The challenges of distance, and non-monogamy

Sofia is the woman, other than my wife, with whom I’ve had the longest-lasting sexual relationship. Weird, given we’ve never met. But hey – it’s 2020. And, what with COVID19 and all, maybe that’s the best kind of sexual relationship.

Though we haven’t met, we know each other pretty well. We talk about everything. We show each other everything. Our relationship has been through good times, bad times, and long interruptions.

Today, we’re struggling with an issue that’s plagued us periodically: jealousy. Sometimes, the jealousy is my jealousy of her; others, it’s her jealousy of me. It’s hard for both of us at different times, in different ways. For the most part, we’ve been able to navigate the difficult shoals with some aplomb, communicating well and often, and finding our way through to the other side.

Right now, we find ourselves in the middle of such a “shoal.”

In many ways, Sofia has the jealousy bug worse than I do, in two different ways: first, I think, she’s less practiced at it than I am, just by virtue of our respective lives. I’ve been managing multiple relationships with multiple women who have multiple relationships with multiple men for a decade now. And, I’ve been married for more than twenty years.

Second, though, there’s something else. Sofia reads my blog. Which means that not only does she have to endure jealousy, she has to see the ways in which my relationships with others play out, and are described by me, and sometimes by them, on my blog. And, inevitably, she compares what I write about others to what I have written about her. And add to that… in recent years, I haven’t really written much about Sofia. There have been lots of reasons for this (none of which have to do with how incredibly fucking hot she is, or how hard she makes my cock). But it sucks to be busting your ass to feed me, to be making me hard, and then to turn your attention to my blog and find how hard someone ELSE is making my cock.

I don’t really know what to say about this. It’s the hardest thing that has developed about maintaining this blog. When I began it, I could write freely. I had no audience. I was free to be the most selfish, unconcerned version of myself. And this was a confessional space. A space in which I confessed what 13-year-old girls did to my body, my fantasies, my fears. And, over time, my words started having an effect on people. Initially, that effect seemed to be… lubricating. But then, it shifted. Sometimes that effect was lubricating, but other times, it made people mad. And not just people I never met and didn’t care about. People I fucked. People who made themselves vulnerable to me.

Sofia has been on the losing end of this a LOT. Exacerbated both by the longevity and distance-imposed virtuality of our relationship. And, of course, my occasional insensitivity, verging on cruelty. I think that last bit, I’ve managed to tame a bit in recent years. There was a period when I repeatedly failed to notify of things I was writing, failed to give her the chance to manage her engagement with my words more mindfully. More recently, I’ve been more thoughtful about that at least.

But it’s hard for her, in ways I completely respect, empathize with, and understand, to see me excited by a woman who’s exciting me in ways that are not just structurally similar to the ways in which she excites me, but in ways that are similar in terms of the very content of our interaction. (Because I’m a pervert, I tend to structure ALL of my sexual relationships similarly, even as they all feel unique and distinct to me.)

In this recent instance, I am left mostly, thus far, to guess, at her feelings. But I know that, when she opened my blog the other day and read about Marina, it didn’t feel good. In spite of my having told her about Marina, my having told her I was writing about Marina, and my having offered her the opportunity to read what I wrote about Marina before I posted it. It still didn’t feel good.

I get this. Entirely.

I’ve felt my own version of it, all too often.

Sofia, you see, has a sex life. She fucks people. Sometimes, she plans it. Sometimes, it happens. Generally, she tells me about it.

The truth is, if I were to have my way, I would simply own Sofia. Her body, her cunt, would belong to me. (There have been times this came close to how we structured our relationship.) When her cunt is being made available to another, when she devotes her body to the pleasure of another, that fucking SUCKS for me.

I’m lucky, in that, at this point, the ways in which it sucks are so familiar, so old, so primal, and I’ve done so much work, that it all resolves into a simultaneous experience of agony and amusement. Agony, because I can’t bear to know what she’s doing. Amusement, because, after all, it is funny that I, a grown-ass man, can allow my nights to be rendered sleepless by the activities of a woman thousands of miles from me whom I’ve never met. Activities which are giving her pleasure, and which there’s simply no universe in which she shouldn’t be permitted to (encouraged to) have.

Sofia doesn’t have that luck. She doesn’t have the volume of such pain to draw on that I do. Nor does she have the easy rationale that it would be insane to want to deprive me of that. What I would be depriving her of is real-life sex, something I can never give her. (Or at least, can’t any time soon.) What she would be depriving me of is… something structurally identical to what she gives me, and something many people do just fine without.

So the asymmetry sucks, on multiple levels.

And finally, it’s exacerbated by the fact that, since I began writing this, I’ve just always been better at writing in three circumstances: when I’m discovering someone, when I’m losing someone, or when I’m conflicted about someone. I just don’t write all that much, or all that well, about relationships that are both gratifying and secure. As hot as they are, as much as I enjoy them, the steam they produce turns engines other than the one that produces the words in this blog.

And that’s a problem. A challenge. For me to figure out how to remedy? For her to figure out how to manage? Both? Something else? I’m not sure.

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