Last week, I went to my first-ever play
party, or orgy, and thenwrote about it here in exhaustive
detail. One big omission I made, however, was my interaction with a guy
we’ll call James. James was at the party with his longtime female
partner, as well as said partner’s boyfriend.
I didn’t write about James then because I wasn’t yet sure how he fit
into things. During the party, James and I hit off. I was attracted
to him. He was funny, and smart and a good conversationalist.
“Can I take you out sometime?” he finally asked. “I’d love to get
to know you better.”
“With your partner?” I asked. I identify as straight. I
think the female body is beautiful, but it’s not an object of sexual desire for
me. Life is long, and were I to become attracted to a woman, I would be
completely open to exploring that – but it hasn’t happened yet.
“Just us,” he replied. “I’d like to take you on a date, if you’re
interested.”
I’m not drawn to that many men. I wish I had a broader palate, but
I don’t believe in forcing that sort of thing. So it’s rare for me to
meet someone I feel a spark with, not to mention someone who I feel I could
potentially trust to respect my health, my safety, and my boundaries.
James, it seemed, could potentially check all those boxes. There
was only one caveat, as far as I was concerned: I never imagined myself as
someone who would be interested in polyamorous dating or relationships. I
had nothing against people who were – if you find something that makes you
happy and fulfilled and can do it without causing anyone else distress, my God,
go for it. It just never sounded personally appealing for me.
Moreover, I really wanted a long-term
monogamous partner and had been dating
my face offtrying to find one. But when I met
James two weeks ago, no one potentially interesting had yet surfaced.
Which left me with an interesting conundrum.
“I’ve never dated someone in a long-term partnership before,” I
said. “To be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about it for myself.
That said, I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you.”
He said he understood.
I thought about it for another
moment. Dating,at least in my experience, can be grim.
I missed companionship, and I missed sex. Didn’t I owe to myself to do
something enjoyable for once? I never thought I’d enjoy an orgy either,
and here I was, having a terrific time. Maybe I would surprise myself in
this venue as well.
I gave him my number.
James and I texted back and forth for a few days afterwards. He
was witty and charming. He expressed interest in the boring minutia of my
life that only people who really like you have patience for. We
discovered we had a lot in common, including a borderline obsessive love of
college football – but that we rooted for rival teams, which added an extra
charge to our flirtations.
I found myself going about my workday with one eye on my cell phone,
waiting for his next message. I smiled thinking about him.
And then, the morning before we were supposed to have dinner, the
strangest thing happened.
I had a panic attack.
As I’vewritten here previously, I have an
anxiety disorder which, thanks to great therapists and effective medication,
I’ve had under control for years now. (I can’t even remember the last
time I had a panic attack before this last one.) So when I felt the old,
scary symptoms – sweating, heart palpitations, a tightening across my chest – I
knew my body was reacting to more than just a physiological imbalance.
I called a friend.
“I know it has to be the date,” I explained to her. “I’m really,
really nervous about it. And I wish I weren’t, because he seems like a
great guy.”
“He probably is,” she replied. “But you’ve told me before that
you’re not interested in being polyamorous.”
The point she made was a fairly obvious
one: the idea of dating a guy in a long-term relationship with someone else
made me uncomfortable, so I shouldn’t do it. I knew she was right – after
all, I made such a big deal in my essay last week about honoring your
boundaries. But to my great surprise, I had difficulty
taking my own advice. I was
disappointed in myself: There was this great thing in front of me, and I was
getting in my own way and not letting myself have it. What was wrong with
me? Was I insecure? Possessive? Brainwashed by oppressive
cultural norms?
“Nothing’s wrong with you,” my friend said. “You’re
just not into it.”
My friend and I talked further. Ultimately, I still wanted a
monogamous relationship. That meant that even if James and developed a
relationship of our own, I was treating him as a glorified distraction, someone
to keep me company until I found the man I was really looking
for – at which point, I’d dump him. And that wasn’t fair to either of us.
Fortified by my new clarity, I took a deep breath and texted him: Hey
James, as I’ve done some thinking, I realize that it won’t work for me to date
someone in a committed relationship (despite your partner’s support).
I’ve loved getting to know you, but I don’t want to waste your time doing
something that will not ultimately be an authentic choice for me. I hope
you have a great day, and I wish you all the best.
He replied that he understood, and wished me all the best too.
I felt better immediately.
I don’t regret anything that happened. I’m deeply grateful to my
friend for helping me through my momentary freakout and allowing me to learn
from it – and to James, for being unfailingly respectful. I’m glad to
know now, for sure, that I couldn’t happily be in a polyamorous
relationship. I would feel jealous and insecure and
unfulfilled, and there’s nothing wrong with that, just as there’s nothing wrong
with someone else understanding that monogamy isn’t right for her.
If anything distresses me, it’s that despite all my posturing at consciousness-raising, I
apparently still struggle to honor my own authentic sexuality. Though I’m
trying to cut myself some slack – part of the growth process, I think, is
sometimes being uncomfortable and sitting with that. At the end of the
day, it’s all about gaining self-knowledge and acting on that.
And, to be fair, I really, really hate James’s football team.
