I am in an open relationship. My boyfriend and I agreed that we both have needs, sexual needs, we will want satisfied. And seeing as the distance between us prevents us from being able to satsify each others needs, we are free to find temporary replacements.
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This replacement was sexy I guess. Physically not the hottest man I have ever seen, but there was something about him I couldn't seem to put into words. He is in med school for psychiatry. That in itself sparked my interest. I have always been reluctant to see a shrink, but this time the circumstances are different.
We agreed to meet at the club. Meeting at a crowded social space is always a good idea. If we don't click, we can go on our way and find someone else to fuck that evening. I think I am pretty set on fooling around with the psychiatrist though. I won't need to go on the prowl for another lover. It is time to see my shrink.
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"You've slept with him as well?", I ask Jacob.
"Your writer fuck buddy is the same guy as my writer fuck buddy?", Jacob asks back. We are putting together the pieces. We shouldn't be surprised. The gay world is small. It is statistically probable my friends and I will have fucked the same people.
"I guess so."
"I guess he's find someone else to fool around with since I have cut him loose. Ouch. It stings to be so quickly replaced."
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The line to the club is long. Jacob and I thought we arrived early, but it will be one a.m. before we get in and check our coats and make our way to the dance floor. I am getting anxious. I am excited to have my first session with my shrink.
Who happens to meet us in line? Our writer fuck buddy. The guy that both Jacob and I have fooled around with. The writer fuck buddy blushes when he figures out that we all know that we all have, in different permutations, all had sex with each other. The gay world is small.
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We finally get into the club, check our coats, and get to the dance floor.
The writer fuck buddy and Jacob are hitting it off. Again. Ouch. It stings to be so quickly replaced. Again. In front of your own eyes.
I go on my hunt for my psychiatrist. He is what I came for anyway.
There he is. His lips are locked with a boy who looks eerily similar to me. It is 1:15. I am too late. He has found another lover. Ouch. It stings to be replaced with someone who is your younger, cuter, gayer doppelganger.
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Weeks later. At another club on another Saturday night. Nothing seems to change. Everything seems to stay the same. Only slightly altered.
I have seen him before. He is that boy from my poli sci class. Cute. Quiet. Academic. The type of university boy I could have a last fling with before the return of my boyfriend. Just the type of guy I am looking for. We smile. We flirt. This is going well.
Who else do I find at the club? My shrink. Or the shrink that was to be but never happened. I have to decide. I can't pass up my shrink again. This is my chance. I was too late before. Better late than never I always say. We smile. We flirt. This is going well.
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I am about to leave the club. My academic cutie runs up to me before I can leave. The shrink is waiting outside. I can't stay any longer. I don't want to be too late this time and have the shrink leave me again.
The academic cuties asks if he can give me his number. "Sure" I say. I won't call him. I am about to have my first of many sessiosn with my shrink. But it's nice to say that you got someone's number. I quickly jot his number into my phone and run out to meet my shrink.
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The psychiatrist is beige in the most boring possible way. His apartment is beige. Decorated in that false style that is IKEA chic. His sense of humour is beige. His life or going to Med School and getting drunk at a gay bar on the weekend is beige. Worst of all, the sex is beige.
He is uncaring. He is insensitive. We don't kiss. He does not hold me. He barely touches me, which is a feat in the act of having sex.
HE invited me back to his place. If HE didn't want me, why did he ask if I wanted to see his new beige IKEA patio furniture?
He comes. I don't. He rolls over and curls up into a private little ball and passes out.
I lay on my back. Why did I think that I was missing out? Why did I think that this shrink was hot? There is something about him I can't put into words, but that something isn't a good thing.
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I love my boyfriend. I can get off masturbating. Why do I figure I need another body around when I need to come?
A replacement is just that. A replacement. Not the original. Not what I really want. Just a substitution. A inadequate similarity. An unsatisfying temporary solution to a problem that doesn't really exist. A replacement is just that. Not the real thing.
But a boy gets lonely...
Should I call my academic cutie?
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a la gauche, a la gauche.
Toute des chose tu a dans un boite a la gauche.....
7 comments:
Yes. Of course yes. But listen, you are my example of how open relationships work and feel good and are right. So if you lose your...belief or whatever in the open concept, then I will too, but my boyfriend won't, so I'll be sad.
Don't worry. I am going to call the Academic Cutie. A boy has gets lonely... A boy has needs... Just like a Canadian au paire working in Switzerland gets lonely and has needs too!
This post makes it seem as though the open relationship is a result of the distance, rathen than simple preference, as you have exlained to me in the past.
you can't replace people. you can add people.
Karl, the open thing in MY case did start with the idea of distance. I think that's what he means.
I'm very happy you quoted Beyonce in french.
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