He said he didn’t know if he could ever be monogamous again. His words were unexpected and blunt, and they seemed to suck every bit of the air out of the room. Normally his candor was a quality I appreciated, but as I stood in the kitchen staring at the words on my phone, I hated him for it. My eyes burned from the tears that were threatening to surface, and I held my breath hoping the teen didn’t notice my unsure smile as she stood in the doorway. I assured her I was fine just as my ex-husband blew the horn outside. I gave them hugs and kisses and waved good-bye. I closed the door and fell apart.
I sat on the sofa with my head in my hands, the feeling of deja vu making my stomach churn. Once again we found ourselves buried under miscommunication, struggling to make sense of what was happening while choking on a bitter mixture of apologies and tears. And even though aspects felt familiar, that’s not where we were at all. This time we were betting on a game we’d never played before. This time, we were laying our monogamy cards face up on the table and our hands didn’t match at all. The gamble could have very easily punctured the arteries of our relationship resulting in a bloody death, but neither of us wanted that.
From the beginning of our relationship, I knew that women sought him out because of his line of work and the possibility of a blowjob arose from time to time. But I’d also assumed that because of me, he’d turn them down. I just knew he was joking when he asked if I was okay with him accepting the occasional blowjob if the opportunity presented itself. He wasn’t. And after the initial shock subsided, it became clear we were not on the same page of the monogamy handbook. I felt betrayed, and I doubted myself, asking why I wasn’t enough for him.
“But you are,” he said.
His reply confused me even more, but I listened as he emphatically implied that a blowjob meant nothing but physical release. When he related it to masturbation, it began to make sense. A little anyway. My breath eventually returned from the metaphorical chest punch and I finally understood that a blowjob from someone else was no comparison to a blowjob from me. Not because I’m the reigning champion of blowjobs, but because I’m the one he trusts implicitly. Because I’m the one he loves.
We discussed what a non-monogamous relationship meant for hours. I didn’t want to to lose what we had and lose him. So I was upfront, telling him that I couldn’t handle the thought of him doing to others what he does with me. At that point, he admitted he’d be afraid to ask anyone else to do what we’ve done. I think I might have blushed a little. But I believed him when he said there was no one else like me, and I trusted him when he said that the things we shared were sacred to our relationship. In the end, he gave me what I needed to feel safe.
I have no interest in outside opportunities though. Is it because all my needs are met by my boyfriend? Or maybe it’s because my vagina is a delicate flower and I shudder to think of it being thrown out of whack again. If that’s the case, maybe I’ll get past it after awhile. Maybe I won’t. All I know is that for the time being, I’m a one cock woman.
It was time to call in the big gun for advice on open relationships. Heather finds it fascinating that as kinky as I am, I have pretty traditional views when it comes to monogamy. Except when I was married. Anyway, she’s right. But part of what allows me the freedom to have so few limits with my boyfriend is knowing I’m the only one he’s intimate with. I see things differently now though. While intimacy and sex are often intertwined, they can also be separated entirely. And now that I understand this, I’m more secure in our relationship than ever.
“That’s what’s supposed to happen,” Heather said.
I could almost hear her smile like a proud parent sending me forth into non-monogamy. I’m sure I will have moments of jealousy. It’s only natural. But I’m the one who gives him the connection he needs.
By the end of the night we were worn out emotionally, but we were in a better place. He’d laid my fears to rest that he was interested in pursuing another relationship, and he’d eased my doubts that I was enough for him. I woke up the next morning feeling good about the level of honesty we’d climbed to, and I was excited about his upcoming visit. He was equally as eager, but according to him, we had different agendas. He wanted to hug me while I wanted to slap him. I snorted when I informed him I don’t slap, I punch. He accepted my retort and said he had no doubt I could kick his ass. He’s right. I’ve overpowered him before and have taken what’s mine. And now that I think about it, a little reminder of who his ass belongs to may be in order.
*looks at strap-on*
I’m going to enjoy this. A lot.
