I woke up to another romantic poem, still feeling skittish from the night before.
After we exchanged a few words to bring in the morning, I got to the point.
“Sooo about last night…. Are you able to be more descriptive about the ‘celebration’?”
Sammy got to it right away.
“My night: After a thrilling moment with you and the ocean, I went home with a carful of beautiful produce grown by friends at the market. Three women who are dear hearted people and a friend group welcomed me home. I made a fire outside and then we created a meal together from the bounty. We sat by the fire outside … shared poetry, sang, told stories, and there were moments when I got to feel deeply seen. I also had the opportunity to relieve a sore neck and carry an older woman to her car. She was over the moon about it … couldn’t remember the last time she was carried, and I felt wonder in the delight of the simplest acts of service.”
I doubled over (the opposite way), speechless. Once again, until I gained my composure, a swirly heart emoji saved me.
I explained my misunderstanding. I couldn’t wait to talk to Sammy about everything face to face. Clearly, there was plenty that I didn’t understand; my nervous system was on high alert.
Like the photos. Sammy had been sending them to me so I could get a better sense of her life. She had asked beforehand if I was okay with nudity in photos, and I was an adult so I consented to receiving them. But – I didn’t know she’d be naked in all of them…gardening, mixing a drink, chopping wood, working out, gathering eggs, cooking, swimming in the lake…. I knew what her body looked like from every angle, and we hadn’t even kissed yet. It was a bit…much.
“We spend a lot of time naked,” she told me. “I even tend bees naked :)” I had no proof that this wasn’t an exaggeration. (Yet.)
Perhaps these photos were part of the legwork for an upcoming fundraiser? A sexy calendar, the proceeds from which would benefit a nudist rights organization?
More likely, these photos were curated especially for me to highlight Sammy’s sex appeal. Which she had plenty of. I didn’t need the photos to see that. I assumed from the gesture that it must be customary to send this type of subtle marketing to “love interests” in the poly- community.
But. Maybe I was wrong. I was beginning to question my judgement.
I explained to Sammy that I was generally clothed for photos.
I commented on her beautiful shapes.
“<<shy me thanks you>>” she responded.
“Shy? Really? Lol, too late to have me thinking that.”
She explained that she was shy in sending me the photos but did so because she tries to feel the fear in things and do them anyway. And besides, she said, nudity would be the least of her shyness with me.
“What do you feel most shy about?” I asked her.
“Maybe my desire.”
“Do you feel shy with everyone you desire?”
“Yes. And that has only distinctly happened with two people in my life.”
I woke up the next morning to the news that my grandmother had passed away overnight at the age of 99 years. Nearly a century of living on this planet, and now, during this particular half-rotation of the earth, she had chosen to exit life as she knew it. So did I. Neither of us, I imagined, had any idea what would come next.
I reveled in the timing. She knew. She must have. My grandmother was wise – and special. I contemplated Grams and the concept of “time.” Her magnetism had always tampered with the time. She couldn’t keep a watch on her wrist because time would slow down and eventually stop…. Once, when I was a few years old and too excited for tomorrow to be able to sleep tonight, she told me, “The sooner you sleep, the sooner tomorrow will come.” And she was right. I marveled at her magic.
She was a Time Master.
And now, she was right again. Big Right. Magic.
I found Anthony and caught him up on all the news. My grandmother. The conversation with Sammy. All about it. The condensed version. I pulled some juicy threads so he could share in my excitement and, frankly, in my incredulity.
The chosen highlights aroused him.
I felt him out a little longer…dug a little deeper for the answer I wanted to ask: Was it actually acceptable to him for his wife to have an intimate relationship with another woman, or was that just his fantasy?
“Go for it,” he said. “You do you, man.” I gazed at him, hesitating after what seemed like a flippant reply to a pretty big deal. “Just be careful,” he added. “Two families are involved here.”
I knew that. I wasn’t worried. And besides the mild cautionary note, he didn’t seem worried either. My position with Anthony was secure. I knew myself well enough to know that I was committed to this marriage. I had always been adamant about divorce not being an option under any circumstance. We had been through a decade of years together, and I hadn’t backed out yet. I loved him. And as far as I knew, some extra excitement and intimacy weren’t threats. I was in this marriage for life.
I ran to Sammy like a schoolgirl on the playground, relaying all the details to my bff.
Superbloom had given a similar message to Sammy about our quickly forming bond: be mindful. Both of our spouses had previously assumed, given the lack of clear evidence, that Sammy and I were imagining more of a connection than there actually was.
“She knows she’s doing it, right? I’m not totally making it up?” Sammy had asked Superbloom, once upon a conversation about us. Sammy showed her our text exchange, full of poetic metaphor and veiled innuendo.
“You totally read into everything,” she replied. “I’m sure she’s not thinking what you’re thinking she’s thinking.”
Given the new development, I wondered how Superbloom was feeling about this budding romance. Sammy assured me that Superbloom had been enjoying the beauty of it all and, in fact, had wanted the night before to send me a “hot” photo of the birthday girl at dinner. Sammy sent it to me now.
She did, indeed, look beautiful. Her face still wasn’t familiar enough to me though to register what I felt. This would take some getting used to. Over the airways, my heart stayed remarkably close to hers; seeing real-life photos of her was disconcerting. I questioned what it meant to be physically attracted to someone.
I also noticed that the dinner guest in the photo was blacked out. I wondered at the significance.
The day went on with few check-ins. Sammy had been busy managing the local farmer’s market all afternoon, and after wrapping it up, she took time to catch up with me.
She wished she was bringing me strawberries.
Mid-conversation, Sammy was caught texting me alongside the road. Superbloom and X (Superbloom’s lover) had intended to sweep her away for a quick dip in the ocean, and she was stalling for a moment to connect with me.
With this, Sammy told me that she would join the waiting others and promised that she’d be back soon. She sent me a photo of two nude backsides running towards the setting sun and into the waves.
Sammy, I saw in my mind’s eye, was the third.
When she returned: an unintended bombshell.
It had come up innocently enough. Sammy was “entertaining some folks” later on that night. “One woman in every decade of life, 40-70.”
I froze in shock at the liberal display of an open relationship structure that I was only beginning to form a picture of. “A woman in every decade of life” helped to paint that picture too vividly, too soon.
A themed party???
People host themed game nights, so why not themed sex nights? I tried to reason. It makes sense.
No, I argued. It doesn’t make sense! This is immoral and absurd. What have I gotten myself into?
My mind began involuntary calculations. Four women including Sammy, or four women besides Sammy? And then…she had mentioned a “friend” staying over last week. Was this a friend, or a friend? Five…maybe more…in the couple of weeks I’ve known her…and then me…intended lucky six?
Troubled, I couldn’t think of a thing I wanted to say to Sammy except that I hoped that her night was as fulfilling as she wished. I needed distance to breathe, to feel safe again.
What did it mean that just last night we were confessing love and deep attraction for each other, and tonight she was with someone(s) else? My perception of our connection, which I thought was unique, was disrupted by the addition of this new information. Could I let go of everything I was accustomed to expecting out of relationship in order to engage in this moment with this person? Was that even something I wanted, given what I knew now? To let go of the whole framework? I was being asked to take an even bigger step than the gigantic one I had taken just the night before. Was there enough real about our affinity to be worth the risk?
Throughout the evening, I caught mental flashes of what Sammy must be doing…where her hands must be, what her lips must be doing. I pushed them away as fast as I could, in panic, in disgust, so as not to drive myself crazy. Was I really careless enough to fall in love with someone who pops an orgy like one pops an Advil?
I was reminded of Anthony’s friend from the Island who fell in love with a prostitute after having been her client. He wooed her, took her on lavish dates, showered her with attention. She accepted these bids but in the end, the relationship didn’t seem to mean as much to her. He was driven mad with jealousy and heartache as she received his gifts and continued seeing clients. I pitied him. But I also felt slightly amused at the outcome which I believed he deserved.
Maybe I also deserved this.
Somehow, I felt fine being in the same boat as him. I’m the dumb bastard who fell in love with someone who couldn’t possibly feel the same way, who had a completely different view of sex and relationship. One of my favorite movie lines came to mind: “I feel like I just found out my favorite love song was written about a sandwich.”
I felt dejected, and with the changing of the wind, I wasn’t sure I could pursue this…whatever-it-was. Did our connection feel so strong, so awe-inspiring, so divine…that it was worth the cost? The cost of breaking all of the rules, looking like an idiot, and having my heart shattered into a million pieces?
Sammy.
Something inside me said yes but I didn’t know why. She was worth it, whatever the cost. But tonight was not the time to decide anything. My heart and head couldn’t handle it.
To be honest, I responded sooner than I was ready to. I never had an expectation or even a formulated guess of what the situation would need to look like in order for Sammy to be interested in me. That’s the beautiful thing about fantasy. No explanation needed. And now I had one I didn’t know what to do with. The new information weirded me out but it made the impossible possible. My fantasy was now alive. I felt compelled to respond with what my heart knew rather than what my mind would mull over and decide if given the chance.
I was scared and I was excited. I had so many questions and I had no idea where to start. I told Sammy that I felt the same way she did. She was ecstatic. Sammy had put into words so poetically the things my heart would have said if it had known how to and was just a touch braver. I told her I would need some time to process. She understood.
The rest of the night (morning, at this point), we talked about behind-the-scenes stuff. I had started falling for Sammy during the first massage. For Sammy, she knew there was something happening during our texting, but she had been mostly in denial up until the second massage. She caught herself making a playlist especially for me, for our second one, and she didn’t ever do that for clients. She wanted me to know that she took her profession very seriously and that she did not mingle those kinds of feelings with her massage business. She apologized, having known what I was feeling now, if it caused any confusion or discomfort for me. On that note, she said I would need to find a different massage therapist. I was tickled.
I asked Sammy if there were others (in our tiny town) who knew about their open arrangement. She said there were. “Do you ever worry about becoming exposed in that way, or is it not a concern?” I genuinely asked. She answered me. “I personally don’t know what could come of it. If we are leading with our hearts, respectfully communicating as best we can, I think more good could come of the example than bad from the judgments. What would be your worry?” Honestly, I didn’t know how to answer because it was self-explanatory (to someone like me) why one would worry about that. It was embedded in my question. If one was exposed, they would most certainly be judged. And that was a thing full of terror. My whole life, I feared being judged. And for something as taboo as sex life…dear God…hold on.
Sammy confessed that she had sent Superbloom and her lover away after the birthday dinner just so that she could have this conversation with me. I wondered then about the logistics of their relationship and their other relationships. When do they find time to be with lovers and with each other? How do they work it out? Sammy told me that she and Superbloom shared a couple of days a week together and two weekends a month. They had met young and been together for nearly a couple of decades, inseparable up until the opening of their marriage. I didn’t know what to think…or to feel. Was I sad for them? Impressed? A question to be answered later…or never. I knew that my opinion didn’t matter but the mind has a tendency to make sense one way or another out of what’s foreign (and therefore disturbing). It wasn’t working.
Sammy asked what made it possible for me to be with her that night, and I forgot that she couldn’t have known that. I explained my recent choice to sleep in my own room occasionally. She thought this was creative…progressive…revolutionary! And on top of that, when she had asked about Anthony’s intrigue around our connection, the most that I was able to say was, “He asked if he could watch. I told him no, probably not. He said that was okay, that I could just tell him everything so that he could enjoy the details, but he doesn’t believe that I will.” From this, she exclaimed, “That’s amazing! What an open, trusting, lighthearted man you found!” She wasn’t wrong. Although for me, that flavor had much more complexity. And I didn’t tell her then that his comments were more dismissive than they were “full of intrigue.” I had never wanted to talk about him in a way that had others not thinking the best about him, and here was another specimen. Anyway, he was open, trusting, and lighthearted. He was a lot of great things, so why dive into clarifications that seemed unnecessary?
With that previous bit of conversation, we opened another door that I didn’t know was still shut for Sammy. I had (quickly and technically, almost accidentally) spoken to Anthony about sexual possibility with Sammy. He had no objections to our connection. I conveyed this to Sammy.
Then she realized.
This was a go. We.
She had been trying to put this fantasy out of her mind, she said, and now….
[This is where they cut the tape. You now see only a black screen or cute kittens sleeping for about an hour. Awww…aren’t they cute?]
