…is repeatedly doing the same thing and expecting the outcome to be different.
The scene: I have avoided not just the place where he works, but the entire town, for 6 weeks. Yesterday, I went there, with my MOM. He is, of course, there, on the sidewalk. He wears lime-green tie-dyed overalls with no shirt. I hate tie dye. On him, it’s hot. I laugh. “Someone should just take a picture of you every day,” I call. He comes over, takes my hand, kisses it, looks directly into my eyes. “I’m R___” he says.
“I’m Nuria,” say I. “And this is my Mom.”
He takes her hand and kisses it, too. Turns back to me. “I am straight,” he says. “And I am married. To ___. We have an open relationship.” He gives me a rather hard look. “I was a little put off that you only wanted to date me if I was single.” My mom is goggle-eyed.
“It’s easier,” I say. What else can I say? He is holding my hand. I am melting.
He nods. “I would love to hang out with you and get to know you.”
“Yes,” I say. My eyes slide down his skin to where it disappears under his clothes. He is tan, and lean, wiry, strong. I want to eat his entire body.
“I’ll call you,” he says.
“Yes,” I say. He gives me another kleig-light megawatt soul gaze and we part company.
My Mom and I continue up the street. “Forget you heard that,” I say. And she is just old enough that she will, thank God.
So, part of me is like, hahahaha, HE SAID YES!!!
The other half is like, fuckety fuck fuck.
Because, here’s the insanity part:
I have dated (more than) my share of married men. Somehow, there is always drama involved with that. You go in with the calmest intentions, you make sensible agreements, and lo, in about 15 minutes, people are freaking out and keying your car. This man is married. Excuse me while I scream hysterically.
All I want is someone to enjoy sex with, to feel beautiful with, to touch and cuddle and get off with on an occasional, sustainable basis. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Then there is this Don’t Ask; Don’t Tell thing. Frankly, it makes me feel like I’m keeping secrets. I hate that feeling. And if this guy would have a convo like that in front of my mother, he obviously has no sense of shame. People will talk. I’m more worried about other people spilling the beans (on FB, for example), than I am about myself.
But I am also worried about myself. I am worried about my own sense of guilt, because that’s a real danger here. If I feel guilty about what I’m doing, there is a MUCH higher chance of something going nastily wrong. One can easily create misery and drama where none need be.
And I’m worried about my sanity. I want my life to be fun and engaging, a creative adventure. Period. And I love my man. I want him to be happy.
I just can’t stand the loneliness, the isolation, the sense of futility.
So how can I remove the conditions that create feelings of guilt? How must I conduct myself in this upcoming affair? Because, let’s face it, I am unlikely to walk away from this. I want him. I do not meet a lot of people whom I find attractive. Like none. So finding a way into this that is ethically and morally clean is of the utmost importance.
A talk must be had with R. I’d like to know just how this so-called “open relationship” works, its history. And I am going to visit my man next week for a couple of days.
I will know when I get back.