Sika Cancels Sexile
I glance at my phone. A text from my metamour Sika.
I was just texting Skyspook trying to figure out scheduling for this weekend, and apparently both you and I are trying not to be intrusive. I just wanted to let you know that 1. You are such an awesome metamour, and 2. I’m not concerned about you being around, and would enjoy spending time hanging out with you too.
“You two are so cute,” Skyspook says.
“Adorable. Always out-niceing each other.”
“You’re a smart guy,” I say. “It’s really efficient dating two women who are so much alike.” Which gets a laugh from him.
I’d been scrambling trying to find Saturday plans. To give Sika and Skyspook the run of the house. She rarely gets to see him. And the last thing I want to do? Be in the way.
So I had been shopping for a place to sexile myself while they connected.
Self-imposed preemptive sexile? It’s an instinct carried over from accidentally walking in on my ex-husband Seth and a lady friend of his.
If you think it’s awkward your first semester at college when you bust in on your roommate and some scantily clad stranger, you can only imagine what it’s like to walk in on a spouse and a partner. Particularly if the partner is someone new to poly and not completely convinced of its sanity and merit as a relationship structure – the kind of folks Seth and I so often were dating back in the olden days as we lived in a fairly conservative rural area.
Everything that ensues is awkward – the quick apology, the retreat, your spouse checking to see if you’re okay, and the relegation to exile from your home for sexual reasons, i.e., sexile. Then you’re hastily making sexile plans where you head out to a coffee house or call up friends to see if they want a visit.
So preemptive sexile? My first line of defense.
I had considered going out with Fluffy as they are home from California for break. But they have other stuff going on.
Besides, I really need to get some writing done.
And just as I am combing the intarwebs to see if Panera will let me sit and write if I buy some soup, Sika cancels the sexile.
Strawberry Riesling Meta-Love
Sika shows up right on schedule. Glowing. It has been a tough drive. Two hours through freezing rain. But she looks impeccable.
“I got you a present,” she says.
Candles for my office. “Smell is important for memory. For writing. I need these. Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” she says.
The orange ones are mango. I love mango.
“And the red ones are strawberry Riesling,” she says. “They’re discontinued,” she says. She has a hookup though.
Strawberry Riesling. Like those trashy wine coolers I love to drink in the hot tub. Bartles & Jaymes. The frozen pina colada that comes in a pouch. Arbor Mist.
All those things that “taste like how we thought wine would taste before we ever had it,” like Ro is always saying.
We spend 2 hours chatting about everything — life, relationships, projects — before Sika and Skyspook adjourn for alone time.
Up in my office, I write “Switcheroo.” Do some research. Bug Fluffy about boys I think they should date. I’m always playing matchmaker for Fluffy.
I mess around with chord voicings for “Darn that Dream” on my piano.
As I’m rocking hard on Disney Emoji Blitz (seriously, I love that game), Skyspook knocks on the door.
“We’re done,” he says.
“Already?” I ask. Looking at the clock, it’s been 3 hours. But since I was busy, it flew.
In the living room, Sika shows me the marks on her back from their scene. They’re pretty cool, but I see the real action lower. At her waistline. Purple splotches just peeking up over the top of her pants.
I point out the bruises, and she beams.
The three of us go out for cheeseburgers and drinks. Chatting well into the evening. It’s so good to be with them both.
Is There a Rule You Have to Spend Most of a Date Alone?
“I hope you didn’t mind that I was around so much,” I say. “I didn’t want to horn in on your alone time.”
“What?” I ask.
“You and Sika are so freaking cute. She said she had a blast but wanted to make sure she didn’t do the wrong thing. Like maybe I’d be upset that she didn’t spend enough alone time with me. ”
“Well to be fair,” I say. “There’s no script for any of this. It’s hard to know when you’re doing things ‘right’ or ‘wrong.'”
He nods. “Say what you will about the relationship escalator, but courtship rituals can be a good way of communicating. Especially when things are unclear. While still allowing you to save face.”
“You’re a smart man,” I say.
“Why? What I just said?”
“Well that,” I say. “And dating women who all worry about the same weird things.”