F4TF #30 -To Share or Not To Share

IMG_0490Monogamy – do you think it is our natural inclination?

Are you in a monogamous relationship or do you you live a polyamorous life?

If you are monogamous, is it by choice? Do you find it easy or is it a struggle?

I set the question this week, following another one of mine and KW’s chats, (we really do chat about this, that and everything!).

I don’t actually believe that monogamy is our natural state. Back when the human race was living in constant danger of eminent and early death, be that at the fangs of a sabre tooth tiger or from a range of deadly, untreatable diseases, it made sense to pair up, procreate and remain together to ensure the survival of offspring and keep the genetic line alive.

(Although anthropologists have suggested that women did in fact sleep around much more than we first thought and then settled down with the man who would be the best provider/protector but who was not necessarily the biological father.)

Now that we live for so much longer, it seems perhaps naïve to think we can be satisfied by just one partner for life. I know I have different friends that I can turn to for different needs; there’s the one that’s always fun to be around, the one that seems to just ‘get’ me, the one I can bitch and moan to, the one I can gossip with. So, why do we think we should have just one person who provides everything we need in a sexual relationship? To me it feels restrictive and limiting and is based upon a social construct.

Having said all that, I am in a monogamous marriage. The OH is very aware of my opinion on mono/poly and he can see my point but doesn’t share it. Our compromise? I get to flirt as much as I like but remain faithful. I love him and, at the end of the day, my curiosity about being with other people does not outweigh my feelings for him and for his need to be my one and only. In his own words, he “doesn’t like to share”!

To be honest, I think if I did try to embark on a polyamorous relationship, I would find it very difficult to adjust and cope with feelings of jealousy or insecurity. Perhaps conservative social norms are too embedded in my psyche, perhaps the 13 years of convent education fucked me up, perhaps I am moreso intellectually curious about poly than driven to experience it.

But it works for us – I get to flirt outrageously and he knows he’s the only one who gets to handle the goods!

Each to their own I say – as long as everyone in the relationship, (whether that is a couple or enough people to create a rugby team), are informed, consenting and happy then live and let live and enjoy!

💋

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

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Gratitude

I am aware that my blogs appeal to quite different audiences, but I cannot decide where today’s entry should live… so I am posting it to both blogs.


The OH left for work this morning very tired and not in the best of health. But he went in to his office with a smile and hugs and kisses for the girls and myself.

His job is incredibly demanding and very, very stressful, (hence the recurrent bad health). He works with people who, and I am being generous when I say this, are less than cooperative and pleasant to be around. He works tirelessly every day, with very little recognition or support, and comes home to us three loony girls and whatever chaos is waiting for him here.

He is never too busy for us. His motto in life is, and has been since the day I met him, “there is always time for a hug”. I know, without doubt, that I am his top priority. I can call on him anytime for anything and he will deliver. Yes, I scold him for spending too much time playing games on his phone, but when the shit hits the fan he is there. Always.

I truly think I got the better end of the deal in this relationship. I have no idea how he puts up with me. He endures my endless chatter, my anxieties, my depressive dark thoughts, my hormonal moods. He laughs with me when I am silly and playful, he joins in singing in the car, he dances with me in the kitchen. He is generous, with his time and with material things. He is kind, funny and, (*although he does get it wrong sometimes), he always does his best.

I never feel I do enough to support him or show him how much he means to me. I do my best to make sure he comes home to a loving and happy home. When we hear him come in through the door every evening the girls and I literally run to greet him and I love to see how happy that makes him.

I take care of all the domestic tasks so that once he gets home he can relax and unwind, (ok, ok, he does take care of the bins!). I listen when he has a gripe or dilemma about work and try to help him work it out. I take great pride and pleasure in cooking his meals, making sure his shirts are washed and ironed, making good healthy lunches for him to take into work. It feels the very least I can do.

And yet I do not think I do enough. How can I?

As well as working so hard to keep us fed, watered and sheltered, he relieves me of the burden of things I find too stressful to deal with. He takes care of all the nasty financial jobs such as finding the best deals in insurance, utilities and general admin. I take an incredibly ‘ostrich with her head in the sand’ approach to such matters. I can hear my feminist sisters screaming at me now that I need to be more in control of these things. I know that if anything happened to him I would be very vulnerable and quite helpless. He is the grown up and I am the silly kid.

I felt the need to write this today to let him know that each and every little thing he does for me and our family is appreciated. I wanted to tell him, very publicly, how much I love him and how grateful I am to have met him all those years ago.

For the record, (and before you all throw up as a result of my sentimentality today), we have not always been happy. We had some very difficult times, and there were even points where we weren’t sure we would make it. But at the end of the day, neither of us could imagine life without our best friend.

I believe in soul mates… why? Because I met mine 25 years ago.

💋

Copyright, 2016, k1kat.com

All rights reserved.

*randomly pointing out that Lily has a shorter life expectancy than me, causing me to tear up was not your best moment babe…

365 Questions Day 31

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Day 31:

The last person to say they loved me was the OH.

We say it several times a day, sometimes just in passing, other times with more feeling.

I don’t agree with people who say you can overuse the words and make them meaningless the more you say them. Life is short. We never know when it is our last opportunity to tell someone we love them. I can at least rest easy that if anything happened suddenly to either of us we would never be left in any doubt that we loved each other.

Of course Lily and Poppy tell me they love me many times a day with cuddles, snuggles, licks and adoring eyes… I tell them I  love them probably more than I do the OH!

NOTE: as this challenge has turned out to be very non-sexy, I am going to switch it over to my other blog, where I think it will fit in much better!

💋

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

Fury

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A special thrill writing this after the divine Ms. Rebel asked to use my SinfulSunday photos a prompt!

Thanks Rebel! See who else is writing here.


She was done crying. The shock and hurt had left her, replaced by raw, seething fury. The tears that blurred her eyes now were fuelled by rage.

She looked around the room that they had shared for 25 years of marriage. The bed that they had made love in, conceived two children in, woken up next to each other in.

She remembered meeting him in university, his clean-shaven young face and gangly body, so different to the fuller, more muscular, bearded man he was today. She had watched him grow from an awkward shy teen into a confident professional with the ability to seduce a roomful of people with his charisma and charm alone.

She had loved witnessing every milestone in his life.

She thought of his face when she pushed their daughter into the world; the pride, the love, the awe with which he looked at her and the new addition to his life. The fierce, protective energy that radiated from him as he held his little girl in his arms. His lips pressed to hers as tears flowed down his face mingling with her sweat.

She remembered him holding her as she lay broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor, their second child seeping out from her body too early. She had wailed and keened as he rocked her tenderly, swallowing his own pain to bear hers. In the days to follow he patiently allowed her to grieve as she needed to, in silent solitude, until she turned to him ready to share her hurt. They had cried in each other’s arms, watched their sleeping daughter and grown stronger.

She looked at the crumpled covers on their bed, thinking of the love they had made there, the raw, atavistic fucking they had drenched the sheets with. He had been an awkward lover at first, nervous and unsure, but she, having more experience, had coaxed and taught him. She had showed him how to please her and delighted in watching his eyes widen in surprise and wonder at the things she could do to satisfy him. They had grown together.

Her bags were packed and waiting in the hallway. The taxi was due. She had cleared out the joint account. She opened her purse and took out the article that had changed everything when she had discovered it wedged under the drivers seat of his car as she leaned in to retrieve an apple that had fallen from the grocery bag. The shock of it made her mouth water as nausea overwhelmed her. She had slumped on the back seat, the apple forgotten as her fingers stroked the familiar smooth red satin.

Familiar to her, but not from her own collection. She recognized it from the day spent shopping with her sister, her divorced sister, shopping for lingerie in her quest to “get back out there” as she had put it. Remembering how giddy she had been as she bought the burgundy bra, thong and suspender set, giggling about the man she hoped to seduce with them. The man who had been texting her on Kik for weeks. The man she had been exchanging intimate photos with.

The taxi honked its horn, bringing her back to the present.

She placed the bra on the crumpled white sheet. No Dear John letter required. The bra said it all.

One last look, taking in the room, imprinting it forever in her memory, she turned and walked out, closing the door with a final click.

She opened the front door, beckoned the driver to help her with her bags and walked down the drive towards her new life.

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Copyright, 2015,  illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.