It’s probably past time for writing about last Saturday night. It was a Big Deal, and a benchmark of some kind, both in my poly “journey,” and the relationship with N.
We went to a sex party. The problem came about because we didn’t talk about it first. He told me about the party and asked if I wanted to go, I got creamy imagining fucking him in front of an audience, and answered, “Yes!” And that was pretty much the extent of the conversation. Later, I did ask for some details about what the parties were like, but it was all very general.
We spent Saturday afternoon at Coney Island, which was lovely. It was great to have a day without an agenda – just relaxing, walking down the boardwalk, stopping every now and then when something caught our eye. Eating fries from Nathan’s, kissing and laughing on the Wonder Wheel, catching the sideshow before heading home.
I almost didn’t want to go to the sideshow, even though it was my idea in the first place, just because it was getting rather late. The evening’s party started at 10, and I wanted to get there somewhat early. Well, we ended up getting there at 2am.
Around 11:30, when N was taking his sweet time eating a very late dinner, I started feeling.. bitchy, for lack of a better term. Mostly because N has fallen asleep on me before, and his interest in sex seems directly related to his level of awakeness. I was so looking forward to some fantastic, energetic, orgasm-inducing semi-public fucking. And there we were, sitting on the couch, droopy-eyed, while sexy queer folks were cavorting in their skivvies across town. I started to feel somewhat certain that the evening was going to end with me all worked up and aroused and desperate for fulfillment and N all sleepy and uninterested in doing the fulfilling.
I did finally get him out the door though, and after a rather harrowing drive through the city, we got to the party location a good 5 minutes before their official door-closing time. But I was freaking out a little by then. I had been imagining that going to the party with N would mean that we were there together. All my thoughts about it had involved his skin in contact with mine. During the drive, some things he said made me realize rather suddenly that he had very different ideas about what it meant to be someone’s date to a sex party, that there was a very strong possibility that he might be expecting us to wander off in separate directions. And I pictured myself standing alone, all awkward and shy in a roomful of naked strangers, wanting so badly to be fucking N, while he’s off fucking someone else.
What I feared in that moment is kinda what ended up happening.
We did have a chat before going into the party, as it was obvious that I was feeling apprehensive. I told him that “I just don’t know what to expect…” and that I was feeling nervous about it. I didn’t have the words or the gumption or something to tell him that I didn’t want him to leave me alone. I was afraid he would think it presumptuous or clingy or un-poly or something.
In the brief conversation that ensued, he said something like that if I didn’t want to go to the party, that was ok, and that I shouldn’t do anything I’m not comfortable with. My response was, hell, if people never did things that were outside their comfort level, how would we ever grow? It would be like my friend’s mom who only ever eats foods that she’s had before.
We did kind of touch on the core of the thing that was bothering me, though I can’t remember exactly what we said, probably because I was freaking out a bit inside. I do remember telling him that I would want him to stick with me, though I didn’t really want to want that. He said, “Well, let’s just play it by ear. We might change our minds once we’re there.” Or something like that. He was totally noncommittal, and when I asked what he wanted to do or how he wanted things to go, all he would say was, “I don’t know.” He definitely didn’t realize (perhaps somewhat willfully) that I was so nervous about being on my own at the party, and also that I really really wanted his sexual attention.
The conversation only lasted five or ten minutes. We weren’t getting anywhere with it, and the doors were supposed to be closing, so we went in. It was surprisingly good. The guy at the door was obviously interested in N, and vice versa, but N practically stuck to me like glue once we were inside, kissing and groping and holding my hand. We walked around for a while, and watched some people, then we ended up putting on a bit of a show (well, show might be a bit euphemistic, but we fucked and some people wanked off to it). We had to stop though, because the position we were in wasn’t quite working after a while. So we took a break and washed up, with the expectation of continuing somewhat where we left off. But as I was drying off after a brief shower, the guy from the door came up behind him and started hitting on N, who was boyishly, adorably receptive. I was playing with his cock and the guy (let’s call him Alan) was doing something to his ass, and N was just goofy with delight. Alan proclaimed that it was a crime that N’s delectable ass hadn’t had any attention and that he would be delighted to attend to it. N asked me if it was alright, and it looked like I was going to be involved, so I said yes. Alan led N, N led me, and we went off to find an appropriate place to play.
Alan chose a sling, and started touching N, who was over the moon. He got in the sling, they started fucking, and I was.. discarded, unnoticed, awkwardly uninvolved. Backing away, arms across my chest, watching this stranger fuck N, who was more blissed out than I’ve ever seen him. Getting penetrated by someone else, in a way that I so deeply want to and cannot, and he was loving it more than it seemed like he ever loved anything I’ve done with him.
And he neither noticed nor cared that I was no longer involved, that I was vibrating with shitty feelings of an intensity that I never could have predicted. Standing there naked and painfully awkward, watching my partner blissfully ignore and forget about me in front of a roomful of watching strangers. Hearing moans that he wasn’t making when we were fucking, watching him go totally out of his mind with pleasure, and aching to be the one doing that to him. Thinking over and over how much I hate the fact that biology has made me a receptacle. I was aroused and frustrated and hurt and angry. And I just knew that he was going to orgasm with this guy, and I would end the evening literally having been rode hard and put away wet.
The thing is, I don’t think he could begin to really understand how I felt in that moment. Because he would never feel that way. He would love it if I went off and fucked someone, he would probably think it was hot. He doesn’t seem to be capable of jealousy or insecurity or sexual frustration. He would think it was the greatest thing in the world if I went out and found lots of partners, he actively encourages me to do so. Not because he’s trying to fob me off, but because he thinks it would be good for me, that it would make me happy.
But anyway. I left the room to try to pull myself together, away from all the watching eyes, but could still hear N’s moans of delight on the other side of the wall. I thought about leaving the party, but couldn’t just go without letting N know. So I stalked back into the room and tried not to sound like the psycho bitch I was and said, “I’m sorry to interrupt.. but I wanted to let you know I’ll be in the car when you’re ready to go.” But my voice was brittle and my face was hard and I couldn’t look at either of them. I stalked off and almost ran to get my clothes on. Just as I was about to go out the door to the street, N caught up to me. His eyes were grey, and almost completely concerned, with only the slightest touch of annoyance way at the back, which didn’t show in his voice at all.
I flinched away when he tried to touch me. I think he was hurt by that. He looked deeply worried. I told him that he didn’t need to stop what he was doing and that I hadn’t meant that he had to leave. (Except that that is exactly what I wanted, I have to admit that here at least. I wanted to pull him away from that other guy. I didn’t intend to stop them, but I will admit it’s what I wanted.) He frowned and said that it was ok, and that it was probably time to leave. I told him no no, go back to what you were doing. I’d be fine, I just needed a minute in the fresh air.
He insisted that it was time to go, and got his clothes, and I went outside to calm down while he got dressed. I cried a little, but managed to breathe, and ground, and shake off some of the shitty energy, and I don’t think that I looked weepy by the time I went back in. I apologized to Alan, he was cool about it, and we all chatted briefly with some of the other folks who were getting dressed. It was 4:30am.
N and I ended up going to a 24 hour restaurant, because the idea of trying to go home and sleep when I was so keyed up made me feel nauseated. By the time we did get in bed, it was 6:30 and the sun was up.
We’ve had a couple of conversations about the whole thing. Basically he’s said that he made some assumptions that he should have known weren’t true, and I know that I should have spoken up a bit more when I started feeling uncomfortable. We really should have talked more about expectations and limits and boundaries before even thinking about going to a party like that.
I really appreciate that we can have conversations like that, and I can say things like I did in the Email, and he doesn’t get defensive, he just listens and responds in a way that helps the situation. He admits when he’s been an ass, and really cares about how I feel. He put a lot of emphasis on the fact that my comfort and happiness were what was most important, and that I was his number one priority in any situation we’re in together.
It’s really really nice to be able to have mature, rational conversations about emotional things. Holy crap, a functional, adult relationship!
And all in all, as N said, it’s a good thing these issues are coming up now and not exploding later into the relationship. And I for one am very glad, because we’re going to a sacred sexuality retreat next month, and now we know there are going to have to be some very in-depth conversations beforehand, that we might not have thought to have if the shit at the party hadn’t happened.
So there’s a silver lining to this storm cloud. More than one actually, because I’m also rather proud of the way I handled myself – I didn’t cry uncontrollably or act out or say anything I regret, and I didn’t turn it in on myself. I managed to not be totally controlled by emotion, even though I was consumed by it. And considering the fact that I am essentially a raging vortex of chaotic feeling stuffed inside a girl-suit, it’s something to be proud of.
So. This is my first real hurdle in the world of polyamory. Cross your fingers that it will help things go smoothly at the event next month, especially since it turns out that N’s girlfriend will also be there. What’s the proper etiquette when one girlfriend invites you to a sex event, and the other one turns up too? N’s going to have a hell of a balancing act, maybe even more than he realizes. But we’ll talk about it, probably exhaustively, and see how things go.
...sometimes almost magic... 
