The View From My Knees

Original photo by Mac

Sometimes I feel like my love life is just one big (really mean) prank someone is playing on me. I know that sounds overdramatic, but bear with me a moment. I mean, I’d already been feeling overwhelmed with the emotional energy it takes to juggle a husband and a serious boyfriend. I’d almost stopped casual dating altogether just so I could have some time to myself. And then comes Vincent. Okay, he didn’t just fall into my lap. I’ll admit I chased him a bit. But what was supposed to be a fun fling to ease my boredom turned into a couple of kids falling head over heels for each other. Hard. And fast. Of course, the whole herpes thing threw us for a loop, but we’re dealing with it. Sort of. And now this? Boy, if we thought things were complicated before, they just got bumped up a notch.

Cancer. He might have cancer. Sure, why not just throw one more big fat complication at us?

He jokingly blames me. After all, I was the reason he went to the doctor in the first place. All he wanted was a Valtrex prescription so he could control outbreaks now that he was about to enter into a new sexual relationship.

“And by the way, Doc, what do you think of this weird lump in my neck?”

After that he went through a series of tests and appointments with specialists. I accompanied him as often as possible. I let him squeeze (crush) my hand when his oncologist poked needles into his neck. I smiled encouragingly while a tiny camera was shoved up his nose and down into his throat, and joked that I had now seen parts of his body no other woman had ever seen. I kept him company in waiting rooms and took him to breakfast after early-morning appointments. I didn’t do this out of any kind of feeling of obligation or even because he asked. I did it because I wanted to. In the short time I’d known him I’d already grown immensely fond of him, and I wanted to be there when he needed someone. I was glad I could be that someone. And yes, going through all of this with him did create a much stronger bond much more quickly than if we’d just spent those first few weeks going to bars together and having a lot of sex. But does that make it any less meaningful? I don’t think so.

Unfortunately, the one appointment I couldn’t go to was the most important one of all. This was it. There were no more tests to run and no more options to discuss. Is it, or isn’t it?

It is.

Thyroid cancer, or something like that. I couldn’t really hear the details through the haze I went into when he told me. But don’t worry, he says. It’s perfectly treatable, provided they slice open his neck to remove that big cancerous lump that’s been growing in there. Oh, and might as well take out that pesky thyroid so it doesn’t do this again. Complications from the surgery? Oh yeah, there could be some. But seriously, let’s not get into those right now. I’m trying to keep some shred of sanity.

Jesus Christ, how do I help him through this? I’ve only known him for a short time, am I really up for this?

Stupid questions, really. All I have to do is look at him…feel his arms around me…hear his laugh. Yes, I’m up for it. I can do this for him. With him. I want to. Because…

Well, because I love him. I didn’t want to. I didn’t mean to. But I do, and now here we are.

Original photo by Lucky

“I’ve never gotten so many handjobs in my life.”

“I know,” I replied. “I feel like I’m back in high school.”

It was funny, and yet it still made me a little sad as I washed the lubricant off of my hands in the bathroom sink. Here we were, two thirty-something adults who grew more and more passionate about each other by the day, and we were forced to limit our sexual interaction to things we could do with our hands. It was frustrating. Frustrating when we were lying naked next to each other and wanting nothing more than to be as close as two people can be, and also frustrating that this restriction was because of someone else’s fears.

I understand Mac’s fears, I really do, but it’s hard not to blame him for the frustration I feel when I can’t fully express my growing feelings for Vincent. It feels like something is going to give, and I honestly don’t know what. Will it be this budding new relationship? Will Vincent and I grow tired of our limitations and fizzle out? Or will it be a 2 1/2 year love affair? Will I continue to resent Mac for this ultimatum until I see him only as a selfish figment of the man that I thought loved me more than his fears?

I know how overly dramatic this all sounds. I am aware of how caught up I am in this new relationship energy, so that everything seems much bigger than it really is. That’s why I’m trying so hard to remain cool and not make any rash decisions. I just have to keep reminding myself that things will even out, that we will eventually find some kind of compromise that is satisfactory to everyone. Won’t we?

Original photo by Lucky

…I was basically wrecked all day long and barely made it through work because I was getting really freaked out about what’s going on…

Normally, Mac was a man of few words. The Strong Silent Type, some might say. It was so rare that anything seemed to bother him that when he did speak up you knew it was serious. I knew he had strong feelings on the matter, but until I read his email I had no idea this had been bothering him so much. I felt terrible that I had caused him so much anguish, and even more awful that I was considering asking him for a compromise that I knew would be upsetting. I stared at his email for several minutes before I replied, rereading it over and over.

…I have a lot more to say than what’s here. lets talk about this soon.

How selfish I’d been. Here I was, about to ask Mac to agree to take a risk with his health and his sexuality just so that I could fulfill my desire to be intimate with Vincent. Yes, my feeling for Vincent were strong, and growing stronger every day. But was it fair for me to ask for such a sacrifice for someone I’d only known a few weeks? Was it ever really fair of me to ask it at all?

In my reply I assured Mac that I now realized how important this was to him and that nothing would happen until we’d had a chance to talk more. We agreed to see each other the next night. As I mentally prepared for our talk I realized that this just wasn’t the time to ask for compromises. Right now Mac’s feelings were my priority and I needed to put my own desires aside to focus on making him feel safe and comfortable.

I guess somewhere in the back of my mind I’d hoped that I’d be able to calm Mac’s fears and still come to some kind of compromise, but as we talked the next night I began to realize that this was unlikely to ever happen. His feelings were so strong, his fears so pronounced, that discussing it further seemed futile. At the end of the night I left with a heavy heart and a promise on my lips:

“While I can’t promise that I will never bring it up again, I do promise you that I won’t move forward with a a sexual relationship with Vincent without discussing it with you. I’m not going to call you up one day and say, ‘guess what I did last night.’”

It was a promise I thought I could keep.

Original photo by Lucky

Herpes.

It’s one of the most alarming words that can come up in discussions of sexuality. This one little word – this somewhat common virus which is little more than an annoying skin condition – can make an otherwise healthy, sexual individual feel “dirty” and unwanted. And, in a non-monogamous relationship, it can be the cause of considerable amount of heartache, confusion, and fear.

In the 15 or so years that I’ve been sexually active I’ve been tested countless times and have always considered myself lucky when I get the news that my results are negative. Sure, I take precautions, but no method – short of abstinence – is 100% effective in preventing the spread of STDs. There’s this unspoken measure of acceptable risk with every new sex partner, and those of us with multiple and/or frequent sex partners are aware of this. But there’s a difference between knowing that a partner might be infected, and that there may be a chance of contracting something, and knowing that a partner is infected, and there is a statistical probability that something could be passed between you. It raises the stakes considerably, especially when you have other partners to consider.

With a running total of about 55 sex partners (and those are only the ones I remember), it’s surprising that this hasn’t come up before. I used to think I knew what I would do if I encountered the virus. Perhaps if I was single and thought that someone was a potential partner I would consider entering into a sexual relationship with someone who had herpes, but I already have a husband and boyfriend and I’m not really looking for another partner. I just didn’t see any reason to risk exposing myself and my partners for a casual fling, no matter how hot the person might be. But I began to question that conviction once I learned that a friend of mine was positive. Suddenly the virus took on a human face and I wasn’t sure I’d be so quick to dismiss someone as a potential sexual partner based on this one thing. After all, the connection I make with most of my lovers is wonderfully fulfilling. Would I be willing to deny that connection when faced with the choice?

When Vincent made his confession I was admittedly taken aback. Well shit, I thought. Here it is. That choice I knew I’d have to make someday was finally here and it certainly hadn’t come in the package I had expected. This wasn’t some promiscuous, careless Cassanova who tried to bed every woman he met. Vincent was sweet and sensitive, and genuinely surprised that someone like me was interested in him. Despite our intoxication, we had made a real connection that night. I hadn’t expected the intensity of our passion and now I was faced with the choice to either extinguish that passion or take on a risk that not only affected me but also my other partners.

“Thank you for not freaking out,” he said as he held me from behind and we drifted off to sleep.

I left early the next morning because I had an early class. When I arrived home Lucky was still in bed so I climbed under the covers and cuddled up with him. I told him about my night, including the bombshell at the end. He was understanding and empathetic of my situation, without making any definitive statements about his feelings on the matter. I’m sure part of the reason for his response was that he didn’t yet know how he felt, but I’m sure he could also tell that I wasn’t ready to get into any serious discussions or come to any conclusions. At that point I was just reflecting on the situation and letting it all sink in.

Later that day I chatted with Mac over IM about my evening. Rather than focusing on my specific situation, our conversation turned into more of a vague discussion of the risks of herpes and whether it was worth it in any situation. Mac had no problem voicing his opinion on the matter. He just didn’t see the point in taking the risk. I, on the other hand, didn’t think it was so black and white. I concluded that I would take sex off the table at this point in my relationship with Vincent, but that I’d give it some time to see how things developed and if we needed to revisit it. Mac seemed satisfied with my decision. Or so I thought. It wouldn’t be until a few weeks later that I’d discover just how strongly he felt about the subject.

The next time I saw Vincent I told him that I couldn’t have sex with him, not yet anyway. He said he’d never expected to have sex with me since I had a husband and boyfriend to think about, but that he enjoyed our time together so much that he really wanted to keep seeing me. I confessed that I felt the same way.

Over the next two weeks we saw each other almost every day. Even if I had other plans I would find an excuse to see him on my way out for the evening. We cherished every stolen moment, and savored every kiss. We pleasured each other with our hands, always wishing we could go just a little bit further, but enjoying every passionate moment, nonetheless. We texted each other frequently when we were apart, and when we were together we’d giddily smile at each other and say silly things like, “I like you so much.” We were completely twitterpated.

New Relationship Energy or not, it became obvious that this was no short-lived fling. Vincent and I were developing real feelings for each other, and I knew the time was quickly approaching when we’d want to take it to the next level. It was time to have a more serious discussion with my partners.

Original photo by Lucky

There’s this feeling you get when you meet someone and enter those beginning stages of a new relationship. It’s like you’re floating. All of the world’s colors seem more vivid. You find yourself smiling for no reason. You can’t wait to be together again, and when you are it’s like a drug. You’re in a state of natural euphoria. When you put your arms around each other you forget that the rest of the world even exists. When you kiss you’d swear there were literally sparks coming from your lips.

The non-monogamy circles refer to it as New Relationship Energy (NRE). It’s that state of mind at the beginning of a new relationship that causes heightened emotional and sexual feelings, and it is very real. I’d guess that this intoxicating feeling is one of the reasons many of us choose this lifestyle. It just feels so…damned…good.

Although I date quite a bit, I don’t think I experience NRE very often. Maybe Lucky would disagree, since he isn’t the one walking around with his head in the clouds, but most of the time I’d like to think I keep my feet on the ground. However, even I can’t deny the way I’m feeling right now. I am completely twitterpated, and it feels so wonderful. If only it were a little less…complicated.

I’d met Vincent a few times at parties through a friend’s boyfriend. We hung out in a lot of the same crowds, but we had never been introduced. I immediately thought he was adorable. He was a bit rugged and a bit punk, but shy in a way that made it obvious how sensitive he was. I developed a little crush on him, but I didn’t think much of it because I didn’t see him very often. We started saying a brief hello when we happened to catch ourselves at the same events, and eventually we even became Facebook friends. One day he posted that he was spending the day working at a coffee shop near my house instead of going into the office, and I decided to use the opportunity to do a little flirting, so I posted back. Our posts eventually turned to instant messaging, which then turned into an invitation to join him at a punk show that night. He tells me now that at this point he still had no idea I was flirting with him and certainly did not expect the night to turn out the way it did. Did I mention he’s adorable?

We met up at a restaurant where some of his friends were celebrating a birthday, and then followed the crowd to a bar near the show venue. We chatted, and drank, and laughed, and drank. I moved in closer, touched his arm, flirted shamelessly. He seemed receptive, and as we were standing in line to close out our tabs he put his arms around me from behind so that by then I was certain there was something between us. Because we were both good and toasty by the time we arrived at the show, I’m not sure either of us remembers the exact circumstances of our first kiss. My first hazy memory of making out with Vincent is at the bar of the venue after getting yet more drinks. Once we’d gotten that out of the way, we were lip-locked for most of the night. As far as we were concerned, the band on the stage only served as background music to our making out. We were the center of the universe.

Later we both admitted to being a little embarrassed by our behavior at that show. While I’m not opposed to the occasional PDA, I don’t usually just stand in the middle of a crowd making out like a teenager. And Vincent seemed even less prone to such annoyingly sappy displays in public. We could blame it on the alcohol, as there was certainly plenty of that flowing through our veins, but I think there was more to it than that. When our lips touched it was like fireworks. When we pulled apart we couldn’t take our eyes off of each other. We were intoxicated not only by the alcohol we’d consumed but by our own chemistry. It was completely unexpected, and like nothing I’d felt with a new lover in a long, long time.

After the show, we stood on the sidewalk and decided what to do next. “I want you to come spend the night with me, but we can’t have sex,” he said.

“Well that’s fine, because I can’t have sex with you tonight anyway because I’m on my period,” I replied.

It was settled. We drunkenly caught a cab to his apartment (so drunkenly, in fact, that he has no recollection of how we got home – not even the part where he had to wedge my bike into the trunk of the cab). As we stumbled into his bedroom, we peeled our clothes off (although he left his underwear on) and fell into the bed, kissing and groping. His hands traveled up and down my body until they finally reached my pussy, wet with my desire for him. He ran his fingers along my clit and played with the opening of my vagina as I rubbed his hard cock through his shorts.

“God, I want you so bad,” I moaned. “I wish we could fuck.”

“Me too,” he said. “But we can’t.”

And then our mouths were pressed together again. His fingers filled me up and made me gasp between kisses until finally my body quivered with orgasm and I cried out with pleasure.

As we lay naked next to each other, satisfied and starting to drift off into a drunken sleep, he made a confession to me.

“So, the reason I can’t have sex with you…” he paused. Normally my mind would be racing with possibilities halfway through a loaded sentence like this, but I was tired and still aglow in the aftermath of our encounter. I lay silently and awaited his declaration.

“The reason I can’t have sex with you is that I have herpes.”