A Juggling Act
True stories are almost always the easiest to tell. The thing is, they always involve real people, actual events, and real situational drama. I want to tell you a real story. It is a true story. Rather than offending the people who appear in the narrative, I am changing their names. I do not expect either of these people to ever see or know of this story’s existence. It is always hard for me to name characters in fiction. Renaming my characters came in a flash. I imagined the childhood swimming pool game “Marco! Polo!” From there came the names, Mark and Paul. Other than the choice of pseudonyms, this is a true story. It is a story about a successful juggling act of which I have been proud.
Following the demise of two back-to-back long-term relationships, I was determined to live a single man’s life for at least seven years. I set the time on purpose. I realized that I had spent the entire previous fourteen years in some kind of firmly committed relationship. I was married to my wife for the first seven years. The remainder was devoted to a man I called husband. My heartbreak was devastating. I had never really processed breaking up with my wife. I went headlong into the next. The second breakup was doubly difficult, for I found myself dealing with the first one at the same time. I knew this, and after meditating on it, I promised myself seven years to improve myself enough to be worthy and prepared to make the next time I gave my heart a fighting chance. My success rate on “forever” was pretty well set at seven years.
In that seven years, I made the most of being as free and single as possible. I never intentionally broke anyone’s heart, although there were several times I knew it happened anyway. Sometimes it was about somebody making the mistake of “falling in love” with me. I had a lot of fun with many guys, some of whom I saw at intervals over months, even years. I always felt a sudden suffocation when the other guy started getting too close. Despite always being upfront about being noncommittal, I often ended up in sticky situations where the other guy became jealous, possessive, or even downright pathetic because they had developed feelings. I always tried to be gentle but had more than a few particularly painful break-ups with guys I didn’t even know I was formally attached to. I admit to some harsh and even cruel deeds to ensure the completeness of the ending. Too many times trying to be Mr. Nice Guy merely prolonged an agony I should never have suffered. I learned to opt for tactics that are swift and severe. Sometimes the heart that incurred the most damage wasn’t even someone I knew. I knowingly hooked up with guys that were cheating.
I had an attitude that I used to absolve myself of blame or guilt. I even said it out loud many times over the years. “I don’t care if the person is cheating on someone else. If that person cared, they would not be in my bed.” While I often knew the other guy was cheating, I can honestly say I never went after someone I knew was involved with someone else. If they came looking for me, it was their business; if I was interested, it was a non-issue. I was okay with my conscience and left it to the other guy to handle his own. In retrospect, that did not work well for me at all. I have endured several boyfriends, husbands, and wives who directed their rage at me upon learning that I was “the other man.”
Collateral damage was sometimes sticky. Sometimes I had to lie and deny or say nothing at all. It would never matter. If a stung lover found out about it, I ended up in that horrible place where my best defense was again swift and severe. That defense didn’t do much to shield a few fists or thrown objects. It did not stop the hysterics, the screaming blame, or threats of violence. It didn’t protect my car, windows, or property, but it did mark the finality of my involvement most abruptly. I would bluntly remind the person ready to kill ME that I had not cheated on them, so their battle was not with me. After that, I had nothing else to say on the matter at all. It worked to diffuse things a few times, but I still took a few punches and some ugly vandalism over the years.
Based on these war stories, I was unsuccessful as a free and easy bachelor. It would sound like it was nothing but an endless chain of drama and failings. I disagree. I did a fine job navigating stormy and dangerous waters, even with a few rough spots out of my control. There were a few surprising success stories. I kept up with and carried on with several very satisfying and memorable flings. I loved finding someone who had a similar attitude and approach to my own. It didn't matter if it was a few weeks or even a few months; I loved being happy and into it the whole time and walking away without incident when it had taken its course.
I kept things rolling on this level with a guy named Mark. He was a couple of years older than me, and we had fun whenever we hooked up. It was always at his place. He had told me from the beginning that he had a boyfriend, that it was a thing he was not worried about, and that they were in an open relationship. Our rendezvous was always his pied-a-terre, a little condo he kept for extramarital activities. I knew I was not the only guy Mark saw besides his boyfriend. I was not bothered on either account.
Someone else I had a long history with was a young kid named Paul. He was a wild one. The first time we met, he was the third in a hot threesome hookup with my then-boyfriend. Several times we took him home. I continued to hook up with him long after my boyfriend and I called it quits. Paul was my Friend with Benefits for a long time. We went out dancing and drinking, sometimes partying long into the night before tumbling into bed. We just had great sex, and it was part of the adventure to find ourselves in a dark car, a park, or any other crazy place we could find to do the deed. We never really hung out other than to go out and hook up afterward. I don’t think I ever took him to my house. I know we never went to his. Despite being involved in a primary relationship, Paul enjoyed being promiscuous. Discretion was his primary focus. I was never allowed to pick him up at home; we always met where we planned to start our night- the bar, a coffee shop, or a party. That worked just fine for me. No muss, no fuss. And no awkward waking up together all hung over the morning after. I thought it was the perfect arrangement. Paul and I kept it up with some frequency for several years.
One day, Mark came to see me at work. He gave me a card with the address to his new condo. I noted the address of an upscale high-rise. I was impressed. When I arrived, I could see he had not finished moving in. There were boxes and pictures on the floor, a bed but no living room furniture. I remember seeing his phone and cable cords in the corner. I hardly cared. This place was seventeen floors up and had windows in two directions. I was fascinated by the views. Mark poured some wine and let me hang out, getting high on the balcony. He was a little occupied with getting settled. When I came in from the balcony, I found him going through a box of pictures. He had several family pics; a pretty sister, a Paris vacation, and a beach pic with a super hot guy. I picked up the picture, and Mark grabbed it away. He was a little embarrassed and said he did not mean to bring a picture of him and his boyfriend to the new place. He saw the new place as a sanctuary, away from his primary relationship.
I did a double-take. I realized the guy in the picture was PAUL! I knew it for sure. It was several years old, but I saw it enough to recognize who it was immediately. I was uncomfortably stunned. I could not believe what I had just seen. I made some dumb excuse to leave and went home with my head spinning.
I realized on my way home that I was “seeing” two guys I knew were cheating on their boyfriends. Then I figured it out. They were cheating on each other. Not one of us had a clue. Over two years, we were in a bizarre love triangle, though none of us knew it. I claimed it as a badge to show my success in discretion and the ability to keep more than one fling going at a time.
I never hooked up with Mark again. I never knew why. Paul and I had a different kind of vibe. I even told him about my discovery. I didn’t do it right away, and I’m not sure I meant to when I did, but one night when Paul and I were in amped-up party mode, I let the whole thing slip. He was utterly shocked and unprepared for such a surprise. Strangely, it upset him deeply. He told me he always felt okay with his freedom in their open relationship, but it always ate at him knowing Mark kept a separate place to carry on his extramarital affairs. Paul got mad at me, thinking that somehow I knew and kept it from him. It took me a long time to convince him otherwise.
I knew this practice presented potential dangers. I found myself dragged into tense situations because of my choices. I banked on the other guy’s ability to handle his baggage. I shared an unknown secret with two guys for over two years and survived without damage.
That is like juggling seven items while riding a unicycle blindfolded.
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