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‘Polyamory’ Category

  1. No Marriage for the Poly Girl

    July 29, 2013 by Heather Cole

    This past weekend found me attending my cousin’s wedding in the hottest place on earth. No, not hell. We were in a barn in central Pennsylvania in the middle of July. I drove eight hours home for the first time in a year, and I got to see my entire extended family, minus third cousins, in one un-air conditioned place. There’s no suffering like trying to look fancy with sweat trickling down your spine and your eyeliner trying to make a break for your chin.

    The ceremony was beautiful. My cousin and her fiance wrote their own vows, and they managed to be poignant and personable all at the same time. I watched them pledge to “look beyond the dirty dishes and towels on the floor” to see the bigger picture of their partnership, and I felt something stir inside me. This was the first wedding I had attended since my divorce, and I had been certain that I was beyond ever wanting to enter the vows of holy matrimony again. The obvious reasons being that I was polyamorous and both my relationships were with married men. I was not going to marry either one of them, but I had to wonder what part of me still wanted that type of traditional union.

    I wrote about my Turning 40 Existential Crisis  over at Fearless Press, and I think some of that reared its ugly head at the wedding. Sitting there surrounded by my nearest and dearest, I got a startling outside perspective of my life. The stark viewpoint showed me that I’m alone. Now I know that isn’t really true. Both my boyfriends are super-supportive, and I could lean on them both emotionally more than I do. I have a great support network, Soulmateclone included, but in the eyes of my traditional family I am alone. I’m the first woman to get divorced in our family, and everyone would be much more comfortable if I’d get married again as quickly as possible. They equate security and long-term happiness with being married, and I’d be a liar if a small part of me didn’t think so too.

    It’s the long-term aspect that trips me up. I love my life. But when someone is planning their golden years, they’re planning with their life partner, not their spouse AND his/her girlfriend. Although I like being a unicorn and a complimentary third to married couples, more often than not, I see myself as being a solid “second” to the married pair. In other words, I’m the glittery unicorn icing on their sex cake. It’s a role I love and enjoy, but in the bigger picture, are they still going to want icing when our asses are no longer perky and our sex drive is more of a meander?

    Hypothetically, there’s nothing stopping me from dating a non-poly guy, having a monogamous relationship and eventually getting married again. Then my mama could stop expressing her worries during Joys & Concerns at church every Sunday. Except that I don’t think I would be happy with monogamy. My darling vagina readers, I love sex, and I like to have sex with more than one person. I’m also bisexual and want to continue dating and having sex with women. But even more importantly, I know from first hand experience that a beautiful ceremony and kickass reception are no guarantees that everything will turn out wonderfully in the long run. I sold a piece of my soul for the perceived security of a traditional marriage the first time around, and I learned that a long-term relationship takes two willing people that want to keep working at being together… being together and being happy about it.

    When I talk about the future with my boyfriends, I ask for reassurances. Not the promise that we’ll be together forever, because I don’t believe in happy endings. (Hey, I’m working through the bitterness of my divorce.) But I want us to keep striving for a relationship that fulfills us both, that we continue communicating and tackling new horizons and adventures. I ask that they be present and open, and I promise them that I will continue doing the same. When it boils down to it, I don’t need marriage vows to get those things.

    Much of these fears stem from ghosts of my poly past, and I look at everything I’ve written in this post and know that much of the worries I experienced at the wedding were pure monkey chatter in my brain. I suppose there’s a part of me that still subscribes to the symbolism of marriage: the commitment of the very best parts of ourselves and the safety in that. But getting married wouldn’t fit my lifestyle. The things that I’m certain of include my commitment to the relationships in my life: my honesty, my pledge to always talk about any problems and my willingness to explore new things. Sometimes I wish I had a crystal ball to tell me what my polyamorous life will look like when I’m a blue-haired, sassy grandmother and then I slap myself in the face and think that I’m fine being just where I am. In fact, I’m really really good.


  2. The Gifts of Polyamory

    June 11, 2013 by Heather Cole

    When I first discovered poly, I thought it was the answer that I had been seeking to describe my unconventional views on romantic relationships. Finding out about ethical, open relationships felt like my squareness finally fit into the round hole. Heh… I said hole. I’ve heard over and over again that poly is “hard,” and I agree in so much that it takes effort and requires more communication than I ever realized. It’s like I bought into the poly idea because I thought it was going to bring me a ton of sex. Don’t get me wrong, I fuck a lot. But even more importantly, and what I didn’t realize when I started, was that poly brought me love… love and compassion and more opportunities for introspection and growth than I ever thought possible.

    When I was monogamous, I found that I was always hiding some part of myself. I fully expected to be married forever, so being completely honest about everything seemed more harmful than helpful in the long run. I subscribed to the “pick your battles” philosophy of relationships, and sometimes I felt like revealing everything I thought would only hurt us more. After the divorce when I was single again, I still operated along the pattern of hiding the difficult truths. Not all of them, mind you, but some of them.

    Poly and BDSM were the two things that inspired me to really change that pattern. In the various books I read about open relationships, the authors talked about honest and frequent communication. I was nodding and smiling and agreeing that this was a great theory, but it scared the crap out of me to be so open. I mean, what kind of person could love me in my entirety once they knew ALL of me?! I wasn’t trying to be open and honest with only one person either. Somehow I was going to do this with multiple people to foster multiple open relationships. Yes, there were times that I thought I was nuts. Even my mama said so.

    Some patterns are harder to break than others, but I honestly wanted to change this. Practicing polyamory offered me the way to do just that. It has taken time for me to change how I communicate, and I failed along the way, stumbled and asked myself over and over if this was what I wanted. With willing partners, though, my fuck ups didn’t mean an end to our conversations or our relationships. I’m reminded of this, because Zen and I had a breakdown of communication in the week following my birthday.

    “I’m never going to do that again,” I said to Zen. He had asked to meet me at the arboretum, and we sat amidst the blooming shrubs and trees and talked about some of our recent relationship challenges. In very general terms, I had failed to communicate sufficiently to both boyfriends about what precisely my birthday plans consisted of. As a result, Zen had felt excluded–like he was a lesser partner.  “I never want you to feel that way again,” I repeated.

    He looked at me and smiled, pulling me closer beside him on the bench. “You know, chances are that we’ll revisit this issue again. In fact, it might come back around several times. What’s important is that we agree to work on it and that we continue moving forward.”

    His words stole my breath. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He still loved me despite my fuck up, AND that we could be ok if it happened again. This man, this amazing, kind, thoughtful human being, offered his love to me when I was at my worst. He told me that he knew I would make mistakes, and that as long as we talked about it and tried to be better, that we could move forward. These challenges didn’t have to be the end of us. In fact, this hiccup in our relationship offered us the chance to become even better communicators and better lovers.

    I don’t know that I can fully articulate what a gift this was to me. Zen saw me, the Heather that was over-analytical and silent and confused, and he still wanted our relationship. Not because we were married or going to embark on some happily ever after scenario like in a monogamous paradigm, but because of our connection and the possibilities that we held between us. Those moments in our relationship may be messy or ugly or amazing and beautiful. And I never would have had the chance at this if I wasn’t poly.

    Poly has given me an abundance of sex, love and deep, quality relationships. The effort that I put into them, the energy that I expend, has been given back to me tenfold. I’m learning to show my vulnerability and to speak up when I’m dissatisfied. I’m finally feeling safe enough to show all of me and know that I will still be loved. Unfettered by the traditional paradigm of monogamy, I am free to explore and love to the very best of my ability, to reach beyond what I thought I understood about myself. I know that poly isn’t for everyone. Hell, my mama is still asking me if I’m going to marry one of my boyfriends. But I’m grateful a thousand times over that I discovered polyamory and that my boyfriends found me.


  3. You Think This Story’s Over / But It’s Ready to Begin

    March 2, 2013 by Heather Cole

    In my blog post, New Endeavors in Poly Land, I wrote about becoming conscious of my efforts to keep my people mostly insulated from each other. In my previous poly dynamic there was so much animosity and jealousy between partners that every visit was precluded by hours and hours of damage control. My coping mechanism was to keep each one in their individual silos, like a cone of silence but with sex. My efforts were futile, of course, because relationships aren’t tidy parcels that can be put away and then brought out when it’s convenient for everyone. The worst part was having that pattern creep its way into my new poly dynamic with new partners that had nothing to do with my past. It was a real bitch realizing that I was the only one in the room with a hangup. Everyone talked about how nice it would be to meet one another as I smiled and nodded, secretly freaking out that it was the beginning of the end.

    In my old poly life, I was responsible for the emotional well-being of one partner in particular. I chose to take that role, and anything I did or said in regards to my other boyfriend was grounds for a huge blow-up. I spent days before a visit reassuring him, promising him nothing would change between us, swearing up and down that my time away from him wasn’t depleting anything from our relationship. Sure, we said that we were poly but the way the relationship worked was more like grudgingly permitting me to cheat on the side. In the end I knew I’d be emotionally punished somehow for loving the other person.

    Fast forward to when my new partners expressed an interest in meeting, and those old feelings of dread and despair nosed their way into my thoughts. I knew I had to change it. I couldn’t bear to live in constant anxiety again, fearful that one comment about a partner would send the other plummeting. As I dilly-dallied about how to change my patterns, Boy Scout gave me a command. He wanted me to arrange a night where we would go out with Zen and his wife for dinner, and these two important men in my life would finally meet. I won’t lie. I was one deep breath away from a panic attack, but then I sat down to figure out how to do this in the best way possible. I can do a few things well, and throwing a party is one of them. So that’s exactly what I planned to do: throw a poly dinner party for all my people. (Commence breathing into a paper bag.)

    I figured that I could best diffuse my anxiety by spreading it out over a group. I wouldn’t obsess specifically about Boy Scout and Zen meeting if Liri was part of that mix. Add everyone’s other partners plus me cooking dinner, and there would be so much going on that I wouldn’t fret about whether or not they liked each other. The more I thought about the dinner party idea, the more it appealed to me. I love feeding those that I care about, and I wanted everyone to know how significant they were to me.

    I chose the menu, made my grocery list and began cleaning. I broke out the prep work over four days, wrote it all down in my planner and picked out the china and crystal. I ignored my anxiety as I wrote out the invitations, sketching out the small section of our poly tree that pertains to me. There were three parts to the invite; RSVP with a song for our dinner soundtrack, bring something you liked to drink and a story to share. Boy Scout, feeling somewhat responsible for my workload, helped iron linens and brought take-out when I was too busy baking the carrot cake. He also lugged a cardboard box full of cooking magazines upstairs and didn’t ask me once if we could just burn it in the back yard already.

    The night of our poly dinner arrived and there I was, wearing my June Cleaver dress with my hair in pigtails, gazing across the chicken provencal and my grandparents’ wedding china at Zen and his wife. Boy Scout sat on my right and Liri was on my left. Dr. Hammer sat at the end of the table between Matt, Liri’s boyfriend, and the lovely woman he’s dating, Laccaria. I had a glass full of brass monkey and was feeling a bit surreal around the edges. I looked around the table at everyone and thought, these are my people. With all their different personalities, sexualities, flaws, drama and complex lives, they form my chosen group of friends and lovers.

    My big fear was that my partners wouldn’t like each other. Zen pointed out to me not so long ago that I try to make each of my partners feel special. I love them for their unique qualities, and I focus on making sure that they know how much I appreciate them for it. Place them together at a party, though, and my individual approach became moot. I am a slave, a lover of rules and boundaries. As much as I wanted everyone together, I also dreaded the overlap. Lines were going to blur, and I wasn’t entirely certain that I could handle it gracefully.

    Add to that the addition of a mystery guest, Dr. Dreamhammer. Dr. Hammer and I have only recently begun an association outside of emails and text messages, but our budding relationship has decidedly D/s overtones and we’ve spoken openly about our desire to bring our Secretary fantasies to real life. Those details, however, will wait for another blog post. I mostly fretted about the kinksters getting along with the traditionals, the guys liking each other and my girlfriend, while Nikki just wanted to Skype us with a bowl of popcorn and a vodka tonic in hand to watch all the fun. Despite my worries, though, everyone talked and ate and seemed to enjoy themselves. I also managed to keep my shit together and gradually relaxed enough to have a good time.

    This week I’ve been debriefing my partners one by one, asking for their impressions and opinions about the evening. As Zen said, “there were a lot of strong personalities in the room.” Meaning that not everyone was going to peel off their clothes and have crazy monkey sex on my dining room table. My partners liked each other, though, and have even exchanged contact info so that they can correspond on their own. (Where the hell did I put that paper bag??) And Boy Scout and Dr. Hammer may have a lunch date. I told them that they can’t talk about me, only politics, religion and their penises in that order. Dr. Hammer’s response was, “so Boy Scout, where do you like to put your penis?” HAHAHA, Dr. Hammer. Don’t even try it.

    There were many parts of the evening that I loved; sitting beside my girlfriend, laughing at her incredible wit and simply loving her for exactly who she is. Resting my bare foot on Boy Scout’s boots underneath the table and admiring the huge bouquet of flowers that he bought and arranged for the evening. Drinking the brass monkey that Dr. Hammer mixed and watching him fall victim to my crackeroni and cheese. Kissing Zen after the dining room had emptied of guests, his hand making its way under my skirt and down my panties. Ah yes, my people are amazing.

    I thought that hosting the poly dinner would mean the end to that old relationship pattern that no longer worked, the closing paragraph to a chapter of my life. And I’m happy to report that the ghosts of my poly past have been banished except for the occasional twinge now and then. That night wasn’t an end, however. What I saw in the faces of the people sitting around my dinner table had everything to do with new beginnings. I made myself take a mental snapshot, because I always want to remember that specific moment in time. My poly story is only getting started, and no matter how our dynamic changes in the future, these people will always be in my heart. That in itself is the best happy ending I could hope for.

  4. New Endeavors in Poly Land

    January 14, 2013 by Heather Cole

    It was date night with Zen, and we were at my house watching a movie. He poured us a second glass of wine and asked, “why don’t you talk more about Boy Scout?”

    I blinked at him, took a swallow of wine and then gulped down another. I didn’t want to answer his question. I was comfortable discussing our different communication styles that occasionally brought up conflict between my Boy Scout and me. Boy Scout is the strong, silent type while I am the sit-still-and-I’ll-tell-you-everything kind. Sometimes the solution is Boy Scout bending me over and fucking me until I shut up. However, I balked at pinpointing the reason why I wasn’t talking about him to Zen. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that I was following an old pattern.

    When I was in a monogamous relationship, I never shared with my boyfriend that I was fucking other men. It wasn’t that I deliberately set out to cheat. The men in my life just seemed to overlap, and when I lived abroad, I had three boyfriends at the same time. They knew about each other, but we didn’t talk about it. It felt more comfortable to me (and socially acceptable) to remain silent and hope that no one got upset than to try to talk about what was going on.

    When I discovered poly, my first poly relationships operated along similar lines. There wasn’t a lot of cross-communication between my boyfriends, and I tried to keep everyone compartmentalized. It still blew up in my face because of many factors, but the non-communication in a sharing paradigm was exhausting. On the surface, we were all saying “yes we share one another” but the unspoken message underneath was the opposite. I was in an acknowledged and accepted relationship on one level but seen as a threat and ultimately destructive influence at the same time. After all was said and done, I worried that maybe I wasn’t poly at all, and it took me a long time to want to try again. Then I fell in love with Liri, and despite my fears, I was trying poly again before I recognized that was what I was doing.

    Poly with Liri was easy. I don’t mean “easy” as in less-significant. It’s not a battle to be with her, it’s a joy. That’s not to say that we haven’t had our bumps in the road. Like the time I met and fucked a new guy while she was out of town. I was all, “Hi, Sugar Bush! I miss you! Hey, I met the Prince of Moldavia and we had sex! It was ok! Come home soon!” It wasn’t the dude or the mediocre sex that was the issue. It was her feeling far away (she was on the West Coast) and disconnected combined with my poor impulse control that caused hurt feelings. We muddled through it, I began implementing the Six Date Rule (that’s six dates before fucking) and a couple months later I began dating Boy Scout and Zen.

    My people are amazing, and their partners are also wonderful. I adore Liri’s boyfriend, so much so that we’ve had a couple threesomes. I don’t hesitate to hug and kiss him, among other more explicit things, and I love watching the two of them together both with and without clothes. I’ve hung out with Zen’s wife twice now, both with Zen and without him, and we even had a double-date with me and Zen and his wife and her boyfriend. Boy Scout has co-topped me with Liri, and both he and Zen have invited me to invite the other to social functions. So with all this great communication and compersion going on, what the hell is tripping me up?

    Deep down inside at the core of me, I fear that Zen or Boy Scout or Liri will hate that I find joy in the other partner. I worry that I need to discount the other as “less than” to bolster the security of my relationship with each of them. I’m ashamed to admit that, because they’ve never asked for such a thing. Part of it is ghosts from monogamy past and part of it is an old scar from the last poly dynamic, a pattern so ingrained that it still catches me unawares. I need to let go of the idea that exclusivity equals happiness in a meaningful poly relationship. I have to trust that my people are with me because they’re happy to share me and be shared in return. Finally, I need to be ok with my choices even if they don’t all love each other. Like Zen said, “I don’t have to love the guy that my wife dates for him to be a good match for her.” Or something to that effect. (No doubt he’ll call me with the correct quote after he reads this.)

    Someone remarked to me recently that this all “seems complicated.” I’ve never viewed it that way although Nikki can’t keep track of who’s in my bed when she calls me in the morning. The four of us are working well, though, and every day I’m amazed by the amount of love that overflows these relationships. In fact, my life has never been better.

  5. The Three Date After Turkey Day

    November 27, 2012 by Heather Cole

    Last year at Thanksgiving I was in the middle of a heated custody battle for my little girl. A lawyer was threatening to investigate my entire life for evidence that I was an unfit mother, because I had the courage to admit to a sex therapist that I had kinky fantasies. Revealing my soul in what was supposed to be a “safe” space merely gave my ex-husband the fuel he needed to move all of our assets into his name and sue me for full custody. His demands were that I move out, find a job and leave my child. Instead I was staked out in the guest bedroom, fighting with everything I had while pretending to my child that we were going to be fine. To give me a greatly needed break, my father bought me a plane ticket for Thanksgiving, and I joined my family with my child in tow and a suitcase overflowing with sorrow. When Mama talks about that holiday, all she’ll say is, “I was so afraid for you.” Hell, I was terrified for myself.

    This year I’m thankful that my life is completely different. Looking back at that time, I know now that everything had to blow up in order for me to build the life that I truly wanted and needed. Even though I didn’t get to have my daughter this year because of joint custody, I’m grateful that she’s with me more often than not. Mama and I did our usual two days of cooking in preparation of the day, but instead of having twenty people around the table, there were only three: me, Mama and my girlfriend, Liri. And to compound my grateful heart, I was able to spend the day after Thanksgiving with all three of my people.

    I had to giggle about the timing. I had planned my date with K a week ago, and Liri and I had Thanksgiving on our shared calendar for months. I swear, sharing a calendar in Google is practically foreplay at this point in my poly relationships. I’m learning that polyamory isn’t just about finding other “open” people and figuring out whether their version of open is compatible with your definition. It’s also about the simple, yet complex, factor of time. I’m not only making a date with my partner, I’m scheduling around their children and/or other partners. Throw in work and my writing… the shit gets complex. For example, Boy Scout’s ex decided to take the kids unexpectedly so he had a sudden opening in his schedule, and we decided to take advantage of it. Both K and Boy Scout are new relationships (K has been “recently upgraded.” His words, not mine), and they met my mother for the first time since she was visiting. Mama met Liri during her last trip here and was interested in meeting the boys on this visit. (They all passed with flying colors.)

    Most of the time, my kinky calendar keeps me straight *snort* and stress free. During the holidays, however, everyone’s schedule gets a little wonky. As a divorced single mom, I must be flexible enough to handle unexpected sickness, extended family visits and uncooperative exes. And that’s just on my side.  It’s challenging but rewarding when something fits and you get to see the person you really wanted to see. Which was exactly what happened on Friday.

    The day of dates began with Liri arriving at 10:00 dressed in a gorgeous red dress and cowboy boots. We ate slices of the coconut pie I had baked the day before and talked about her plans to attend a party with her boyfriend later that night. We also made some outrageous pie innuendo with a straight face that went right over Mama’s head, thank goodness. Then we cuddled on the couch while Mama did some work on her laptop in the dining room. Even Liri’s comment, “Oh Heather knows a lot about restraint” didn’t phase my Mama. It’s an exquisite type of torture to have a beautiful woman sitting beside you and not be able to touch her. Touch her how you want to touch her, with fingers and lips and tongue.

    Liri left after lunch so I could get ready for my date with K. This was our third date, and he took me to a meditative labyrinth not far from my house. We went to a bar afterwards and discussed Joseph Campbell as our bodies drifted closer and closer to one another. My conversations with K make me ponder things long after we’ve separated. Even our waitress’ luscious breasts didn’t distract me. Ok, they didn’t distract me too much. Our time spun to an end, and K had to get back to his wife and family and I had to return to Mama. We had some explicit PDA against his car before he whisked me back home which only left me wanting more. I’m still smiling about him whispering in my ear, “you know I’m going to fuck your brains out, right?”

    The Boy Scout arrived around supper time. I fixed him a plate full of leftovers, and we sat at the table with Mama and talked about our respective holidays. Boy Scout showed us pictures of his southern Thanksgiving buffet, and we debated the inappropriateness of the kiwi fruit on his plate and his dislike of deviled eggs (which is so NOT southern, y’all). His dimples flashed, and by the time we settled on the couch to watch some James Bond, I really wanted to get naked and fuck the man already.

    Eventually Mama went upstairs to bed, and I learned just how appropriate my nickname of Boy Scout was. I begged him to fuck me. I pleaded. I shed my sweater and pants and begged some more. The man remained resolute. I suppose I should be relieved that one of us has some restraint, but I’ll have to stop being irritated about it first. I saw my people a lot this week, but didn’t have sex once. Even a four mile run didn’t dent my sexual frustration, nor did the threat of a task from Boy Scout if I didn’t stop being so bratty. Am I pouting? Yes, I am. Now hush.

    Lest you think I’m an ungrateful slut, let me say that I’m thankful for each of them. They’re all different and perfect in their unique ways. I’m grateful to have had the chance to see them and to get Mama’s seal of approval which isn’t handed out willy-nilly.

    Mama: “Your lifestyle choices are funny.”

    Me: “Funny different or funny ha-ha?”

    Mama: *thinks a moment* “Both.”

    You know what? I can live with that. Happy day after turkey day, y’all.

  6. New Management

    October 11, 2012 by Heather Cole

    It all began with a little red heart next to one of my pictures on Fetlife. The man who bestowed it had a handsome, smiling face and was partnered with a young woman who had recently posted a journal entry about having “no expectations” when it came to relationships. It was good writing, and I admired their open, loving way with one another. It’s hard sometimes to get a feel of people electronically, but Spanks and Miss M gave me a good vibe.

    FINE! I was stalking them. OK? I was running late to Liri’s birthday party at Matt’s house, because my muffins wouldn’t rise. Not a euphemism. So I was looking at Fet and trying to formulate my intentions for the evening. I know I have a tendency to overthink things, but I like deciding what I want out of an evening ahead of time. Since I currently have no Master or Dom, I like to think about my options. You see, I’m under new management–my own.

    When I arrived at the party, it was no surprise when Liri grabbed me by the hand to meet some “awesome folks.” It was right in keeping with my goals for the night. I intended to meet at least three new people, and I wanted to help Liri celebrate. After making our way through a crowd of people, I was suddenly staring face-to-face with the very couple I had been looking at on my computer screen. In fact, I think my first sentence was, “holy fuck, I was just stalking you on Fetlife!” Yes, I’m a card carrying member of dork.

    I was thrilled to discover that Spanks and Miss M were as engaging as I had thought. They were friendly and kind and smoothed right over my stupid opening line. Liri drifted away to speak with someone else, and it wasn’t long before Miss M divulged that she had a bit of a crush on Liri. Darlings, if I had a dollar for every person, male and female, that has told me that, I’d be typing this on a gold plated laptop. Of course I was delighted to facilitate some play between the nubile Miss M and my girl. I believe Liri’s exact words were, “it’s my birthday, and I’ll do whatever the fuck I want!” She then turned to the excited couple and explained, “Heather is a connoisseur of pain and a slave.” As I blushed at the introduction, Liri asked me to be her assistant.

    Miss M protested when I knelt to unfasten the tiny buckles around her slender ankles, but I brushed off her offer to help. “This is the perk of having a slave,” I said. I carefully folded her clothes and set her wine glass to the side where it wouldn’t get knocked over by floggers or canes. The services I performed, although small, were significant. I’m service inclined, generally speaking, in my day-to-day interactions, but that night was different. I realized hours later that the thing that sent a sizzle of electricity through me was demonstrating what I was capable of. It was a mere ripple on the surface of my deep submission, but it was as if I said with each graze of my fingertip along her calf, “do you realize what it would be like to own me? Even for a night…”

    Miss M was cuffed to the large wooden frame in the living room, and Spanks and I sat back to watch the scene. Sweeties, never doubt for a moment that my Liri isn’t a fucking sadistic cunt. She will smile and laugh and tell you the very best things from her giant science brain, and then that beautiful woman will treat your most tender bits to some serious pain. From the volume of Miss M’s shrieks, I think she’d agree with me. After I snapped some excellent pictures of Spanks with his head buried between Miss M’s creamy thighs, Liri cleaned up the implements she had used and motioned me upstairs.

    We ended up in a tangle on the bed, and an orgasm soon followed. Mine, that is. It should probably have been Liri receiving the orgasm since she was one of the three birthday girls that night, but when she’s feeling bossy, I’m a very happy recipient of her oral administrations. Then she bounded out of bed and tugged on her second outfit of the evening, announcing that she was going downstairs to receive birthday spanks. I moved to follow, but I was much slower to pull myself together. A good orgasm can do that to you.

    I was almost out of the bedroom when Miss M appeared in the doorway with Spanks in tow. She was wearing his white button down shirt and was a vision of red hair and pale, smooth skin. I gave her a hug of congratulations on a great scene, and she said something complimentary in return. Our conversation is a bit blurred in my memory. I can remember the feel of her hands on the curve of my waist and how close her heart-shaped face was to mine. She wanted to play with me. Even if the actual words had never crossed her lips, I would have felt it in the charged air between us. My brain almost short-circuited on our sexual sparks, but I experienced a moment of panic. Who did I ask for permission?

    I’m not accustomed to operating without specific rules. Liri doesn’t own me. We’re dating. We love each other. But she has never restricted anything I do. I’ve asked her for things, but she has never required anything of me like, “thou shalt not play with other women!” The conflict is that I’ve been trained to navigate with specific rules in place about what I may or may not do in a play situation. My instincts were to automatically ask permission as any slave would, but there wasn’t anyone to ask. Just when I thought I’d have to run in the bathroom and hide, Miss M said the thing that sealed my fate, “I’ve never had the chance to explore a woman before.”

    I’ve blogged about some of my bisexual challenges here, so the regular readers will know that I spent years yearning to have a “real” experience with another woman. I feared that I would be forever stuck in the bi-curious category because of lack of opportunity and a lack of confidence with women. When Miss M said that, her words reverberated with my own. I also saw a glimmer of what my heart truly wanted–to be used as a sexual toy. At some point Spanks asked to video us for his personal library, and you know me, I agreed. It was for posterity!

    Nails raked down my chest as teeth fastened around my right nipple. Instinctively I arched my back, but Miss M pinned my lower body firmly with her own. Her hair was a cascade around me as she nibbled and kissed her way over my body. She complimented me, worshipped me, and I felt honored and… speechless with the gift she was giving me. Someone’s first. Miss M’s first. The memory of it brings all those feelings back, and I’m grateful all over again as I sit here and write.

    Miss M’s mouth was still between my legs when Liri came back into the bedroom.

    “OH!” she said and disappeared into the bathroom.

    Miss M and I parted with more hugs and caresses while my brain churned. Technically I hadn’t broken any rules, but my slave instincts were in high gear. I needed to apologize to Liri. I tried to squelch my rising panic. The voice of reason whispered, this isn’t the same situation. Liri is different. We didn’t have enough rules that kept our feelings safe! I argued with logic. What was I supposed to do, just blunder around until I really fucked something up? I needed to fix something. I worried that I had somehow hurt Liri even though nothing of the sort had been verbalized between us. Liri swore she was fine, that what I had done was fine, that everything was peachy birthday keen. But as I’ve written a hundred times before, old patterns are a bitch to change. If she had taken a crop to me or caned me until I sobbed, it would have been a relief; that remembered pattern of guilt assuaged in physical pain. Maybe the uncertainty I fretted over was related to both of us trying to feel our way through a completely new situation. Neither one of us had expected me to be the lady cherry popper, but there I was in the afterglow.

    Liri told me to get on the bed again. I frowned in confusion but did as she ordered. She gave me one instruction: I had to count my orgasms out loud. Once my brain caught up with my body, I relaxed. Liri probably didn’t mean it as a reclaiming, but the slave in me interpreted it as such and took comfort in it. I tried to articulate the feeling later, but I don’t think I managed it. Liri and I have talked about playing with the incredible Miss M again, but it’s Liri who has my time, my energy and a piece of my heart. She’s also the one who inspired me to yell, “four is my favorite number!”

  7. Plays Well With Others

    June 13, 2012 by Heather Cole

    Me: [picks up pen] [scribbles recklessly] Bisexual, thirty-something, divorced, mother-of-one seeks a bisexual female for friendship and lady-loving*.

    *means that I would like to learn the arts of lady love. I have very little practical experience with women aside from the occasional stolen kisses as a young girl and drunken breast caresses at parties in high school. But that doesn’t stop me from lusting, from yearning. OH THE YEARNING!  [crosses out last sentence. Note to self: shouting doesn’t attract the ladies.]

    Warning: I’m frickticulously complicated. I think about everything which means that I will think about making a move on you a hundred times before actually doing it. I also demand a variety of different beverages at breakfast. Coffee, water and a bloody mary for starters.

    In fact, you should probably only answer this ad…

    [Writes second note to self: will this be a personal ad? A dating site? A placard outside the neighborhood deli?]

    …if you want to have a lot of sex, albeit beginner sex, because my situation involves two boyfriends.
    Yes, you read that right.
    One of whom is also my Dom.
    Yes, you read that right as well.
    And both of them live long distance.

    Perhaps you’ll understand better when I explain that I love my male partners, one of whom is kinky and who is helping me explore and expand my kinky self. They both know about my wish for female companionship-sex… [why do I sound like an 1800’s governess when I say that?] …and we talk about it. Quite a bit. And for the record, I won’t proceed with any of this if one of them objects. Yes, they’re that important to me.

    I feel like now is the time to explore my bisexuality, because I’ve denied it for years and years. I love women; I love their curves and soft skin, how they move and how they think. Why shouldn’t I act on it? Maybe I can take action with you? [Crosses out last sentence. Meaning unclear and generally too pervy-sounding.]

    I refer to it as “companionship-sex” because I suck at casual sex. I’m absolutely no good at not caring. [Note: this should probably go under the warning part.] I would like us to be friends and genuinely enjoy hanging out together. Ideally you would meet both boyfriends and like them. Not liking them is bad. Very bad. [Crosses out last sentence as sounding too Godfather-ish.]

    So about the companionship sex…this is what I envision: you come over for dinner and a movie. I make the world’s best chocolate cake, by the way. Maybe a bottle of wine? One thing leads to another and we end up making out like horny teenagers on the couch. [Thank goodness you can’t see how red I am writing that!]  The couch is very uncomfortable, generally speaking. I apologize in advance. Eventually we graduate into the area where I have no practical experience except for my lovely Liri making me orgasm… [you can read about that adventure here] …which ultimately leads to orgasms all-around!

    What I can offer: a lively sense of humor, the company of an aging and mildly retarded greyhound, medium tits, round ass (perfect for spanking), loyalty, intelligence and a willingness to learn. Also, I will cook you into a stupor given half a chance.

    Please don’t reply if you make loud mouth noises when eating, think Mittens Romney is anything other than an alien parasite or believe that food is irrelevant to joyful living.

    Please DO reply if you think nerds are sexy, have an undying passion for beverages and have read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows.

    xo Heather