, it is fucked up. Now let me tell you why.
Its no secret that my sexual relationship with The Husband is at best, uninspired, and at worst, non-existent.
That’s the reason I became non-monogamous in the first place–because after a years of not having my needs met, I was done. We came to this arrangement because if I didn’t start getting laid, our marriage would have ended anyway.
A couple months ago, I had a talk with him. It wasn’t one of our usual screaming matches about him not being into me. It was more just an inquiry. I asked him, “Do you not like sex?” And he doesn’t.
He said that realization didn’t click until the moment I asked. And honestly I was flabbergasted. How the HELL had he not realized this before? How can this possibly be the very first time he ever thought about this? We’d fought like cats and dogs. We’d both totally lost our self-esteem. We redefined our entire marriage around this problem and he’d never stop to ask himself if he likes sex???? What the actual fuck???
I asked him to explain, and he said he often enjoys it, but during almost every encounter there’s a moment of panic or a feeling that he really doesn’t like, and that makes it hard to enjoy the rest of it.
He said he never realized because he thought that everyone likes sex. It just never crossed his mind that the reason we had these problems was because he didn’t.
I let some time pass. But I couldn’t help thinking “This marriage is probably dead.”
(Stay Tuned for Part 2).
So here I am–back, and not knowing where to start. I should probably start with the reason that I’m back, which is–I feel like I would like to implode my entire life. What does that mean? What am I saying?
Just that I am sick of being who I am–or pretending to be who people believe me to be–and I want out. Permanently. I want to take out a billboard and tell the world everything about me, and ex-communicate anyone who doesn’t like it.
Ex-communication–such a harsh act. Yet for some reason it’s what I crave. Last year Tyler Glenn came out with an Album called Ex-Communication, themed around his act of coming out of the closet and leaving the Mormon church. It’s not exactly my preferred style of music, but certain songs of his, I love. Not just because of clever lines like “I found myself when I lost my faith,” but because he was brave enough to write and record them. He gave no shits. HE ex-communitated no one–yet made it clear that anyone who didn’t support him could fuck right off. He was done hiding.
I can’t explain what hiding has done to me. The fact that I feel like I am always looking over my shoulder, afraid of what others might see, the questions they might raise, the conclusions they might draw.
Am I a cheating whore? My husband a poor, blind schmuck? My children, doomed to be scarred? Am I a pervert, who has no preference for whether she fucks men or women, as long as she is fucking? A sex-addict who will go there with whomever? A heartless bitch who must not love anyone at all, if she is unwilling to remain faithful? It’s all open to speculation. The world stands in judgement. And who am I? Just a woman who is tired of hiding, tired of shame, tired of pain. A woman who has been through a fucking lot in the last few years, and just wants to take a deep breath and be herself. A woman who, by many standards, is selfish, yet still feels like she is sacrificing herself in order to not hurt others.
Who am I? I have no fucking idea.
More to come.
This is the reason I keep fooling around with Boss Man: to try to recapture our first time. It is such an insanely good memory. Like candy, so sweet.
I keep wanting that again, but I don’t know if I can ever have it again. I want the teasing. The playfulness. The passion. The curiosity and the banter. The completely inconceived and unfounded hope that just maybe, this could be something.
That hope has been dashed. Stomped on. Thoroughly decimated. But I keep holding on. I want him to hold me all night. Kiss me like he’s drowning and I’m his last hope. Fuck me like he’s been wanting this for a year and is desperate to have me.
But we have no future, and we know that now. I know that. I know he can be cruel. That he can hurt me like very few can. That he can turn his emotions on and off like a light switch, while I flounder and flail, trying to keep up, to understand, to hold on, to let go. I know all of this.
And yet, when he says he wants me again, I can’t help but want to say “Yes.” Because I hope that this time he will hold me. That he will mumble sweet things into my neck. That he will love me again, and erase the times between the first time and now, where I just felt like a used, dirty whore.
That I will somehow be able to justify what we’ve done, because again I’ll feel like it’s love. And love is messy and complicated and doesn’t follow rules like “do not cheat on your girlfriend.”
I don’t think I’ll ever have that again. The beautiful, passionate, true story of our affection, our lust, our discovery of one another, finally, after months and months of longing.
But I want it so badly. To bookend what we had/have with something that is not dirty, but is messy and painful and lovely and sweet.
Papa Bear and I have been having amazing sex. It has been off the charts. Every time is different and sexy and hot.
A few weeks ago we finally engaged in consensual non-consent (rape play). It is something I have been wanting forever, but it takes a lot of trust and a deep understanding of the other person in order for it to feel and be safe for both parties. We have talked about it enough that finally, one night, we just did it.
I started by teasing him. Doing a little strip tease, then dropping my dress back into place over my legs and pushing my thighs together.
I’d open my legs and play with myself a bit, then close them and wink. He’d kiss me and grope me and I’d reciprocate for a minute or two…and then scamper off.
Eventually, knowing exactly what I was up to and what I wanted, he pushed my legs open and used his mouth on me. I was clearly enjoying it, but I struggled, because that made it hotter.
He grabbed my wrist and pushed me towards the bedroom and threw me on the bed. I went back and forth between fighting him off and coming so hard I could barely stand it.
He choked me and spanked me and held my wrists against the bed, and I loved every second.
It was beyond hot, but of course, TOTALLY consensual. After two years of talking about it, we were comfortable and intimate enough to go there.
That is the difference between rape, and rape play. Rape play is fun for both of you.
We are falling so hard. It is intoxicating and devastating. It’s a gigantic, impossible bruise of a love. It is never going to end in anything but heartbreak. There is literally no rhyme or reason to it–I want to ask “Why?” but there’s no point.
“At another time, in another place…” He keeps saying. At another time, in another place, we would be something legendary.
But he is still monogamous at heart (even if not in action, at this point) and I am still not. Well, actually, chances are if a genie promised me my ideal relationship scenario, I would have a perfect, intense love with one person. And that love would last forever and we’d never even want to look at anyone else. But I don’t have a genie. So this is my life and these are my choices. My love for my husband and for Papa Bear preclude my being able to indulge my love for Boss Man, who wants me all to himself. I can’t say anything at all about it, because he deserves to have the kind of “one and only” love he’s looking for. And he loves Tinder Girl, and she loves him. And yet.
The fire between us when our eyes meet across the room. Our little stolen touches–to tuck a tag, or a not so innocent brush by as we cross paths.
His hands on my face at the end of the day, kissing me goodbye. His pulling the car over when we drive together for work, allowing me to jump into his lap and take his mouth.
Me in his bed. Me in his shower. His cock in my mouth. His head between my legs. Him inside me.
The rumours we now ignore, because none of them know what they’re talking about. In his words “They talk of lust, not love.”
And we are so impossibly in love. The kind that is going to spread, like flames, up the walls of our lives, and burn it all to the ground if we don’t stop it.
I couldn’t breathe. I literally could not breathe. It wasn’t warm out anymore, but I rolled down my window and tried desperately to get my lungs to inflate. I started to dry-sob. I felt like I might puke. I asked Papa Bear to open the other windows, and when that didn’t work, to open the moon roof.
We were on the highway and I just needed him to pull over so I could get out of the car. “Can you find a gas station?” I gasped. He said, with a look of absolute panic on his face, that he would pull over as soon as he found one.
It was clear he hadn’t the slightest idea what to do.
When he finally found a place to stop, I got out of the car, told him to stay where he was, and ran inside for a pack of cigarettes. I have been trying very hard not to smoke, but this was an emergency. I sat outside the car, on the curb, and smoked one, and then another, and slowly my heart-rate returned to normal.
I walked slowly towards the car, got in, and then said “So you’re a dom now?”
Papa Bear is my “Daddy”, as we refer to it in kink circles. But he could never really do the dom thing. He helps me be disciplined in areas of my life that I need it, and he takes care of me and nurtures my inner baby girl. But he has made it clear from the start–even when The Ex-Wifey discovered she was a submissive and wanted him to beat her–that he is not dominant in that way. We actually took almost 6 months off from our Daddy/Baby Girl relationship when things were bad with The Wifey, and had just started dipping our toes back into him being my Daddy again. So all I could think was “But he will dom Nerd Girl. For HER, he’s a dom!?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not a dom now.”
“Then what the hell?? Why the hell did you nod when she asked if you would go down the dom road with her!?”
“It was awkward. She said it in front of you guys and I didn’t want to be like ‘Um, hold up, no’. I figured I’d sort it out with her next time we talk. And I kind of thought she was just asking if its okay that she’s a submissive, not that she wants me to be her dom.”
“Well, no,” I said. “That’s not how she put it. She asked you to ‘go down that road’ with her. She obviously thinks you’re her dom now.”
He said he had no intention of being her dom, or anyone else’s. “I had fun with her,” he said, “but flogging her did nothing for me. I wasn’t even a little bit turned on, even though she was buck ass naked and moaning like crazy. It’s not my thing.”
“Then why does she need a special name for you? Why does she now, after one night, need you to have a Dom title?”
“That freaked me out too,” he said. “She should just call me my name. I don’t want a title with anyone but you.”
I calmed down by a fraction of a decibel.
“What else upset you?” he asked.
“Well, you didn’t use a condom,” I said. “You said you would use a condom with anyone else, and you didn’t. So I guess you’ll need to buy some to use with me, since you want to be fluid-bonded with her now.”
He apologized profusely. He said it was idiotic. That he put the condom on, and it came off, and then he didn’t grab another one. He said there was no excuse. He promised it wouldn’t happen again.
But I couldn’t stop shaking and my teeth kept chattering.
“What else?” he asked.
“She wants to come spend nights at your house so she doesn’t have to go home from work? You just moved out! We literally just got to a place where we don’t need to wait til your wife is out to see each other, and you said I could come over after work, or spend the night and go to work from your place in the morning, and now she thinks she should be doing that? I have been waiting this entire relationship to get to have that kind of time with you, and after one night, she gets to reap the benefits of all our pain and all the hard decisions we’ve made, and now I have to check with you to find out if Nerd Girl is coming over before I can!?”
“No,” he said. “I told her when we chatted last week, that I am not looking for another girlfriend, and that’s still true. I have been waiting so long for us to be able to have to space to just be together. I love how easy it has been since I moved out, and how happy we have been, and I have no intention of suddenly having another woman staying over at my place all the time.”
“She already wants to see you on Friday. That’s the only night I can stay over when we don’t have to rush because of everyone’s work schedule. You said I could spend Friday night. Why does she think she is spending Friday night?”
“I have no idea,”he said. “She had already asked me about my schedule when we were in bed. I told her that the only night I have free this week is Friday, and that I usually spend Fridays with you.”
“Then why did she say that?”
“I don’t know,” he said, looking truly confused. “But her intensity is freaking me out.”
“Do you want to spend Friday night with her?” I asked quietly. “I’m not going to pull rank and say you can’t if that’s what you want to do.”
“No,” he said emphatically. “I’m not going to say I would never go out with anyone else on a Friday night, but right now you and I need that time. And I want to spend it with you. I don’t want to give it up. And I just met her. I don’t know her. ”
“Yet,” I said.
“Look,” he told me. “The first time you and I were together, something amazing happened between us. We clicked and we connected in so many ways. I knew you were my soul mate, even if I couldn’t put it into words. Even before we met, even when we were just chatting on OkCupid and texting, I felt like I knew you. I don’t feel that way about her. And even though you and I might start dating other people eventually, I have no desire to do that right now. We need space and time to figure out how to just be together. You are my world.”
We were driving now, but I asked him to pull over. I said I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know whether I should go home and be by myself, or go with him. I didn’t know whether we should try to talk this out, or just move on from it.
We got out of the car. He said he still wanted to talk. And in the distance, I spotted blue and green colours dancing across the sky. On our second date, we’d tried to find them, but couldn’t. That was the night he was talking about–the night we ended up on top of each other in the backseat, with our souls fused.
“Do you want to go see the Northern Lights?” I asked.
“Really?” he said, looking relieved and grateful.
“Really,” I answered.
And so we did.
A couple weeks back, Papa Bear and I went on a double date with another poly couple. We had been meaning to get together with them for months and months, but with life being crazy, this was the first time we actually had a chance to hang out since meeting them at a poly event last November. We met for all-you-can-eat sushi, and sat and talked and got to know each other. It was a nice night, and Papa Bear and I were excited at the prospect of having some new poly friends.
After dinner we went and sat on the patio of a cafe and had coffee. When it got too cold to be outside anymore, we walked to our cars, exchanged hugs all around, ad said we’d have to get together again soon.
I asked Papa Bear if he liked the girlfriend (who we’ll call Nerd Girl). He said he thought she was cute and liked how nerdy she was, but he knew she wouldn’t be interested in him and he was cool with that. I didn’t disagree with him. She is 24 (a full 21 years younger than Papa Bear) and made a point of telling us that she is basically a lesbian and the only man she is into is her boyfriend.
He asked me if I’d like to fuck her.
“Possibly,” I said. “We’ll see.”
“Would you want to fuck him?” he asked.
“Maybe, but I think he might be a little young for me.” The boyfriend, who we’ll call The Sheriff, is 27 to my 31–and I usually go for older men.
I continued to chat with The Sheriff on Facebook messenger, as we had been doing semi-regularly since we first met. The conversation turned kind of sexy, and then I got drunk one night, causing the conversation to turn very sexy.
During that talk, he told me that Nerd Girl has a major crush on Papa Bear. I immediately texted him and told him, and we were both excited about the possibility of this leading to fun, sexy times.
The next weekend (just a week after Papa Bear moved into his own place), they invited us to a barbecue. We went in with no expectations, but hoping we might end up making out a little at the end of the night or something.
We all started drinking immediately, and there was a decent crowd. It wasn’t a ton of people, maybe 10-12. We spent most of the daylight hours getting to know Nerd Girl and The Sheriff and their friends, and it was fun. Then, after a few more drinks than was probably advisable, Nerd Girl asked me to go upstairs with her and help her change into a shorter dress.
I suddenly got the impression that it was going to turn into That Kind of Party. The dress was short–it was pretty much showing her ass cheeks! When I tried to help her figure out the strings on it, neither of us could get it, and we started giggling.
When we came back downstairs The Sheriff told us that he figured based on our giggles, that we were probably fucking. I assured him that no fucking had taken place! We moved the furniture around so that the kitchen table was in front of the sectional, and we could all comfortably sit and play Cards Against Humanity.
I ended up setting between The Sheriff and Papa Bear, and Nerd Girl ended up on Papa Bear’s other side. We hadn’t even made it through a full round of the game, before Nerd Girl took her dress off, got out a flogger, and started taking volunteers for who wanted to beat her.
Some of the guys happily obliged, and took turns leaving welts on her ass. I watched, until The Sheriff started kissing my ear. “You smell amazing,” he said, and when I turned to respond, our lips met. Within less than a minute his hand was up my dress, and he was massaging me through my panties, which were immediately soaked. We continued kissing and he rubbed me off until I came, and then he got up to go do something.
Papa Bear was still sitting beside me, and he took advantage of my flipped up dress, and stuck his face between my legs. It had been a long-standing fantasy of ours, for him to eat me out in a room full of people, so he definitely wasted no time and spared no effort. He made me come again, and then Nerd Girl came and sat beside me and we started making out. Papa Bear pushed his fingers into me, hitting my g-spot, and then started to lick her cooch. We both moaned loudly and continued making out. I found her nipple and pinched it between my fingers. She said I should do it harder, and I did, but I still don’t think it was hard enough for her. She is a self-confessed pain-slut. Papa Bear alternated between the two of us, always with his hand inside one and his tongue inside the other.
Eventually I excused myself to get another drink, and then I padded down to the basement to use the bathroom. While I was down there I ran into The Sheriff, who grabbed me and kissed me and pushed me into the den. When Nerd Girl (his kinda-submissive) came down to ask his permission to fuck Papa Bear, my legs were wrapped around his head, so he just gave the go-ahead with a hand signal.
He fucked me hard. He pinned me to the couch. He choked me when my screams got too loud, which made me come harder. He fucked my face with his thick cock, until my make-up ran and my body shook and whimpers rose from my throat. He pulled my hair and I dug my nails into any part of him I could find.
When we went back upstairs and I tried to talk, I realized I’d lost my voice. Yes, I am a screamer. I went to the bedroom and watched Papa Bear flog Nerd Girl for awhile, and then, satisfied that they were having a good time, but feeling like a third wheel, I got up to head downstairs.
“Why are you leaving?” asked Papa Bear, with a big smile on his face. “Come over to the bed”
“I have to pee,” I said, which was true, but I didn’t go back. Instead I returned to the party.
Everyone except Papa Bear and Nerd Girl decided to go for a walk, so we stumbled, in various states of drunkenness, through the neighbourhood. The Sheriff held my hand and we chatted about movies and music, and then we all stopped for a drink, then returned to the house.
Nerd Girl and Papa Bear were still upstairs, but when they heard us they came down and joined us. I was just thinking it had been a really fun night, when Nerd Girl, who was sitting beside Papa Bear and kissing him over and over, started talking to him.
“I’m so glad you live so close to my work, because now I can come spend the night whenever I’m too tired to go home!”
“Yeah, we were fooling around and the next thing I knew we were fucking bareback!” she told her boyfriend with a giggle.
“Are you okay with going down the Dom road with me? Because I really don’t think I can be anything other than a submissive,” she asked Papa Bear.
“I’m going to have to figure out what to call you…” she said to him, gazing starry-eyed at his bewildered face.
“Now we can swap books!”
Then she called her boss to ask for her schedule, and squealed about the fact that she had the next Friday off. “I’m so glad I have this Friday off so we can spend the night together. Are you free Friday?”
And I watched her, like I was watching some kind of exotic creature I’d never before seen, either up close, or depicted on television. And I tried to keep the blood from rushing to my head as he told her he really had no idea what his schedule would be like but that he’s pretty busy.
And I hugged her good bye when they walked us to the car, and gave The Sheriff a good night kiss, and waited until the door closed and we were driving away, before I had a full-blown panic attack.