known each other for so long, it was easier to read the situation, easier to allow investment. Much harder with Mr. ThereltIs, who came out of nowhere, who I barely knew but had awesome chemistry with. In the beginning steps of this game, you can never let them smell your fear.
Saturday morning. I'd spent the night with The Artist, was checking my email while he made breakfast. (He actually likes cooking, which I have trouble comprehending.) I wanted to plan my week, and texted Mr. ThereltIs to ask when we'd see each other. My breath hitched as he texted back: he didn't think it'd be a good idea to spend the night together again, but he wanted to have drinks and catch up. I closed my eyes, made myself breathe. Remembered how many times he'd pulled back, how much anxiety he'd expressed about the BDSM we engaged in. I'd tried to make it clear that he was doing awesomely, but dollars to donuts he was still freaking out about it. I was his first-time heavy BDSM partner. Why do I keep doing this to myself? Haven't I learned my lesson
about vanilla-but-questioning guys yet?
After giving myself a moment to calm down, I texted back that I was open to getting drinks, but wanted to understand his motives better before doing so. "Feel free to email or text," I wrote, "I can't talk right now," then put down my phone and walked into an intense conversation in the kitchen. There'd been some uncertainty over my last month or so with The Artist, due to surprisingly divergent relationship priorities. We're decently matched in terms of being BDSM-identified, and we have so much else in common, but there were some things I wanted to do that particularly freaked him out, plus he wasn't feeling 100% comfortable with polyamory. Most of all, I've been surprised by his emphasis on settling down.
That Saturday, it ended with him deciding it wouldn't work. "You and I are in such different places right now," he said gently. "You're still focused on having an interesting life. I'm not prioritizing that anymore. I would have been a much better match for you five years ago.”
You're one of the most interesting people I've ever met, | wanted to say, how can you decide this? The night before, we'd had a conversation in which he'd described how incredibly stable he wants his life to be. Well-designed apartment, respected job, kids, the lot. How much he wants to get away from past days, when he thrived among bizarre subcultures, prioritized art above everything. He doesn't even want to travel! I listened, heart sinking. Trying to understand. "Isn't there anything you can't walk away from?" I asked.
"S&M," he said promptly. "But that bothers me, because I don't know how I can make it fit."
Stability; making things fit. Saturday at breakfast, The Artist mentioned that a friend had compared him to Alex, the main character in A Clockwork Orange: in the famous "lost" 21st chapter, Alex decides that it's time to abandon ultraviolence and settle down. Obviously, The Artist was never even close to being the psychopath that Alex is, but it's still an instructive parallel. And I, with all my desire to push and stretch myself, with all the boundaries I'm still seeking to subvert and hack and destroy -- I don't work with the desire to settle down. I may never work with that desire.
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