going to a party alone
Jack and I were invited to a private party tonight. It’s the sort laden with mystery: the location isn’t announced until the day before, a password is required for entry, one is asked not to give any details out to anyone else. It’s off-premise and BYOB, so I suspect that it’s some sort of warehouse or loft that will be converted to a dance club for the evening.
We don’t know the hosts at all. It’s not uncommon for us to end up on the guest list of this kind of event, though. I think it’s because we happened to meet one couple last year right before they were hosting a huge party, and they asked us to come. Whether this describes Jack and me or not, I later learned that they have a reputation for “knowing the right kind of people,” and I think their guest lists get passed around in back channels.
Jack has a prior commitment for this evening. I’m not wholly committed to going alone, mostly because I’ve had a busy week, and curling up on the couch with a glass of wine and the TiVo is sounding pretty good.
But, the curiosity really is killing me. Not from the perspective of a girl who wants to get laid, but as a hostess. (I’m always filing away ideas because one day, I want to host my own [adult] parties and I’m convinced they will be the stuff of legend.) So, I’ll probably go.
I guess the mystery-laden approach works after all, come to think of it.
Sam
Throughout college, I had a tumultuous relationship with a boy to whom I was drawn because he was much like me: preoccupied with appearances while trying to quell an instinct for sin. We attempted a legitimate relationship for a time and succeeded only in almost killing each other (it was all very Fitzgeraldian). So, we ended up just sleeping together for the next five years.
We’re still friends today, and in spite of a couple of half-hearted jokes about taking up again, we’d never resume a physical relationship. I don’t believe I’m attracted to him in that way any longer.
Still, for all purposes, we reached our post-adolescent [...] maturity together, which created a strong bond of affection. There will always be [a certain kind of] tension underneath our interactions, but it’s borne mostly of said affection… and nostalgia and habit.
And here I am, moved on to a marriage and a grownup life, and there is Sam… still playing house with pretty plastic blondes, then dumping them when the ring talk escalates, then re-entering single life just long enough to find a new blonde… all the while sleeping with whoever he likes on the side, knowing he can always sweet-talk his way out of trouble if he gets caught. (Though, he’s very, very good at not getting caught. It’s a skill we developed together.)
Sam’s current cohabiting blonde is named Kristy, a jiggly perky waitress who wants to go back to school someday. (Of course she does!) And Kristy would throw a wicked fit of histrionics if she knew that, last Saturday night, Sam had a one-night-stand with a jiggly perky blonde he met at a cocktail party.
But, Kristy will hopefully not find out… even though Cocktail Blonde ended up being a mutual acquaintance of ours and someone that either Sam or I might encounter again socially. (Stupid, Sam! What was the moral of the story with the senator’s daughter? Always know who you’re sleeping with. Always, always, always!)
Cocktail Blonde has been seeking me out ever since Saturday, under the most dubious of pretenses, sniffing for info on “how serious” Sam and his girlfriend are, and whether I can support the sisterhood and give him some good propaganda on her behalf.
Naturally, I won’t; I owe her nothing, certainly not at the expense of my friend of ten years. Plus, girls like Cocktail Blonde are the girls that Sam cut his teeth on in college. Not for a second did he entertain the notion of anything resembling a relationship. It wouldn’t even occur to him that a grown woman he took home on a Saturday night would expect something as quaint as a telephone call the next week for a real live date — mutual acquaintance or not.
So, he has blithely washed his hands of it, and instead I get to be the one to dodge Cocktail Blonde’s calls.
I don’t look down on Sam — he can have whatever life he chooses. As we approach 30, his refusal to settle down serves only to remind me that I would never have been truly happy with him, and that I am grateful for unanswered prayers.
But as his former partner in crime, I’m irked that Sam has grown sloppy, and that I’m the one who gets to deal with the fallout. In a way, it feels like he has let me down: we taught each other better than that.
When you have kids, what will you tell them?
[The questions have begun in earnest. It never takes long. I'm still surprised by them, and always with a start of "Huh? Oh, that's right... I forgot that I do this really weird thing where my husband and I [are intimate] with other people.” Feel free to ask away. My email address is in the footer.]
When you have kids, what will you tell them?
If I have kids one day, I will tell them exactly the amount that you wish to know about the details of your parents’ [bedroom] life: bloody little. Asymptotic to none, really.
If Jack and I were [a couple of the same gender], and had to answer questions about the mechanics or the social issues, it would be different. If we were part of a [household with multiple adults under one roof being intimate in various configurations], it would be different.
But, we’re just one man and one woman. With whom we have the occasional extracurricular encounter doesn’t really seem to be anyone’s business but our own. Do other parents have to report in to their children on the operating logistics of their [bedroom activities]? I suspect not.
One must remember that we aren’t doing anything illegal or abusive that we must “come clean” over. This isn’t a case of Daddy cheating and breaking Mommy’s heart and causing fights and divorce, or some other situation where there is deception or damage. And in that light, I just don’t see where a blow-by-blow (ahem) of a parent’s [bedroom] peccadilloes are any child’s birthright.
Now, we do plan to hide every extraordinary detail that might alert a child to a non-traditional situation. Don’t think that the “it’s no one’s business but ours” tack means that we plan to flaunt our choices.
The SOP in that regard would be pretty straightforward: no playmates in the house if there’s a child at home… careful storage of [paraphernalia]… excruciating discretion afforded to phone calls and computer usage. All common sense stuff: we don’t leave the [paraphernalia]out when the in-laws come over, either.
We would hope to be a living model of healthy, loving interaction free from jealousy and possessiveness, if for no other reason than that witnessing those models would help a child build healthy loving attitudes of her or his own. And if our son or daughter asked one day about alternative marriages, or alternative relationships, we would be forthcoming — in the abstract, from an educational direction. You know, “Some people do things like this, and other people might choose that, and our family’s values are this,” et cetera.
But if pressed for detail? First, I’d pat myself on the back for having raised a kid who isn’t afraid to quiz her parents about [adult relationships]! But then, I wouldn’t bat an eyelash before telling a child (of any age) that what a husband and wife do in private is between them.
And I’ll close with that all-time parental classic: that when she chooses to be in a similar relationship, that privacy and respect will be more appreciated and fully understood. In other words, “You’ll understand when you’re grown-up.”
nsfw
I recently posted at the other site about some of my preferences in the bedroom (so to speak). There’s no way to clean it up for here, so just be sure to take a look over there when you can.
the jealousy
It’s the first thing that people seem to want to know. How do I handle it? How does it not eat me alive to think of my husband being with another woman?
I squirm over the true answer, and I sometimes consider lying. I feel like I’m expected to say, “Oh! Are you kidding me? It’s terrible, it’s the worst, the hardest part, I can’t even bear to think of him with someone else, it only works when I don’t have to see it,”
something that will reassure the asker that, yes, I am just like you. You and me, we’d feel the exact same way, and your jealousy would be normal.
But that’s not the truth at all. The truth is so simple that I’m suspicious of it sometimes myself.
I don’t get jealous of the other women that Jack is with. When I see him kiss another girl, or whisper in the ear of the wife at the table that isn’t me, or when I know that he’s somewhere else, away from me, [not clothed] with someone that isn’t me,
I feel happy for him. I love that he gets to experience that thrill and flush and [joy]. I like it that the one thing I can’t be for him (a different [physical] experience than what I am), I can at least give to him via my blessing and permission.
More than my husband, he’s also my best friend, and why would I want to stop my best friend from enjoying and experiencing what life has to offer?
Sometimes I sense a smug judgment flashing through the cognizance of the other person, when I tell the truth. She thinks (and it’s always a “she”), Well, it’s apparent that you just don’t love your husband as much as I love mine since you would freely let him go off and be with another woman. How sad for you.
I don’t ever try to set anyone straight. I believe that the truth is far too scary for most people to process — that actually, I love my husband so very much that I can put aside my own selfish instinct to possess and control, and let him continue to grow and develop as a human being without having to own his every cell and fiber.
I also suspect that most women, when confronted with the idea of an open marriage, have to admit deep down that there are self-esteem issues relating to that jealousy. “If I let him go sleep with another woman, he might fall in love with her and leave me.”
Remember that confidence bordering on conceit that I mentioned? Sorry, here it comes:
My husband will never leave me for another woman. There’s no reason to: there isn’t anyone out there that could be a better partner for him than me.
The reason our open marriage works is that we don’t have to cling to one another out of a panicky fear that the other is just about to make a break for it. The freedom to go off and explore is the very reason we always want to come home.
Dolly Do-Gooder
When I say that I’ve chosen a life that requires that I maintain an appearance of propriety, I’m not kidding.
I’m completing my first year in the Junior Ladies Auxiliary, the fictional name of a very non-fictional women’s volunteer organization. I am on a committee within the organization and I also have to complete a certain number of outside volunteering hours in addition to my committee involvement. I’d like to do more than just the required minimum, but it’s difficult because I’m also…
on the executive board of my sorority’s local alumnae chapter. We’ll call it the Alpha Nu Alumnae League, because the acronym amuses me.
Those are my primary volunteer commitments, and sometimes I get suckered into the occasional secondary short-term thing like helping out a local political campaign… coordinating a PTA fundraising drive… planning my company’s Christmas party…
The problem (or blessing) is two-fold: I like to help people in need, and I’m just a girl who can’t say no.
Those attributes might overextend me in my community life, but they also make me the ideal sl ut.
[on how my marriage got the way it is]
[This is an entry that really should be read in original format to be appreciated.
The summary: through my adolescence and early adulthood, I found that my heart could stay faithful but my mind and body could not. I acted out on my infidel notions more often than not, and finally came to terms with it being a part of who I am. It's not about the act of che ating, which indicates a psychological shortage; it's about physically becoming restless, and craving novelty. When I met Jack, I wanted to be honest with him so I came right out and explained my thoughts and feelings on the matter. He kept an open mind, got on board, and here we are.]
I hate this part.
I hate the launching of a new website (this coding, hosting, organizing) almost as much as I hate moving.
And I hate moving so much that if I had kids to feed and had to pick one or the other, I’d be a [lady of the evening] before I’d become a professional mover.
