“do you know the word ‘polyamory’?”, aka kitty meets a kinky friend on the moon

I’ve left civilization God knows how many miles behind me. 

Sailed from the hottest place on Earth (at least that I’ve experienced) to the place where all the hot girls prance about in sexy parkas, the icy depths of the Antarctic Circle. It’s difficult to imagine a more isolated place in which to meet a friend.  But the strangest things happen to me.

Of course I’ve taken precautions.  I’ve come prepared with a group of friends to meet.  I know a couple of them, but not most.  Still, it’s like shooting fish in a barrel.  They are right here, and I have an excuse to talk to them!I don’t expect any real connection, of course.  Until I start talking to this one woman.  We’re both on a very comfy red couch.  Perfect for relaxing as we sip our martinis.  I’m pleased enough by her wit and intelligence to wish to get to know her better. And then she asks me a question.

“Do you know the word polyamory?”

I…what?  She isn’t aggressive about the question. She suggests, by her tone, that she is not even listening that closely to my response. Our conversation isn’t serious.  Just lighthearted small talk. Like with any vanilla acquaintance. I unfortunately don’t have a drink in my hand to take a convenient pause, I’ve finished it.  So I go right into it, with hardly a beat,

“Actually, I’m in a polyamorous relationship.”

I don’t know what makes me say this, but if she is going to open herself up in this manner, I may as well jump in. She shouldn’t have asked if she didn’t want an honest answer, right? Plus, she’s really nice. I believe I won’t weird her out.

I say the truth, and she doesn’t flip out or anything, but she is curious. We talk about our partners, our lives. I find the words flow freely, easily.

I haven’t quite done this before. Opening myself up to a person I barely know in a non kinky scenario. Sure, I’ve talked to strangers about my kinks before. But I was already at an event. They’d already made themselves a little vulnerable to me, as I did for them. This time, I willingly put myself out there, without any idea of how she would react. All she did was ask about a word; I admitted to a practicing lifestyle.

I have mixed feelings about my revelation.

I ask for another martini.  Liquid courage.  I feel relieved, validated, heard– but I’m also questioning my judgment. Should I not have said anything? I’m nervous I prematurely let my guard down. Did I make a mistake? Did I share too much personal stuff? But I want her to be my friend. I’m tired of hiding who I am from my friends.  While I am normally excellent at compartmentalizing my life, I admit I’ve gotten sloppy.

I wonder if I’ve done something stupid. Here I am just saying anything to anyone? Is that brave or stupid, or is there a difference? Perhaps I’m too harsh on myself. You might call it “courage,” rather than laziness or stupidity.  But she reacts well.  That’s good. Later, we’re talking and she explains she trusted me because I led a group discussion on consent. I had mentioned the topic to a few in our group and they responded positively (when I got to my group discussion, a few people were already there and the daughter of one of our group looked at me with excitement, “We’re your group!”). It’s a topic the vanilla world doesn’t talk about much, my newly found friend says. I agree, though, like her, I wish it were different.And we stay friends.

Six months ago, I don’t know that I’d have made the same choice.

I do not know if I’d have been brave enough. Perhaps I was only stupid and drunk. Well, tipsy. First or second drink. But it is as if with each passing month, I become infinitely closer to my superhero self.

I do not care if she judges me or leaves me for being “me.” I’ve been abandoned by tour guides, by lovers, betrayed by people I thought should have my well being paramount. I do not really care if this Woman never talks to me again. Obviously, that is not my ideal outcome. But I am already prepared to accept it.

I wonder if I need be as discreet as before.

I’m in the middle of nowhere, and I’ve found this kinky soul creature. Because I let myself take a chance. I mean, I’ve been told I draw kinky folk out of the woodwork before- but this is ridiculous.Can I afford to be a little more open with my -close- professional friends, instead of only talking about personal stuff with my kinky friends? I still need to be quiet about personal affairs with clients and extended network, but who doesn’t? What about the people I actually care about?

I feel like I’m on the moon, but I’m merely floating.

I can do whatever I want.  No more, no less.  Perhaps I will allow both my worlds to blur a little more than I did before. Let some of my less socially approved interests slip out in casual conversation. Or subversively include “code” words to see if anyone picks up on them (like “consent” or “compersion” or “this one time with rope at band camp.”)

Or perhaps I will own the “princess by day, slut by night” life. During the day I will be good and proper. At night, I’ll loosen up over drinks with coworkers and, perhaps with a select few, tell stories of what I really did over the weekend.  I mean, maybe.  If I trust them.  

How far shall I go?  Only the future me knows that answer!

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