I wonder what it means; I just wanna know what it means

My entry from November 16, 2007 has prompted me to write about an issue that is central to my beliefs on relationships and a huge part of why I started this blog. That legendary issue is monogamy. I could write a few theses on the topic of monogamy, and I will address it numerous times on this blog. For now, I want to discuss it in relation to my recent time with KJ.

I went to visit KJ with expectations high as the Rocky Mountains. These days my previously unbeatable optimism is nowhere near what it used to be, but he and I have flirted copiously in the past and have admitted how we adore one another and think the other HOTT. The last time I saw him, in full view of my partner, he even put his arm around me and held me tight as we talked for a long time in a loud club. I was going to be in his city for five days; he away from his other-country-living new girlfriend, and me, many states away from my partner. Freedom? A chance to have tickle fights on my hotel bed?

Every day and night we spent together made my body burn and positively ache with desire for KJ. I touched him constantly, but I wanted our faces to touch, to kiss him deeply, and to seduce him dramatically, taking hours to undress him. I truly believed we would have an unspoken agreement that we did not want to rock each other’s boats (in one sense!) in terms of our “regular” relationships, but that we could enjoy each other’s company intimately. I would accept even just a kiss, I would take anything.

But as all unspoken things tend to be, I never felt like I read him correctly. Anyone who saw us interacting surely must have thought that we were lovers, the way we sat close to one another, the way we looked in each other’s eyes, the way we smiled at each other. I have a picture of me from one of our nights together. The twinkle in my eye! My eyes have not glittered so joyously in years. If he would have just told me what he was feeling, I could have made better sense of what he wanted, did not want, and what our boundaries were. And so I sit here, post-KJ trip, bemused, confused, and bedraggled. My desire untapped, my longing deeper, and my sadness ever growing.

If I could start all over again with my current partner, I would tell him that I cannot remain monogamous for very long. It is difficult to predict. I cannot give you an exact time. Maybe a year or two. But I grow bored. I love falling in love, I love falling in lust. I love when opportunities arise or when I am just the gift to fall in someone’s lap. Being in a strict, black-and-white monogamous relationship flattens all of the incredible possibilities that the big beautiful world offers to us dreamers and wanderers.

If KJ wasn’t willing to take advantage of our delicious time alone together, it just confirms to me how dulling monogamy can be. He nearly pawed me lasciviously just a year ago when he was still single, though I wasn’t. Something changed for him and he feels he must honor his commitment in the way society and most others around expect of couples. I truly believe this model of heterosexist monogamy will leave most, if not all, couples unhappy, unfulfilled, and hopeless at some point.

I don’t want that. I don’t ever want the kind of firecrackers KJ set off inside my body to ever stop.

The only problem is what fades first

Don’t you hate it when you forget what someone’s touch feels like, how their physical presence feels beside you, what their lips taste of? It’s now been two weeks since I left alone from a beautiful time with KJ. Yes, I know I will be writing a lot about him for awhile (maybe longer). After all, he is the one who inspired me to start this blog, such fierce desire I have for him.

I long for his touch, no matter how platonic it may have been, or rather, was supposed to be. His embrace felt all encompassing to me. He engulfed me; made me feel vulnerable yet wanted, desired, appreciated. I am an out and proud feminist, but I do not believe that feeling vulnerable is something one must immediately quash. It is one of many rich emotions that make up our complex relations to one another.

I had not been touched in a very, very long time. I hug friends and family when I happen to see them (which is rare as they live far away). I have not been touched sexually in an even longer time except, well, by my own hands.

And I long to touch! I touched KJ constantly, his long, lithe limbs, his milky white smooth skin, his strong hands and elegant fingers. God! I remember the night in which we (accidentally) held hands. It felt like an eternity to me; his palm pressed into mine, our fingers intertwined. Our hands touching burned a fiery trail straight to my heart and to my nether regions. He removed his from mine first.

He does, after all, have a girlfriend. She is further away from him than I am. Much further.

And so I sit here. Maybe not entirely alone but consumed entirely with loneliness. And I’m forgetting what KJ felt like to hold, what he smelled like, and what our bodies felt like together.

I have no regrets for what I did

It was just over one week ago that I left the person who made me feel more alive than I have in years. KJ. I had nearly a week of having my hairs stand on end, of feeling tingly all over, of having my heart soar and heavily thud thud thud as I neared the end of every day knowing that I was going to see him that night.

I was so turned on and touched him constantly during our times together. I felt like I had never been so tactile before. I felt like my palms might get calloused from touching him so much.

Of course I wanted to do more than to touch him. How could I not? But there was an invisible line between us. One which I was ready to step over the moment I saw him for the first time in over a year, but one that he didn’t seem completely comfortable crossing.

Our last night together did not have the glorious ending that I hoped it would have.  We probably never stepped over that line together, though to casual observers, we were most certainly lovers. I will step over that line again and again in my mind on that night.

He came all too willingly up to my hotel room to say goodbye. I presented him with flowers for all that he had done for me on my trip to his city. I was so nervous that I could barely speak. I could not remember when I last shook with such an intense concoction of desire, lust, attraction, anxiety, and sheer nerves.

We hugged many times. He is tall but I am not short. My head reaches to underneath his collarbone. He held my hands. We could not look each other straight in the eye. I played with his scarf. I want to change where we went from there.

I would have come up behind him and wrapped my arms around him; the left around his middle and the right would creep up his back to his neck. I never touched his neck, his face, his hair. I would have buried my face in his back and held him tightly so he could not let go. I would touch his neck, and move up to his hair; his glorious, gorgeous blond fringy tendrils of hair. I would slowly wind my fingers around wisps of his hair until he moaned. I would touch his luscious vegan vanilla skin – so soft! He could not resist. He would turn around and finally look me in the eye steadily. And then we would kiss and fucking fireworks would go off. They already had done. Why not now?