To say that my non-monogamous journey has been difficult would be fair. In these four short months I’ve been on the verge of and in tears more times than I have in the last five years combined.
Considering all that, it might seem like seppuku to go get froyo with my boy and a guy I’ve been fucking for nearly a decade. Unsurprisingly to people who know me well, that’s exactly what I did today.
I’m not sure where the idea to have these two meet came from, but I really wanted it to happen (well, either that or a cuddle-heavy threesome).
My boy has this fear-derived “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy when it comes to non-monogamy-type things. I felt like having him face – or fuck – the fear head-on would be enough to shake his internal guilt and external slut-shaming. I was convinced that I was right … ish … I think.
As I mentioned, this happened today. As in a few hours ago. So, I’m not really talking from some greatly-distanced vantage point. Regardless, he actually responded well to the whole event.
My boy and I met up with my other bitch for froyo after spending the day at Motor City Pride. While we were sitting in the Sunday sun, enjoying our 49 cents-per-ounce frozen yogurt sundaes, things were tense for me. The stakes were high and it was only in the actual situation did I realize how real those stakes were. If my boy decided it was all too much and ran away, I’d be boyless and heartbroken.
While I arrived excited for the two to meet, I spent most of the time talking with my other bitch and alternately worrying that my boy wasn’t having enough fun. Like most people in that sort of situation, I began to panic and overreact to every sign of discontent.
Unfortunately, although my other bitch and I got along like we always do, my boy just wasn’t having as much fun.
Through the vast majority of our froyo turned A&W drive-in date-type thing, my boy kept quiet. I tried to include him in the convo. Periodically I’d check in with him, but he tends to retreat into himself when he’s nervous, which he was. So, when handed an opportunity to steer the conversation, he would utter a response and then return to silence. Obviously, this had me convinced I was making a terrible mistake.
After we were done eating and cruising in my other bitch’s vintage Chevy Impala down Woodward Ave., my boy and I headed home. In the car, my boy was behaving oddly, like he does when he’s got something troubling going on in his head. Much like during the date-type thing, this made me panic.
On the 40-minute drive back home, I probably asked him how he was feeling about 20 times. I reminded him that he could tell me if he had a problem an equal number of times. Regardless, his response remained the same as it was during the date-type thing: “Everything is fine.”
I was so convinced this date-type thing would become a problem, I simply couldn’t believe him. It wasn’t until we were headed out for a nightcap at home and he basically told me to commes des fuck down that I let it go. Well, when we arrived at the bar, I began writing this and drinking. So, that probably had an effect too.
Now that I’ve had a little time to decompress, things don’t seem as dire. If he was going to freak out, he could’ve done it in the three hours we spent chilling with my other bitch. Since he didn’t, and we’ve just finished having some really hot, connected sex, I’m going to chalk up my panic to nerves.
Honestly, I’m still kind of concerned that today’s date-type thing will be a future topic of volatile discussion. For now, though, it seems that I made the right move. While I’m cautiously optimistic – if all is as it seems – this is a great outcome. If I was right about this, I’m probably right about having that threesome. Yay!