Chapter 9 – Flora (Part 1): Remember Me Like This

Mara Liked You!

Jacqueline Liked You!

Sophie Liked You!

Leena Liked You!

Noori Liked You!

Claudia Liked You!

Flora Liked You! Hit the heart to start a conversation 

❤ (18/11/2017)

It’s a match! You can now message Flora. Say hi!

The way I remember Flora from the beginning is my image of her in her blue overall (dungaree) cut-offs, and a loose summer t-shirt, her bronze-blonde hair curling loosely around her shoulders and her wide accordion case trialing with a low, constant growl behind her. I know that my view of her then is tainted by how she looked at the end; her hair is the wrong shade and the wrong length, her shirt the wrong colour. Nevertheless, I’m sure she must have been wearing one of her famous charity-shop outfits, the elements individually plucked from a Cancer Research or SPCA one-pound sale box. 

In my memory it is night time, and she is waving her hands about in that whimsical way of hers while she talks a mile a minute. And I’m smiling because her energy is filling the air around her, exciting me. We’re coming from our second date—or was it our third?—trickling from a small South London pub with a stage at the back where we’ve just been to a dubbed screening Spirited Away, a childhood favourite of mine, and the sweetness, loyalty, and reverence of children’s love has intoxicated us. The date was her idea. And it’s beautiful, the many little things you bond over at the beginning, the little sealants that form a bond. 

From the first Flora was nothing if not frugal with money, nothing if not liberal with ideas. When the notification came through Her about Flora, I expected to be disappointed; I hadn’t had much luck on Her and had decided to leave it active only for the stray diamond in the rough. That was Flora. In all of her photos she was bursting with sunshine; from the first reply she was attentive and alert. She was twenty-one and alive. The thing that got me about her was that she was exciting; she was my rocket like I was Ozzy’s, with her run-on sentences and over-enthusiastic progressivism.

Flora was part of my evolution. It was she who first put the name to it: polyamorous.

I discovered a new piece of me with Flora. Which is to say that many of the unexplained pieces of me came into context. I explained to her my relationship with Ozzy, it’s open doors, my hankerings for others, and it was she who first put the name to it: polyamorous. But she had never tried it. She was months out of a years-long monogamous relationship, but she, like Ozzy, was interested and open, willing to try something new. I still think she was brave to come into a relationship with an engaged woman like me. But it was easy for us. We were friends first, both girly and giggly and optimistic. It didn’t matter to her that I’d be married the following year, because marriage was nothing to her. Flora’s parents were aging hippies who had flitted from country to country in their youth and hadn’t bothered to put a ring on it. Two kids and two decades later and they still weren’t bothered to, and Flora had grown up without the fully pre-packaged doctrine of modern society, thus void of a reverence for marriage. She had a double-barreled last name that she wore with pride, a symbol of her parents’ unconventional union. 

In the months I’ve spent without her, the months I’ve spent as a married woman, the fact of my marriage is something I have come to consider with care. In my dating life it has become the news I have to break on first dates, and I break it gently. People hear the word “husband” and their eyes widen; they hear the word “marriage,” and they involuntarily withdraw, even as their heads bob yes and their tongues profess indifference. It is a habit most of us were trained up into, one, I admit, I did not put enough weight on before. But I had no such struggles with Flora. Instead of balking at the M word, she asked questions that challenged me to give it my own importance; they made me consider myself and my situation and the weight I alone ascribed to my relationship with Ozzy. Not only did she redefine my romantic life by giving my lifestyle a name, she prompted an investigation of my own motivations that helped me to articulate my reasons: Why did I want to get married? What was so special about this person? What would a wedding, a marriage give me that an alternative could not?

Flora’s skepticism was her greatest gift to me. In questioning my motives for my actions I reaffirmed their importance to me, not as a blind ritual, but as an intentional act. I was not my father’s daughter, rigid with the mandates of tradition, not my mother’s daughter, tame and obedient like the lamb a woman ought to be. My explanations to her gave me confidence, and it was confidence I needed at the time. They also, in the long game, fed the careful skepticism that keeps me questioning, keeps me open to incorporating new points of view into how I live my life. I never wanted to be stuck in my ways or unmoving; too much of that hurt me too young and too often. Flora was a part of my evolution. 

In fact, she changed the course of it.

This time last year Flora and I were kicking off our summer in our own ways. I had finished my Master’s classes and was settling into full-time wedding planning with Ozzy’s support. Flora was busy finishing up her studies. As an actor-musician in her final year of university, she was wrapped up in three final plays, and she began work on another just after her year ended. I came to a couple of her performances and I even brought Oz along to one, another voice to sing her praises. It was there, at that play, we met Felix. 

Polyamory was a buzzword with Flora then, and as soon as she knew he was for it, she latched on.

Flora was changing, and for the while I was cheering her on. She was still on her crusades, which I imagine will never stop—vegetarian out of a sense of global frugality, but would eat leftover meat from her waitressing jobs to keep it from going to waste; fervent recyclist of all things that could not be recycled—I brought along any aluminum foil or plastic cups to a picnic, I could be sure she would be taking them home to use them again; tight with money to the point of shopping almost exclusively at charity shops; champion of public transport to the point of practically shaming Lorin for taking pride in his vehicle; outspoken advocate of all things alternative or against the grain, whether it be they/them pronouns or partnership without marriage. I loved that about her. She ignited a part of me that will always be a rebel and also the part of me who was always eager to make the most of things, to make my resources count. But she was all of these things to a fault; she was nothing if not full-throttle. And I’ll admit I started to tire. Still, I can bear with a lot of things, but it was the polyamory she seemed to take over the edge. 

There’s no foolproof way to do it, in the same way there’s no foolproof way to do anything—not really—but there were wrong ways, and part of me still wonders if I can truly put it down to her recklessness or if it was just unfortunate circumstance. As her ex, I suppose I find it easy to blame her, but I’ll admit I may never know. Either way, it started with Felix. Felix was her first relationship outside of me, her first in years, seeing as not a year before she’d been with the longterm boyfriend she’d had since she was a teenager. I didn’t know it then, but Flora was rearing to stretch her sexual wings, and something about leaving university and launching into the wider world gave her the go-ahead. I didn’t mind at first since I too was testing out sleeping around, attempting one-night stands for the first time in my twenty-five years. Felix, as I may have mentioned and will no doubt mention again, was an actor on her first show out of uni and was eleven years her senior. He wasn’t particularly good-looking, but he had a massive amount of arrogance, which I suppose is its own kind of charm. Neither of us liked it. Flora would rage against it for the first few weeks. But what drew her in was his pro-polyamory attitude. Polyamory was a buzzword with Flora then, and as soon as she knew he was for it, she latched on, whether she knew it or not. At first he was just a lay—a damn good lay. Too good. Then he was calling her “for chats,” and she was feigning surprise as she recounted it to me. By the play’s close they were thick as thieves. I was no real fan of Felix’s; his acting was good on stage, but his attitude was irritating off-stage, and his arrogance really got under my skin. Still, something about the warm summer days and the excitement we were each feeling in our separate spheres made the two of us women hatch a plan. 

Somehow we came out with the plan: two threesomes, three couples, two weekends in a row.

It had started with Lorin, who first began to joke about meeting my girlfriend. Then, once Felix was in the picture, he chimed in too, and before long Flora and I both had our men in our ears saying things that men hope for but learn not to expect. But I rather liked the idea of Lorin and Flora, two good things in my life, coming together with me in the middle. So when it looked like Lorin might actually be available to make it happen, I put it to Flora. Somehow we came out with the plan that we would try the same thing with Felix: two threesomes, three couples, two weekends in a row. 

I should say I was on the fence about Felix until the very moment it happened, and it didn’t help that neither Ozzy nor Lorin could find a thing to like about him either (though some of this I put down to male ego, especially on Lorin’s part). The plan was that I would go to Felix’s house party with Flora. The cast of the play would be there, some of whom I already knew. Felix and I would get the chance to feel each other out without the pressure of a one-on-one or date-like situation, which Flora and I had tried previously with him. By the end of the night, if I didn’t want to go through with it, there would be no pressure to do so; but if I did, we’d all be primed by pre-arrangement and booze to strip. I’m sure I’ll get a kick out of detailing the inns and outs of the party that surrounded the night in my upcoming post on Threesomes. But the tl;dr is that throughout the course of the night I got very drunk and was put away in Felix’s bed to lie down. Flora came in to check on me at intervals, patting my hands with hers. I was glad then—as I am now—that I have never gotten so drunk that I blacked out or lost time, because I remember that night, a blur though it was. Felix came into the room, reaching for Flora, asking her if I was ok, telling me pointedly that if I was not that was fine, but I would need to get out and leave him and Flora to their fun. Flora called him out immediately on his rudeness, and then I was shrugging it off, telling her it was ok, trying to get up. Felix corrected himself, apologized, and maybe he meant it; either way, we came to an understanding. And then it seems he tried to make it up to me. I was too drunk to say who was kissing who first, but I remember the room and I remember the dark and I remember their bodies and the shapes their pale limbs cut in the darkness. I remember what Flora sounded like; they were akin to the sounds she made when it was just the two of us but louder and changed somehow, like a modified language in response to the difference in sensation. I remember how he kissed, the weight of his body he was always partially supporting to keep from crushing me, the low rumble of his voice asking me what I liked, telling Flora which way to turn. I remember that it was fucking glorious.

Felix and I had sex again when we woke up. The sun was sliding sideways through the window behind the bed, and Flora was still quiet with sleep. When we were done, she was stirring, and he rolled her over, rocked her awake, somehow reenergized in no time at all. I left them fucking on the bed, forgetting my bra in my dash, zipping up my romper and sliding my feet into my sandals before whispering an awkward goodbye at Flora and slipping from the room, from the house, from the neighborhood. 

I suppose I had thought it was something we could do together, but instead what Flora and I shared was not what either of us wanted. 

I was in a strange state of shock and awe, happy with the sex, disgusted by the man, confused by it all. And yet, the following weekend, it was my turn, my man, my polite and respectful man. In all honesty, I don’t know that it mattered to Flora whether or not the two of them got along. It didn’t much matter to Lorin either; after a few awkward hours chatting as a group, we went off to bed, and just like that Flora and I were at it again, this time sheathing a different sword between us. I suppose I had thought it was something we could do together, something we could share, our polyamory. We had been together for about eight months; our relationship predated these men, back to a time when we needed each other more and knew ourselves less. But in the end I don’t think we shared much in those threesomes. I think we each got something similar from them, but they were separate experiences, as unique as the relationship each of us had with our men. As I’ll tell later on, I got from that night something from Lorin that had nothing to do with her, and I believe she received a similar sort of confession from Felix. No, instead what Flora and I shared in that experience was not what either of us wanted. I say this often, I know, but I’ll come back to it in a later post in more detail. But ok, to tide you over for now: in short, we got Chlamydia. 

To be continued…

Glossary: 

Polyamorous: refers to someone who practices polyamory, the practice of, or desire for, intimate relationships with more than one partner, with the consent of all partners involved. It has been described as “consensual, ethical, and responsible non-monogamy.” It’s important to note that there’s an emphasis on mutual knowledge and consent. Also that polyamory is not just about sex but intimacy. You can explore this more in on the FAQ page.

Chlamydia (as defined by the UK NHS): one of the most commonly sexually transmitted infections (STIs) in the UK. It’s passed on through unprotected sex (sex without a condom) and is particularly common in sexually active teenagers and young adults.

If you live in England, are under 25 and are sexually active, it’s recommended that you get tested for chlamydia every year or when you change sexual partner.

I think we can see where this is going…