Whose threesome is it anyway?

Rhonda Perky goes under the covers to discover if three can ever be less than a crowd

Ever had one of those drunken hook-ups that somehow end up with three of you in a bed? Or maybe you've arranged to meet with two singles or a couple to have a bit of fun? Only when the heat dies down (and you begin to sober up) you’re left in a crowded bed feeling completely cold?

Take the following examples:

Scenario A: Susie and Lara have been dating for a while. While drinking a little too much at a party, they end up in bed with John. The three of them enjoy a very steamy night and then fall asleep in the same bed. When Susie wakes up she realises John has ended up between her and Lara. She’s not sure, but thinks the two of them might have been getting it on while she was asleep. In any case, they are now spooning. All she can see is this man, an intruder, being intimate with her lover. She starts to feel sick. What if Lara decides she prefers being with John?

Scenario B: Grace and Mick, a long-term couple seeking a new experience, decide to advertise online for a man to join them. They recruit Robert, a single guy keen to explore. During the encounter it becomes apparent that Mick is attracted to the new recruit. In the heat of the moment, the guys get it on, until Robert tells them both he’s fairly sure he’s straight. The problem is Mick thinks he might actually prefer men.

Scenario C: Jodie has been seeing Steve for a few months, but they aren’t exclusive. Jodie has expressed an interest in having someone join them. Steve finds Cindy, a girl who is similarly keen. Steve arranges the meet up. Part way through the encounter it becomes apparent that Steve and Cindy already know each other. In fact, Cindy knows Steve a lot better than Jodie does. Jodie feels a little jealous, and a lot insecure. After all, Cindy is, well, kind of smoking. Things could be about to get a whole heap of ugly.

The point is, fantasy and reality can be very different things. Does anyone really know what they are going to feel going into something like this? Each person comes to the party with certain expectations, some known and some not, until it’s happening there in front of them. Suddenly you find yourself watching and participating in something you don’t normally see: your lover making love to someone else. It is likely you will see them doing something new with someone else and will respond to that person in a way they don’t respond to you. What if he/she has something you don’t? What if he/she does something better than you, or differently? What if he/she does something to him/her that they’ve NEVER done to you? What if you can't cum and she can cum like crazy, and who gets his cum in the end?

Being prepared, being aware, and stepping into the realm of fantasy – accepting that it IS fantasy, becomes a necessity if you are going to come out the other end unscathed.

Some things worth considering before you get busy with getting busy:

• How much interplay should there be between each of you?
• Where the threesome involves people of the same gender, how much homo-erotic interplay should there be?
• What is it going to feel like if you’re left on the outer?
• What is it going to feel like if you’re not?
• Do the others involved know each other already, and if yes, how intimately? Are they dating, or a couple?
• If you are dating or in a couple and have invited someone to join you, how will you feel if they get more attention than you? 
• If two of you are involved with the same person, how are you going to feel if they are more intimate with each other than with you?
• How are you going to feel around each person afterwards?

Perhaps the catch-all question to ask is whose threesome is it? Where are the boundaries, and who sets them? In some ways having a Dom/Sub situation can help, because the Dom(s) will set the rules and boundaries for the Sub(s). A lot of the time this won’t be the case. So how can you make sure your encounter remains as hot in your memory as it was in the moment? You want to be sure you know what the deal is in advance and also feel secure in yourself and in your relationship(s) before setting foot anywhere near this type of activity.

As in all things the most important part is communication. No matter how drunk or stoned or lost in the moment you are, try to check in with all parties. Keep an eye out for changes in body language. Has someone gone quiet, or stopped participating? Be mindful and respectful of each other’s existing relationships. If a couple has been generous enough to invite you into their private domain, keep to their boundaries. Take your cues from them (and perhaps more importantly in a hetero/bi-situation, from the person of the same gender; you don’t want to be a perceived threat). In a sense, you are their guest. Similarly, if you are in an existing couple and have invited someone to join you, be a gracious host and make them feel welcome.

If the encounter involves a sleepover, for instance, ask where you should sleep. If the others are having a private moment, give them that and wait to be invited back in. If you’ve initiated the encounter, make sure the third party feels welcome, and keep your jealousies in check.

To my mind, if you can each walk away thinking, “We all owned that,” your threesome has been a spectacular success.

--RP

Perky Commandments

1. Thou shalt not stalk
2. Thou shalt live thine own life
3. Thou shalt let thy partner live his/her own life
4. Thou shalt keep thine crazy to thyself
5. Thou shalt be responsible for thine own happiness
6. Thou shalt not dump all thy mental baggage onto thy Significant Other but also have a friend network
7. Thou shalt bone safely 
8. Thou shalt not bone thy neighbour’s wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neighbour’s without  honesty, hygiene and respect
9. Thou shalt permit thy lover his/her freedom
10. Honour thy lover: that thy days in his/her bed may be awesome and plentiful

Open, poly or just friendly?

Tiger Tale shares his views on sharing himself

Let me start by saying I am ‘polyamorous’ (‘poly’ for short). According to Wikipedia:

Polyamory (from Greek πολύ [poly, meaning many or several] and Latin amor[love]) is the practice, desire, or acceptance of having more than one intimate relationship at a time with the knowledge and consent of everyone involved.

A lot of people assume, particularly when a guy says he's poly, that it's really just an excuse to fuck around. At best I would call that an Open Relationship (1) and at worst not much more than glorified Fuck Buddies (2).

Personally I define polyamoury as having meaningful connections with more than one partner, however not all of these connections have to be sexual. The important thing is that each connection is had with the "knowledge and consent of all partners concerned".

I realised some time ago that I'm not good at monogamy. For starters, I love women so I tend to surround myself with people I find enchanting. My social circle is composed of several close male friends and a constantly varying number of women. Some stay, while others are fleeting -- just to clarify, I'm talking friends here, confidants, rather than bed partners. The problem is, not everyone is comfortable with having their partner spend large amounts of quality time with people of the opposite sex.

I have often heard women say the thought of their husband confiding in someone else is more of a betrayal than if he had just been having sex with them. Over time I've found that I struggle to have one person meet all my needs, be they sexual, intellectual or emotional. It's a pretty big ask to expect one person to be so shaped that they are everything that I (or anyone else) requires in a life-partner. Polyamoury is about trust and honesty; it's about surrounding yourself with a support network of people you love and cherish, effectively like choosing your own family.

I believe that humans are traditionally tribal creatures and that today's society has stripped a great deal of that away. Living a poly lifestyle takes us closer to our tribal roots. Yes, there are problems, including jealousy, accommodation, and prejudice. In fact a fully-embraced poly lifestyle is no easier than any other relationship, but for me it has its own unique benefits. You develop a strong support network, sharing the burdens of cooking, cleaning, and child-rearing if several of you live together, and you always have someone there when you need, knowing your partner/s also have someone there for them when you can’t be. For your children, it’s like having a big extended family of uncles, aunts and cousins who are always around to help and console and simply enjoy life with.

People worry that if their partner also loves someone else, they in turn, will be loved less. Love is not a finite resource. We all need it, but it doesn't ‘run out’. Instead I have found that the more I spread my love, the more love I create. Yes there are issues with time management, and sometimes I do feel a tug of jealousy, but ultimately I feel I am creating something beautiful, bringing love and companionship to others, while taking love and companionship in return. 

I'm poly because I choose it, because I choose love and support and I refuse to burden one person with all of my needs when they can so easily be shared. I've chosen this lifestyle because it works for me. After failed relationships and dishonesty I'm happier and more settled now than I have ever been.

--Tiger 

(1) According to Wikipedia “An open relationship is an interpersonal relationship in which the parties want to be together, but in which they agree that a romantic or sexual relationship with another person is accepted, permitted or tolerated.”

(2) "A casual relationship, colloquially known as a fling, is a physical and emotional relationship between two people who may have a sexual relationship (a situation colloquially called friends with benefits or fuck buddies) or a near-sexual relationship without necessarily demanding or expecting the extra commitments of a more formal romantic relationship." 

The 'Perfect' Relationship

 Adventure Girl searches for her perfect match

‘I have to keep telling myself that while this relationship seems perfect, it’s an illusion.’

Like most people, when I first meet someone, I try present my best. I hide my fears and insecurities, my frustrations, my limitations. I present the fun-loving sexy side of me: the person I want to be. This phase can last days, weeks, months, depending on the situation.

While I’m not ‘in love’ with the person I’m dating, or when I don’t want anything more, I like the person I am. I’m fairly relaxed, I enjoy my own space, I don’t make too many demands, and I keep things fun.

The moment I start wanting more, seeing this person as a potential primary partner, I become needy, demanding and picky – or worse, if I’m ‘in love’, I become insecure.

Insecure Me is every lover’s nightmare. I turn into HER, that jealous, psychotic bitch. Suspicious and questioning, I’m the girl who wants you to tell her over and over that you love her, that she’s sexy, that no one can replace her. But no matter what you tell her, it’s never enough. Never enough, because she had to ask first, because you used the wrong words, because the need in her is too great for you to fill.

I become someone I don’t like and don’t care to be.

On the other hand, if I’m with someone who makes me feel secure – either because I am not ‘in love’, and therefore not invested, or because they have managed to tame the jealous, psychotic bitch ME – I can not be needy or clingy. I can give my lover all the space in the world, but just as importantly, take the space that I need.

When I’m with someone who makes me feel comfortable, I don’t need to adopt euphemisms. I can be direct and articulate. I can have the difficult conversations without fear. But if I don’t feel comfortable, I struggle to hear my lover’s needs and to voice my own.

It’s the same with sex. I love being crazy, losing myself completely, but if I’m with someone inhibited, or someone whose opinion matters too much, I close up, and suddenly it’s all vanilla, or worse, there is no action at all.

These past six months or so, I have been exploring a more casual type of relationship, one where I don’t invest too much, where I actively choose to keep things fun and sexy, where I can offer friendship and support, where I can build my lover up, and only bring issues into the bedroom when I absolutely have to. I have been able to keep my jealousies and insecurities in check; I don’t allow negative emotions to activate; I have trained my brain to shy away. I have no right to feel this emotion; this is not my place. If I even start to feel jealous in a casual relationship, my internal dialogue turns the emotion away, rationalises it, and keeps it in check.

If my lover needs me, I am there, but in a casual situation, they will not demand too much. Similarly, I will ask the minimum from them, but take comfort knowing they are there when I do. While in this situation I have sought friends to support me, rather than demanding all my support from a single primary partner, and I have found strength within myself simply because I have had to.

This is the ‘perfect relationship’ my F-Buddy described: ideal, perhaps, but also, an illusion.

For some reason, when I am in a primary relationship, the same check-and-balance mechanisms seem to fail. They are bypassed by the part of my brain that says, ‘this is my partner; this is the other half of me, they must share and share all; I am entitled to more.’ I need them to love the other sides of me – see me at my worst and still want to be with me, love me unconditionally.

But why should a partner have to see me at my worst? Why should they have to pick me up again and again? I am not their responsibility. They are not a parent-figure who can put the band-aid on and kiss it all better. They are not my ‘other half’; they are their own person to whom I happen to have chosen to commit. Don’t they deserve to see the best in me, not only the worst?

I start to wonder if it is possible in a ‘full’ relationship to make the same choices I have made in casual ones, to keep the insecurity checks and balances in place, to make a commitment to bringing the best of myself to the relationship, to keep the space fun and sexy, and only bring the serious when it is needed. I wonder if it is possible to be less co-dependent, to maintain the strong friendships, self-reliance and strength I’ve established while being single. Because don’t I deserve to see the best in me, too?

Some people write lists and have images in their minds of their ‘perfect’ relationship, their ‘perfect’ partner. I’m not one of those people, but lately I’ve been wondering if perhaps I should be, mentally noting the types of people who bring out the best in me and the kind who bring out the worst.

But how does that translate into a list? And should it really be up to a partner to provide this?

That’s when I realise I am not looking for the perfect partner, the ideal relationship. I am not making a checklist of who I want them to be, but of who I am when I am with them. In a long-term relationship, a partnership, it's impossible to keep your worst at bay. It's part of who you are. But if I can make a commitment to being a person I want to be, and find someone who encourages me to be that, surely I am most of the way there?

Because it’s not just about choosing a partner, a relationship; it’s about choosing who I want to be, regardless of who I am with.

--AG

10 Things I've learned about blogging

Adventure Girl learns a lesson in putting it on show

I've been writing for Rhonda Perky's Bits for just over a year now, and it seemed as good a time as any to take stock of some blogging lessons I've had to learn the hard way.

1. People always think you're blogging about them. I discovered this first when I wrote a post about friendship. In a later conversation I learned that several of my friends believed the post was aimed at them. It wasn't.
2. People you are blogging about, never think it's about them. Yes, I mean you. No, not you. You. In the previous scenario, the friends the post was actually about, never made the connection.
3. At some point you will offend SOMEBODY. Okay EVERYBODY. This is pretty much to be expected as a writer. Just ask Helen Garner.
4. When you do offend, it won’t be over what you expect. Something which was written as a throwaway line (which we've already established is probably not about THEM) can cost you a friend, or at least earn you a cold shoulder or three. People have sensitivities you simply don't know about until you inadvertently stick them with the blogging equivalent of a giant needle.
5. People you know will read what you write. I know this sounds obvious, but when you're tapping away, expunging your deepest and darkest emotions, you can forget that your audience also includes THEM. It can be flattering, but also a little weird, when you can tell just by the way a person looks at you that THEY HAVE READ AND THEY KNOW.*
6. Other people you know will not read what you write and it’s not the people you expect. I remember writing a post, thinking, 'OMG my friend is going to LOVE this,' only to discover she never actually read it.
7. The line between TMI (Too Much Information) and NEI (Not Enough Information) is different for everyone. It is impossible to avoid tripping over the line at some point, for somebody, simply because the line is vastly inconsistent between individuals (see 3 and 4 above).
8. What seems clear to you is not always apparent to your audience. They are not inside your head, and what is inside your head doesn't always make it in entirety onto the page. Example: I wrote a blog post on being abused by my last boyfriend. When a friend indicated they had read the post, I felt I could talk a little more freely about what had happened. The response was, 'Wait -- he HIT you?' 'Yes, he hit me. More than once. Didn't my blog say that?' Apparently not clearly enough.
9. Only blog when you have something to say. Sometimes you are more prolific than others. In the down periods you may feel pressure to post while your ideas are still half-formed or virtually non-existent. You must resist; your readers will wait. Otherwise you will end up with a page of half curdled mush that nobody wants to read, and for which you wish you'd never hit 'Publish Post'.
10. Write something true to yourself. Write from what resonates, what keeps you up and night, and what you want to shout across the ether-sphere. You might be surprised who will end up reading and responding from halfway across the world. (Yes, I mean you).

*This applies equally to tweeting.

--AG

Never known

It's my back as I leave that you love best
Everything about me
that you’ll never know
You love my absence
Of identity
Of responsibility
an idea
a Presence
and the lack of anything more
an Object, romanticised, sexualised
never recognised
Never known

'Nobody buys flowers for the porn-pile girl'

Rhonda Perky goes under the covers to discover what it means to be a Modern ‘Slut’.

'Men want women to be sluts and now they're buying in,' -- Professor Gail Dines, quoted in the Brisbane Times.

Until a few years ago, my sexual experience was about as vanilla as you can get (you might remember my previous post on Married Sex – A fairytale in three parts). My first ‘real’ partner was the man I met at university and later married, a monogamous relationship that lasted almost ten years. Don’t get me wrong, I was a horny-as-hell teenager, but ‘sex’, actual intercourse, was something I felt very strongly should be tied to love and commitment, that engaging in casual or even kinky sex, was something I would be judged for, and for which I would judge myself.

How things change.

'Where are you and why aren’t you on my cock?' was a typical text message from my most recent ex. We dated for over a year, during which time he called me a 'cock-craving bitch' and boasted to his friends that I was 'up for anything' and 'always wet'. He even kept a tally of the number of times we shagged versus the number of times his coupled-up friends did. 'Do you realise we’ve f---ed more times this weekend than X and his fiancé this entire month?'

I mentioned this to a girl-friend once. 'Doesn’t that make you feel degraded?' she asked.

I remember I had to stop and think, because at the time it didn’t. I felt empowered. A divorced woman in her dirty 30s, embracing her sexuality, eager for as much sex as was on offer, anywhere, anytime: 'up for anything', indeed.

I had begun to actively seek out and initiate sex. I enjoyed being objectified in the bedroom, responded eagerly to booty calls, and issued booty calls of my own. I began to masturbate outside of the bedroom, to explore pornography and embrace raunch culture.

I refused to be judged, and I didn’t judge myself.

Yet I found myself wanting to qualify my position, to point out that for that year and a bit I was in love and remained faithful to my lover, that I was enjoying exploring sex within the confines and safety of monogamy, so clearly I was more judgemental than I liked to believe.

Jump forward in time some more.

Picture a single woman, happily shagging multiple partners, men and women, sometimes even on the same day. A woman who openly discusses (and writes about) masturbation, sex and pornography. In each engagement there is respect, for the partner and for the single woman: me.

There are no feelings of shame or regret on my part. I haven’t lied or cheated, and out of respect I have avoided shoving in a lover’s face that he or she is not my only lover. The rules of our engagements are the rules that we define between us, explicitly or implicitly. There is as much ‘friendship’ or ‘relationship’ as we establish. I haven’t tended to have one night stands, not because I think there is anything wrong with them, but because they don’t meet my present needs. If this changes and I start exploring one-off encounters, I certainly won’t think any less of myself.

What judgement is to be had here?

According to Dines, 'Young women today have two choices... to be f---able or invisible.'

I’d like to say I’m choosing neither.

I am embracing my sexual freedom – something my mother and her mother were never able to do – reclaiming the old labels and declaring with pride that this is my Year of Living Tartily, but while no one is actively calling me a slut, or openly passing judgement, they’re also not inviting me home to meet their mothers.

Mostly I can overlook it. After all, I don’t particularly want to meet their mothers, but every now and then it bothers me. It’s not that I feel disrespected; it’s because there is no room for much beyond sex in this scenario. No romance, no partnership, and only limited friendship. It seems to me that the girl who craves sex is the girl who is overlooked as anything more. F---able AND invisible.

'Slut' may no longer be a dirty word, but it seems old prejudices are very much alive – they just wear a more euphemistic face.

More and more my female friends complain of men describing them as 'too forward' or 'too sexual', while male friends relate stories about women they have dumped for being 'demanding' or wanting 'too much sex'.

Other women suffer from the reverse, describing text messages that only come late at night, including to one friend who received a message demanding she wear 'pigtails and a g-banger'. 'He only ever contacts me when he wants to get off,' she told me. 'I feel like his wank sock.'

It’s not the scenario Dines describes, but an old dichotomy just the same: Virgin versus Whore, and it’s kicking me and my girlfriends in the guts.

If we're not supposed to judge ourselves or be judged, how should we respond? Should we shrivel into our repressed and Virginal selves, shy away from ever asking, ever demanding the sex that we crave? Or do we reciprocate and act out the Whore, objectifying men as they objectify us, only make contact when we want to shag, and if a man feels threatened or can’t provide it, well, we’ll just find it somewhere else?

Because the me today knows that if someone is going to put me on the porn pile, I am going to write and direct that porn myself, and damned if I’ll think any less of myself for doing so. Maybe this makes me a Modern Slut, not a Virgin and not a so-called Whore, just Visible being Me.

--RP (Modern Slut)

Where has all the love gone?

Tiger Tale laments the loss of lovin' in the world of cyber sex

Driving home from work a couple of nights ago, I was stopped at the lights, and when I looked to my left I saw a young couple at the bus stop. She was sitting on his knee, their arms locked around each other, both of them completely oblivious to the pouring rain, the traffic, and in fact, the rest of the world.

I chuckled a little, then stopped as the thought struck me: how long has it been since I kissed someone like that?  How long has it been since I even wanted to kiss someone like that? Not just wanted to f*ck them, but to share a part of myself, to become involved and wrapped up in someone else?

Do we change as we get older, become jaded? Perhaps a skin grows on our hearts trying to protect us from hurt and damage. I don’t know, sometimes I don’t think I have the same intensity of feeling that I once did, and I want it back. I have vivid memories of early romance and how even the colours seemed brighter as we lay coiled together. What has happened to that feeling of wonder? It’s been so long since, to use a very old term, I have been 'courting'.

Has internet dating, instant messaging, and sexting, all conspired to take away some of the mystery and wonder that is a new partner? How many of you have seen your new play partner naked via text photo or webcam before you have taken their clothes off in real life?

For me, some of the joy of a new relationship is the exploration of one another’s bodies, their likes and dislikes, their particular kinks and button pushers. It seems like you look at a dating site and get a nice shop window view, a couple of face pics, some naughty ones just to pique your interest, and then a list of what they like and dislike, want to try, etc. Having all this information at your fingertips means you step past a lot of the initial chit chat, the getting-to-know-you part that traditionally happens before sex. Perhaps it’s this chit chat over a period of time that lets you find some compatibility beyond that first rush of lust? Maybe old style courting does have a place in the world still.

Am I the only one who feels like this, who deeply misses the level of intimacy that two teenagers seem to be able to reach effortlessly? Maybe it’s time for something a little deeper in my life, something with a little more meaning than just sex.

--Tiger

When the truth lies

Adventure Girl takes stock of a toxic truth

‘Just now I held up the fingers of my hand to you. You saw five fingers. Do you remember that?’
     ‘Yes’
     O’Brien held up the fingers of his left hand, with the thumb concealed.
     ‘There are five fingers there. Do you see five fingers?’
     ‘Yes.’
     And he did see them, for a fleeting instant, before the scenery of his mind changed. He saw five fingers, and there was no deformity. Then everything was normal again, and the old fear, the hatred and the bewilderment came crowding back again. But there had been a moment – he did not know how long, thirty seconds, perhaps – of luminous certainty, when each new suggestion of O’Brien’s had filled up a patch of emptiness and become absolute truth, and when two and two could have been three as easily been five, if that were what was needed. -- George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four.

‘For a compulsive liar, telling the truth is very awkward and uncomfortable while lying feels right.’ -- The Truth About Deception.

'Even when confronted with the cold facts, a true compulsive liar will never admit the truth. Attempts to make the person do so will result in further lying and perhaps even emotional outbursts designed to deflect attention from the lying.' -- Love to Know, Symptoms of Compulsive Liars.

It started with small things. We met and exchanged stories. He seemed open and artless, confiding a lot in a very short space of time. I opened up in return, drawn in; it was like I already knew him, or part of him, from somewhere before.

His history was touching and incredible. Perhaps too incredible. The way he spoke reminded me of a child who needs to exaggerate in order to feel special, to feel needed. The child in him spoke to the child in me.

He wasn’t much to look at: brown hair, brown eyes, generally innocuous; it was his wit which caught and held me. I guess you could say we bounced. His energy matched mine and his flirtatious banter had me wanting more.

As we spent more time together I noticed he would forget things. Things we’d done together, things he’d told me. A memory problem, he explained, from a childhood spent on Ritalin; later he blamed various injuries he’d sustained, injuries that also explained his chronic migraines and mysterious aches – symptoms I have since identified as withdrawal.

He admitted to having taken drugs in the past, but not for a long time. His medicine cabinet told another story. I quickly learned not to take anything from his ever-evolving store without examining it first – that box of ‘Panamax’ was as likely to contain OxyContin as Paracetamol.

We continued dating, exchanging more stories. I was having trouble reconciling the person he described then with the person he presented now. Trying to see the path his life had taken was virtually impossible. It wasn’t a progression, an evolution; he appeared to have been Person A at the same time as being Person B, and also Person C, when each personality was entirely incompatible. I didn’t need a timeline, I needed a Venn diagram!

Anytime I questioned him, an explanation toppled forth. Whatever the circumstance, he was always the victim; his name change (witness protection), his scattered work history (avoiding child support for a child he later ‘proved’ wasn’t his), the estranged family (responsible for his messed up childhood), the list goes on. He presented himself in one way, but behaved in another entirely. And another. And another. I joked that I would never know which ‘him’ I was going to see, but putting up with the anxiety his unpredictability caused, his extreme shifts of mood, wasn’t all that funny.

Still I stayed. He excited my imagination. He was crazy and sensitive and fun.

He was also selfish, vain, and a vindictive coward.

Over time I saw the many different faces he presented to many different people. He took care to keep his friendship groups separate. I was the exception, allowed to meet a selected few people from different circles of his life. It was enough for the cracks to become gaping holes. Stories he’d told me about them, and that they told me about him, didn’t add up. And it was little things, sometimes, things that shouldn’t even matter, like the cost of a ticket, who had said what, or where he spent his Sunday afternoon. Other lies were more significant, evidence of cheating, of misrepresenting our relationship, or the type of relationship he’d shared with others. Social networking made matters worse. I could see his interactions, his activities online: a picture at odds with his version of reality.

By now my gut was constantly screaming. A part of me knew it couldn’t last. I kept forcing fights, picking at old wounds like scabs. It wasn’t a question of whether I would leave, it was a question of when.

I could see how messed up he was, but more importantly, how messed up I was. It was as though he had this wound carved somewhere so deep in him, that was somehow so familiar in me. In his damaged psyche I found the mirror I had sought.

He threw tantrums and had violent meltdowns. I was at once repelled and drawn further in. Somehow this was fascinating. Always there was just enough to keep and hold me. It was as though he could sense when I was about to leave, and so tossed me a treat, a glimpse of the ‘him’ I knew to be in there somewhere, if only I could convince him to let it surface.

When things got too bad I would pull back, and he would say, ‘You’re the only good thing in my life.’ He had a way of making me feel that if I didn’t stay and be exactly what he wanted, another would quickly take my place. I knew no other could take his place with me.

Friends would want to know why, why did I stay? When he was at his worst, I would reply, ‘As soon as I get him to a psych, I’ll leave.’ When I was at my worst, it was, ‘I’m scared if I walk away he won’t follow.’

‘In some ways, you’re the better, more rational part of me,’ he once wrote. I know now it was partly self-hate that kept me there. Loving the worst parts in him was a way to accept those parts of me. If I could forgive the liar, the cheat, the histrionic, narcissistic, selfish, wounded, hurtful, nasty him, see those traits and love in spite of them – even because of them – I could forgive and heal those parts in me. But how could I explain this to my friends and family, that the worse he treated me, the more I loved him, when I didn’t even understand it myself?

I only knew that something was keeping me there, and that as long as I was there, I had to reconcile the fragments and the lies that simply didn’t add up. And so I went digging, trying to find independent sources that verified what I knew to be true. I needed the facts to line up, to turn my Venn diagram into something that worked.

It was dangerous and thrilling, fuelling an intense anxiety that became like a drug. I was searching to find the missing pieces that would somehow make sense of it all. I became the detective who can't rest until the mystery is solved. He was my mystery.

Afterwards, in my shame, I confessed my discoveries. He made me feel guilty and irrational for questioning things that were patently untrue. Yet I could be holding hard evidence that proved his lies, that showed who he was and who he wasn’t, and still he would explain it away. Because in his fractured mind he could hold multiple identities, multiple realities, and believe them all. He was using Doublethink, and I was the one going insane.* This was not a mirror I could continue to see.

In my desperate refusal to leave, I developed mechanisms for dealing with his behaviour, with this ever-shifting reality. I made excuses for him, to myself, and to others. The big lies were ones he needed to tell himself, and the little ones...well, maybe I could live with those.

Now I know my anxiety wasn’t about suspicion and mistrust; I was suffering from prolonged cognitive dissonance** which doesn’t let up until the mind can reconcile or purge it. Even now, I replay rusted conversations in my mind, making an inventory of all the facts I’ve gathered, the conclusions I’ve drawn, fantasising about reaching the point where reality lines up, when I can say, ‘See? Here. THIS is the truth,’ and have everyone acknowledge it.

I was digging not to find the truth for myself, but because I needed him to tell me that he knew all along he was holding only four fingers, that I wasn’t crazy, that he drove me to act crazy, and believe it.

I needed him to say, ‘I lied.’


--AG

P.S. I got him to see a psych in the end. And he didn’t follow.

*This phenomenon can also be described as 'Gaslighting'. According to Wikipedia:

Gaslighting is a form of psychological abuse in which false information is presented to the victim with the intent of making them doubt their own memory and perception. It may simply be the denial by an abuser that previous abusive incidents ever occurred, or it could be the staging of bizarre events by the abuser with the intention of disorienting the victim.

See also Robin Stern’s, ‘Are you in a gaslighting relationship?’, published on May 19, 2009.
 
**According to Wikipedia:

Cognitive dissonance is an uncomfortable feeling caused by holding conflicting ideas simultaneously. The theory of cognitive dissonance proposes that people have a motivational drive to reduce dissonance. They do this by changing their attitudes, beliefs, and actions... Dissonance is also reduced by justifying, blaming, and denying. It is one of the most influential and extensively studied theories in social psychology.

Smoke and Mirrors

.
.
...he had the ability to

             hold up a mirror

                        and somehow

make you reflect him.

'No Strings...?’ Well, maybe a few...

Rhonda Perky goes under the f*ck-buddy covers to discover a particularly stringy line

Don’t let anyone who has a f*ck-buddy (FB) tell you they are not in a relationship. They are. It’s not an exclusive/monogamous relationship, nor is it an open* or poly-amorous** one. It is what it is, and that is how you and your FB define it.

In this sense it can be more complicated than a primary relationship, because the rules are idiosyncratic to you and your FB. Some people consider anyone on their drunken-dial sex list an FB; for others an FB relationship is an ongoing, regular by-arrangement affair or something that has evolved over time and exists by the absence of attributes that would define it as a primary relationship.

Some attributes you can expect across most FB relationships include that it is finite, it has mutual boundaries, and most importantly, that you are not each other’s primary partner. You may not have another primary partner, and you may or may not be looking for one, but the FB isn’t it.

Establishing the rules
The rules that you define (and redefine) should be consensual. You can be there for sex, for affection, for companionship, or to help one another prepare for the next relationship of whatever kind, provided it is within the rules you and your FB have defined. This means treating one another with respect. You are not your FB’s dumping ground and they are not yours. Scratch their itch, but make sure yours is scratched, too. FBs also need to know at any point how much ‘friend’, how much ‘partner’, and how much ‘lover’ they can expect to give and to receive, and this can change over time, which means communicating your boundaries. And because an FB arrangement is a relationship like any other, the one rule that is not negotiable is, if you stop respecting yourself in the situation, or don’t feel respected, move on.

Communication: the meat and three-veg of any relationship
What happens when you have a different idea to your FB on where your boundaries lie? If one of your FB relationship rules is that your encounters should remain uncomplicated and fun (and neither of you finds negotiating boundaries particularly easy), things can quickly become complicated and not much fun at all. Similarly when you run into ordinary relationship problems, how much effort do you put into resolving them? Do you refer to the set of behaviours and rules you would apply to a friendship or those you would use with a primary partner? Many problems can be worked through, but the contentious word here is ‘work’. Like any relationship, you both have to be prepared to put in the effort, which can be counter to the rules you have established. A fairly minor issue can easily lead to one partner walking away leaving the other wondering what went wrong.

For and against
There are many articles out there that warn of the dangers inherent in FB relationships. Lissa Christopher argues, ‘Don’t do it’, in her article, ‘Stretching the friendship’, (The Age, 14 February 2011), while Rabbit White shares her experience of falling in love with her FB in, ‘A Meditation on the Fuck Buddy; Or My Fuck Buddy’:

'It was love… or something like it. In the sex, I opened myself up, and without communication, boundaries became gray, my heart unguarded. And this is where I’d get stuck.’

On the other side of the fence you will find relationship therapists like Harville Hendrix, who advocate using the time you are not in a primary relationship to practice changing your relationship modes and behaviours. Hendrix argues that you can explore your relationship short-comings more effectively when you are dating but not in love, because in this situation you are less fearful of loss and therefore more secure trying out new behaviours that may at first feel uncomfortable. An established FB relationship provides this type of opportunity in a way ordinary dating might not.

All good things come to an end
Because it is a finite relationship, there will inevitably be a time when one of you stops calling, stops responding, or when you or your FB comes out and says, ‘I can’t see you anymore.’ It may be because you have found someone who you want to be a primary partner, or because you feel your needs no longer coincide. Hurt, rejection, grief, are all natural when you lose someone from your life, even if you are not in love with them. But because it’s not a primary relationship, you may find yourself without the support from your friends, your family, and the understanding of your FB that you would otherwise expect.

To FB or not to FB?
I have gone from primary relationship to primary relationship. In those relationships I haven’t been good at maintaining boundaries, nor recognising my needs for what they are: sex, affection, companionship, even exploration. At first glance an FB relationship seems like a good way to learn my own boundaries, to practice new relationship modes, while avoiding many a lonely night under the covers. It might also stop me throwing myself into the first relationship that presents, simply because I have needs I want met that can’t be filled by an endless string of one-night-stands. I also know that establishing a functional, ongoing FB relationship isn’t easy, that I will be forced to set and adhere to boundaries, and to have the difficult conversations I normally try to avoid, and where I am right now, as long as I follow the one non-negotiable relationship rule, that can only be a good thing.

--RP

*an open relationship suggests that each is the other’s primary partner it’s just that they are not exclusive.
**poly-amorous implies that each person in the relationship can have multiple primary partners.

In the dark...

I realise I don’t know you

don’t want to know you

nor you me

but also

that I like it this way.

The Rules of the Game

This is actually the first piece I wrote for Rhonda Perky's Bits, but held off publishing for obvious reasons. It came to mind just now given I am re-entering the Game, hopefully this time, better equipped!

Happy reading.
--AG

 

‘Of all the girls, I choose you.’

Adventure Girl puts the pieces together

A while back I wrote a post on being THAT girl. Recently, and to my horror, I discovered I can be another kind of girl, too. The girl you see on trains with a black eye, looking defeated, the one who won’t look you in the eye, the one who loses herself, her values, her family and her friends, in trying to be whatever she needs to be to earn her partner’s approval, to keep his attention, to be that special person to him. The girl who lets herself be beaten down and abused and then begs for forgiveness.

‘Of all the girls, I choose you.’

When I heard these words I was on top of the world. Finally. This is what I’d been waiting for. These were the words I craved, what I’d put up with everything to hear. Words that blinded out every lie, every betrayal, every hurt, and the complete disrespect shown to me.

I had become the Battered Woman.

Self-esteem is something both tangible and intangible. It manifests in all kinds of ways. The way we try to earn good grades, or seek praise, the way we grasp for the attentions of prospective mates. It can also make us yearn for things that are bad for us. Self-sabotage, if you like. It can mean we don’t trust when people are good to us, and seek out those who mistreat us instead, because this is all we think we deserve. It is what feels real to us, safe, and familiar.

Over the past year I have let someone close to me hurt me, lie to me and manipulate me, over and over. Every time I was ready to walk away he drew me back in. Somehow the memories of the hurt and the betrayal blurred and I was blinded by hope. This time it will be better. This time it will be fixed. This time I can heal. It never was and I never did.

In fact, each time I went back the situation got worse, because I was a little weaker than before, hating myself that much more for giving in, for being wilfully blind. Shame ate away at me until there was nothing left but a blinding, desperate need turning me into a person I despised.

A wonderful friend described it as like being addicted to playing the pokies. You insert coin after coin, blow hundreds, thousands of dollars, waiting for the rare times you put your money in and get a few dollars back. Even if you hit the jackpot, it doesn’t last, and how much money have you thrown away to get there? The coins come out eventually, just enough to keep you trying, to see each win as so much more significant than it actually is. Then the machine ticks over. No more flashing lights. No more returns. And so you insert more coins, starting over, hoping against hope for another return, another jackpot.

This has been me. Waiting for the rare times when things are good, when I’m getting the attention, the love, the security I crave. Never the respect I deserve.

Each time seems like a breakthrough. ‘He did THIS’, or, ‘He said THAT’, I tell my friends, bursting at the seams.

They look at me, uncertain, sometimes with awful pity. ‘Isn’t that how it should be all the time?’

To me, now beaten down, throwing good time, effort, love, and even money, after bad, I say, ‘But he sees me, knows me, flawed as I am, and still loves me. The others, they never saw me. Not really.’ Those others being any guy who has ever shown me love and respect, who has cherished me, who I have tested and tested and finally pushed away. Because I haven’t trusted that what they were showing me was real. How could it be? It must be cracked and flawed, or else aimed at a false image of me.

This is my trampolining love and also my leaky boat.

Finally I have some perspective. My trip gave me enough distance, enough time, to break the cycle. Working on my underlying needs, I was able to begin to recognise the situation and also see how I got into this mess in the first place.

It has meant that when I came back and it happened again, worse than before, I was able to see the situation for what it was. Recognise in myself the Battered Woman. This time I was able to walk away and stay there.

Still, I know it will take time. To not want to go back, to grieve and to heal. Time and space and reason.

I am very lucky. I have incredible friends to support me, an awesome psych to help me work through my underlying issues, and I’m not afraid to ask for help.

My biggest enemy at this point is myself. I have to stop from weakening and continue to build my self esteem.

Because not going back is only the start of the battle. I have to address the underlying need, the child in me who seeks out a partner who will treat her badly, who in her messed up way equates this to being loved, to re-train my childhood brain to seek love in better ways and to offer her the support and protection she badly needs.

Then one day when I meet someone who treats me with respect, who loves and cherishes me, I won’t cringe away, feeling unworthy. I won’t test their love to breaking point. I will be able to accept that it is real, solid, dependable, and that it is actually intended for me.

-AG

Keeping the adventure alive, or ‘Homeward bound’

It’s my last morning in Buenos Aires and my last morning on this particular adventure. In less than an hour I will be on my way to the airport for the final leg home.

As I’m writing this I can’t help but feel teary. I’m not entirely sure why. Probably in part from lack of sleep (I did make it back to my hotel before sunrise this morning, but only just), but also because while I feel ready to stop travelling, I know I’m not quite ready to go home.

It’s not that I haven’t missed the people I left behind, it’s just that now I know I don’t want to go back to the way things were before.

Over the last few days the anxiety has been back, the churning horrors in my stomach and a mind that panics senselessly, and I realise in part I came away not to find myself, but to be myself again. The person who isn’t depressed and anxious and going crazy feeling trapped inside her own life.

Six weeks away and I am no closer to knowing how to change it.

On the other hand, I know it’s time. This last week I’ve been struggling to find the energy to keep going, to navigate yet another new city, to struggle to understand and be understood, to take in more sights, more explanations. I stopped wanting to find a laundry, and started finding creative ways to make my remaining clean clothes last the distance. I no longer pillage each new city for all it’s worth, instead being content to visit a handful of the same places, the same eateries, knowing I could be experiencing more.

I wish I was the kind of person who could quit their job, pack up and leave with no fixed agenda and no return ticket. It’s the kind of freedom I crave, and the kind of freedom I can’t afford.

The thing is, I know myself, and I know that person isn’t me. I crave spontaneity and freedom, but within a secure and structured framework. After this trip, I know that more than ever. It’s much easier to let go when you know exactly how far you have to fall.

On the other hand, I need to know that I have future adventures to look forward to. Already I’ve had some awesome new friends contact me, ‘Would you want to do a safari with me in Africa’? How about Mexico? Cambodia? This should feel liberating, knowing South America won’t be my last trip, but the first of many. Instead I feel anxious, trapped. How am I going to fund all this travel? How will I get time off work? I still have a mortgage to maintain and cats to feed, and…What if my thirst for new adventures keeps me tied to the security and suffocating sameness I tried to escape?

What I can say is that I have come away with an incredible array of experiences, a thirst for more adventures, a better knowledge of my abilities and more importantly, my limits. I know the situations where I thrive and those where I break down. I’m not an open-ended traveller. I’m not a raging extrovert. I like to party, but not every night. I like to meet new people and experience new things, but not every day. I’m not someone who revels in organisation and logistics, and as much as I need time alone, I also need time with people. And eventually I just get tired. Bone tired. I don’t want to keep moving. I can’t take any more in. I need a vacation from my vacation, to stop and to breathe, and then I can start again.

So I head home to breathe. Not with the epiphany and life-altering plan that I’d hoped, but with a fresh perspective and a determination to keep going, to get well and get moving, because there’s so much more of the world to see.

--AG