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.
