I hope anyone in London reading this had a lovely London Pride! Jules and I had a beautiful day together and danced the night away while Oz and Richard marched the parade and then went out for drinks at night, the four of us splitting into same-sex pairs by rather fitting happy accident. But yes,… Continue reading Chapter 18 – Married for What
People died everyday from unexpected accidents, stupid shit—losing control on a bicycle, standing up to a thief, trying to operate machinery, terrorist attacks. Losing him would destroy me; I couldn’t take it... My fear of loss crystalized into a fear of love without proof. How could I prove my claim was as sound as any other? I tried not to think about it. I forced my mind to other things, nodded to the fear and then tried to let it go. Until my phone lit up and flooded me with relief.
I drew a picture of Jules in the first month of knowing her and we both agreed that it was a true representation of her. Jules raved for days that it captured her body dimensions and attitude exactly, down to the wide-legged stance, the lit cig in her hand, the Harry Potter dressing gown. La Devastadora I called her, Jules’ badass alter ego, named for her affinity for Spain and Spanish, her devastating skill in the bedroom. La Devastadora was what I saw when I looked at her.
Lorin asked me about my optimal number, the number of partners I could realistically maintain without neglecting any. At that time I was sure it was three. I suppose that after the introduction of the term “polyamory” to my life, I had started to think of the “poly” part in its multiplicity, its potential to keep growing. If I wasn’t drawing the line at one partner, one relationship, why draw the line at two?
When love struck again, I took it to him, my deepest confessions, my biggest worries. I needed someone to talk to that didn’t have as big of stakes as Oz would as my primary partner. Lorin was patient and used to giving advice. He was the perfect fit. These are the words we traded in those first few weeks of her.
Oz and I were married in a Unitarian chapel in North London, and afterwards two old-fashioned London buses. came to ferry us south of the river to the reception. I wanted my wedding to be a meeting of elegant opposites, a blending of cultures, preferences, personalities, a coming-together. And yet, for all its success at bringing together so many other disparate things, the wedding was nothing if not a convergence of lovers that started out well but quickly went south.
Here’s what she claims: she and Felix were clean. Here's what we can guess: Lorin was clean when he last got checked roughly two months previously. I’d bet he was clean at the time of the threesome, and if he was, I was. We all had to admit though: No one knew for certain.