On Being Very Well Loved – Part One Of A Series About Polyandrous Love

This is part one of a series about polyandrous love – both the love I give and the love I receive. I have no idea how many parts are going to be in this series, so let’s dive into the unknown together!

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On the Thursday before Christmas, I spent the night with Interstate Boyfriend. He was visiting My City to spend Christmas with his family, who still live here. We spent the night in a boutique hotel in the heart of the city, ate amazing Italian food, and then drank the night away at a sake bar.

And we had sex. Lots of sex.

That is, of course, the original reason I started dating him; he was hot and good in bed. Me, shallow? Perish the thought!

But on that first night that he picked me up and invited me back to his (awesome, inner-city) apartment, and we discovered a shared love of all things geeky (as well as a shared love of having sex with each other), I had a feeling that I was going to enjoy his company and want to see more of him.

We spent the next six months drinking, fucking and watching sci-fi together. Once a week, I’d go to his apartment, we’d drink at a bar nearby, come back and watch an episode of True Blood or Caprica together, and then have sex. I was thoroughly enjoying his company, his bedroom skills, and making obscure geeky references with him, and I didn’t think there was anything more to my feelings than that.

Then he was offered an (incredible) job with a company at the pinnacle of his field, in an interstate city. That’s when I realised my feelings for him were more than just oxytocin-induced happy feelings.

I didn’t want to call my feelings love. Even admitting that to myself felt lie way too much commitment. I knew i liked him a lot, and I knew that I loved his company and loved the sex we had together, so I settled for telling him he’d been the highlight of my year, and that I would miss him keenly.

I would NEVER have told him not to leave, or not to take the job, but I knew that when he left, I would mourn him. And mourn him I did. I was convinced that I’d never see him again, and even though we talked regularly after he moved away, I went through all the motions of an ending relationship. I cried – a lot. I moped around the house. I drank heavily at strange times of the day and night. I ate lots of junk food and listened to Bruce Springsteen and watched Sex and The City. My poor Local Boyfriend didn’t know what to do with me. Coping While Your Girlfriend Mourns Her Other Boyfriend Leaving isn’t in the Polyandry Handbook. But he did an amazing job: comforted me when I cried, distracted me with cat videos from YouTube, took me out on little dates, and loved me fiercely the whole time.

A few months after he moved away, Interstate Boyfriend visited My City. We stayed in a very, very fancy hotel, and that’s what touched off our now long distance relationship. We go back and forth every couple of months, taking turns to visit one another.

In May this year, I was visiting him in His City. We’d been out for dinner and drinks, and in our post-orgasmic chill, I decided to tell him I loved him.
“Not in the ‘I love you and want to get married and have your babies’ way” I clarified, “but in the ‘I love you because you’re one of my dearest friends’ way.”
He nodded and smiled and told me he felt the same way, and I thought my heart was going to burst, I was so happy.

This visit, we were laying in bed, again in an oxytocin-induced semi-coma, and he was languidly stroking my (ample) belly. I’m not a skinny girl. I’m tall and I have a big round soft belly and big thighs – characteristics that many girls would try to hide or minimise, but I love my body, and I really love it when my boys touch me like that – it makes me feel like they are rejoicing in my body and enjoying it. I feel very sexy and very loved when one of my boys is running his hand across my body.

I told him this, and he leaned over to me, placed a soft little kiss on my forehead and said “You are incredibly sexy. And you are very well loved.”