Open: Love, Sex and Life in an Open Marriage (14 page)

I knew Christopher was about to ask me again how it would work: Would it just be women? Would it be men, too? Would they come to our house?

We’d been over this a thousand times; was he just testing me at this point? Was he simply trying to get me to admit that I wanted to sleep with other men? I wasn’t sure. But I knew, regardless, that this was a process, and that its logical first step was for the two of us to be with a woman together. Then we could see where that led us.

Christopher apologized for not being enough for me, as he often did, but I didn’t need to hear that. Being sexually incompatible is no one’s fault, but that doesn’t make it any less of an issue. We both agreed that we would allow no strangers in the house, as we were equally invested in protecting Emily and prioritizing our family. I had someone in mind, though, who was not a stranger, someone Emily knew and felt comfortable with already. And if she happened to spend the night one night, it wouldn’t make Emily suspicious in the slightest.

“What do you think about my friend from book club, Lisbeth?” I asked casually. “Haven’t you ever thought about sleeping with her?”

“No,” he said. Then his face softened. “Okay, yes, but . . . ”

Lisbeth had come up before. She hung out at our house a lot, and she and Christopher were rather flirty on occasion. Still, whenever I asked him about actually doing something about it, he’d always say the same things: “She’d never want to sleep with me”; “She’s fifteen years younger than I am”; and “I don’t need to be with anyone else.” I believed that last part. I have always known that I’m enough for Christopher, which is part of what made opening our relationship so difficult. I’ve always felt like it would have been an easier conversation if his libido had been on par with mine.

“But I’m definitely attracted to her,” he added. Yeah. I was too. She was gorgeous, with thick blond hair and an athlete’s trim body. And this particular night, Christopher

changed his tune. Perhaps he realized that our testing these waters was inevitable, so why not with Lisbeth? “If you think you can make that happen, bring it on,” he said. I shook my head and teased him about how unattractive frat- speak was coming from a grown man, and voilà, we were off on another subject.

I already knew Lisbeth was interested; we’d talked about the three of us sleeping together plenty of times. So it wasn’t a matter of whether or not I could “bring it on.” It was more a question of how things were going to go if we actually went through with it. It was impossible not to ponder the reality of what had thus far been a fantasy— especially because if we did it, and it went well, we would actually be in an open marriage.

Christopher had asked me on a number of occasions what being in an open marriage might really
mean.
“I’m talking about in the broadest sense here,” he said. “What is an open marriage?” I’d had to admit to him that I didn’t really know. All I had to go on was what I’d read about, and the more I read, the more I realized how many different forms it can take, and how it means different things to different couples. Some consider it “swinging”; for others, it’s a conscious choice—what people call a “lifestyle.” For me, those concepts were different because one involved partner swapping and the other meant having open relationships outside of a marriage, and I wasn’t looking for the former. Others see open marriage as another way of “doing” polyamory, which

resonated with me, even though, at that early stage, I was definitely focusing on sexual fulfillment. But I wasn’t so naive as to imagine that love wouldn’t at least someday, and in some ways, play into our experiences; the idea seemed scary, but also like it wouldn’t be an unpleasant by-product of an open marriage.

A man who calls himself Alan maintains a blog called Polyamorous Percolations. His definition of open marriage is “when members of a married, life-committed couple take secondary lovers, together and/or separately.” He describes it as one of the most common forms of polyamory. The key to its success, Alan maintains, is that “everyone knows and approves of the whole interrelationship.” Furthermore, he says, it’s important that everyone involved in such a scenario “realizes that they are all involved with each other, and all respect and honor each other’s needs, boundaries, and well-being.”
1

When it comes to information on this subject, there isn’t a heck of a lot out there. But, in doing my research, I found this site particularly helpful in defining what I was looking for in my open marriage. Such relationships appear to include every possible variation and permutation—from people whose secondary partners live with them to those who never have “second contact” with their liaisons (essentially, they only have one-night stands). Some see certain lovers on certain occasions, ranging dramatically from once a week to once a year. Some people require that emotions play a

significant part in their outside relationships, and others insist specifically that they don’t. “Open marriage” is a catchall, and not a perfect one, to say the least. But it’s the terminology we choose because it covers the flexibility and changeability that its participants are searching for. Just like a traditional marriage, an open marriage is not a sure bet: It’s a constantly evolving thing, and we still don’t know how the phases of our marriage will look as our life together unfolds.

I was hugely relieved to discover the existence of this world, this entire network of people who are out there defining marriage for themselves. “They’ve looked at the traditional cycle of dating-cheating-marrying-and-divorcing and thought, that just makes no sense to me,” writes Michelle Chihara for Nerve.com.
2
Given the current state of marriage and fidelity, Chihara maintains that it’s hard to argue against overhauling the system. The polyamorists she spoke to for her piece are interested in “writing their own rules” for their relationships because “marriage is just one more area of life where [young people] don’t trust received wisdom.”
3
It’s an ideal approach, again, as long as all parties are onboard. Polyamorists refuse to take marriage at face value, and instead accept only what
actually
works, rather than what’s
supposed
to work.

the possibility of emotional involvement

or attachment was the primary thing that scared Christo- pher when we were getting started.

“Are you going to fall in love with someone else?” he asked me.

“I don’t know, but it won’t be sex that’ll make me fall in love,” I told him. “In fact, I’m betting that sleeping with people takes the mystery out of the equation. It might even ensure that I never mistake lust or infatuation with falling in love.”

Now that I’m as far as I am into my open marriage, that’s turned out to be a rather prophetic statement. I have had relationships in which I’ve developed deep emotions, but only in one have I felt able to say I am “in love,” and that’s with my current girlfriend, Jemma. Others have been nothing more than casual friends; still others I’ve loved. But for me, falling in love with someone is precious and rare. My being in love with Jemma doesn’t compromise my being in love with Christopher; the feelings complement each other because they broaden and strengthen my capacity to love. Love begets love; it does not cancel out its predecessors.

Other things scared Christopher, too. He had a hard time agreeing with me that sex and love are not always inextricable, and that loving other people wouldn’t mean that we wouldn’t still love each other. I needed him to be completely comfortable before we moved forward, but I also realized that, no matter what, I was still persuading him. He wouldn’t ever have been interested in open marriage if I hadn’t been the driving force behind the idea. He seemed to need to garner some sort of “proof”—an experience that

would jar him out of what I considered to be his unfounded convictions. I think he was scared that I might leave him, or that I might decide I was a lesbian. I think he was scared that he would realize that
he
didn’t want
me
anymore, either, because he’d find someone he liked more, or because he wouldn’t be able to free himself from the image of me with someone else.

I understood that the idea of opening up our marriage brought up all kinds of fears for him (it did for me, too), but I have to admit that I was blown away that Christopher didn’t leap at the opportunity to invite another woman into our bed. As far as I can tell, there aren’t many husbands or boyfriends who wouldn’t love the idea of their wife or girlfriend opening the door to the bedroom and saying, “Honey, I want you to meet Ginger.” But not my husband. He doesn’t like strip clubs. He enjoys sex within the confines of a relationship. I know, I know—most women would consider me the winner of the loyalty lotto, and I’m sure plenty of people are shaking their heads in amazement that the two of us ended up together. But together we are. There’s a lot to be said for opposites attracting. It creates a surprising balance where there might otherwise be a difficult volatility.

i’d had my fill of the late-night “what

if?” conversations, Christopher had agreed to give it a go with Lisbeth, and I was ready to approach her about it. Even though she and I had discussed it several times, our

conversations mostly involved innuendo. We teased each other about her wanting to attack my husband, and about the two of us sleeping together someday. I have no clue whether she thought it would ever really happen. But the lengthy buildup seemed to speak for itself. I was simply waiting for the time to be just right. I’m a big believer in destiny, and, as my spiritual advisor, Jimmy Belasco (whom I meet with biweekly for a dose of palatable Taoist advice to help me on my path), consistently reminds me, “Everything happens as it’s supposed to.” When you open yourself to the universe and all of its possibilities, you will find what you are seeking, and what you are intended to find. Thus, my friendship with Lisbeth was serendipitous.

I was attracted to Lisbeth from the very first day we met. Aside from her beautiful hair and amazing body, she was wickedly funny and incredibly smart. We met at book club, a group made up of twenty- and thirtysomethings, some married, some single, some with children and some without. These women were the exact opposite of the ones in my planned community. They were politically liberal, for the most part. Interestingly, though, we discovered after just a few book club meetings that they all seemed to be onboard the Disney monorail of monogamous marriage, 2.5 kids, and a dog named Sparky.

The book that shed light on this fact was
Written on the Body,
by Jeanette Winterson, about an incredible, life-altering affair that the central character has with a married woman.

Though the author never reveals the protagonist’s gender, the sensuality and emotion in the relationship are raw, intense, and wholly female. Shockingly, our entire group concurred that the central character was a man—everyone except for Lisbeth and me, that is.

Our shared interpretation of
Written on the Body
was just the starting point of what would become an amazingly strong friendship. After that night at book club, I asked her to have dinner with me one night, and then drinks another, and before we knew it, we were hanging out all the time. We’d go to bars and concerts. She’d come over and spend time with my family. Sometimes she’d baby-sit so Christopher and I could have a night out. Lisbeth and Emily adored each other; in fact, I’m pretty sure Emily thought Lisbeth was
her
best friend, not mine.

Lisbeth and I were incredibly like-minded, especially about sex and relationships. In other ways, we were quite different. She was single and ten years younger than I, and had grown up in a conservative Catholic family. Before meeting her, I spent months, prior to initiating the idea of open marriage with my husband, feeling like I was some sort of freak, like my libido was out of control, like I was selfish—a bad wife and a bad mother. But being with her and talking to her seemed to legitimize my emerging feelings about sexuality and marriage, convince me that the questions and doubts I had weren’t particular to me, and confirm for me that open marriage wasn’t appealing only

to people who are married, or who are getting older and feeling dissatisfied in their relationships.

I’d been consumed by the idea that I was interested in having relationships outside my marriage only because I’d gotten stuck in my routine, or because I was going through some sort of early midlife crisis, or because something was wrong with me. But here was Lisbeth—this beautiful, young, single woman—who felt the same way I did. I often shared with her how I was feeling about the lack of sex in my marriage. I confessed that I thought about divorcing Christopher. I talked through my confusion with her, asking her time and again how it could be that things were simultaneously so good and so bad.

“People are not built for monogamy,” she said to me early on. We were talking about my feeling guilty for wanting to sleep with other people. Lisbeth saw no need for guilt; she got that I would want to stay in my marriage
and
be with other people. “So what’s the big deal?” she continued. “Sex feels good. When did sex and love become so inseparable?”

“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head.

“I’ll tell you what it is—the Church,” she said. “It’s gotta be the Church. They don’t like anything that feels or tastes or sounds or looks good.”

“Tastes? Really?”

“Have you taken Communion lately?”

“I don’t think you should let the media off the hook so easily,” I countered. “Movies about perfect princesses

and TV shows about flawless families certainly aren’t helping matters.”

“Well, whatever it is, it sucks,” she concluded.

A happy sexual tension existed between us. We were joyful about being friends. I was hot for her, yes, but I was trying my best to work on my marriage and be honest with Christopher. In the back of my mind, I admit, I did imagine that the three of us would sleep together one day, but I still had plenty of thoughts and feelings and desires to work out before that could ever happen. Even though Lisbeth had expressed interest, I didn’t want to lose her as a friend. There were times when people had mistaken us for girlfriends, given the palpable intimacy between us. She never denied it, and we relished the times we got to snuggle up on the sofa, playing with each other’s hair. We were both very comfortable in this semisexual space.