Exploding Head.

Ask anyone: I am chatty. She’s a talker, that Missy. Can’t shut her up. Robs a room of all its oxygen, she does, if you give her half a chance.

When Chloe started this blog, I was afraid I’d have to sit on my hands so as not to monopolize the thing. Turns out, although I do have a lot to say – a whole freakin hell of a lot to say – my work keeps me tied up (and talked out*) so much that I rarely write these days.

Enough of that.

My head is at risk of asploding, if I don’t get the contents out in the form of words. There is so much to say. About the Trifecta, about each of my lovers, about all of us – so much more than “Christ this is complicated” or “dude this is awesome!”, which I figure is what comes across as the chorus and verse.

The very fact of me jotting down a stream-of-consciousness list of things I wanted to write about, for heaven’s sake, became a point of trauma the other day. Chloe was worried that I was generating a catalog of “Things That Suck”, and I don’t blame her – it wasn’t true, but was not a ridiculous expectation. You see, when it comes to scorekeeping (which I abhor, loudly) … I am the biggest offender. Maybe because professionally, societally, familially, I have the most to lose if we are open about our ménage a trois? Could be, or maybe I’m more petty and vindictive than I like to think I am. Probably both.

A few weeks ago we were on our way to our Desert Getaway Town for the weekend: Red was driving, Chloe had shotgun, and I was in the back of the car (the automotive geography of a threesome is always an interesting factor in a road-trip conversation). The topic turned to All That Holiday Shit. Our weekend in DGT was the reward for getting through the season, and we were processing early so as to dispense with the yucky stuff and move on to the drinking and hot sex. I stopped Chloe cold when she was making some remark about hating how we have to be so guarded about our affection around other people. She, I pointed out, is just about never the instigator of the stuff that gets us in trouble. It’s Red. Maybe because he’s the boy, whatever, doesn’t matter, but I was tired of hearing about how “we” have to watch ourselves when really it’s HIM who needs to keep a lid on it.

And somehow she did this thing, in the most sensible way possible, I don’t even remember the words – Chloe succinctly observed that I keep reviewing the same miserable list of fuckups, in a way that shames Red, and is a buzzkill for all of us. Somehow she did this without me feeling attacked or getting defensive or anything. There was just this moment of clarity, and I said “you’re right”.

Okay. So that’s an example of the emotional machinery at work. I won’t always feel the way I oughtta, but I can gain insight sometimes, with a little help from my friends.

Now. The more tangible machinery.

There is a HEAP of rich material I could share here about the sex we have. Now that we’re going on two years together, it’s not the brand new shiny experience it was – but we do make new discoveries, even as we settle into comfortable patterns. If I really had the nerve, I could burn this site down with tales of our smokin’ hot lovemaking. But I am not accustomed to writing porn.

I’ll get to a point, sometime, when I feel I can strike the right note. For today just a glimpse: there was a moment a few nights ago, when I had a nearly religious vision. I was kneeling behind Red as he was on top of Chloe, thrusting in the dark, and I was stroking his back, her legs – hearing her breath deepen, feeling her push up against him. I slid my hands up along her hips, cupping them, elevating her pelvis just a little … and a fleeting image raced through my mind, of standing on the chancel steps, facing the altar, raising up the heavy silver offertory bowl as the priest consecrated the congregation’s offering on Sunday morning. Her warm, smooth skin is the very opposite of that bowl. But the vessel I was holding did feel as though it was being blessed – transformed – as her orgasm became inevitable.

(Some of you might not find a churchy image a turn-on. Me? I almost came myself, at that moment.)

Stay tuned.

*It’s time I just say it: my job involves talking and listening all day. I’m not just a doctor, I’m a psychiatrist. So, yeah, it’s pretty ironic that I get tongue-tied here. But I’m not dumb enough to think my training makes me a mind-reader, or exempts me from the need to share what’s in my head about the Trifecta.

Reflection.

I have been reflecting back on the holidays, and considering how different they were than last year.

The funniest thing is that I was wrong (of course) when I thought I knew what to expect, and that things would be easier this year than last.  It's funny to me because I always try to remember that things hardly ever turn out as planned and oftentimes turn out differently than I could've ever imagined. I still somehow get lazy and fall back into the same pattern of thinking "oh, we've got this."  I never learn.

Some things are a given...yes, we will still need to hide this from the kids, yes, we will still need to behave in public (even in places where we THINK we are among open-minded people), yes, we will still have to struggle daily with living separately and the lack of time we have alone together, etcetera.  But life always has new and surprising ways of complicating matters at the most unexpected times.

Missy took her mom to lunch one day recently, which somehow turned into her coming out about the Trifecta.  I sincerely felt like vomiting.  I had to sit down - my heart was racing and I felt physically ill.  When is the last time you felt like that?  My belly was better after the explanation and description of how it went down, and what her mom thought about it.  Still, I didn't fully recover until sometime that evening.

At some point before Christmas, when relatives were visiting and the kids were decorating the tree at Missy & Red's house, one of the kids (an in-law) apparently saw something intimate (yet tame) go down between Red and I, and she then talked to Red's kids about it and Missy's sister - complicated.  On one hand, I do realize that we sometimes get sloppy about keeping up appearances, and we shouldn't let things like that happen.  On the other hand, I was really ticked off that because of one kid (who we hardly ever see), the goodness of our evening was erased.  It took the good memories away and turned them ugly and shameful.  Incidents like these are always discussed and worked out as much as they can be, but they remain on an ever-growing list of blame - whose fault was it that this "thing" happened, and when will the nasty, hateful list be brought up again...

Thank goodness there are always (sometimes daily) funny, ridiculous, sweet, loving, happy, sensual things that make those other things so much less bad. 

So upon reflection, the holidays were really no easier or more comfortable for me than the first time we were together for them, but I suppose I'll still keep the memories.  And maybe next year I'll remember to expect the unexpected...or take more Valium.