Three became Two again

I should say right at the start, that he’s read this complete blog, and he’s okay with me posting it.

It’s taken me a while to write, because though I am happy for him – bloody ecstatic in fact – it hurts.

Our lovely, wonderful, sexy-as-hell fuck-buddy, you know, the one who once whipped me while I was tied to a tree in a forest in remotest Sweden, who’s fucked my ass more times that I have fingers and toes by now, the one who blew my mind after an extremely horny shower tease.

The one who calls me Little Bird. 

He’s leaving that part of us behind. 

He’s met someone. Well I say met, they’ve known each other for donkey’s years, but over the last year, things have gone from occasional steamy encounters to something profoundly deeper between them. They’ve decided together, they’d like to try out monogamy. And of course we’re thrilled for him, for both of them. She’s sweet and kind, open and extremely intelligent, nerdy and submissive. In other words, perfect for him. And if you’ve read anything about him in my blogs, you’ll know he’s perfect for her too.

So yes, we’re delighted for them, of course we are.

How do I feel?

But I am seriously struggling with my own feelings. You know, when you’re in something like this kind of threesome, that there is an inevitability, that one day it will break. It’s at the back of your mind and sometimes, you can’t help but play it out. Though my man is struggling too, he has a clarity in his perspective that lends me such strength, he’s able to put into words these complex feelings that I am grappling, fumbling with. 

The night we got back, after our friend broke the news, my man wrapped himself around me in bed and held me close. He whispered love, reassurance into my hair through our warmth. And the pillow we shared got damp with our tears.

How do I feel? It’s really fucking messy. I’m a real fucking mess. But it’s getting bettter.

A bit of history

My man and I became open to new people a few years ago, and we went through a plethora of sometimes delightful, sometimes funny, and sometimes just plain mad experiences at the start of it all. From our first and only swingers party, at which we did nothing but dazedly look around, and after which left us both bewildered, giggling wrecks in the car all our long way home, to the absolutely delightful experience with an older man in Hamburg, in an expensive hotel looking over the harbour. 

We soon realised though, that we didn’t want a selection of one-nighters, but rather to build a much deeper connection with someone. To befriend them and welcome them into our lives, to fuck around together, but still enjoy meeting, talking, cooking; friendship. The only caveat I had was that the person had to have a dick, and that they appreciate it being worshipped. 

We created a very specific profile, and tried to find our person online through a couple of dating apps, but it didn’t work out for us. Though we had a lot of attention and dick-owners contacting us, we just didn’t connect or feel a spark with any of them.

And so we considered our friendship group. And he really was the only contender, and all three of us were delighted when he said he’d be our third, our friend with benefits.

Climbing-frame

Despite our previous experiences, I didn’t really know what to do with the reality of him that first time he visited. Being autistic, I don’t do small-talk, partly because I just don’t see the point of dancing around people in that way, but mostly because I don’t understand it. So my usually quiet self was quieter than ever that first weekend, and I found myself blushing whenever I entered a room he was in, even after he’d owned my ass for the first time.

Right from that first tentative meet-up, the psychological aspect of us has been like a three-D climbing-frame in my mind, something to navigate and get down from safely, every time we met. It’s gotten taller and more complex with time, but it is also so familiar now, that it’s much easier on the whole to make the emotional descent; for my man and I to make the switch to our otherwise (mostly) monogamous selves, when we part ways with him again. 

This climbing-frame in my head, it’s the sexual-emotional attachment to him that I experience when we’re fucking together. At first it was so exciting to be with this guy, on whom I’d harboured a secret crush for a long time, and with whom I already had a deep connection on another level. My climbing-frame felt dizzyingly high, and it was super hard to navigate and climb down from that first time. 

In fact, the day he flew home, I felt physical pain; I ached. That terrified me. 

Doubts

I wondered if maybe it was too much that we’d bitten off. Wondered if maybe we’d destroyed something. You see the thing is, the love between us all existed already, we’d known each other for years and spent a LOT of time together, often staying up all night talking. 

My man and I explored how I was feeling together, we had this completely open and honest day long bouncing thoughts off each other, both of us checking if we were okay. We invited him to virtually join us that evening.

We were playing this game back then as a threesome, we’d been playing it long before we became a threesome; Trine (it’s such a good game; if you know it, I was playing the wizard, very badly). And we brought it up. He talked too, about how it was for him, while we were attempting to solve various in-game puzzles. It was a debrief, and it felt so good. It was like that saying, the elephant in the room and it needed to be addressed. 

Afterwards, that sense of peace I feel when I’m around them both filled me again. It was like a weight I’d been carrying since we’d first approached him, that I didn’t even know was on me, had been lifted.

I wish I could say it was always a garden of roses after that, but there were still moments, when my climbing-frame was extremely tricky to descend from. Especially if our sessions had been particularly emotionally intense. 

And the future

Was. Had been.

God, I will miss his sexual familiarity. Familiarity. I’ve used that word so often about him. It’s such a trite sounding word, for what we had. What we shared. 

And now? Do we? Don’t we look for someone to join us again on the long term?

We talked on our way home from visiting him after he shared his wonderful, devastating news. And we decided not to. At least for now. 

Ah god it’s a tricky thing. 

This weekend, at my gorgeous, marvellous man’s suggestion (I’m so lucky to have him, to be his love), we’re planning to create a new profile on our preferred dating platform. Try a few one-nighters, distract ourselves, cheer ourselves up. I dunno whether to laugh or cry, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited about this. 

I am sad and I will, we will mourn the loss of our sexual connection with him. It’s raw and painful and beautiful. And we’re so bloody thankful to have had that with him. And the love has not been lost, it’s alive and kicking, just reverted back to an older pattern, platonic love again.

He still calls me Little Bird.

And god, the power in those words.