She didn’t want to know his name.
It was important that I did, but anything more than that would move it from one thing to another. It was a ledge she wanted to sit on, and if there were too many things to hold onto, the excitement would vanish with the fear.
He was waiting in the room when she entered, and I could feel her heart beating through my grip on her arm. Her eyes settled on him in an instant, and for a brief moment I wondered if she might change her mind. By the time she stood in front of him, we could both hear her breath, and when I reached the zipper on the back of her dress a sigh escaped her lips.
“Would you like to see her naked?” I asked, stepping up beside him where he sat. We eyed her up and down, her lip trembling in worried anticipation. His nod was enough, and I marvelled at his composure.
Her dress fell to the floor in silence. She stepped forward, closer to him since there was no where else to go, and his hands moved instantly to her hips. When I unclasped her bra and removed it she trembled, and when I finally slid the lace off her thighs, she sighed once more. I pulled her hands behind her back an instant later, and she stood in front of him, bare to his wandering eyes and hands.
“I thought you’d like her,” I said, watching him take her in, even as I kissed her neck, my grip never loosening. “But tell me. Do you want to fuck her? If not, I’ll simply take her away.”
Without a word he pulled her onto his lap, her thighs parting as she straddled him. She leaned back and groaned, feeling him hard between her legs, and when my fingers gripped her hair she was nearly coming.
“Yes,” he whispered, his hands on her breasts, twisting and teasing her body in an instant. “I do want to fuck her. Now, in fact.”
She struggled to move, her arms still held firmly in my grasp as he undid his belt. She struggled not to beg as he pulled his hard cock from his pants, her cunt opening around him as her hips moved involuntarily, trying to take him inside her. I kissed her mouth as she groaned, and I reached between their bodies, opening her lips and pushing two fingers inside her. She was soaking wet, her want as urgent as his.
“Are you ready?” I asked her, holding him against her. “Are you ready to get fucked?”
“Please,” was all she could say, mumbling the word over and over again as she struggled against us both.
A second later and it was done. He lifted her up, wrapped his hand firmly around his cock, and then lowered her back down, thrusting inside her in one motion. Her head rolled back, her eyes opened wide, and the scream that left her mouth was animal and uncontrolled. I pushed her down hard as he pulled her to him, thrusting his cock inside her, as she grew louder and louder with each passing second.
“I want to come,” she moaned. “And I want him to come. Oh god, I want both of you to come. I want everything.”
She bit her lip as I stepped in front of her, my own cock in my hand as I watched them fuck. I leaned forward, pulling a nipple between two fingers, pinching her harder and longer than I ever had before as she called out my name over and over again. He didn’t once slow down, and it only took minutes before she began to clench around him, her whole body starting to let go.
When she came, she shook the room. When she came time stopped, the earth shifted on its axis, and the heavens shuddered in envy. When she came she drenched his body, her cunt letting go of everything, spilling her release across his skin.
When she came we both followed instantly, him deep inside her, and me covering her breasts and neck as I pulled her to me with one hand wrapped in her hair. He kissed her mouth and then I did, all of us shaking and moaning without any words at all, our bodies flooding each other in wave after wave of pleasure.
She didn’t stop, even after we did, her thighs clenching tightly as she lifted herself up and down, his cock still mostly hard inside her. She leaned in, his teeth now finding her skin as she came once more, this time lifting off of him, exploding everywhere as the shudders took her from head to toe. Her arms around his neck, and his face between her breasts, she held him there struggling to say a word.
When she looked up at me there was adoration in her eyes mixed in with relief and the desire for more. She grinned and she shook when I kissed her. She closed her eyes as he pulled her close, and he held her tightly as she gently rocked above him, their bodies soaked with release.
It was a long time before anyone said a thing, and then it was just one word. She kissed him slowly and firmly before looking up and pulling me close.
“Again,” she said, her eyes closing as her hips began to move once more.
in the morning she lies between us
her lips parted and her body still bruised
the room smells of honeysuckle
and sex with a hint of coffee
just beginning to brew
he opens his eyes and smiles at me
our minds drifting back
to just hours before
as she writhed between us
needing us to
fuck her harder with each
I can see the mark he left on a shoulder
and her skin
is red from my come
when she rolls to her back
our eyes open wider
and we lose all restraint
our hands begin to move
and her thighs part
shredding our memory
and replacing it instantly
when she stretches her limbs
her body waking from a dream
it’s with a whisper on her battered lips
more she says softly
I want more
When I think about the night we spent together it all piles up in my head, and it’s nearly impossible for me to pull any single detail from the whole. If I could write about sex with her it would be one word, the letters of a thousand others bunched up on top, sitting in one place, ready to explode. If I could write about her, it would be a thousand voices all speaking at once.
I know that I asked her for a kiss, and I know that from that moment on all of our words were whispered in ears as we lost clothes, tugged and scratched skin, and discovered things about each other we didn’t know. I didn’t know how hard she liked to be pushed until she whispered it in my ear. I didn’t know she wanted me to fight back until I pinned her arms above her head and listened to her breath. I didn’t know she wanted me inside her until she opened her legs and closed her eyes.
There were times when I wanted to slow down until the sensation of our bodies was the only thing in the world. There were times when I wanted to stop and stare into her eyes without moving a muscle. But quiet wasn’t what she needed, and it wasn’t what my body wanted. It was my brain telling me to slow down. It was my thinking mind so used to worry and fear that it nearly shut me off without noticing.
But somehow I managed to avoid it, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t her lips. Or if I said it wasn’t her words. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t her skin and her mouth urging me to forget everything. And somehow I did. Somehow I forget to struggle and I forgot to be afraid.
Somehow I forgot to think at all.
“I’m not monogamous”, sounds different to me than “oh yeah, we’re poly” — with a long ‘o’ and a rolling ‘l’ like David Duchovny talking about bloooooogs. Not to skew the sample, but clearly I’m having a word issue today. Aside from the problematic latin/greek roots issue, what bothers me is that it’s a whole lot more work than simply saying no to an insane concept of outdated structures.
The word polyamory implies a history of relationship styles with an almost required hierarchy that is hard to predict. It’s Dottie whispering in my ear that I should be fucking all my friends and it’s Tristan asking me which box I fit into to see if we can be friends. It’s married couples playing with singles while laughing about summer homes, and it’s pony tails and sandals that seem to imply making an effort is the latest sin. I can own my word baggage (I have after all, read the right books) but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Sometimes I think the word ‘honesty’ might be enough to replace it. If I’m being honest, I do want to sleep with that person. If I’m being honest I’m curious to see where it goes because this crush is going to strangle me in my sleep. If I’m honest I don’t want to come home tonight, and if we’re both being honest we’ve learned how to say no a whole lot, even though it’s nearly impossible for us to say no to anything.
But what’s worse than the self-righteously honest? Oh how quaint, we say with a laugh. Why don’t you try telling the truth?
If we’re honest as a culture, people cheat. And if we’re really honest, we understand that we’ve created an entertainment industry based on unhealthy and unsustainable models of love that leave out a whole spectrum of feeling. If we’re honest as a people we’re often afraid, and we desperately hope that the solution to our fear is to hold on tighter and close our eyes.
But instead of saying, “this thing we do as a culture doesn’t work, let’s tear it down,” we’ve said, “let’s create an alternative that feels just as safe but allows a bit more freedom”. Let’s create a new model that we can swallow without having to accept the reality of the mess. The reality that love isn’t safe. That relationships are volatile. The reality that love is always a risk.
There is little difference in what we all do, as much as we’d like to claim some moral superiority based solely on the amount of hours we’ve spent processing with our partners instead of sneaking out on the weekend and fucking a stranger in the park. Some people lie, some people cheat, and some people write contracts that detail every inch of their agreements. But it’s all messy. When we let ourselves fall in love without restraint, when we let ourselves be honest with what we want in both mind and body, and when we let ourselves stop seeking a safe harbor, it’s messy.
But trying to clean up the mess is a sisyphean task of ridiculous proportion. Especially when the mess is what moves us so hard to begin with. Especially when the mess is the part of love that refuses to play our game.
Especially when the mess is the part of love that is bigger than ourselves.