Like the deserts miss the rain

Drought is nothing new in the American west. In various places I've lived, they've gone on for four, five, six years. We adjust our sprinklers, put a brick in the toilet, and use low-flow shower heads -- which, though unsatisfying, are not exactly a drastic hardship.

An eleven-day drought of Chloe, though, nearly killed me.

Okay, that's an exaggeration: but it did make me realize how completely I've come to think of the Trifecta as the New Normal.

Things happen, routines evolve, there is the tug of other people's needs outside our triangle. The gravitational field of the relationship weakens. Then, like a sleeper taking a deep unbidden breath and rolling over, the whole thing shifts, and we look around again, and say: Oh. Right. This!

Can't wait to drink at that pool again.

There IS an "I" in "Trifecta".

The Trifecta Power effect is, as we've established, astonishing. It's enough to power a small city. A corollary, it seems, is that the relationship requires even more re-charging than a two-way does.

The interval between the last re-charging and this one was pretty draining. Holidays, family, social events, choosing how much of us to share with whom, spans of time where we were barely able to talk for a few minutes a day ... So, yeah, this weekend was sorely needed. And indeed we did it up: commemorating five months together, we returned to our desert getaway, strolled the streets with arms around each other, ate great Mexican food, lounged in the pool and the hot tub, drank good wine, talked and talked, and tried to scandalize the room service girl. (She seemed unfazed. Which may say more about our choice of venue than about us -- probably she's seen way more outrageous stuff than this threesome.)

And of course we romped in bed for hours, and hours, and hours. In between each of those other activities, we played. Sometimes sweet, other times serious, or silly, or lazy, or lava-hot. Every which way. Crazy good. As the team doctor, I have strictly prescribed this sexual healing as regularly as possible.

Yep, I'm a doctor, and this has one distinct disadvantage. Patients and hospitals expect to be able to reach me 24 / 7. Now if I'm truly on vacation, I have other doctors cover my calls. But if I'm simply not on-site, I usually stay on the pager -- it's quicker for me to do a thorough and safe job of solving a problem, since I know the situation, than for one of my backup colleagues to sort it out. I only get disturbed at a late hour maybe once a month. But somehow, TWICE in the past five months, that late-night call has come during a moment when I'm just about to climax. Not kidding. And good lord, that would be distracting even in a relationship that's as old and comfortable as a well-worn shoe. In the present context? It would seriously have the potential to ruin a great orgasm.

But no. My teammates know that it's perfectly safe for me to take up to an hour to return a page. (Any true emergencies are made known by the answering service calling my phone directly, if the page didn't get answered.) And my lovers have, on both these occasions, brought me back to the moment: with hotness and determination, they have brought me through the distractions, and carried me into the end zone.

None of us is, as a rule, sexually selfish. But Chloe and Red have taught me the benefits of being temporarily self-centered. Letting them dote on me. Letting the rest of the world wait for my pleasure, our pleasure, to come first. Every time, the world has been just fine for those few minutes without me. And my body and my psyche are healthier and stronger for the loving this allows.

Now, if I could just prescribe this kind of thing for my patients ....

Drinking my love from the curvy cup!

I remember as a child being seated at the table for dinner with my glass of milk...the same milk my brothers were drinking, and declaring bravely (i.e. loud & obnoxiously) how unfair things were.  My mom would then insist (like all wise mothers) "sweetie, your glass isn't bigger or smaller, it is just DIFFERENT.  You have the same milk from the same carton, and the same amount, but your glass is just special from theirs."  Yes folks, "special from." 

So after much introspection, my wise conclusion (thanks to dear ol' mom) is that girl/girl love is similar to drinking milk from a special cup.  The love is not bigger or smaller, better or worse than what I have shared with a man, just different and special. 

Early on, I was surprised to discover the fierce loyalty and protection (of all things...really!) I felt towards Missy.  This is something I have never been comfortable expressing to a man - probably because I have never been in the company of one who demonstrated that he could handle letting his guard down that much.  In retrospect, I am sorry that they were so insecure.  They repeatedly shut down something in me that could have been great for them.

As silly as it sounds, I love the freedom of not being concerned over who is on top or on bottom, wondering if I'm being too pushy or demanding, and whether or not it's ok to explore.  There are no egos to feed.  That has been the big difference.  Not the breasts or soft skin or sweet words (which there are plenty of...), but just plain-old freedom to be myself.

Loving with these two beautiful people has allowed me the confidence and autonomy to know myself better.  It has been simply exquisite to finally comprehend how the curvy cup, unique in so many ways from other cups, could contain just as much (if not more) tasty, high-quality STUFF.

Now if a mom ever had the kind of power to teach that - more kids would just shut up and drink their milk.

Things to sigh about.

Chloe, your shirt is hanging on the back of a chair over there. The denim one. The problem with that shirt is not that it's in my dining room, it's that it's empty. I know I'll be seeing you in less than twelve hours, but I want you NOW. I want to comb your hair back with my fingers, scratch your neck a little, and kiss your impossibly smooth lips.

Red, your keys are right here. You're usually so aware of your surroundings, but some days lately when you've been blissed out you've had to hunt for your keys (the way I do all the time). It makes me giggle, but I don't mean to be derisive. I'm just enjoying your intoxication.

We need more pronouns. It's true we've been making good use of "y'all" (native for me, not for either of y'all, but generally sounding fairly natural nowadays). But we wrestle with the "we" that means 'you-and-me-but-not-other-you', versus the "we" that means 'all-of-us' ... and the "you[with a silent Red]" and "you[with a silent Chloe]". Minor misunderstandings, transient. There are languages in which these things would be disambiguated as we go. But here we are stuck with English, and we manage. I still reserve the right to complain.

Let us engage in a different kind of sighing, soon, okay?