And Then There Were Two
Anyone who has read my ramblings knows that monogamy isn’t my style. That said, I've been resisting putting a label on myself until now. Part of me feels like I shouldn’t have to. Why does everyone who isn’t “hetero“ or “monogamous“ have to “come-out“ as themselves? We can often get so caught up in the labeling that we lose sight of who the person is and what they stand for, instead focusing on who they fuck and their lifestyle choices.
We matched on an app. I was drawn to his handsome smile, athletic pursuits, international background and his use of the word polyamory. After one or two messages he inquired, “You read my profile? You saw that I’m Poly?”
To which I smiled and replied, “Yes, it’s one of the things that attracted me.”
It was more than just the labeling that had prevented me from embracing the word polyamorous. I want a family and that for me includes children; I’ve been struggling to see how ethical non-monogamy works successfully with children. There are almost no media examples and I personally didn't know anyone achieving this. Yet here is this man; he is smart, charming, kind and confident with two children, a primary partner and a commitment to openness and honesty. He knows what he wants and there is a clear structure of what works when it comes to additional partners.
We sat across from each other, the seafood restaurant in the Old Port of Montreal was nearly empty on this Friday afternoon. I'd just spent 4 hours at Scandinave Spa and was beyond relaxed from the thermal cycle. A light dusting of snow was sprinkling down, evaporating as it made contact with the pavement. Our eyes were fixed on each other and the tension building all week from our messages was thick in the air. Part of me wanted to clear the table with a sweep of my arm, lean across and pull this man towards me; I should have, but I didn't.
We stood on the cobblestone street after lunch and with the glow of the white Christmas lights sparkling in the sky above us, he kissed me. Shivers ran down my spine and through my being. A kiss like that could only mean one thing and I’d spend the next 24 hours until our first dinner date fantasizing about the way his tongue would penetrate me… Let’s call him Hugh.
P.S. After he read this draft he responded by saying, “I'm pretty sure you kissed me…” but given that he clocks in at over 6 feet tall and I’m just a touch above 5 foot 2 inches, I beg to differ.