I don’t fuck other people’s boyfriends. I just don’t. It’s bad form, on the whole. And nothing good comes of it. So how the hell did I end up in bed with another woman’s man? Not only that, but with her permission? And then a few weeks later, again, this time, with her in attendance? What the actual fuck, as they say on the interwebs.
Let me caveat. I’m not talking a saucy threesome here. I haven’t popped that particularly cherry. Well not really. I’m talking a complicated grey area where the heady pursuit of experience hits the unyielding wall of reality. That awkward moment when you’re naked in the sack with two other people and it’s the sexual equivalent of washing the dishes. In fact, worse. The sexual equivalent of watching two other people wash the dishes. Something that seems like a good idea at the time, suddenly feels rather like a massive error of judgment. (Mangle that metaphor Dolce. You LOVE other people washing your dishes…but I digress…you know what I mean. A spectator to an act that it’s not particularly arousing. Are we clear now? No. Catch up, dammit.)
Actually, that’s not right either. No regrets. But it has left me a little ponderous. One of the unexpected side effects of my little journey to the dark side has been the general prodding, pushing and outright rubbing-out of certain boundaries. A tectonic shifting of how I understand the world to be. A world where fucking other people’s boyfriends is just not good etiquette. It turns out, that in many instances, it’s absolutely fine. In fact, encouraged. And if said partner can leap in, mores the merrier. Right? Mmm. Yeah, I’m not convinced. I find it hard enough to chill to the point of an “orgasmic rush of lust” to quote Rocky. I don’t need a) an audience or b) the performance anxiety. But that’s my shit. Also, I’m well on one end of the Kinsey scale, so bi-shagging is largely one-sided. Well, in my head, since as mentioned, my experience factor is now sitting at a field of 1. Lastly, sex (for me) is pretty much always better when it’s with someone you really dig. And know. And trust. Did I mention trust? Especially on the dark side.
I think I’ve just decided that I don’t like being the ‘third’ in these sorts of ménage a trios’. I’m not closing the door on that particular adventure. But perhaps I’d be happier as part of the pair. Or perhaps the trick is to be a triangle of singles.
I digress again. I need to think this out.
In short. I’m still not entirely sure I want to make a habit of shagging attached men. Or indulging in threesomes for that matter. And I sure as hell am not interested in anything that doesn’t result in me being shagged properly (yes, I am sub blogging), no matter how many folk are involved.
The silver lining to this particular playbook? A particular attached itch has been scratched and no longer appears to be itchy. Ding!