*May contain explicit content also included in Part II mod may edit*

I agreed to a three-way because I was intrigued by the idea. I wondered what it would be like. I also wondered why SO was so into it.

At the same time I was afraid this was some sort of loyalty test that he conjured up for me, and that, by agreeing I failed the test. I was afraid that he would turn around in the middle of it and say, “I knew it! I knew you were just a cheap slut! You don’t care who you sleep with!”

The fear never got better. Every time we played I was sure he would call me names and shun me.

So why agree to it? Because he was so excited by it. But the real reason was that I knew I couldn’t argue. If I said, “no I really don’t want to” he’d ask, “why? You don’t feel good with 2 guys?” and I really couldn’t say anything. Yes it did feel good physically, but I’m so afraid of the emotional fallout.

Part II

We made his tiny cabin our love nest. Spending more time together. I remember standing on his narrow stairs drinking wine and watching a lightning storm.

Even though I enjoyed myself with him and felt like we were enjoying each other I was reticent. I started to feel my self-confidence grow from having someone else think highly of me.

One day I mentioned that it might be a fun time if we went out to the movies some time. He immediately and emphatically agreed with me. I was happy, but steeled my heart against rejection. I waited for him to call and set a date. Then I waited some more. After a week I figured he was just trying to be nice, and that he really didn’t want us to be in a bf/gf relationship. I was sad, but not hurt because I had prepared for this.

I think over a month went by before I heard from him again. He apologized and told me he had been getting called in to work ungodly hours. Then he asked me why I never followed through on my idea for us to go out to the movie. The phrase ‘struck-dumb’ couldn’t have applied more perfectly here. I told him that I was taught that it would be emasculating for a woman to take the initiative.

We ended up dating seriously. I started feeling better about myself. I agreed to go out to bars, concerts, events, restaurants, etc. And I was OK because he was with me; I had someone who would have my back.

He casually asked me how I would feel if he brought over another guy to have sex with me. I was a bit incredulous, but I’m up for new things and said that would be alright. I didn’t know how serious he was, but I figured either way I trust him.

I knew one day when he asked me over he was serious. I just knew from the look on his face that he had a surprise. I entered his home and saw a rather fine specimen of African ethnicity. The three of us had a good time. At least the sex part was. I hid my embarrassment. I kept thinking how fat and flabby my thighs look and how I wished I could change positions so they don’t look like that. They joked around with each other which made me feel like a dirty magazine being passed around between friends. I couldn’t relax at all. I just wanted him to leave so we could be alone together.

Every so often we would repeat this usually with a new guy, because SO would always find something wrong with the last guy. Every time I’d be uncomfortable, uncommunicative, and just anxious for them to leave. The only reason I would get excited was knowing that SO would be excited by it.

The problem was I don’t like hurting people, and I don’t like lying either. So every time he asked me what I liked I didn’t have any specific answers. He would often tell me I could say no if I didn’t want to. So I felt like either way I would hurt him. If I said no he would get tired of me. If I said yes then he’d see how I wasn’t very happy and be mad at me for agreeing in the 1st place.

*Warning some explicit material*

My SO (significant other) is older than me by 26 years.

If you said I was attracted to older men because I long for the love and admiration of my father I wouldn’t argue the point.

However I have been with men of various ages, the same age as me, a few years older than me, and even a few younger than me. Age doesn’t mean that much to me. All I look for is someone mature and treats me well.

I want to tell the story of us, but I want everyone to know that I do love him, but I need to tell the whole story; some will not be pleasant.

I was living as a stereotype: I’d just graduated college and was living in my gramma’s basement. I was getting into casual encounters. So I stalked craig’s list finding guys I’d be willing to take a chance with. If you are a guy on craig’s list and you are wondering why there aren’t more women? The answer is: YOU SUCK.

Well one ad led me to SO. I almost didn’t meet with him, because he was insisting he talk to me over the phone first. I thought he was kind of creepy and manipulative. But I was bored and he advertised that he love to lick.

Hey! For once I found a guy who didn’t #######4 around. He was into exactly what he said and he was very gifted.

So for the next few months we were friends-with-benefits.

He had the smallest house you can imagine. The entryway was the kitchen, then a square of living room, a small bedroom, and bathroom with a standing shower.

This concludes Part 1

Lately I’ve been working on being more open about my problems.

I mention how I feel bad, not being able to make small talk. That I understand how it looks to people on the outside, that I’m just stuck-up, mean, or stupid. But I’m not; I simply can’t think of anything to say, and everything I do say I don’t find very interesting.

I don’t know why I’m trying to explain myself. It never helps.

They look very uncomfortable. Their eyes widen in fear. Their mouths curl in disgust.

They play their old tunes, “Just relax and be yourself.” They laugh. “I can’t.” I reply, “Myself is quiet and doesn’t know how to talk. How can I meet new people and have them like me if I just stare at my hands?” “…….” Awkward shuffle away from me.

This new guy at work told me I’m like his daughter, never says a word. I told him I do feel bad and I admire people who can talk. “Yeah, it really sucks being with people who never say a word. Makes everything awkward. It’s like you can’t wait to get away from them.” That’s what he told me.

So when someone tells me how much everyone cares about me and would be hurt if I wasn’t around at least I have one person that was willing to be honest.

Both my mom and her brother have emotional/anger issues. Both are prone to screaming and flying off the handles for little things, but you never know what will set them off. Most of the time they are unfazed by just about anything to the point where they are just ignoring everything. Then when they are forced to deal with the issue they have a very big reaction.

My grandmother’s parents lived with gramma, mom, and her brother. Great-grandpa was abusive to great-gramma, often yelling, and having the police involved. My mom and her brother witnessed many of these episodes.

Gramma married my grandpa, but he was scum. He came around to knock up my gramma and then left and remarried out of state. My grandma never gave him a divorce, so he was a bigamist (possibly polygamist). My gramma never had consensual sex in her life. Both times she got knocked up. Left alone to raise two kids, with only her messed up parents to help her.

It’s been really difficult to try to understand the kind of life mom experienced as a child. I can’t tell how much time she spent with her father or how she felt about her relationships with other family members. Whenever I ask her about it I always get the bad stories.

She tells me about the time she was working at a burger place, and her dad came in so she had to impress him. She put extra mayo on his burger, because that was a loving gesture in her house, but he got it and returned it saying it had too much mayo. She told me how much that hurt her, like it was a rejection of her as a daughter.

I ask her about her relationship with her brother and she tells me one of them kicked the other in the head.

I ask her about the vacations gramma took them on, and I hear about the time she cut her foot, the time she got lice, the time she saw a mouse, etc.

I don’t have the whole picture, but from what I’m able to piece together mom was suffering some sort of personality disorder. Everything in her world is set against her, the tragic heroine.

I can understand feeling abandoned bc of that burger, but, c’mon, some people don’t like mayo! Did he even know she made the burger? But that story was THE story. “See I had a tragic life.” She would emote to me as she finished the story.

She complained about all these things that happened during her vacations, but where were MY vacations? At least gramma cared enough about you to take you places and bond with you.

The only times I ever went anywhere far away with mom was: for my stepsister’s gymnastic tournament and Chicago for a family xmas weekend.

She suffered eating disorders and she would tell me how she was “fat” in school, but I never saw any picture of her where she was anything but thin. “Well, back then, you know everyone was thinner so…”
So if I went back then they’d think a whale sprouted stumpy legs and hobbled onto the land.

She never wants to remember the good things. Whenever I ask her about great-gramma she just sortof glosses over it. “She was really nice sweet lady.” Nothing more.

She tells me her stories and I sympathize with living with abusive grandparents, and not having a dad around, but I’d still trade places. At least I would’ve had a mom who wanted to be around me, a brother, and friends.

I am very torn about my mother’s past. On one hand I see her as a whiner who got more than I ever dreamed, but still complains right to me. On the other hand I see a child suffering with a disorder that could have been corrected if she had gotten the help she needed.