Read it? Good. That pretty much sums who I am and what the deal is with me. I've been sharing my dabblings in polyamory via my own blog over at Mina's Musings, and if you'd like backstory, that's the place to go. Fair warning (in case you weren't tipped off by the word “Pornographer”) that thing is NSFW as HELL, much more so than here, as it's also heavily focused on sharing the fruits of my labours on my homemade indie porn sites. Then after a bit of that, our host with the most here at Swingset, Cooper, very kindly offered me the opportunity to share space with the larger non-monagamy community. I'm stoked as hell to be here, and hope to do justice to what I consider an amazing forum with some of the finest voices in non-monagamy on the web. And I do hope you enjoy my contributions.
Now then. That's me. On to the news.
In my last post, I pondered the dreaded Friendzone, its connotations, whether or not it meant different things to men and women and the possibility that I've been put there by my last drinks date, Beardy S. He and I have kept in touch to a certain degree, and while I still feel some interest from him, I don't feel much effort to do anything about it. He's still deeply immersed in finding his niche, having landed his Most Coolest Dream Job Ever (if you recall), and while he's vaguely mentioned that we should get together again at some point, he's not working terribly hard to make it happen.
Which is cool. I like him and his acerbic wit, he's got brown eyes (always a major deciding factor — ok, fine. Fetish. Fixation.), I enjoyed my evening out with him, but am not precisely excited about him — or anyone else at the moment. Truth be told, I'm still searching for My Two (my hypothesized ideal amount of poly boyfriends), and I'm juggling several Prospects at the moment — probably more than I should be, considering the workload I'm facing and the sudden emergence of a bit of family drama that has nothing to do with any of this, except for the fact that it all impacts how much time I have to devote to my social life.
But, from the vast pools of my experience in polyamory (5 whole months now — whee!), I submit to you: dating (polyamourously or not) is a numbers game. Here's the breakdown I've come up with:
- I maintain profiles on three dating sites (one I absolutely loathe and avoid, to be honest)
- Females spark a feeding frenzy, resulting in perhaps 15-20 viable conversations at any given time, so long as I maintain an active presence and answer messages.
- I may then invite 5 or 6 of those correspondents to instant messenger — at this point, we'll refer to them as Prospects — to facilitate getting to know each other further.
- I may then consent to meet 2 or 3 of them. By then, we've probably also exchanged phone numbers.
- Of those 2 or 3, maybe one will result in The Fabled Click (cerebral, emotional, sensual), resulting in an actual relationship. Or not. There's really no way to predict beyond that, without dredging up a whole whack of other statistics.
Should I care to explore a 2nd poly relationship, the process begins all over again. The whole shebang takes anywhere from 2 – 4 weeks. I'm a slow mover.
Right now, I'm IM'ing with perhaps 6 Prospects, 2 of whom have demonstrated “player” tendencies (uck) likely to result in disqualification. They're both gorgeous and would probably be fun for a nice, no-strings fuck, except I don't do no-strings fucks. I date. I want boyfriends I can count on to become a part of my life, see on a regular basis, build a connection with, stay in touch and have us both actually come to mean something to each other.
Two others have been more appealing: D and C have both strongly indicated interest and put actual effort into initiating conversations, getting to know me, and proposing getting together. Both blue-collar Italian types — nummies (like my fiance, Joe — he's the template, baby). Each with their own distinct look. D is a tile guy, with a prematurely-grey, clean-cut George Clooney thing going on, and C is in accounting, with a shaved-head bodybuilder thing going on (normally of no appeal to me, but he's also very sweet and has been good at convo — HUGE point).
Both have indicated attraction but kept their approach low-key, have blown minimal smoke up my ass, and let me lead the dance of acquaintanceship — also huge. I despise a strong come-on, and I KNOW men want to fuck me — old men, young men, men have wanted to fuck me ever since I grew breasts. This is not news to me (or likely any woman, guys) and I don't need to be fucking told every three minutes, no matter how carefully it's thrown out there. To spend an entire conversation fixating on how sexy I am and not-so-veiled references to their “fabulous full-body massage skills” frankly alienates (and bores) the living shit out of me. If I wanted to listen to that crap, I could go talk to my websites' fanbase, cocktease them into doing it with a camshow or three, and then get paid to hear it. Compliments are fine, but beyond a certain point, most women looking to connect (based on something more than mere mutual physical attraction) would probably like to have…well, actual conversation. About things NOT related to the shape of her ass. Move the fuck on and CONVERSE, guys (and yes, indeed, dear readers — you are most welcome to take notes).
Both D and C have lives outside dating and partying and have made references to work, hobbies, friends and family. Both have asked intelligent questions — and kept these questions CLEAN (nothing more repulsive than having a stranger ask if my husband will let me fuck him — ugh.) — about polyamory in general and how Joe and I conduct ourselves in relation to it. Both are around my age, 40 and 38, if I recall.
In short, two good prospects. And that's the current poly dating situation. I've been on something of a dry spell for 4 or 5 weeks now (ever since the breakup with B and the bullet-dodging of that whacko C). My fun bone is pinging like a motherfucker, I've got wicked cabin fever, and I'm ready for someone new.
As always, things kickass with the Primary, Joe, but of course, we don't do this because anything is missing at home or between us. We do this because we have ravenous appetites that demand feeding: appetites for fun, for friendship, for lust, for love, for socializing, for sangria, and for red wine on a Montreal terrace (yes, that's how you spell it around here. There are no patios accompanying our eateries, silly….there are terraces.) For sensuality, if you will (and oh yeah..I bet you will…) in all its many forms: cerebral, gastronomical, social, romantic, sexual. Because life is an amazing buffet of experiences and people and I'm always…so…hungry. And also because we have amazing partners with whom we've created an environment of such love, trust and honesty, that we could freely admit to these ravenous appetites. Nay, not just admit to them, but have them celebrated and encouraged.
Bon Appetit.
