After a 3 day stay in Chicago we are back on the road heading to Akron. This little road trip of mine was concocted to celebrate the one we took for the hubs’s second opinion at the Mayo Clinic. It was also a defiant choice because he told me previously that he wanted our Alaskan cruise to be his last trip. I can’t have that. Not yet. He has since recanted his statement. Instead he has corrected it to be “no more road trips. Only cruises.”
That’s fine, punkin. Whatever you want.
Other than the title of the song, this doesn’t make me think of Chicago in the slightest. I thought it was a good choice seeing as how we had just been there. Expect the forthcoming songs to be similar in nature. What’s fun with my future choices is that they do in fact remind me of moments in my life.
The first time I ever heard this song, and immediately became obsessed with it, was from the opening credits of the Netflix show “The Politician.” It may have aired in 2019 but I didn’t get around to watching it until the first Covid lockdown. It had been a special request watch from the bf since it had his crush, Ben Platt. My interest in a Ryan Murphy program was minimal at best. So, I had kept pushing it off until we were faced with copious amounts of time and nothing to fill it with.
Covid truly changed my life. As I’m sure it did for everyone. But it feels like for me it changed everything significantly moreso. For the better.
Up until lockdown, the interaction between my husband (Charlie) and my bf (Josh) ranged from non-existent to limited. For the first 2 years of Josh’s and my relationship it had been very, very separate. Per the bf’s request and just the newness of polyamory for all of us. When everything closed and we couldn’t go anywhere, we were forced together.
We all started watching tv together in silence. It was awkward at first. Josh didn’t know how to act around Charlie and vice versa. It took some time to reroute old habits to where they began to have their own rapport.
My two relationships are very different in how they function. My husband is not very affectionate, we are more mentally intimate (conversations/debates/discussion.) Physical intimacy is just not who Charlie is. A peck on the lips every once in awhile satisfies his needs.
The boyfriend on the other hand… he’s attached to the hip. He has to be touching me. And I don’t say that as a complaint, it’s just how it is. I appreciate both forms because they suit me. I am someone who is happy when my partner is. So trying to find a balance with the two was a challenge.
This song brings back those first few months of mixing the two lives. If you compared how they are now to then, night and day. We’ve done many trips together. We’ve shared a bed (in a non-sexual way for you nosey betches) and we’ve all gotten comfortable around each other hanging in our hot tub in the buff. Again, nothing sexual.
I have to recognize how much the bf gave in the beginning. This was not initially the situation he wanted. There were other boundaries in place that kept everything separate. I imagine to keep himself from being hurt by seeing me with the husband. He was making himself fit for me. Either he has grown accustomed to it and appreciates the relationship for what it is or he’s tricking himself. I hope it’s the latter. I constantly worry that I have somehow manipulated him into this relationship. I do not want that at all. My number one goal is ALWAYS consent. And when I have brought up these same concerns to him he has always affirmed that I have not. He is here of his own choice.
Unfortunately the bf is not with us on this trip. A month off is entirely too long for him. He will however be meeting us midway through, for the weekend, and at the end. And I’ll be happy to have my whole family together again.
For the record, I genuinely am not a fan of Justin Timberlake. He has an okay voice, but after seeing how he treated Britney Spears and how he left Janet Jackson out in the cold for nipplegate, I’ve realized he might not be a good person. Someone’s actions tells you far more about them than their words. He may be a perfectly lovely person, but I will proceed with caution in regards to him.
The only reason I’ve included him now is because it fits the narrative I am trying to tell. The only song of his I have genuinely enjoyed and like is a duet he did with Chris Stapleton. (P.S. check that shit out. “Say Something.” Ugh, so good.) This particular song reminds me of a specific person and time in my life. One that lasted for two months but it felt like it was forever.
Have you ever heard that old saying “to get over someone, you just need to get under someone else?” Well, in an attempt to get over Sergio I tried to slut my way to emotional freedom. Thank Albus that Grindr didn’t exist at that time. If I had had untethered access to horny dudes I would have been a way bigger slut. All I had at my disposal was AOL chat rooms and that was a hit or miss situation. I didn’t even know gay.com chat rooms existed. Which is a blessing in disguise because it kept my selection limited. Being the pulsing sack of testosterone, I ended up meeting with this much, much, MUCH older dude who had promised a “fun time” with a third. I was hesitant, because I had met with this gentleman once before and he was a weirdo. Not the scary kind. He was just sad.
This guy was infamously known on AOL as Blur69. While not caring for his aging mother, he was fishing for dick online. The first time we met up he was stinking drunk. When this older woman came out to investigate the noises, he pushed me into his bedroom, shut the door, and turned to viciously yelled at her to get back in her room. Super cringe.
While in the middle of doing “stuff” he fell asleep. I showed myself out and swore I would never meet up with him again.
Well… Evidently my resolve is easily ruined with the offer of a three-way.
Please, keep in mind that at this time I am 17. I look back now and yeah, cool, they helped a sister out, but they 1,000% should not have. I was underage! Regardless… That did not stop me.
The night of the promised group action I snuck out my window, stole my parents car, and drove across town to meet with “Boozy” and mystery dude.
The third turned out to be this twenty-something man named “Mike.” He was a chubbier than described and had a nasty attitude. When I met him I wanted to turn around and leave. Did I? No. For three reasons: one, I am someone who feels obligated to follow through with an agreed upon event; two, I was freshly thin and knew what it felt like to be rejected for my weight; and three, I was blinded by my sex drive. Plus, I drove all that way on a suspended license…
Not even two minutes in Blur69 passed the fuck out. It was down to just “Mike” and I. We did our thing and snuck out, hoping not to wake Blur’s mother. On the way to our cars we started talking and he was very nice. Not my type in the slightest, but nice enough that I was willing to exchange numbers with him. That was the last time I ever just willy-nilly handed out my digits. To this day, if I do give it to you, it is the equivalent to a commoner being knighted. Okay? So feel honored. I don’t like random people messaging me. It bugs.
Before I had set this boundary for myself, “Mike” continued to text me randomly. We ended up becoming pretty good friends. Unfortunately he liked me way more than just an acquaintance. Those feelings were not reciprocated. But did that stop me from agreeing to meet with him when he dangled the opportunity of another three way? (Are you seeing a pattern? Because I am.)
Against my better youthful judgement I let my libido answer for me and agreed to meet up with “Mike” and another stranger.
(Side note, I don’t know how I’m still alive, with all of the risky shit I was willing to do. Truly.)
Once again, after my parents were soundly asleep, I snuck out and met the two men at a hotel around the corner from my house. There I was introduced to the married man who would become my second “boyfriend,” Jason.
Jason was 10 years older than me, with a little pooch, blonde hair in a buzz cut and tons of freckles. At the time he was married to a woman and had 3 little boys around the ages of 6 months to 4 years old. How they knew each other was that “Mike” lived with this growing little family and the two worked together at a telecommunications business.
That night, Jason and I ended up being the only ones to do anything. To this day I would describe our encounter as electric. He and I had this connection I could and cannot explain. I did not want it to end and we only got to third base.
The entire time, Mike sat in the corner of the room, sulking. I expected him to join us at some point but evidently he was waiting for an invite. Without any explanation, he got so offended that he grabbed his things and left the two of us in the room alone.
“Okay,” I said to Jason.
“Eh, don’t pay him any attention. He’s just butt hurt. He’ll get over it.”
I drove away from this episode thinking I would never see him/them again. But I was wrong.
As it was, Jason had also felt the same way about our tryst. In a roundabout way he got my contact information and from the moment he first instant messaged me on AIM, we began meeting nearly every day. I was on my summer break from high school and Jason was on medical leave for his gall bladder. His wife worked an office job so that meant we had full access at his place.
At first I was uncomfortable with the entire thing. Who was I to come in and ruin this man’s marriage? My friends told me to be careful. And even when we met up one time and I saw his son’s car seat in the back seat it made me cringe but did not deter me. I didn’t seem to care. It was then that I adopted my personal philosophy when it came to married men: I don’t care, I’m not the one cheating.
I genuinely don’t know how his wife never caught on. We texted constantly. He would find any excuse to come and pick me up at my parents house. We would drive somewhere and do our thing, and each time was awesome. I will not lie to you dear reader. I think the sin of infidelity made it all the more delicious. (Eesh I’m not a good person.)
One night he picked me up in this old, white Ford F-150, with Justin’s song playing on the radio. He said, “What do you think of my boyfriend?” Referring to Timberlake.
“Meh,” I said.
“Bitch!” He replied.
Again… I am truly dumbfounded that she did not know.
Jason broke it off with me the day before the start of my senior year, at the end of August. I was annoyed and pissed that I did the most immature, manipulative, thing I have ever done; I lied about killing myself. I know as a sane adult that you don’t do shit like that. Then… I knew I just didn’t care. I was burnt out that I was dumped AGAIN that I wanted someone else to feel uncomfortable.
It wasn’t long before I was absolutely over Jason. Yeah, it was fun while it lasted, but what was the end game? He wouldn’t have left his wife for me. I was still in high school. The best option was for us to go our separate ways. Whatever it had been had run it’s course. He had to deal with his shit, and I needed to grow up.
Years later we reconnected and I apologized for being so immature. He found the courage to come out to his wife. She took it really well and they’re still very good friends. They talk to the other about their boy problems. And it’s weird seeing photos of their sons… They’re literally the age now that I was when I met their father. While I haven’t, because I lack the courage to do it, I have wanted to ask how he would feel if one of his sons met up with someone ten years older than them for sexual encounters. It’s interesting to see the difference of opinion when one is on the outside.
We are nowhere near the time that my husband has left me. That moment sits as a tiny spec on the horizon of my timeline, but, as with time, we march ever toward it. And knowing that it’s there, rots me from the inside.
My grief of the situation comes and goes. I have gotten to a place where I can handle it when it does exist in my headspace. Those are the days I ugly cry in my car, hoping no one in the vehicle next to me happens to look over. I am very unattractive when I cry. I literally struggle to breathe, as if every breath becomes thinner and thinner and I am just gasping at air. The only other time I have experienced such tears was the time my husband and I had a brief separation.
Before we became polyamorous we basically just cheated on each other. Our relationship had turned into lies and secrets and neither one of us had the guts to be honest. The truth came out when I downloaded Grindr to cheat. I caught his profile at the end of our street, on his way to visit his dad in Palm Springs. Over the course of his brief trip I watched his account like a hawk. I was obsessed. When he returned I was honest. We struggled with things after that, and at one point I asked him to leave. He went and stayed in a hotel for a few days, and that morning I cried much like I do now. I could barely get out of bed. If I attempted to get dressed for work, I would start to cry again and my legs would buckle out beneath me. It was one of the worst mornings of my life.
At the time I didn’t understand these tears. I have cried before but never like this. And I always questions their sincerity. Even now I wonder if they’re real, or if it’s just because I am expected to feel something. I think I’m the only person who doubts such things.
After his return to our house our relationship changed. We started to communicate and eventually the truth about his infidelity came out. Instead of being angry with him I was overcome with relief. Finally, I wasn’t the worst one in the relationship. The one who cheated on an honest, dutiful, good man. At least that was the narrative I told myself, because I had repeatedly asked him if he had. He would always tell me that he hadn’t and I would feel ever worse. When I finally got the truth it felt like I could finally breathe. A gigantic weight had been lifted from our relationship and my shoulders. Since then our bond has never been stronger. All it took was the truth, and the inability (both of us have) to give up.
It seems to track that once we finally move into a better place in our marriage he would be taken from me. Even now my eyes fill with tears. I just want to scream. I want to take a sledgehammer and destroy everything in my path until I am too weak and too tired to carry on. There are days that I literally just want to die. Losing my father, my mother dwindling due to Alzheimer’s, and my husband to ALS is just too much sometimes.
Just know, I am too much of a coward and (bizarrely at the same time) too conceited to take my own life. That being said, just know that if I were hit by a car I wouldn’t try and hold on.
It’s going to be hard, but doable, not to read into the actions and words during this time. When I’m left with no answers and my mind is searching for some sense of stability or ‘realness’ I begin to look for the answers around me. Like when Charlie sleeps on the complete opposite side of the bed, where he used to hog all of it, is that a subliminal message that he’s trying to get away? Or when the last two days he’s been chatty and we’ve spent the evening holding each other and talking, and then it doesn’t happen is it different? Did something change?
The answers I divine to why are all stupid and probably not true. The further proof of this fact is that these are all my interpretations of perceived realities. For all I know the bed just feels bigger because of how I feel right now. I feel small and insignificant. Thus the spaces in between are vast and seemingly unending.
Then, like last night, charlie was tired and spoke very little and quickly turned around and fell asleep. Not at all like the past two nights. I could see that as he’s getting closer to this other dude or it was just that he’s a 40 year old man who is currently juggling a husband and a boyfriend. I could very well see how that in itself is exhausting and when you’re tired, you’re tired. (Not saying 40 is old.)
The thing about reading our own meaning into anything is that the pendulum can swing either way. It doesn’t matter what the facts are, they can be read in such a way that it is misinterpreted as negative. Case a point, Charlie was reading into my actions as wanting him to end the relationship because I couldn’t do it myself. In reality I was angry at him because I knew about the Derek thing and instead of talking to him or asking him about it I chose to keep it to myself which further drove a rift into our relationship. I was angry. As it also turned out, I was genuinely furious with and blamed him for our dog Klause getting out of the yard back in November. It was these things that made me angry with him and I was very cold to him as a response. It had nothing to do with me wanting to end the relationship, but that’s how he saw it.
Instead of talking to him and voicing these fears I kept them bottled up inside. They festered and made me feel something else entirely. If I had just done the “adult” thing and had a discussion about all of it, none of this may have transpired. My reality may have looked totally different. Yet, even that, right there, is me reading into it.
I want to think that “looking for answers” is a natural human response. It is our way of attempting to take the control back in a situation in which we feel we have none. We don’t like uncertainty and living in a “zen-like” state of letting life wash over us is against our usual factory defaults.
The Journal of a Jaded Josh 