The other night, when we got in bed, I rubbed my body against Flo’s and asked him if he wanted to have sex. He said, he wasn’t really in the mood tonight.
It was nice, gentle, but I was still a little taken aback because this was the first time this really happened. Where I really was in the mood and he wasn’t.
It kind of worried me, but I tried to let it go. I knew this was normal.
The next night, I wanted to have sex again but I was scared to make a move. I feared a second rejection.
As we lay in bed together and I opened my book, I was stuck on the first page of the chapter. I couldn’t focus.I wanted him but felt paralyzed to do anything about it.
And then I cursed myself for being such a wuss. I wanted him to come on to me, but he was just looking at his phone.
After a minute or two I couldn’t bare it anymore, and I turned to hug him. He put his phone away, and I told him how I was feeling. And then we had, I have to say, quite incredible sex.
Everything was okay. Last night.
But it’s still scary. This whole being in a relationship thing, long-term. Being in your early thirties. We’ve been talking more about getting an apartment and our future together.
I’m afraid to intertwine my life more with his, to lose my agency. I’m afraid that the stakes will just keep getting higher to stay together. To make this all work.
At the same time, I know it will be fine. Whatever happens in my life, it will be great. It always is, it always was.
Making yourself vulnerable always rewards more than it punishes. I won’t stop doing that.
No matter how hard things get, the equilibrium always returns.
We’ll be okay and I’ll be okay.
Is polyamory a sexual orientation or more like a religious belief?
I was reading the Modern Love section of the NYTimes last week, and the story was about a woman who starts dating a man with two girlfriends.
She made me ponder the idea of being polyamorous. Where does it comes from? Something internal or external?
Also last week:
How to Respond When a Man Tells You He Has Blue Balls
On a summer night in Barcelona, thankfully I knew it wasn’t my problem