From Monogamy To Open Marriage: The First Time

The cynic in me wondered if this was all a waste of time.

From Monogamy To Open Marriage is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursuing sex and love outside marriage. 


* Part One can be read here

Drew opened the door with a goofy smile on his face and said hello with a little too much cheerfulness in his tone. So much for my fantasy of walking in and being devoured immediately. Wearing cargo shorts and an old t-shirt, he looked nothing like the stoic, confident man I had met for awkward conversation in a dimly lit bar.

I wondered if I should spare us both and find a polite way to tell him I’d changed my mind.

Before I could start conjuring up an exit strategy, he walked into the kitchen and offered to make me a drink. I accepted the offer, and in a split second, he emerged with two glasses in hand. So I took one and sat down.

It became apparent that scheduled sex with someone new is not typical for either one of us. We were across the room from one another at first. We talked about the same irrelevant shit we talked about at the bar: work, friends, interesting experiences, etc. We kept talking. And talking. And talking. We gradually closed the gap — I moved from a chair to the couch. He sat down next to me. He said “Is that drink okay?” and I realized he’d been waiting for me to finish it. As I told him the drink was fine, I got up and straddled his lap.

It had been almost a decade since I’d been this close to a man that wasn’t my husband. Everything seemed off at first. The span of his lap was a bit wider, and his hands touched me lightly and cautiously compared to my husband’s firm and secure grip. His smell was musty but sweet, and it reminded me of my grandmother’s house. I couldn't relax.  

I wanted to text my husband telepathically and tell him everything was fine. But more than anything else, I wanted to stop thinking and get lost in pleasure. I wanted to see if I could lose myself and open up enough to stop obsessing on the unfamiliarity.

The cynic in me wondered if this was all a waste of time. Drew kissed me, and I did my best to get lost in the moment. Eventually, I felt the very beginnings of arousal as he gripped my waist and pulled me close to him. I wanted the kissing to be over, though. Maybe I was supposed to be into the kissing, but instead, I was hoping this didn’t turn into an endless makeout session. Part of me felt like I was in high school again as I wondered if taking the initiative and unbuttoning his pants might have made him uncomfortable.

He picked me up and carried me into his bedroom, and I was dizzy with euphoria. Or was it anxiety? Or was it simply because I didn’t usually get carried across a house and this felt funny? I wanted to text my husband telepathically and tell him everything was fine. But more than anything else, I wanted to stop thinking and get lost in pleasure. I wanted to see if I could lose myself and open up enough to stop obsessing on the unfamiliarity. Before I could start a new stream of thoughts about what a big mistake this was, Drew started pulling my clothes off. I hurriedly assisted because it seemed easier to cooperate than to do anything else.

In an instant, his mouth was everywhere. He moved with fervent, eager, almost desperate aggression and I was finally consumed in what we were doing. I don’t even remember when he took his clothes off. He no longer seemed foreign and unfamiliar.

All at once, I felt completely at ease, and I wanted everything that was happening to keep on happening.

Afterward, I spent a good ten minutes in post-orgasmic bliss alone in his bed while he was in the shower. Now, what? I wondered, How do I say goodbye? Is it okay if I just leave? While I was looking for my clothes and pondering this, he emerged in just a towel, smiling and asking me if I’d like to join him for dinner. Suddenly, I missed my husband immensely. And I was looking at this kind man’s face and trying to figure out how to politely decline but make sure I have another invitation to return.

I dug deep to remember the perfect polite “out” from my days of dating, and I said, “I have to get home to the kids and get dinner started.” When I was finally completely dressed, I grabbed my bag and made my way toward the door. As I was leaving, he chatted with me, and before I knew it, I’d been standing by the door for what had to be more than 30 minutes. Finally, I said goodbye and left.

I noticed three texts messages from my husband, so I called him before I started my car. He seemed to be putting on a front of calmness but quickly said “Why were you there for so long? It’s been over three hours.” Suddenly, I felt terrible.

(to be continued)

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