A Queer Life

Third time's a charm. That's right, folks. I'm getting married a third time. This is coming from the girl who at twenty-six, with no boyfriends in sight, felt a deep desperate horror that she would grow ancient without ever marrying. I felt so ugly and unloveable. And now, in less than fifteen years, I married and divorced twice and am now approaching my third marriage.  "My aunt has married nine times," a co-worker told me when I confessed how uncomfortable I was being married three times. "But she's probably a sociopath." My partner, Steve, brings out the me in me. Otherwise, I wouldn't have another relationship inside. Relationship exhaustion.  I don't know how I ever thought polyamory was a good idea. It goes against everything I want in life and I'm still emotionally paying for that.  Always trying to find myself, I felt even more lost the past several years, twisting myself into coupledom. No wonder I avoided dating for so long. But...

In my post called The Perfect… I fell in love with a married man, my boss, and for the first time I considered polyamory as a valid option. I felt like I belonged with him and his wife. But that would never happen because…you know, all the things. Having sex with Tom would result in a broken marriage, just like all those adultery movies I saw as a kid. Those left me with lasting terror.   One day when Charles and I were making love in his room for hours and his other partner knocked on the door, he said give us five minutes and we scrambled to get dressed. It felt a bit like those adultery movies. Except there was no real fear. I couldn’t live a life of deception, but pretending to was kind of fun.  When leaving that job and Tom and I were saying goodbye we hugged, and touched for the first time. I had been wanting to touch him, hug him, fuck him for over a year, but when it happened, I didn’t even notice. Several days later I thought: “Wait a second! I should have felt chi...

The last time I was at Charles’ house we ended up talking and drinking into the late evening with a straight woman, her lesbian sister, a femme presenting trans non-binary person, and, of course, Charles. We all ended up snuggling on the couch writhing around each other like one of those sexy vampire orgy movies. Some of us kissed. We mostly held hands, hugged and stroked each other’s hair.  I suggested an orgy, a real one, not just a snuggle one. Sometimes I wonder about alcohol. Some people call it liquid courage. Some people call it emotional lubrication. Shakespeare said it increases sexual desire but diminishes the performance. For me, alcohol just loosens the valve on all my desires. I cry easier and I usually ask someone if they will kiss me (not usually while crying). Alcohol seems to decrease inhibition. So when I’m under the influence, I act the way I always want to act, I just don’t allow myself. Maybe I need more crying and kissing (fucking) in my everyday life.  ...