There are times I feel like I am an ungrateful brat for feeling whatsoever dissatisfied with parts of my life. After all, I am healthy, employed, surrounded by great friends (and an insufferrably insane yet fantastic roommate) and family (who, thankfully, are pretty far away), and should be reasonable about all the little things in life that don’t “go according to plan” ™. At the same time, I get downright pissy when things don’t go my way and (mostly internally) eviscirate myself for being such a downer. Which I’m usually not. Really.
So, once again, I find myself dealing with issues in a… let’s just say “not the most constrictive” sort of way. Have a huge exam that is potentially a game-changer coming up in less than 8 weeks? Oh, come on, O, why don’t you just skip all responsibility and not study for the last week! Boss being especially oversharing and discusses his problematic bowel movements? Skip on calling all the recruiters in the universe and simply lament about the lack of movement in your career! Cause I’m sure that will solve everything.
So yes, I have some things I have to work on, but today’s moment of the sads is not about those. Today, my issue is my fantastic yet potentially confusing sex life. Oh boy.
After a disintegration of my marriage, I was very happy to be newly single. So much so that, apparently, it was a subject of worry to one of my best friends, N. She was concerned that my foray into exploration of sexual delights could be coming from a pretty self-destructive place, and she was not necessarily wrong. I was still careful (mostly) and picky (perhaps a bit less so), and even though I went through a string of one-night stands and questionable choices, I think it all turned out pretty alright. About a year ago, after a strange night moonlighting as a waitress in a neighbourhood restaurant, I stumbled into yet another neighbourhood bar and met D. We have talked once before, but I was being anti-social in a corner of a bar with a book, waiting until I was allowed to come home as my roommate was in the middle of her clandestine romp in the hay. This time, though, was a different story. Maybe I’ll go into details of that very very strange night another time.
The result of that night was a somewhat awkward series of meetings in the same bar, until one night he asked me what I was looking for. What was I looking for? No clue. So I sort of tried to articulate that. I wanted something fun, uncomplicated, easy and relaxed. After all, there was no way I wanted anything even remotely obligatory or restrictive. I did desperately want to have sex. Scratch that, I wanted desperately to have good sex. Turned out, D was looking for the same sort of thing.
So now, almost a year later, I am having the time of my life (once again, barring any other things going wrong). I have someone that I came to care deeply about, and who cares about me. I am having arguably the best sex of my life and get to explore power dynamics and S&M. What’s m0re, is that we are actively keeping this whatever-is-between-us open – which is exactly what I’ve realised I want. Everything is fantastic.
So why do I find myself feeling slightly insecure? Me, without a jealous bone in my body! To be completely honest, I want D to have sex with other women (and men, if he wishes to). I want us to experiment with other people, together or on our own. I definitely don’t want to feel guilty, or for him to feel guilty, if we find someone else attractive. So what is wrong with me then?
Honestly, I’m hoping that by rambling about this I may come to some sort of realisation. So far my conclusion is to find someone else to fuck, and soon, and maybe the more sex I have the less it will feel like I’m missing out on something? I don’t know what the answer is, but I know I don’t want to lose D or myself.