Tag Archives: Open relationship

random love, relationshipping, trans talk

Why do you blog?

teehee
Asks a dear friend recently.

Hmm…

The why changes.
In the beginning, it was a way to deal with too many changes.

Because life, y’all:
BF, whom I thought I’d spend quite the future with, tells me he’s a cross dresser as our plans to move out of the country are finalized.  Tokyo minus 5 months and he has come out as transsexual.  Once we’re moved, visas, leases, laws, jobs— everything, basically, must be negotiated and conducted in a fairly foreign language.  Add to that hormones, transitioning, open relationship, re-identifying sexual identity— oh Jesus, this is ridiculous.

Enter blog.
There’s a certain accountability when I hit ‘Publish’ even though I feel anonymous as fuck; in the back of my mind, I know this record will remain.  So I’m forced to be more considerate, analytical, objective; these things in turn bring clarity.  And instead of simply boo-hooing (awesome readers aren’t going to stick around for a yawn pity party), the blog encourages me to laugh at myself.

Because truth:
I cry.  (A. Lot.)
And humor— it’s important.

These days I’m not conflicted about how to navigate a relationship as my partner transitions.  We are no longer together though we’re married (it helps a visa) and we’ve mostly come out the other side of a challenging breakup.  Our romantic ending has been messy and there have been many emotionally frustrating moments that I’ve documented here— cohabitation post break up, enough said.

Soon we will be living our independent lives and separate chapters will begin.
On which continent, in which country, neither of us know.
It scares me sometimes.
Her too.

And this blog?
Though it’s impossible for me to be in a relationship like I was with S, one which prompted this blog, I’ll continue to share stories about my oddball adventures.  There’s no shortage to the delightfully unique company I keep and trust that S will keep me updated about her most recent exploits en route to finding The One.

I started this as a release and coping mechanism.
I’ll continue because the share and response is another meaningful slice in this very short life.
Because it’s not real unless you share it.
And I’m a sucker for processing.

 

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relationshipping, the sex

A meaningful first

My eyeballs need cocaineis possible.

“Sometimes I’m grateful that the first time I had sex was someone I was in love with but sometimes I think it set me up for years of disappointment,” says my insightful and beautiful soulmate.

I ponder this as first sex is on my mind this week.  With each new person, the sex changes; it’s always a totally different experience and not fairly comparable in the context of relationships.

I don’t have expectations of grandeur when it comes to first sex.  It’s been boring, unexpected, romantic, fun, exciting, drunk, awesome, exhausting, curious, painful, sweet, incredibly nerve-wrecking and possibly…love?  Never the same and always revealing.  What can I say, the nekked is an interesting tell, from grooming habits to…well, the naked truth.

So no grand expectations but in a relationship, evolution is crucial.  How it evolves depends on the other person and navigating that how has been the most fun and fascinating thing.  I learn about myself, my person, limits, curiosities et al.

Toys?  Sure, but not all and which ones really depend on my person.  And not all the time.  Public sex?  Why not?  But just how much of an exhibitionist is (s)he?  These are interesting reveals.  Cabs are fun, galleries and theaters too but as they give way to tiny, red-bulb bathrooms and I’m increasingly missing a warm bed and lazy sheets, a limit is within reach.  Then there’s open relationships.  Some, like S, can do this beautifully whereas I end up confused and emotionally drained; great in theory but a mess in my practice.  Or, You want me to tie you up?  Not a problem until I realize that I’m terrible at knots which is kind-of a problem and when it’s either do my damn knot homework or move on, I walk.  Then there are the myriad variations within the realm of two people simply doing it.

Oh relationships…sometimes the sex is disappointing and the ending even more so but looking back, I don’t remember the mediocre or even bad sex.

I remember the awkward sweetness of youth, fumbling out-of-sync, habits and routines, random on-drugs camping, the laughter, rocky boats, staying silent, the cocoon of stars so close to the equator we are floating in the sky, the most comfortable bed ever because it’s ours.

I remember making up, rainy days, early mornings, late nights, breakfast in bed, different beds in different cities, states, countries and seasons changing.

I remember the love.

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open relationship, relationshipping, trans talk

I’m the Q

You are a slutpuppy“Bless your heart but you are so not a lesbian,” says S.

The fact that we can have this honest conversation is huge.
The fact that S can have her sense of humor about a hurtful point of conflict is even huger.

Until this moment, S would often wonder why I couldn’t stay attracted to her if she’s still the same fabulous person on the inside and I was in a lesbian relationship for a decade.  In her shoes, I’d wonder the same thing but the best truth I’ve got is: the attraction cooled to something tepid within me and tepid is a pretty lame concessionary temperature for a love relationship.

I nod and recollect, ” ***(my long-term ex before S) said the same thing when we were dating.”
S shakes her head and pats my own.  “It’s really LGBT-supportive and I love you for it but you are not gay.”

I concede this point.

Before S, I maintain that I fall in love with the person, not the gender.  Although that statement pretty much announces my bisexuality, by mentioning gender, I qualify being a lesbian and/or having been in a lesbian relationship.  It’s as though I can’t commit to simply being gay, even though I was in a lesbian relationship for a decade.  No wonder my long-term ex wouldn’t call me a ‘real’ lesbian; it took over half the length of that relationship before I’d say was a l-l-lesbian.  
Then we broke up.

As S transitions, I am forced to dissect how true this ‘not the gender’ assertion is.
It’s not so true.

Without a doubt, my relationship history defines me as bisexual.  However, every person I have dated since S and I have open-relationshipped and broken up has been male, which then makes me feel like a bit of a liar if I call myself bi in the present.  But the second I identify as a straight girl, I have a feeling the universe will find a way to have the last laugh.

So.

In my apparent quest to self-identify, I’ll go with queer.
I’m the Q in LGBTQ.

Because one sure thing is that my past, present and future sexual identity and experiences sure as hell (will) fall outside the hetero-defined mainstream.

Thank. God.

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trans talk

Sex changes

Sex changeswith every relationship.
Of course it does.

And when my partner is a transsexual, the sexing definitely shifts.

I expected gay, bi or straight sexual identity exploration to happen because that’s a common part of transition.  I expected the kind of sex we had to change as she figured out said sexual identity.  What I didn’t expect was the change in sexual roles.

As a man, my BF enjoyed dominating me.
As a woman, my GF wants to be dominated.

Hmm…

I sense an incompatibility of the irreconcilable sort sprouting.  I try being more dominant.  This isn’t my natural inclination but I recall one relationship where a very experimental other wanted me (in one of many phases of said relationship) to dom-i-nate; no two ways about it.  Gosh, that was so many years ago but maybe I can embody that mindset and try it out.

Except it’s so not me.
Shit.

The dissonance in roles of dominance and submission teeter-totters our relationship, in the same way that GF figuring out whether she is straight/bi/gay does, as well as my determining how attracted I am to a physically transitioning GF.

And I have to be real.

Me: So I think we need to open relationship like you suggested because, clearly, you aren’t getting your needs met from me.
GF: Okay, obviously I’m okay with that.  But you haven’t really tried having sex with me the way I want.
Me: It’s not for lack of trying.  Really, it’s not.  Stop rolling your eyes, goddammit.  It’s just that…obviously this is far from intuitive for me.  It’s like there’s a block.
GF: Rumi, do you think all the sex I had with you was solely the way I wanted?  I had sex with you the way you wanted it.
Me: Sigh.  And oh.  It wasn’t a chore, was it?
GF: Of course not, I love you.  It was never that but it wasn’t always 100% what I wanted is all- it was a compromise.  That’s all I’m saying.

I feel like I’ve failed my GF.
I wish- I really, really wish- that I could be a different person for her, someone who could fulfill all her new and changing needs.

It’s not for lack of love.

Thing is, I can’t lie in the face of sex, sex roles or sexual attraction.
I have before and what resulted was a stupid mess.  

But that’s another story for another time.

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relationshipping

The line moves

The other daywith every relationship.

I’ve got boundaries on my mind.

Namely, the ones we set for ourselves.
The ones that change.
The delicate space between tolerance at maximum capacity (crossdressing, say) and the dealbreaker (transsexual, perhaps) fascinates me as it’s often a very narrow reach.

That narrow reach is where growth happens.
I become a different person.

For instance, prior to my trans ex-GF, I shot down open relationships; actually fairly early on in our relationship I said, “No way.”  But hearing her out and witnessing the subtle and dramatic physical and personality changes during her transition forced me to reconsider my position and we tried it out.  Although it turns out open relationships aren’t my thing, I don’t regret going there because that experience forced an ideological transformation.

Just like witnessing her transition so intimately effected another phrenic shift in the realm of my acceptance and tolerance levels, which were stretched in so many new directions.  The shift isn’t so literal as to mean that I’m open to coupling with a transsexual in the future without hesitation; rather, that my genuine attempts to maintain a relationship with a transitioning GF opened my mind to questioning my established boundaries up to that point.  

Every relationship has set me up for the next one.

My previously unresolved psychological scars from childhood led me to a string of unhealthy flings, experiences and relationships.  If not for my emotionally unsatisfactory relationships with men I would not have dated and committed to a long-term relationship with a woman.  If not for broadening my sexual identity I could not have given a transsexual relationship an earnest effort.  If not for a new understanding of my closely examined personal needs in a relationship, I wouldn’t…

I can’t fully answer that one yet.

The next relationship is always so different yet a natural evolution from the previous one.
Once the successive door opens there is no going back.

Thank you for the growth.

P.S.  Um, thank you WordPress for the Freshly Pressed feature(!!!).
P.P.S. Thank you all for stopping by, reading, commenting, basically giving my words some of your precious time…it means a lot.

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relationshipping

Where is the line?

My eyeballs need cocaine

The line that is not to be crossed.

It’s interesting, this notion of a hard limit. Every time I think, “I would/could never _______,” I am proven so, so wrong. I think the universe must have many a field day as I eat such rigidly constructed mantras on a regular basis.

I said I would never live in the South.
I spent eleven years in Memphis, TN.

I said I wasn’t into women.
I was in a lesbian relationship for ten years.

I said I would never, could never cheat on someone.
I cheated.

I told my ex-girlfriend I was not heterosexual, bisexual because of my history but totally gay from here on out.
I haven’t chosen to date a girl since we broke up.

I said I would never join finances again.
Of course I did.

I told her, “No way,” to open relationships; that’s a deal-breaker.
Totally tried it in hopes of making the relationship work.

I will never live in Japan.
Yeah, like that didn’t happen.

I didn’t think I would date a transsexual.
Best thing I’ve done yet.

At this rate I should be living in Los Angeles, practicing yoga on the daily and equipped with a station wagon full of kids in the next five years.
And a dog.

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open relationship

One of us

One of us

is going to be felled by stupid love. Or serious infatuation or like or whatever the beginning thing is before turning into the love.

I give myself stupid anxiety, especially when I think about that unavoidable day in the future when I just know this is going to happen. Nevermind that I don’t really know if it’s going to happen, but I can feel it’s going to happen, which makes me believe it will.

She says she’s met her Super Boy. When I picture her hero, I see a thick, short, muscle-bound character in a blue and red cape and tights get-up. Not to be taken seriously. Then I notice that she’s giddy, excited and I feel her effervescence: lots of sparkling bubbles, so much foam spilling over. And I get it. That’s how her face used to light up when she thought about me. Used to. This is a strange moment of realization.

Shock: wow, this is that day.
Sadness: I feel a definitive shift; her heart is pounding at another door.

Oh, you actually really like this guy.
Yeah, I told you he’s my Super Boy.

Heart drop.

 

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open relationship

What if…

What if

and there are so many what ifs swimming in my head.

Sometimes an open relationship makes me think (and I probably shouldn’t think about things that haven’t happened but I can’t help it):
What if I end up being attracted to a woman?  What then?
GF has maintained that as long as we’re together, the only woman she will be attracted to is me.  But this could change, depending on the person…right?
Or
What the fuck if I meet someone and what we end up having is so *&♥^∞%!!! that I rethink open relationship and end it?…What if she does?

Of course there’s no need to seriously dialogue hypothetical musings but the second we agreed to open relationship, these what ifs enter my mind.

In Realityland, we just need to communicate the hell out of communication.
And I’m constantly amazed at how every crevice of my preconceived notions of sexual identity and definitions of romantic relationships have changed.  When BF turned GF a frighteningly beautiful thing happened: the traditional notion of expectations were flung far and wide out the window.

Here’s what we expect now: raw honesty.
That’s it.
Which can be a lot because honesty when adjusting to an open relationship can hurt and definitely has uncomfortable as fuck moments but it’s the only way to sincerely try to make it work.

So I haiku because sometimes a 5-7-5 is the best way to process.

Matters of the heart,
Truth: anything can happen.
sometimes scared as fuck.

Is it too much?  More than I can handle?
Perhaps.
On the one hand, yeah, it’s a lot.  I ask questions and sometimes feel insecure in ways that most people choose not to in a committed relationship.  Hell, some would say the whole point of monogamy is to eliminate a certain insecurity.  

But then again, insecurity strikes any relationship, monogamous or not.
And aren’t levels of honesty and acceptance of said honesty the ultimate make-it-or-break-it factor in any significant relationship?
You’re honest or you’re not.  Any relationship could end at any moment.  I guess in mine there’s simply no room for hiding/repressing/suppressing; being with GF makes me deal with a lot of what ifs head-on.  Between her transition, an international move and an open relationship my comfort zone lies in what was uncomfortable.

So my previous discomfort is now oddly homey.

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open relationship

The first date

The first date

in an open relationship is weird.
Duh, right?  I mean, most first dates are in the weird or boring.

As with most things, GF and I have radically different approaches.
Her: So I’m going out Friday…
Me: Oh, okay.  Out, like, on a date?
Her: …Yeah.
Me: Cool.  Wait, has it even been a week since we’ve open relationshipped?  And she’s got a date?  Of course she does.  Anyone I know?
Her: ***.  I’m not sure I want to go.  I don’t know if I’m even attracted to him but he’s been wanting to hang out for a while.
Me: Oh really?  For a while?  Interesting…
Her: So I might not come home tonight.
Me: Right.  Damn this bitch is fast.  She’s really good at this dating thing; is it because she knows how the male brain works?

Strange…to think of her spending the night with someone else.  Even though it’ll be completely outside of my physical sphere, I feel an emotional prick, like the reality of open relationshipping has just stung me.  And I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.  But maybe it’s just the total newness of it all that’s making me feel a little queasy on the inside.

Then there’s me and ***…
Imagine two people who speak multiple languages between them.  You’d think they’d be able to communicate, right?  Except when you factor degrees of fluency, the odds of non-communication are amplified (mathy people, back me on this).  Actually, here’s a snapshot from my brain instead:

The first date

WHY are we in the green?!
Sure, there’s some orange here and there but he doesn’t really want to orange because of the (lack of) fluency factor.  White is completely ignored (he doesn’t even know this exists), which is my doing.  I purposely steer clear of it because it’s just enough to navigate through the rocky green and I’m not up for a potentially even more challenging white.

So I feel like I’m in a really strange language lab (that serves really good food, by the way), borderline forgetting I’m supposed to be deciphering levels of romantical interest.

How did I even get to this strange and somewhat tortuous place, trying to read signs of interest in [insert non-native language]?
Short answer: Because he asked me out.
Real answer: I wanted to know how much chemistry trumps linguistics.
Truth: The above scenario requires a lot of chemistry.

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open relationship

Cheating is needless

Cheating is needless

in an open relationship.

Me: So…I changed my mind.  Let’s try an open relationship.  Is that okay with you?
Her: You know I’ve been okay with (read: wanting) that from day 1 (post coming out); you were the one who took issue with it.
Me: Right…so let’s try it?

It feels so fucking weird.  I would never have thought I’d do this but apparently it’s not so uncommon that even Facebook lists it as an option.  I feel that I have officially become one of those people, you know, the ones who make you feel apprehensive because they’re that  kind of unwelcome-to-the-general-public strange and different.

Well, fuck my self-consciousness.  Who am I kidding?  I was always one of those people.

So why now?  Goddamn sexual attraction.  That inexplicable shit is fucked up in that I can’t control nor sway it.  As GF becomes more bio-femmey, an intangible but very solid something is disappearing.  Aside from that bio-chemical attraction shifting, everything else is pretty damn perfect; we get along (except when I pick fights), support each other and have crazy love and respect for each other.  Perhaps open-relationshipping is the missing link that will make us consummately satisfied?

Historically I’ve said no way for 2 reasons:
1) I don’t like the idea of strangers and their bodily fluids contaminating my cozy, secure sphere or my person.
2) I don’t know how capable I am of this because once I’m into someone, it’s really fucking hard for me to be attracted to someone else.  I’ve never been able to even date more than one person at a time; casual is difficult.

Oh shit. 
Dating.
Fucking dating.

What the shitshitshit?
In typical me fashion, I look up to see my new world order only after I’ve committed to the new change, which I spearheaded.  Seriously, I am the world’s worst dater; I have negative capacity to read between the lines, take everyone at their word and cannot even begin to understand dating etiquette*.

Which means single(ish) me is about to entertain the hell out of my friends and thoroughly mortify me.  Here we go again.  

*Seriously, I thought the best way to show romantic disinterest is to pay the first date resto tab, even if it costs triple digits.  Apparently not.  How do you people know this shit?!

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