The View From My Knees

Original photo by Lucky

I’ve been waffling on whether to write about what’s been going on with me lately. I mean, it’s all very personal and very confusing and not at all sexy. What I really want is to just get past everything that’s going on so that I can start creating (and writing) sexy stories for you again. But part of what you get with this blog, along with the erotic details of my life, is a glimpse into the mind of a real person with real problems. So I guess I’ll just go ahead and lay it all out there.

Where do I start? Well, I’ll just throw the obvious one out there: I’ve moved out. I guess you could say Lucky and I are separated. It’s meant to be temporary. It’s an experiment to force us to work on some problems that have been there for some time, but have been easy to ignore with all of the other things going on in our lives. The problem isn’t that we fight or that we don’t love each other. Lucky and I adore each other and are still very much in love. But for some time now we’ve acted more like roommates than husband and wife. We see each other very rarely, and when we do spend time together it lacks the passion we once had. I think we both just blamed busy lives and a romantic rut, and figured it would get better over time. But it never did. I finally decided that it was time to force a resolution. The scary part is, I don’t know for sure if that resolution will result in me moving back in with my husband. Actually, that isn’t just scary…it’s terrifying.

I didn’t just decide that this problem needed attention out of nowhere. Admittedly, there were some catalysts. Several months ago, I ended a very intense, passionate relationship with Vincent – someone who is very special to me. As is common with those fiery, passionate relationships, we crashed and burned in a big way so that today we are barely even friends. The loss of Vincent and that passion left me feeling empty, and instead of turning to the person that should have been my anchor, I tried to fill that void with more dating (in part because my anchor was never around). It almost worked, but once the buzz of the new flings started to fade it all felt so meaningless. I started to realize that I wasn’t interested in casual dating anymore. I even wondered if I wanted to be non-monogamous anymore. I was slipping into an identity crisis and was afraid to talk about it with anyone because I felt like questioning my personal relationship style was the same as questioning the validity of the lifestyle in general. I firmly believe that polyamory is a valid and natural lifestyle, but I can’t say for sure it’s right for me anymore. However, being poly had been such a huge part of who I was for the past 6 years that I wasn’t sure I knew who I would be without it, and the thought of being only with Lucky with the current state of our relationship was…well…just out of the question.

My crisis was paused temporarily when I fell into an unexpected relationship with Kris. He was someone unlike anyone I’d ever dated before. I was amazed that two people who were so different could get along so well, but we did. We had some amazing times. Every time we were together was a new experience for me, and I felt like I was learning about parts of myself that I never knew existed. I was excited about the adventures we would have in the future and where this relationship might go, but there was another element to this relationship that was new and surprisingly – confusingly – comfortable. He told me fairly early on that he had no interest in dating other people and it was clear that he preferred for me not to date others, as well (Lucky excepted). At first I was afraid that this would be stifling and put too much pressure on me. After all, it’s been over 6 years since I’ve been someone’s “one and only.” I didn’t have the confidence that I, alone, could fulfill someone’s needs and desires. But, at the same time, I found it surprisingly comforting. I’d been struggling with a growing distaste for casual dating and polyamory, and now I’d fallen into a relationship that almost gave me an excuse to step away from those things. Of course, I was still technically polyamorous. I was very much in love with Lucky, and at the same time I was falling hard for this new person. But that was all I needed. No, it wasn’t just all I needed, it was everything I needed. I was completely fulfilled. I was happy. I didn’t want to date anyone else. I believed that this might be the solution to my identity crisis. I believed I could be happy indefinitely with these two wonderful men in my life and no one else. I was still poly, I was just a different kind of poly. This was something easier for me to accept and understand. And then, just as I thought everything was going so well, the rug was pulled out from under me. Kris ended the relationship.

Despite how well we were getting along, I knew that the relationship was a long shot from the very beginning. I believe that a propensity for polyamory is as much a part of a person’s core being as their sexuality. And, while some people are very naturally polyamorous, others are very naturally monogamous (and still others can be happy either way or swing back and forth throughout their lives). I don’t feel that either lifestyle is better than the other, I only feel that societal predjudices often prevent people from exploring alternatives to monogamy that may be more suited to them. It was clear to me from the very beginning that he was naturally monogamous. It was the reason it was so difficult for us to get together in the first place. But I foolishly thought that our attraction to each other – both physical and emotional – would help us find a way to make it work. If I’d realized that being wrong would have been so devastating, I probably wouldn’t have allowed myself to try this experiment. I guess I didn’t realize how much I had to lose.

On a dreary Tuesday afternoon, after several days of heart-wrenching silence, we met at a coffee shop and he told me it was over. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for me, he explained. He just couldn’t live with being second best. He didn’t want to feel like he was constantly competing for my affection with other people. As he explained how he’d been feeling, I sipped my tea and held back my tears. I didn’t tell him that i had no interest in those other people. I didn’t tell him that, despite my deep love for my husband, he wasn’t second best. I didn’t tell him that I was madly in love with him and, if he’d only give it more of a chance, we could find a way to make this work. I just let him go. He’d obviously done a lot of painful soul searching to reach this conclusion, and I felt that it would have been selfish to try to change his mind. And so I just sat there in a daze and tried to be understanding. It wasn’t until we hugged goodbye that I started to break and the tears started to form in my eyes. But I managed to wait until he was out of sight before I truly broke down.

What had just happened? I’d lost something – someone – who made me very happy for reasons that didn’t even feel real anymore. He couldn’t be with me because I was polyamorous and married, but my marriage was – to put it bluntly – a sham and I didn’t even know if I wanted to be polyamorous anymore. And the worst part was that the friendship I’d cherished was also gone. Sure, we said we’d still be friends, but he pulled away so drastically that I knew things would never be the same. I was left with nothing but a huge void and a growing self-loathing that was truly frightening. I went on a self-destructive binge of drinking, drugs, and despair. One night I found myself in such a deep, dark place that I knew I had to make some changes soon or I would hurt myself.

So here I am. I’m taking time away from my home and my marriage to rediscover who I am and what I want. I’m forcing Lucky and I to make an effort to spend time together and truly appreciate it. Soon I will start counseling. Admittedly, I’m still in the midst of my self-destructive binge. I can’t remember the last time I was sober for an entire day. But I hope that this drastic life change, along with some professional guidance, will help me figure out what I need to be happy – and sexy – again.

Photo by Lucky

A couple of weeks ago, in a drunken haze, I broke up with Vincent. Actually, I don’t know if “broke up with” is exactly the right phrase. I told him I couldn’t be his primary partner anymore. What does that mean? Well, for starters, “don’t tell me you love me anymore.” That’s one of the rules I gave him through tears as we sat out on a curb in a residential area of the U-District. What else does it mean to remove yourself from the role as primary? It means less expectations. Less responsibility to each other. It represents a large shift in the way you include that person in your life and how you interact with new partners. It is not, however, a clean break. I didn’t want that.

So what did I want? I wanted a release from my guilt. I wanted him to be free to pursue relationships that I had decided were more suitable for him. Monogamous relationships.

When we first started dating, Vincent was firmly in the monogamy camp. He’d always said that he’d never date a poly girl. But then I came along and something that was supposed to be a fun fling got really intense, really fast. Sometimes that just happens, even if you don’t want it to. To be honest, it was kind of inconvenient. I didn’t want another serious relationship. Especially not with someone who wasn’t sure of this whole polyamory thing. Because I am sure of it. It is absolutely, 100% the right lifestyle for me. But, while I do think that more people would be happier in a non-monogamous relationship, I don’t believe it’s the right lifestyle for everyone. Still, if you want to be with me, the lifestyle has to be right for you. Or, at least, you have to be willing to give it a shot.
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Original photo by Mac

In the past year or so I’ve been going through some changes. Usually when someone says something like this they are referring to puberty, menopause, or some other physical transformation. But, for me, it’s been more of an emotional – maybe even spiritual – change. I’m becoming someone else, and I’m not sure I like the new me.

When I divorced my first husband I set out to become the open, sexual girl I knew had been hiding inside of me my whole life. I embraced my sexuality. I flaunted it. I shared it freely. And I had a damn good time doing it. I loved the person I had become. She was fun. She was happy. She was vibrant. She loved her life, and it was obvious to everyone around her.

But then something started to shift. My priorities began to change. Deep down inside I didn’t feel like that girl anymore, and I became frustrated that everyone still expected me to be her. And why shouldn’t they? I’d created an image and flaunted it freely, and they had no way of knowing that anything had changed. I never told anyone. Not even the person if affected most.

When Mac and I first met we discovered a sexual chemistry like nothing we’d ever felt before. And out of that chemistry a loving, passionate relationship was nurtured. We had some amazing times together, both in bed and out. We were completely comfortable together. Kindred spirits, as Anne of Green Gables might say. Mac gave that sexual girl inside of me wings and encouraged her to fly as often as possible. The way he looked at me made me feel beautiful and incredibly sexy. The way he reacted to my sexuality – whether it was watching me pole dance at a party or seeing that I had no panties on under my short skirt – was both thrilling and rewarding.

So, when I started to struggle with my sexuality it was him I feared telling the most. What would happen if I was no longer the super-sexual girl he had fallen for? Would he still love me? Wouldd there be anything left of our relationship? I didn’t want to lose him, so instead of talking to him about it like I should have I bottled it up. I struggled to pretend that I was the same as before, hoping that it was just a passing phase and that I’d eventually start feeling like my old self again. But I didn’t. Instead, I just drifted further and further away from him, and he had no idea why.

I knew I had to do something. In the span of a few months I had pushed away all of my friends and become disconnected from one of the people I loved most in the world. I’d stopped dating almost entirely, and the handful of dates I did go on felt forced and lacked any real excitement. I don’t think I went on a second date with anyone at all during that time. It wasn’t that the men I was dating weren’t exciting. It was dating that wasn’t exciting for me anymore. So, eventually, I just stopped making (or, at least, keeping) dates altogether.

And that’s where I found myself several months ago. Distant. Lonely. Bored. Unhappy with the person I had become and wanting so badly to go back to being the girl I was before. And still, I didn’t talk to anyone about it. Instead, I decided that I needed a new fling to inject some kind of spark back into my life. It seems stupid, looking back on it, but I guess I thought that if I jumped back into the dating pool I’d find a little bit of sexuality floating around in it. Maybe a little bit of New Relationship Energy was what I needed to catch a glimpse of the girl I’d lost over the past months.

Vincent was supposed to be that spark. I’d had a crush on him for a while and one day I just decided to go for it. After a little Facebook flirting, an extra ticket to a show, and an obscene amount of alcohol, we ended up liplocked for an entire evening. I don’t know what was different this time, but there were definitely sparks with this one and I actually did want to see him again. Maybe this plan would work, after all.

Only, instead of a fun, sexual fling my relationship with Vincent took a vividly emotional turn. Fast. Within a few weeks we went from barely knowing each other to head over heels. I tried to chalk it up to New Relationship Energy – the very thing I’d hoped would kick my sex drive back into gear – but soon it became clear that it was more than that. And so, even though it hadn’t been the sexual reawakening I’d been hoping for, I threw myself into this new relationship head first, with no regard for how it affected the rest of my life. After all, at least I was feeling something.

I continued to drift away from Mac, only this time it looked more like I was running toward something else. My shiny new relationship took precedence and this person that I loved so dearly and had been so afraid to lose was neglected and made to feel like he no longer mattered. Eventually the situation exploded. Amidst my excitement over my new love I broke a promise to Mac – possibly the only thing he’d ever asked of me. Mac had asked me not to sleep with Vincent because he was positive for HSV-2, but one day I just couldn’t hold back any longer. I betrayed Mac’s trust in a way I never though I was capable of. I couldn’t believe how I’d hurt him. What was I doing? I hadn’t done something like this since my divorce. Was this the person I was becoming? Was I going back to the lying, cheating, selfish person I’d been in my early twenties? I was horrified. I’d been so proud to grow from that place, and now I was right back where I’d started.

Mac and I had deep discussions about what had happened, how I’d been treating him, and how we could move forward and repair our tattered relationship. If ever there was a time for me to finally talk to him about all of the things I’d been feeling over the past year, it was then. But I didn’t. Instead, we focused on the way I’d been neglecting him since I’d started seeing Vincent and how I could balance everything better moving forward. God, how I wish I’d told him everything then.

After that, things began to improve between Mac and I. I made an effort to spend more time with him and show him what an important part of my life he was. Unfortunately, things with Vincent became strained as we both adjusted to my having less time for him just as the stress of his upcoming surgery was reaching its peak. I had also, once again, agreed not to have sex with Vincent, which put a strain on that relationship. My life became a constant balancing act. I struggled to remain loyal and affectionate to someone I’d loved dearly for almost three years while at the same time trying to give everything I could to this new, wonderful person I’d fallen in love with. I’d all but forgotten about my little identity crisis. Unfortunately, that continued to get worse.

Because sex had been such a major part of the struggles I’d been having with both relationships, I eventually developed a distaste for the entire subject. Sex had become emotionally toxic for me, and I just wished I could eliminate it from my life entirely. My sex drive had hit an all time low and the people I loved most were left feeling rejected with no explanation.

While both relationships suffered, it was my relationship with Mac that was affected the most. Even though we were spending more time together, I felt guilty for not giving him the deeply sexual relationship we’d once had. And then, last week at a week-long camping event we attend every year, the situation exploded for the second and final time.

At first everything was great. I spend the first few days running around and having a great time with Vincent. Because no one else was coming up until Wednesday and Thursday, I didn’t have to worry about splitting my time and affection between multiple people. I could just live in the moment and have fun for a change. It wasn’t just about being with Vincent, although our time together was amazing. For a few days I felt like I had a real break from the balancing act that my life had become. But when Mac arrived it all came back. Instead of showing him how happy I was to see him and how much I’d missed him, I treated him like a burden. He tried to get me to spend time with him and all I felt was guilt because I knew he would want to have sex. And why shouldn’t he? Events like this were charged with sexual energy and in the past we had relished in it. But sex was the last thing on my mind. I wanted to be with him, I really did. I even wanted to have sex with him. Well, I guess more accurately, I wanted to want to have sex with him. So I kept putting it off. “Maybe later,” I’d say, truly hoping that later I’d feel differently. But I never did. I am disgusted with myself for the way I treated someone I loved so much over those few days. And so was he.

On Sunday morning, just one month shy of our three year anniversary, Mac broke up with me.

I was devastated and filled with self-loathing, but I barely had time to shed more than a few tears because I had to help my camp pack up and prepare for the end of the event. That night and the next day I kept myself busy by volunteering to stay to help with event teardown and cleanup. While I never got a quiet moment alone to really sit down and let the tears flow, I did spend a lot of time thinking about what had gone wrong and how I could have handled it better. I knew nothing I could do could change what had happened, but I hoped that if I figured out what had gone wrong I could learn something from the experience and avoid hurting the people I loved again.

Since we’ve been home, Mac and I have talked a lot about what happened. With a little time and space, we may even be able to be friends. He has been more understanding than I deserve through all of this, and I am truly grateful for that. I don’t want to imagine my life without him in it.

Even though I know ending the relationship was the right thing for both of us, I can’t help but mourn the loss of something that has brought me so much joy for so long. Every once in a while, as I’m doing the dishes or typing an email, the reality that it’s over will just hit me like a wave and I’ll have to stop what I’m doing and cry until it passes. As a matter of fact, I’ve done it several times while writing this post. And at those times I wonder if I should have fought harder to make it work. If I should still fight. But I know I shouldn’t. It’s just not fair to either of us after all that’s happened.

So what now? A lot has happened over the past few months, but the underlying problem is still there. Who am I becoming and why do I dislike her so much? Can I just go back to the way I was before, or is that part of me lost forever? I would do anything to become that happy, sexual girl that Mac fell in love with three years ago, but I don’t think it’s going to happen. And if I can’t get her back, what will happen to the rest of my relationships or my career as a sex writer? I have to use all of this as a wake up call to figure out who I really want to be and how to be that person, and how the rest of my life will fit into that image. I’m just not really sure where to start.