Part 5: Implosion
(You may be looking for Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, or Part 4)

I. Dinner and Drinks Followed by Manipulative Bullshit, Or: Oh No She Din-NIT

That night we went out for dinner and drinks. The first stop on our itinerary following dinner, as chosen by Joan and Danny, was a cocktail bar. Jill and I had never been, and we appreciated the comprehensive drinks menu, the table service, and the speakeasy-like atmosphere. From there, we walked up to a beer-and-wine bar that’s a favorite of Jill and myself. Though the lateness of the hour on a Friday night ensured that the place would be packed, we were able to snag a table and held court there while we drank.

Our third stop was a recently-opened lounge-type bar that Joan was eager to check out despite my warnings that it had sucked in its previous two iterations; I felt vindicated when she admitted that I was right. Nothing against twentysomething douchebags slathered in Axe Body Spray and desperation, but it wasn’t my scene when I was in my twenties, and less so now that I’m quickly approaching forty. We finished our night at a longtime favorite pub featuring live music and cheap beer, one that Jill and I both recalled being far busier on a weekend night than it happened to be.

Jill and I got home after two o’clock in the morning, tired but happy. The night had been a lot of fun, and interactions between Joan and I weren’t awkward at all. It felt like we were friends. She even hugged me hello when she and Danny walked into the restaurant, something I don’t recall her ever doing before. I’m sure she must have hugged me at least once, perhaps at my grandmother’s funeral some fifteen years ago. It’s certainly possible, anyway.

The next day, however, she texted me to say that she would have liked it if I’d subtly grabbed her ass or touched her thigh at specific points during the previous night. And I wouldn’t have disliked that myself, though I’m not one to guess whether a woman wants to be manhandled without being explicitly told beforehand. If her spouse is present and has made no indication that he’s okay with that sort of thing, I’m going to err on the side of caution and keep my hands to myself. That’s something else that can get you killed.

A couple days later, after another frank sexual discussion/dirty talk session, Joan said she felt we should slow things down. I was relieved, actually, and I agreed with her without betraying the relief I actually felt. At that point she backpedaled and said that she was worried that if we did stop or slow down it would be worse for me because of the unrequited feelings I’ve been carrying for her for so many years. She claimed that she didn’t want to fuck with my head, though I absolved her and said perhaps it was the best thing for our friendship. At this point I was just looking for an end to the conversation. I don’t know whether she was trying to provoke me to anger or hurt feelings, but I wasn’t about to let it happen.

So instead she made a hard-right turn and said that she wasn’t down with my “lifestyle” and didn’t think she could be the friend I want or need. I didn’t have any idea what her lifestyle comment may have referred to; I recall that some years back while we were all having dinner together she and Danny asked if Jill and I had ever had a threesome. The question came more or less out of nowhere, and was posed in such a way that they were guessing more than they were asking. We didn’t admit that we had, but we didn’t exactly deny it. This is, as far as I can remember, the one time Joan’s questioning has ventured into the realm of non-monogamy. That’s the only thing I can think of, because she doesn’t really know anything about our extracurricular activities beyond the fact that we might – or might not – have had a threesome once upon a time.

On the other hand, perhaps she was referring to my tendency to share everything with Jill, or at least my refusal to sneak around behind her back. Or maybe it was something else altogether. Either way, there was something about my lifestyle with which she took offense. She made a vague reference to our daughter finding out, as though trying to show me a drawback to said lifestyle that perhaps had thusfar eluded me. I was surprised and disappointed by her judgment of me, though I didn’t ask her to elaborate. Instead I excused myself from the conversation and muted her messages again. When curiosity got the better of me a couple days later I checked to see if she’d written back. She had: “Are you thinking about me?”

II. Wherein I Turn the Whole Thing Into an Indictment of Monogamy, As I Often Do

Few things turn me off faster than a woman who is stupid enough to believe that I’d be willing to sneak around behind my wife’s back, especially when I’ve already told her that Jill and I have no secrets. This isn’t the first time such a thing has happened, and I assume it won’t be the last. Shortly before our daughter was born a female acquaintance to whom I’d long been attracted began sending me suggestive texts and sexy (often naked) photos. It was very clear that she was sneaking around behind her significant other’s back and that she assumed I was doing the same. Needless to say, I told Jill right away, and at the same time my respect for this person – and, gradually, my attraction for her as well – plummeted. She was no longer interesting to me, but I kept it going for awhile because I enjoyed seeing her naked right up until the implied disrespect for my wife got to be too much and I no longer did.

I felt stupid for fighting for my friendship with Joan that day at lunch. Maybe I was right to want to let it go the week before. The impression that I got from her was that she felt that sneaking around behind your spouse’s back is totally acceptable – cheating is an American tradition! – but communicating openly? Compersion? She must see us as fucking degenerates for daring to go to such radical lengths to have a healthy marriage.

I also felt defensive, and perhaps even somewhat paranoid. At the same time I felt proud of myself for never openly sharing the details of our private life with her, or for that matter with most of the people we know offline. All I could think of was, what if she knew the truth? We would have been slut-shamed worse than a seventeen-year-old girl from a fundamentalist Christian household who’d been caught with condoms in her purse. I can’t even imagine what she’d make of my being poly. This is exactly why we don’t – nay, can’t – share such facets of our relationship more openly. I wish we could. We just can’t.

Joan is someone I’ve known for almost thirty years, and have considered a friend for nearly as long. We’ve been in intimate situations together, seen each other naked umpteen times, and know each other’s sexual likes and dislikes to some extent. With all of this in mind, she still tried to slut-shame me. Imagine how someone else, someone who didn’t know us nearly as well, who didn’t have the same decades-long friendship behind them, who conceivably hadn’t experimented sexually the way Joan and her husband had, or who thought we were perhaps more sexually conservative, might react.

People have preconceived notions about Jill and I, because people tend to have preconceived notions about everything and everyone other than themselves. They make assumptions: “I would never have an open relationship, so I’m sure that these people, who always seem so normal and just like me, don’t have one either.” Hell, it doesn’t have to be that extreme: “I would never let my spouse flirt with somebody else, so I’m sure anyone who does flirt is doing so secretly.” Because there is no serious ongoing dialogue on sex, things like polyamory and non-monogamy will never be normalized in the public eye. It takes knowing that lots of so-called “normal” people – people who hold down full-time jobs, raise children, go to church, and are generally speaking productive members of society – are in such a relationship for people to see that it doesn’t make you some kind of debauched monster.

It pains me to think that most people in our social circle would probably bail on us, or at least judge us harshly, if they knew some of the things we’d done sexually. I’m not saying that all of them would; conceivably some would be supportive, or even envious regardless of whether they could say so publicly. But I’m certain some, if not most, of the people we know, would be ill-equipped to process it. Their preconceptions about the sort of people we must be to have that kind of a relationship would likely ruin our friendship, or in the case of family, whatever relationship we have with them.

As I told a Twitter friend in the wake of all of this, I’d gladly lose ten supposed friends – or more – if it meant I could be myself, with no more fear of being found out, no forever waiting for the other shoe to drop, no desperate need for discretion influencing our every move. It sounds like Heaven on earth, to the extent that I even believe in Heaven. After all, while I earlier bemoaned the fact that some would judge us, in truth I have no problem weeding out the shitty pseudo-friends from the ones who understand or otherwise wouldn’t judge our sexual needs.

Of course, if you’ve been reading our stuff for any appreciable length of time you are undoubtedly aware that I don’t keep the details close to the vest for my own sake. No, I do it for Jill, who requires that discretion for reasons both professional and personal. Perhaps someday it won’t be an issue. I won’t hold my breath, however.

III. Thoughts on Cheating

I know I’ve expressed similar sentiment elsewhere on this blog, but I think it says a lot about our societal standards that some would rather cheat on a partner they purport to love than try to negotiate an arrangement that, while contrary to the supposed norm and seemingly unorthodox, works for many. I don’t judge others’ relationships as they typically don’t affect me at all. I understand that feelings change and it can be expensive both emotionally and financially to get a divorce. But how the fuck is cheating more acceptable than honest, open communication? Are we so scared of upsetting the status quo that we’d rather be deceitful and cheat? Or are we so selfish, and do we feel so entitled to have whatever we want without conflict, that we don’t even bother asking for permission before taking it?

I don’t judge those who interact with others without the permission of their spouse or significant other. I don’t know why they cheat, and ultimately it’s none of my business anyway. All I know is that it’s not the right thing for us. I feel disappointed not only that my friend was willing to sneak around – not that that stopped me from indulging her, really – but that she thought even for an instant that that was something of which I was capable as well. Among a very small portion of our social circle I may have the reputation of a man whose sole focus is sex, but I’d like to think that I’m also known for the strong, loving marriage Jill and I have built over the last several years on a foundation of trust and mutual consent. I just wish Joan had known better.

IV. Conclusion

While I was initially worried that I’d somehow been at fault for the way things transpired between Joan and myself, I realize now that this is not the case. Perhaps our years of friendship blinded me to her deeper issues as much as my unrequited feelings and attraction to her had done so. I may have given her too much freedom and demanded too little respect, but I’m secure in the knowledge that I’m not a misogynist, nor am I someone who uses others without regard for their feelings.

Those who are aware of the situation in its entirety acquit me of the blame while acknowledging that Joan’s issues – the extreme paranoia and unwillingness to trust, swings in confidence, loss of memory, and social awkwardness – may be indicative of mental illness. Some have suggested bipolar disorder while others claim borderline personality disorder. While I certainly find no reason to doubt either of these, I have no way of diagnosing her myself. And while I had my suspicions toward the end of my time chatting with her, I wasn’t about to suggest that she might have such a condition. I can only imagine her reaction were I to bring it up.

https://twitter.com/EmmyRTWS/status/585131763372052480

In the wake of this disaster, words of encouragement and absolution from friends both online and off were greatly appreciated. It isn’t every day that a self-proclaimed feminist like myself briefly considers that he could possibly be a despicable entitled sexist pig. It’s not who I am. I certainly didn’t share all of this in the hopes that the blogosphere would rise up to shame or ridicule a woman who is likely suffering from extreme mental and emotional pain. I suppose that, on some level, I just wanted to achieve some measure of catharsis and closure. But if someone saw fit to exonerate me, I wasn’t about to refute their efforts.

In closing, I’ll leave you with this bit of insight from our good friend Melissa Camacho, which WordPress refuses to embed properly:

@jackandjillcpl hugs hun. I read the whole feed. bitches be crazy! 😂

— Melissa Hardin (@RamblingLlama) March 24, 2015