B wanted to introduce me to his friends, a non-monogamous married couple: M & C. M was from the UK, too. I would like him, B said. He wasn’t wrong. But what neither of us had anticipated was how much I would like him.
We met up at a local dive bar on the outskirts of town. Greeted one another with hellos and hugs, and settled at a table on the patio. B and I on one side, M and C on the other. I took a moment to appreciate how hot they both are – they’re really fucking hot, guys.
We all started chatting, I couldn’t tell you what the conversation was about – I was a little tipsy from day drinking while watching Eurovision in my pyjamas all afternoon. So, I was probably yammering about Eurovision, actually.
I used this uniquely European phenomenon to segue smoothly into a conversation with M about our mutual Britishness. I’m unclear on the finer points of it, but after not too terribly long we had a moment of realization: we had both attended the same, small, middle-of-nowhere university back home.
At exactly the same time.
Almost twenty years ago.
It may have been the effects of the rather copious amounts of Southern Comfort I’d consumed during the preceding seven hours, but I was fucking delighted by this revelation. We descended into reminiscing about our college days, the places we had in common, the experiences we’d unknowingly shared. Somewhere in the midst of this excitement, as my volume rose, so did my heartrate. (We would later discover that not only did we live in the same town, at the same time… we lived on the same street, fifteen houses from each other. Fucking wild, right?! We’ve even pinpointed at least one occasion that we were in the same room.)
In the days that followed, M and I began texting one another. Innocently enough, at first. More reminiscing, comparing notes on concerts attended, taste in music, places visited. The more we talked, the more I liked him. Oh shit, I thought, this might be going somewhere. I like him, and the feeling is clearly mutual.
The night we met, we all agreed that everybody was attracted to everybody and that the only reasonable course of action would be for all of us to fuck each other. Hooray! We made a plan for a few weeks out, the group sex we have been talking about for literally years at this point was finally going to happen. With people we knew, and who B knows well, and trusts entirely. They’re both bi, we’re both bi, it’s perfect! I will write (yet another) blog post about the events of that specific night which has now HAPPENED (confetti and fireworks for everyone!) and was better than I would ever have predicted!
But for now, back to M. We talked, talked, and talked some more. We are texting each other even as I write this, as we have been pretty much constantly for the past week. We decided we wanted to get together, just the two of us, before the group shenanigans, to explore this connection we were building face-to-face, one-on-one. So, we arranged to meet up back at the bar where we’d sat down together the week before.
I arrived a few minutes before he did, chomped down a couple more mints because I was ready to kiss this man the second he got there. And, I did. He parked beside me, got out, and we’d barely said hello to one another before our lips connected. Confetti and fireworks, indeed. I love the way he kisses. The way we kiss together. It’s delicious and exciting and makes my underwear damp. I feel like a lovesick, horny teenager for this guy, and I am soaking up every moment.
We got drinks and sat down outside, where we talked, kissed more, held hands, stroked thighs, it was perfect. We stayed there for as long as time allowed (I had dinner plans with B afterwards), kissed goodbye, and went home.
“Fuuuuuuuuck”, he texted me, immediately after we left, “I knowwwwww”, I replied. We are into each other! Entirely unexpectedly, for the first time since my heart was broken, I am really, truly, interested in building something with someone new. And holy fuck, it feels incredible.
The following day, I went to his house, armed with many cakes and pastries for him and his family. I hung out with both he and C, their kiddos, their friends, it was relaxed, easy, simple. C already knew that he and I had begun talking, and had our mini-date. She was supportive of this new development between us, and wanted to facilitate this budding connection we were forming, as well as get to know me better – and I, her! Being poly is fucking badass sometimes! I stayed a few hours, until I had to be elsewhere, but I’d be seeing them again later, for some group fuckery at B’s house. A story for another post, but one that will be worth the wait, I promise.
I saw him again the day after that. B and I were planning to go and pick up his kid together, but I asked if he’d mind if I stayed home and invited M over to see me. He was enthusiastically supportive (of course he was, it’s B). So, I made the invitation, and M accepted.
B left, and M arrived. I was still unshowered from the events of the night before – I happen to know that M is into a little stank, and I was more than willing to indulge him. We made out, I took him to the bedroom, and he gave me head so good that I came in what felt like thirty seconds. We fucked, I came some more. His dick has one of those magical curves that somehow hits exactly the right spot, no matter the position. It is perfection. Thinking about it now is terribly distracting, but I shall persevere!
We took a break from fucking to snuggle up. We talked, listened to music, touched, kissed. It was heavenly. He says beautiful things with that beautiful mouth of his, and I eat them all up. “Where have you been all my life?” He asked. “Literally everywhere you have!” I answered. We lay there, entwined in our sickly sweet bubble of mutual adoration and wonderment, until it was time for him to leave – B would be returning with his kid soon, and M’s presence and my disheveled appearance would be tricky to explain. We dressed, kissed some more, and said our ‘until next time’s.
I’m going to allow myself to enjoy this. It’s intense, heady, romantic, and somewhat adolescent. But we are on the same page – we will allow ourselves to feel what we feel, not fight it, not be afraid of it, just ride the wave and see where we land. Our respective partners are supportive, even excited, for us. It all feels too good to be true, but I think it is true. It may be the NRE talking, but it feels fucking real to me.
Time will tell. My plan? Keep fucking around, and enjoy every solitary second of the finding out.
Fat and Slutty 