i love you Now Change

Let me explain a few things if you would not mind.
I need direct communication. I have audio processing problems. For example, if you ask me if I would like to sit in the front or the back of the car – I may hear; move the car back and forth. Yeah, I know it is fucked up. When I am in an okay place, I can quickly figure out what you’re saying and answer like a human. When I am not tracking well, it will drive you a bit crazy, and you may want to look in my ears to see if something is blocking them.
I need enough words in that I am not trying to figure out your puzzle pieces your throwing out at me. I suck at word searches in real life and in print. On the flip side of that, if you give me a 100000 word easy on your opinion on the topic at hand, I will get lost. I start to feel anxious that I am missing the real point and that I am can’t breathe given ALL THE WORDS.
I don’t get sarcasm almost all the time. I strangely use it often but can totally miss it from others. And at times it the subtly and not the sarcasm. Usually, I don’t get what you’re trying to tell me via a joke or implying something. I sure if I sat down and took an autism screening tool, I’d flag very high on it.
I have texture issues. I can’t handle scratchy fabric. I can feel a spec of something in my shoes or socks that will draw all my attention to it like the force of a hurricane.
Hopefully, this hasn’t scared you away, and again it is nice to meet you.

You once asked me what it meant to be owned by you. I was on the drugs of a new relationship and a new D/s relationship, so I could not even begin to answer you, let alone contemplate the answer.
Fast forward four years, and I am not owned by you anymore. I am not sure I ever really was owned by you.
Our connection or our relationship or our dynamic felt fucking magical at times. It felt like my soul needed it and what I had been missing my whole life.
And then it started to fade away. The magic faded away to confusion and manipulation.
I don’t think that you attempted to be or are a terrible person on this date. I don’t think you wanted to hurt me. I think things fell apart and fell apart really hard in a spectacular manner fit for poly history books.
Despite preaching acceptance in relationships, you refused to of accepting that you heeled on tighter. In holding on harder, closer, and longer, you started to suffocate me.
I wanted to return to the magic we had. I thought that if I could hold on, you would get better, we would get better. I kept trying. I kept trying to believe the things you told me about myself that we’re not right.
I wish we could have ended as friends. I wish that you had not been mean. I wish I had seen us quicker.

I have spent entirely too much of my life waiting on men. Holding my breath, pausing me, waiting for one to magically breath me into existence. 

It started when I was five and men said they’d show and then they disappeared into thin air. Vanishing me out of existence. 

It started with me watching every car that drove down our small country road, holding my breath to see if it was the man I was waiting on.  Not being seen or existing. The desperation and tightness of that waiting never went away. It took up residence in my gut. It took up residence in my soul. 

It’s continues today with me starting at my phone, gripping the ever loving shit out of it, willing a text to appear and locations to change and  for him to move and come back to me. 

I am waiting for my phone to revolt. I am expecting it to tell me to stop and let the fuck go. I am waiting for my phone to say, “um, we are going to suggest you calm down. Here watch nextfix.”

I want to let go of this sand that I am grasping so fucking hard. I want to open my hand and shake it out and wash it with some serious silk wood like shower action. However the idea of letting go of this grip feels like letting go of my self, my world and my life but fuck I want to stop waiting on men.  I want to breathe myself into existence. 

My go to in relationships that are not going well is to cut and run. If I feel caged in, if the person doesn’t get me, if the person runs from conflict – I run. What I have not realized until recently is running is my form of putting up big old walls. The walls have been my way of “managing” my anxiety.
Walls and anxiety go together for me like peanut butter and Jelley. The tendency to wall up and cut people off feels ingrained in my soul- and I am sick of it. I am so very sick of my anxiety.
After an argument about choosing movie theater seats that revolved around my anxiety of where to be located in the theater, my husband ended it with saying, “it’s a small concern.” Small was said like he was trying to spit a bad taste out of his mouth with forces. Small reverberated in my head over and over again; small, small, small and small. My anxiety feels anything but small.
I realized that he understands my anxiety, but he is sick of it as am I. The result of this interaction builds another wall between us. My overly critical judge says, “must not overwhelm him with the small shit in my head.”
As early as I can remember, anxiety has always been the weight around my neck, my ever guiding force, that voice that is trying to keep me safe. But in truth, it just talks lots of bullshit all day long.
Intellectually- I am great at this, and I get it. I understand why I am like this and I have a big toolbox of things I can do to address it. But there is nothing I can do to resolve my sick of it feeling.
So in a vain attempt to get over the sick of it feeling I’ve been examining what It think is the cause. I know finding the reason will not cure it- but that does not deter me.
I think that maybe my anxiety is a result of my Irish ancestors that starved, immigrated and struggled to live the “American Dream.” My great-grandfather hung himself, leaving my great-grandmother alone with five children. They were hardcore devote Catholics. I can only imagine the level of anxiety so acute that the only out from his pain, he could find was suicide. I can’t comprehend feeling so awful that burning in hell seems like a better option than living with anxiety.
My self-examination brings about the conclusion that starving, burning in hell and imagination are reasons to be anxious. My over critical brain says that I have no decent right to be this anxious and surrounded by walls.
My mother’s parents and siblings are good at walls which I am guessing is also anxiety for them. I suspect that its intergenerational trauma like my own or they all fell apart when my aunt was stabbed in the head with a screwdriver and murdered. Their messed up catholic upbring in the 1960s may have also contributed to the anxiety.
The whole story of my aunt’s murder is confusing at best. Until I was about 6, I thought that she died due to cancer. She was with an African American man and had a baby with him. My grandfather disowned her for being involved with a black man. This action was out of character for him and contrary to how he raised his children.
Two years later my aunt was murdered by someone. That, someone, was never caught, never brought to justice. There was no closure on a violent event and death. The lack of any closure left her family destroyed by it.
Her murder was nine years before I was born, I have the sense that the family fell apart as a result. I have this image of 6 people standing on a frozen lake as the ice cracks underneath them. But at the same time, the ice cracks – big old walls of brick come smashing down between them.
Now I have some understanding of the foundation and the route – I still have no peace about nor any solution. Just have to sit and sit in the shit. But sitting in the shit feels like more movement than walling up and cutting people off. Sometimes what is uncomfortable is healthier. 

The deeper I get into kink the more I find I am forced to confront some of my feminist ideals or brain washing. I was raised by a rampant feminist that instructed me to believe a woman was independent above all and should never ever allow a man to control her in any shape or form. To compound on that foundation – I grew up among the 90s grrrl rock bands that preached rampant and fierce independence from men.
As a result of my upbringing the thoughts that populate my brain are as follows- Women must be on equal footing to a man in a relationship- especially in the bed room. Women must not be depend on a man. Women should like sex but only that which is empowering and never ever degrading or humiliating. Women must, women must, women must…
I’ve known from a young age that I was attracted to sex that involved some sorta of BDSM element and in my fantasies I was on the side of receiving and never had me directing or giving any pain. This info did not and does not fit with the feminist ideals that posses my brain. It would be “feminist” for me to beat the crap out of man- but it felt like a betrayal to say I wanted the reverse.
Interestingly enough living a poly life’s style has not caused me any distress around these ideals. It’s also allowed me to explore this side of myself that I had keep at a distance. My husband is not vanilla but has never wanted to beat the tar out of me. Recently I met a man that is happy to oblige. He is a full fledged Dom – and this relationship although new feels like what I need. In the past I thought I was a bottom looking for a top- turns out I was really looking for a Dom.
This relationship throws a huge monkey wrench into my brain forcing me to rethink some of my ideals or women should thoughts. When he says “good girl” – I melt. I don’t mind and find I am even enjoying calling him sir. He is not a Dom that wants me to be dependent on him and wants me to put my family first. He however demands control and submission. He is in charge of any and all bedroom activities and that feels right. When he gives me commands it excites and encourages me.
I am saying this out loud as a means to force myself to accept that which is true. And in truth I think the most feminist thing I can do is embrace who I am.

He  says I need to write and reflect. I don’t want to and I feel like crawling into a ball and hiding. i feel like nothing. I feel like an empty pot that someone is scarping the bottom of looking for more . This feels like a punishment of the worst sorts from everyone.

I feel like I am not equipped to be someones partner or wife or what ever. I am independent and all that feminist bullshit. I’ve been in charge since I started talking and I don’t want to. It feels better when other people are in charge. Maybe thats the solution. Maybe I should find some man to tie me up in his basement and that can be my less complicated life. But that is bullshit. 

He was a shell when we married. He would do anything i asked – it was convenient but it didn’t feel good .  He broke out of that and it felt better. He started to stand his ground and it was better. He became more of a person. But we’ve never been together like we are now.  We’ve never lived in a  home together in a town we plan on living in for a significant period of time. Hes loving and supportive and I am where I am in life because of him. I’ll get farther because of him- but I don’t need him.

I think he wants me to need him. But doesn’t it mean more that I am choosing him?I don’t need him but I want him. i want this life with him. I want to better communicate with him. I don’t know how. I say the worst thing at the worst times. When i try to say something better it makes it worst. So I don’t know what to do but just stop talking. I feel like the fucking clique of those who can do- and those that can’t teach. I can sit with a couple and see their issue and give them directions on how to fix it. I can’t see this clearly and feel like everything I do to fix it fucks it. 

I had the tar beaten out of me yesterday and I feel like a better person. I am struggling with accepting this part of myself but the evidence is so clear at this point not accepting it and embracing it is like arguing about the color of the sky. Been unsure and contemplating what label I fall under for a couple years – maybe a bottom – maybe evolving – nope. I am a submissive. Hearing the words “good girl” make me melt. Submitting to someone my gut said was safe, knowledgeable and right feels like a missing piece just slid right in.

There are a thousand more words and ideas floating around at the moment but this is about all I can get out in an articulate manner.

Like all men ever- my husband has had a long held fantasy of a threesome. I was sexually inexperienced and unsure of the idea of it when we were first married. The thought of two men scared me a bit- What does one do with two penises? The idea of a woman confused me- I had no knowledge of how to do any of that.  I put off sharing my feelings with him by making a joke out of it. I told him that we could have a threesome after our 50th anniversary. In my head it was a way of not saying no, but putting off the need to make good on my promise for ever.  I thought who would want to sleep with two people in their 70s?

Fast forward 5 years into our marriage and we were geographically separated. He meet a woman who  needed to be helped and he had sex with her. It wasn’t something that I saw coming and it knocked off my rocker for a few days. People around me were not helpful. People suggested I divorce him, people suggested I divorce him and make it painful for him. I saw no purpose in this and felt no desire for revenge or making him suffer.  We had a child – I didn’t vow to death do us part, but it seemed logical to me  to leave him for making one mistake. 

Once my head cleared – I realized what upset me was the lack of truth.  It wasn’t what other people around me were actively telling me that- he needed to be punished for putting his dick in someone. Had he told me that he needed to have sex with someone other than his hand- I would have understood the need for connection.  

I was surprised by my feelings and confused. Why was I not more bothered by the sex outside of our marriage? Upon much talk with him and reflection I realized I was not that attached to monogyny and we begun to revisit the idea of a threesome.  I opened up and told my husband that the idea of a threesome made me somewhat nervous- but maybe a couple to pay with? He was  very game for the idea and asked me to try to make that work. 

I turned to Craig’s List- It had found me my husband so – it seemed to make sense to find a date or dates for us. I posted an ad and outline what we were looking for. I got an almost immediate response from a  woman identifying herself as the female part of a couple that had been together for about 10 years. They did not live far form us- and would love to meet for dinner. 

I was terrified at the idea of actually doing this. Cathy and I exchanged some text messages and agreed that the four of us have dinner that night. Certain things already didn’t make sense. They had a 22 year old but had been together for 10.  Cathy seemed very flirty – but I figured that was part of the deal. 

We had dinner at a place near our house. Rickey was the male half of the couple. He was an unidentifiable age, short and never stopped talking. Cathy on the other hand said hardly a thing during the meeting. There was a drastic change in her tone from text to in person. I figured she was just shy and nervous about an in person meeting.  She seemed nice enough and like maybe Rickey just overshadowed her.  We talked about nothing in depth at the first meeting. But it was fun and exciting to think about having sex with new people. 

The days that followed the first dinner – involved multiple text form Rickey and Cathy.  Looking back I should have noticed that it wasn’t ever clear who I was talking to. Cathy at times sounded cold and distant- at others flirty. Rickey on the other hand was always flirty. He told me of how they had swung in the past. He told me about the things he wanted to do to me. The four of us had more odd meetings, dinners and drinks. We talked mainly about nothing. A couple of weeks into our odd meetings Rickey asked about what we were looking for and what our experience had been with swinging. He told some stories of their past experiences. They had mainly done same room swap. Cathy was doing dishes during this conversation and said nothing. 

Cathy and my husband exchanged some text messages and talked on the phone. She told him that she wasn’t really into swinging but had done it to make Rickey happy. She was unsure how she felt about doing anything with us as a foursome. She however told him she did not mind if Rickey and I had sex. She just didn’t want to hear about it. The flirting with Rickey was getting more intense- I wanted to experience what he was waving out in front of me. The first major mistake I made was not hearing that from her mouth in a face to face conversation that it was okay. I however  was off and running. 

Rickey and I had sex. It was good. It was new. it was very strange to experience someone else body besides my husbands. Rickey was eager to please. It was kind of like having sex with an aggressive horney troll. My husband was turned on by hearing about it. It felt strongly energized by the experience. I was amazing having someone new into me and telling me that I was hot. Rickey, my husband and I had a threesome. It was a great experience for me filled with frenzy and excitement. 

The four of us were still having odd dinners. Cathy seemed more distant and irritated by my existence. Rickey said that was just her way and to not pay attention to it. At the same time I noticed that when him and I were spending time together he “had to” lie to her about where he was. I made a comment about not wanting to be the other woman- and said “tough shit! You are baby!”  The statement was a punch to the gut but I ignored it. 

Rickey and I  continued to have clandestine meetings at his house and my house with hot horrney troll sex. Rickey texted and emailed me all the time- as did Cathy. One day Cathy texted me about the sex she wanted to have that night and I asked “WTF?”. It was Rickey on Cathys phone. Rickey had messed up and forgot which phone he was on. He showed up at my house apologizing – stating that he and Cathy swapped cellphones often. He said he saw no weirdness in it that he was texting me pretending to be Cathy. I told him I didn’t like how things had evolved and it felt weird to me to be keeping things so secrete from his wife. He assured me she knew what we were doing but that I had to be discrete. I told him there was a difference between discrete and lying. He told me he would make it right. 

In the midst of all of this my best friend got miss diagnosed with a brain tumor. On the way of going with her to an MRI- I decided to tell her about my extra circular activities. She was thankful for the distraction but horrified by my actions. She was trapped in a marriage in which she hatted her husband, had not had sex for years and was judging me. How could we be swimming? Was I nuts? I told her quite possibly but it was working alright for me at the time. I choose to not go into detail with her about the issues with Rickey lying.  I’ve also told hardly a person about being poly to this day du etc her reaction. 

The next day-  I got a text from Cathy stating, “Thanks for sleeping with my husband behind my back.” I sent Rickey a text saying “WTF?” Cathy replied on Rickey’s phone “you are a whore” as Rickey pulled in my driveway to warn me that Cathy was pissed and likely coming for me. The air got sucked out of me in a huge rush of what I had been involved in. Guilt and shame made me dizzy.   Rickey told me he loved me and he wanted me to leave my husband. I told him he was full of shit and I wasn’t interested in that. He said Cathy was pissed. I asked how was it that she was pissed in that he she had given permission. 

He sat down in my yard and stared at the ground for some time. He then looked up and told me had been lying to me. He told me had been lying to Cathy, to my husband and well to everyone. He said he didn’t like this about himself and he wanted to change. He said, “I’ll never lie to you again.” At that moment an Ant DiFranco song went through my head that says something like, “Has he changed – What he’s about 

Or is he just a liar – With nothing to lie about.” He told me he was going to leave Cathy- but he wanted to wait until after a cruise that they had coming up. It was only 10 days away and he didn’t want to spoil it for her. 

My husband was  gone at the time- but told me that he had heard from Cathy’s mouth, not a text that she was okay with Rickey and I sleeping together. Cathy and I had an tension filled conversation in a park. She denied ever giving permission, said that my husband had made her uncomfortable by playing footsie with her (except she never did anything to move or complain about it at the time), that she had not answered my CL add and that Rickey had told her that he wanted to meet us just to be friends not friends with benefits. I told her I would not talk to him anymore.  As soon as I left the park he started texting me and showed up at my house when I did not answer him. 

The time for their cruise had came and shortly after they got back I was scheduled to be gone to california for some time. I was thankful for the break from him- I often felt as if I could not breath next to him. While I was on the trip Rickey called and text constantly. He was basically saying “stay, stay, stay, don’t look away.- I am not going to loose my hold on you”.   With some distance from him I started to notice how good he was at the compusult. He wove together insults and complements so well that it could leave your head spinning. He took me to the air port- as I was walking away he said, “your shorts are so tight- and your lucky I like how you but looks in them.” While i was in CA he told me all about how he was confused by me. I was not his “Type”  and normally he was more about the hunt and lost interest after he had the girl he was seeking.  He normally sleep with girls who were much skinner than me with bigger boobs. His compusults  would leave you feeling warm and burnt from the inside.  

In his quest to not lie to me again- he started to come undone along with the lies he had told. He told people that him and Cathy had only been together for 10 years when in truth it was 22- so that people would not realize that they were in their 50s. He had cheated on Cathy before but he denied it but she swore by it.  His stories about his job started to sounded more and more novel. His experiences with swining started to sound like bad pulls from the pages of Playboy. I started to question every word and utterance that came from him. They all felt layered with multiple issues and reasons to run and hide.  

I am ashamed to admit that – I even stupidly slept with him again. I am not even sure how it happened- but that there was some connection between us. I regret that moment more than most stupid things I’ve done. In that moment I was really and truly the other woman.  As stupid as it was it also made me get some distance from him. 

In my favorite alternative book store in California there was a book laid out on a table with a promoted display called-  “Open.” The writer of the book had wanted an open marriage and had written a  memoir of her and her husbands experiences with it. She called it- Polyamory which was an  alternative to death due us part mononomgy  This book completely  introduced me to the concept of poly.  Growing up in hippie communes in Hawaii I was somewhat surprised that I had never heard of the concept. I had known of polygamist from TV- but the idea of Polyamory sounded so new and novel it planted a seed of hope in me. Were there actually people doing this? 

I got on Okq to see. Right in my neighborhood there were people who posted that they were married- seeing other people and Poly appeared to work without another woman screaming at me in a park.  I put up a profile with the intention to simply meet other people and learn what this looked like. I told Rickey about it and he said it sounded like a stupid idea but at the same time got on the web page, created a profile and  found my profile even though I had tried to be some what hidden in plain sight. Despite Rickeyes weirdness – I started chatting with one man on there that lived not too far away. He was married with kids and hadn’t dated anyone but his wife had and yes, I could meet his wife.  I meet Bob, his wife and his Kids in a park. It was so nice and normal that it seemed made up. 

Rickey felt me pulling away and pushed up the bullshit to try to keep me. I told him via text that I would be his friend but that I didn’t want to have anything romantic or sexual to do with him. Cathy had already freaked out on me again for having any contact with him. He told me he wasn’t okay with that and that he was coming over. I was scared. I was home alone with a kid. 

Bob – offered to come over and just be another person at the house given that my husband was gone. Shortly after Bob showed up – Rickey called and said that he had a cop friend watching the house and described what Bob looked like to the T. I told him that it was harassing and he needed to stop. He said he loved me and I owed him more than a break up over the phone. I told him I owed him nothing. 

We agreed to meet later in the week to exchange some stuff that we had of each others. Bob was with me and Rickey was a big flaming asshole, he mines well have pissed on Bob’s car. He took the stuff and speed off like he was auditioning for the fast and the furious. The text messages stopped but the emails from Rickey continued to come for several weeks. Occasionally I would find an odd item or two at my house that could only be from him. 

On particularly bitter email – pushed me over the edge. He was in law enforcement. I told him if he contacted me again I was taking all of his emails to his chief. He stopped. I took a breath. I still however today hold my breath when I pass his house for fear that he may be there.  

I learned a bit about my self and humans in this situation. 

 Do better researcher about a situation and or a plan. My husband would not agree with this and says I already google things to much. But had I done some reading on poly – we could have avoided some of the heart break and having a woman angrily confront me.  In retrospect Poly comes in about as many shades as paint does- but having some knowledge of it would have given me a place to start from. 

Trust your gut. There were many times in which Rickey’s actions resulted in me feeling uncomfortable. I swept it under the rug until I had a mountain under it which I had to deal with. 

The way that I practice poly now is far from perfect- but its miles better than it was when I first  stumbled into this. I hope to keep learning and growing through it.