Me and Mr. Jones

Inspired by an episode of GIRLS I’ve developed an idea that I could easily write (and have published) an essay for the NYTimes Modern Love column. It’s not because I think it is easy, rather I believe my story is compelling enough to catch the attention of any editors looking for drama. Because… well…

“This isn’t an open-relationship you’re discussing. It’s POLYAMORY!”

These words uttered in a moment of exasperation by our couple’s counselor basically tells the tale. My husband was seeking love from friends, or safety outlets that he could develop a physical relationship with, and I was cringing silently on the couch because I wanted nothing to do with any of it.

While it certainly isn’t new for relationships to fracture over the divergent desires of partners, it was definitely new enough to our relationship that discussions like this made me nauseous. Less than a year before my husband sat me down to let me know that a few evenings prior he and a good friend of ours had sat up late into the evening making out and discussing their mutual desire to fuck one another. “We were including you too,” he tried to explain, “because we would love to have a threesome of some kind if you are interested.” I’m sure it was at this moment that I reached for my Manhattan, one of thousands I would consume over the ensuing months to try to manage the stress/anxiety and kill my liver in the process.

For the sake of clarity, I would like to designate the main players in this drama: My husband Thom, our male friend Becky (it’s important, despite the gender confusion, that I amuse myself when talking about him to refer to him as such), and myself. Another minor role is played by Becky’s long-term boyfriend, whom I’ll call Y if I need to mention him. Are there other men who entered during my year of dealing with Thom’s desires to find additional love in the form of bodies that don’t belong to me? Yes, but I can’t deal right now so I’ll just leave them to wait for future posts if they need to be aired out.

Thom, I believe sincerely, was surprised by my initial reaction. (Though my Manhattan just seemed obvious to him.) It bothered me that he had made out with Becky?!?! What about the fact that they’d included me in their plans for fucking? Wasn’t that considerate? And besides, hadn’t I already been so understanding when he’d been fondling our friends just weeks before? (Get out of here other men!!! I told you I couldn’t deal right now.) Although I don’t remember this first discussion with much clarity, I’m going to assume it involved plenty of hemming and hawing from me and lots incredulity from him.

We can fast forward now to a month or so later after I’d had an evening out with Becky to discuss things with him (and succumb to much of his flattery), and a further evening out with Y to see if he consented to any of these interactions and also to confess that although I didn’t really want them to happen if they were going to take place my anxious nature required that I make myself a part of them, and finally a drunken Sunday afternoon where I challenge Thom and Becky to show me how they made out that first night. Which, without hesitation, they did (to my extreme discomfort) and left me sitting across the room stone faced with my heart shriveling as fast as my penis. So I attempted to join them. Fully clothed I was successful in giving my husband a blow job and escaped with only a few kiss-like face interactions with Becky. Our poor couch wasn’t so lucky though, as Becky eventually came erratically and left plenty of stains for me to deal with later.

Twice more we tried to make this threesome work, with whiskey, and twice more despite penetrations in various orifices I was never aroused and was always full of ennui. The same cannot be said for Thom and Becky. They sealed their mutual love and desire for each other and continued on for months later in secret texts, phone calls, and meetings. Thom and I had plenty of fights/discussions, I proceeded to invade his privacy to discover truths he was keeping from me, and Becky never once left the picture. And of course we started couples therapy and I continued to drink.

Admittedly, this story isn’t that new if it is just my own. But simultaneously my dear friend, henceforth known as Gertrude, was at first offering me comfort and a loving ear, and then having to deal with her own marriage under attack as her wife decided she too wanted to begin sleeping with acquaintances and “open things up.” And now I have two same-sex marriages, seemingly happy, that are attempting to move from the straight-monogamous paradigm to the queer-polyamorous paradigm and my story seems to have slightly more universality.

After fighting for generations to have the same rights and protections afforded under law by being allowed to legally marry our same-sex partners, here we are also instinctually trying to make marriage fit our more open-ended understanding of sexuality and expression. Or at least our spouses were trying — poor Gertrude and myself were miserably commiserating with one another over Manhattans. Because she and I just wanted to love our spouses and fuck our spouses and be fucked and loved by our spouses in return. We wanted stability and calm. (And travel, lots of expensive and exciting travel.)

And at the moment that’s where we are all at. Both of us couples are in therapy to parse out these issues. And thankfully both Thom and Gertrude’s wife have pushed pause on their plans to go sleep with their friends or former lovers and are working on building up the attachment and love in their respective relationships. Although my world is still upside down and all of my insecurities are on high alert (and my self-medicating habits of whiskey and pills have put my body in a compromised state) I find myself slightly hopeful and considering gratitude.

If things had just continued as I thought I wanted them to continue (Thom and I have been together 16 years), eventually we may have reached staleness. We are currently anything but stale. We are working to re-connect and develop new habits, which includes some new appreciations. Thom still wants to fuck our friends, but he has shown me that he will put that desire on hold in favor of staying in a relationship with me. And I am slowly learning to appreciate the fact that he is choosing me, even though my insecurities tell me he should be doing the opposite. The thought of Becky still fills me with despair, but he is around less lately so I am able to block him from my worried mind much of the time.

As for the distinction of opening up a relationship versus resorting to polyamory, I’m going to leave that to the slightly judgmental mind of our couple’s counselor. He doesn’t seem to be fan of either (Yay, him!!!) but he has helped us realize that our respective desires aren’t being realized by our current relationship. And without the burden of children or other obligations, perhaps the only real job of our relationship should be satisfaction in one another. And we are currently trying to achieve that in one form or another. And although I may not want the heartbreak that prompted all of these Manhattans, I do so want the cherry one can find at the bottom.