Two weeks ago was my one year anniversary with one of my partners (that is, the day we chose – after we had already been dating for a while – to commemorate us).
Thinking back to a year and a half ago, I would have never guessed that this connection would have developed into what it is now: something warm, familiar, comforting . . . and yet so intense.
Happy Anniversary, hon.
I remember the first time I officially met you. We both were attending a happy hour at a place I’d never been, and I only knew one person who was coming. I walked into the private room upstairs, and the first thing I noticed was you – probably because you had on a suit and there was a briefcase beside you, and I have a thing for men in suits. As I sat down and started idle chatter with some strangers, I happen to mention my friend’s name. You turned to me and said, looking at your watch, “Oh, she should be here in a few minutes.”
That accent. ::swoon::
Also, who still wears a watch? And a nice one at that. Noted.
My friend eventually walked in and from yall’s interaction, I soon realized who you were – which one of her partners you were. Oh! Nice! Finally I have a face to match a…name. ::gigglesnort::
And all night, I couldn’t stop my eyes from wandering in your direction. I guess it must have been obvious, because my friend started dropping not so subtle hints about how great you were and that you thought I was cute. One double date and several group happy hours (including one where I distinctly remember sitting on your lap almost the entirety of the night “because there aren’t any seats left!”) later, and you send me an email asking if I want to hang out.
In true Minxy form, I ask if it’s a date. (I never know!) You reply that you think there’s chemistry between us and would love to see where it could go. I agree; and so I go over to your house, chat with your wife, eat some dinner, then we watch some comedy and makeout. And boy, is it passionate. I felt floaty that time I sat on your lap, your arms securely around me; still, I was not expecting the feeling of kissing you to be so damn overwhelming.
Somehow, we managed to stop snogging (but not stop cuddling!) each other to talk. We go through the normal sex awareness, “what I’m expecting/looking for” talk. You tell me that since you already have three anchor partners, you don’t really have the emotional bandwidth for anything serious. I say I understand, and I do – for me, polyamory is about exploring connections, wherever they may lead, and enjoying those connections for what they are. I appreciate you letting me know your limit on time and your emotional boundaries. Nonetheless, still I fall.
But falling in love doesn’t have to mean that I change my actions or ask for more. For me, falling in love is something that just is.
Yet you give more, freely.
You listen attentively to me as I rant about my ex husband’s antics, worry about my family, panic about my job. You introduce me to new things, and we share stories about our very different pasts. Your quiet confidence calms me and slowly encourages me to open up even more. This new relationship that – from all expectations – should have been all about fun, deepens as you simultaneously comfort me, make me giggle, and send tingles all over my body. We get more vulnerable with each other, sharing our musings, both silly and heavy.
One look, one wink from you across the room, and my insides all congeal into the pit of my stomach. I can’t help but smile at you. You touch me in passing and I feel it everywhere. At some point, I realize that I know that you love me; but just the same, when you say it out loud I melt.
This connection we share, it feels deep – but deep in the hidden, unexplored way that the ocean feels. There could be so much going on down there unseen; only we are content to just lay on our surfboards, holding hands, basking in the warmth of the sun as the waves gently rock us.