i met her at the party: my journey to polyamory (part 3)
If you haven't seen my previous part on polyamory, you can find it here.
Some of you started asking “this is not polyamory, where is polyamory?”, so let’s get to it finally.
Polyamory. Part 3.
J and I met last September at the party in our house. I was running around between the guests in different rooms when she entered, her radiant smile first, then the rest of her body. I greeted her back with my equally radiant smile. Later, she told me that this and my overall clean, put together outfit was what drew her attention. I offered a glass of water. Or a drink, I don’t remember. She kindly accepted. We hadn’t spoken until much later in the night, when most guests either left or went to chill on a sofa in the living room. I remember observing her from afar, eagerly telling something to my roommate, who stood leaning on a fireplace, listening in his full attention. She was beautiful. Tall and slender, cute ties of her turquoise blue shirt highlighting the perfect shape of her breasts. Her long, dark hair, merely loose, touching the soft light-brown skin of her bare shoulders. She spoke fast. She seemed to have a fun conversation. She wasn’t looking at me.
It was nearly two in the morning when I decided to head back to my room. I was tired — a party was a big success. Neither of us at the house could wish a better day. Or so I thought. I glanced once more at what was left of a previously busy living room. A few people sat around in dim light, chatting about something unimportant in French. I didn’t care. Neither did I speak French. I smiled in fake understanding and left the room. Surprisingly, J followed.
She said something I don’t remember. I replied. She smiled. I said something silly. She laughed. She seemed interested. She was sexy. We talked about tattoos. I showed her mine. She showed me hers. I touched her skin. She giggled. I extended my hand in an inviting gesture. She accepted. I pulled her closer to me. We kissed.
The whole interaction lasted 7 minutes.
Kissing is more comfortable on a couch than standing, but not nearly as comfortable as lying down. We went to my room.
We stepped out of my room twelve hours later. If anybody runs a list of the best dates in the world, they should include this one. It was nothing extraordinary. And yet it was everything extraordinary. We barely knew each other, and yet I felt like she couldn’t know me better. We laid in my room, studying each other’s bodies, every single curve and every single mark. I loved giving her compliments, and she returned them with great generosity. This was more than sex. We breathed each other, as if there was nothing in the room but air. As if we were the air.
She left. We won’t see each other again, I thought. With J, I broke every single rule from a handbook “How to begin a successful relationship”. Impulsive sex? Check. Drunk at the party? Check. Hot Latina woman? Check. But another part of me resisted. What if she felt something too? What if she had an amazing time too? Maybe she too felt the extraordinariness of this ordinary party night?
I invited her on a date. We went to a tacos place. Right… where else do I go with a Central American woman? J and I talked aplenty, carefully avoiding the sensitive topics. I needed to know what that night meant for her. I waited. Then waited a bit longer. Then, when the pressure was so high I could hear my teeth squeaking, I went ahead.
“J, did that night at the party mean anything to you? Do you think it could grow into something?”
That’s it. It’s done. Why did I say it?! What a looser. She thinks I am clinging to her. Why on earth would she know the answer to this question after one night? What kind of person asks that anyway…
She spoke slowly, and in the slowness I felt my expectations falling apart. A minute ago, I didn’t know I had expectations. But now I stood in front of her as if she undressed me with the pauses in her own words and left me naked in the middle of the street. I felt embarrassed by my own childish naivety.
“I… I am not looking for anything serious at the moment, Sergei. I really want to stay open.”
This is part 3 out of many. Found it interesting? Read the next part here.