Those awkward beginnings are why I've historically been reluctant to date. I don't want to have to explain who I am, what I've done. I've found that once the person you're fucking knows you're sexually flexible, their perception of what you have to offer becomes reductive. Which is another thing that makes a threesome so appealing: the rules for what constitutes multiple-partner sex haven't really been written, so any hang-ups I may have when I'm sleeping with someone disappear when that someone is pluralized. The kink and experimentation I dream of in my one-on-one sex life emerges with ease in a threesome. Bondage, exhibitionism, toys — broach the subject in a threesome, and it's on. But with a boyfriend? A girlfriend? Not a chance. Some things are way too personal.
The first time I realized how hard my odd sexual history was going to make regular dating was two years ago. I was in bed with a boy I'd been friends with for a while. We were talking about old roommates, graduation. Out of nowhere, he asks, "Did you ever hook up with Noël and James?"
"No. Why?" I said.
He got flustered while I propped myself up on one elbow, staring him down for an explanation. Maybe he was hoping I'd have a story about something that was hotter than the sex we were trying to have together.
"I don't know," he said. "It just seems like something that would have just . . . happened."
A few months later, he was shocked when, after a party, I turned down his suggestion that we "go join them," unsolicited.
"I don't want to fuck them," I said, "I want to fuck you." But his disappointment was palpable, and I didn't, not that night. We broke up shortly afterward.
It was a turning point. The social politics of coupling and self-identification had begun to creep into the picture. And now, I've started to notice that the relationships around me — the twosomes — are more fortified, less porous. The propositions have begun to change. I'll be drinking with a couple, and one of them will nervously chuckle something to the effect of, "Yeah, we were talking about our hypothetical threesome wish list, and you're totally our number one. Isn't that funny?"
These aren't invitations to sexual exploration. They're requests for a favor, wherein I'll be a one-time antidote to this particular couple's sexual ennui: I push from the bumper while they pop the clutch. This doesn't do much for my self-esteem, as you can imagine. Now that I'm older, I can't help but dwell on the possible reasons I've been asked on lots of threesomes, but actual dates not so much.
Part of it is reputation, sure. Part of it's just me placing myself in the likely situations. But there's also that vibe — just as I can sense when a couple is angling for a threesome, they can sense I'm in, too. Even if I don't really want to be anymore. Half of me wants to grow out of this, find a single, solitary person and hunker down for the long haul. The other half can't let go of that ideal, the nostalgia for the time when being the third meant being a significant other.
Comments ( 18 )
Leave a Comment