Fuck yeah, Polyamory.

24 Nov

There was a fellow I met years ago.
As luck would have it, our paths would cross again.

We met when I was 17 originally. Fumbling about the arts scene amongst a bunch of live graffiti artists who would paint with florescent colors under black light while pulsating beats mutated to hallucinogens in the background.

Well that is the description of the night time.

That was not where I met Cyrus.

There are also daytime artists events which happen in parks by the ocean, and under the sober veil of daytime, some decent conversations can take place. Mainly because it’s daylight and people like to maintain their composure more. They are probably just as fucked up, but remaining vertical. It was before I did any drugs, so I don’t know where Cyrus was in this mix- probably just really stoned. I threw my own party once, and it was at my event where we first chatted and got to know each other. We met very briefly however a few days prior to my even, when he dropped by my house to pick up posters and flyers for the show, as a favor to our mutual friend Quinn.

Fast forward to a few years later….I ran into him last weekend, while socializing about the city at a reunion of sorts. I was meeting up with that same posse, that same crew I used to run with when I was a crazy painter in that electric hippie side of the arts scene.

Cyrus’ face looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t pin it as he used to have short hair and now his hair was long with dreadlocks.

He clearly remembered me. Quinn re-introduced us and the memory came flooding back. Had we introduced ourselves with our “regular names” we would have been lost but when Quinn mentioned our artist monikers, we clicked and said “OH YOU! I remember you now!”

And I remembered I liked him.
He remembered reminisced about picking up flyers at my house that day.
He remembered the exact corner I used to live on.

He said,
“I sometimes drive by that house for school and a couple times I have thought “I wonder what happened to that girl, I wonder if she still lives there?”

What remained unchanged about him was how upbeat and intelligent he was. He was hard to forget because its rare you meet anybody who is an author. He had written a textbook of sorts for this design program that a lot of us artists use.

You know when you sarcastically say “He wrote the book on that!”
Well, this guy actually wrote the book.

He was also every bit the quirky teddy bear hippie I remember him being.
I told him how much I wanted to learn to use that art program but it was so hard, I could never figure it out.

I told him I had it in a box, sitting there, never used.

I ended up venting to him about what I had been up to since that time.
Things like, dickwad artists hitting on me.

Of course, I didn’t know he was going to offer to teach me how to use the program.
With a defeated tone he said, “Well here’s my card, if you want me to teach you how to use the program, It will only take an hour and I won’t try to fuck you.”

I’m thinking, “DAMMIT, the one time I feel a budding crush and I have to insert my foot in my feminist mouth about what dickwads men are. What the fuck.”

I did what any girl would do.
In the flurry of crowds….I saw my childhood friend Quinn and thought to myself, “I will text him. Quinn can hook it up.” See I’ve known my childhood artist friend since I was 13….he was always suave in his day and was always the kind of guy that would help his friends get laid if he could.

So I texted,

I leave the gathering.
I move on to another party getting drunk with my girlfriend.
I text Quinn again saying,

“I hope you relay the message because Cyrus isn’t on facebook!”

“Oh yes he is” Quinn replies.
“Check this nickname” (It’s Cyrus’ old school artist moniker.)

Facebook poking begin!
I text him my number a few days later…
this brings us….to two nights ago…
back to the bar.
With my double tall.
And his whiskey sour with the ice spinning in the glass.

We catch up about what he’s been up to.
Like a true genius, he’s going for some crazy intelligent degree in school that has to do with physics and electronics and computers and takes forever to complete. The degree has taken almost 8 years because of all of the engineering/chem/math classes, he tells me.

I cut to the chase midway through drink two, and ask if Quinn relayed the message as to whether or not he was single.
He wants to know…why I want to know.
“Why does any girl want to know?” I say.
“Because I find you likable.”

“Why else?” He presses.
I said, “I thought maybe you liked me.”
“Why did you think that?”
“It was from the way you put your arm up against the wall and leaned in to talk to me the other day. At that moment.”

Then it happens.
That moment where I consciously decide…
“Do I tell him I’m a ho? Do I disclose? Do I keep it a secret?”

Cyrus is such a carefree arty hippie kind of guy that he seems like he wouldn’t care.
I say “I worked in the adult industry.
Not on film.”

He narrowed it down but was off.
“In Nevada.” I said.

“Nye County or..?”

My face lights up.
Any man who can mention NYE COUNTY has won me over.
If he knows its Nye County, you know its going to be ok.

“Yes, I’ve been working in a brothel for the last couple years.”

He tells me that’s very intriguing, and totally hot.
Uhhhhmm. Cool.

Somewhere about this time he wants to move from a bar to a booth.
More intimate.
More comfortable seating.

After this, he drops the bomb that he’s been Polyamorous for the last few years.
Had a wife.
They are divorcing soon.
All because this “spawn of love” he created was like a tiny seed that created a flurry of other trees with new branches and he didn’t like how his own creation was unfolding, so to speak.

He said he’s been in threesomes and foursomes.
They’ve shared lovers, he’s had five girlfriends at once, and phases where he is content to be alone and doesn’t care to share his time with anyone.

“But who was your primary?”

I asked.

(Poly’s have primaries, usually, their “#1”)

“It was my wife”
he said,
“Til she ran off with my best friend.”

Ooooooooh. Sour!

So like a scientist, he wants to break down the reason of why we are sitting there together…the hypothesis and breakdown of Bambi.

“What do you want?” He asks.
I say,
“I don’t know. I think that’s for time to figure out. I’m a loving caring person and I don’t have the heart for people who are scared of love. It’s too tiring.”

I tell him that after fucking all the people I’ve fucked for the last couple years,
I think I’m set on one night stands for the next 10 years. I could probably skip 1 night stands for the next decade and I’d be fine.

“If I was gonna have a one night stand, I’d wanna get paid for it. I’d just go to work.”
Then he relays to me that guys numb themselves to fuck girls they don’t like.


“Really? You have to get too drunk to care just to get laid?” I say.
What a foreign concept. Since working in the brothel, I’d forgotten.
I’ve always turned those guys down.
In a brothel, guys with money are ALWAYS attractive.
So the money/brain barrier of pleasure starts to get flexible.
If he’s got enough money? He’s cute.

At home none of these rules apply. In fact I don’t like men who are all about money, in real life.

To me, the charade of dressing up and wearing clothes that you don’t like to talk to some guy who’s not your style and spending all that money on liquor JUST TO GET LAID?

Fuck it. I’ll go to a brothel and keep my pride.

Meanwhile…while we’re having this conversation, Cyrus has been exploring my body in this strange way. He notices my forearms of all things.

Between all of this, I am having a text message session between two men.
I explain to Cyrus that one fellow is an artist I just met up with and we are totally in love with each others work, and we are collaborating on a piece together.

The other text is from my body guard…who I also love.
Who texts me the sweetest thing, that he wants me to surprise our lady friend with a gift while he is gone for the holidays with a particular note. The note is and the gesture is the sweetest thing I have read all day.

Our lady friend is in the room (she works in the bar where I’m at) ….while my bodyguard is out of town.

I look across the room to my lady friend and smile the most precious of smiles because I love that he loves her so.

Of course I tell my bodyguard that I will purchase the gift and scroll the note he requested that I write, and will deliver the gift on her doorstep in his absence.

Perhaps…I am a bit in the Polyamory tree too, I think. Multiple loves- I just don’t fuck everybody.The amazing thing is that I explain all my texts, and all my relationships…and Cyrus seems to intuitively understand and be okay with all of them.

He still is exploring my body with his hands.
Not in a perverted way.
Its all very hippie-science in its method.
How muscular they are.
Then he kneads my legs.
He’s taken massage therapy classes he says, and notes that they are also muscled.

When our conversation finally comes to a close and we step into the outdoor chill,
he stares me up and down and says,
“Can I pick you up?”
I guess because he wants to see how light I am. Or how heavy I am.
“I am heavy” I say – I am a lead weight.
“Muscle weighs three times more than fat, you know that.” he says.

So I let him pick me up.
Then I let him hug me.
For a really long time.
It felt like five minutes, though it was probably only 90 seconds.
I let him cosmically explore my soul and let him be the touchy feely neo-hippie kind of guy he is.
Yes, I felt awkward.
Very awkward.

I felt more awkward than Bleaker in Juno.

I’m awkward about “public displays of affection” on streets.
Even when the streets are empty.
PARTICULARLY when he’s touchy feely like we are in the middle of a drug pile at Burning Man.

Normally I hate to be touched.
But…for Cyrus…I’ll let him get all connected with the energy and the higher spiritual planes.
A higher spiritual plane might be good for me.

So after he’s done hugging me like some strange primitive caveman science love ritual…
He goes home.
Before he goes home however he relays his plans for the next two months.
out there, on the table…just like that.

He had mentioned his girlfriend who lives 500 miles away in the middle of our evening.
I don’t mind that probably during that time he’s going to go visit her.
After all, he explained himself, and where his heart lies with her.

All I can notice about the experience was a complete absence of fear.
The goal of Polyamory is to love.
Never fear.
It felt so nice for a change.


3 Responses to “Fuck yeah, Polyamory.”

  1. Lottie November 28, 2010 at 12:30 am #

    Well, I don’t really have anything constructive to say, but I really enjoyed reading this post. I’m poly anyway, so I can kind of connect, and I liked the aside about the body guard and his sweetie! I also liked that he pushes your boundaries. That’s important.

    Thank you for sharing. 🙂

  2. frostwire download November 30, 2010 at 12:00 am #

    one can argue that it can go both ways


  1. Tweets that mention Fuck yeah, Polyamory. « Brothelbabe's Blog -- Topsy.com - November 25, 2010

    […] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Lucius Scribbens, Brothel Babe. Brothel Babe said: Hell yeah, Polyamory. https://brothelbabe.wordpress.com/2010/11/24/fuck-yeah-polyamory/ […]

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