I count my blessings and Virgil has his space

Someone decorates the street outside the flat last night. Having space seems to be working for Virgil. In the morning he sends me a picture of it:

"This greeted me upon my exit :)"

I rejoice but don't answer immediately because I am busy writing. Half an hour later, another text:

"Miss you!"

Smiling, I reply:

"Finally! :)"

Then, because I don't want to appear too craven:

"That was a joke"

Soon after comes:

"Did you see the image I sent?"

So I text:

"Yes I did. I think it raises the tone in our road immeasurably x"

My spark is returning. This morning I found myself whistling and my appetite is coming back. I think I'll go and get my bike today; I want to be riding again. It feels really weird* that what was my home for more than two years in the blink of an eye no longer feels comfortable but I am lucky: I am staying with my brother in an airy, comfortable house. Friendly people live in it and it's right near my neighborhood. There is a garden and a park across the street.

Soon I am going to find a place that feels right for me, not Virgil's flat but one I choose myself. It will have windows I can see out from and green space outside. Good things will happen. This is not a disaster: it's an opportunity for change, growth and things to get better, I tell myself. I mean it a bit more each day.

*Ok, actually it's sad. I feel sad that I can't go home. If I'm honest, I feel a bit resentful about it too. I mean, Virgil's work vs. my home? I hope he appreciates this. Actually I know he does appreciate it. Why am I writing this? Move on, Harlot. Love and support are whatever they need to be and Virgil has given me plenty in our time together.
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Help

I just joined an online poly support group. Well, actually it turned out to be a mono/poly support group for people who are monogamous and having relationships with poly people. Whatever that means.

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Beware the virtual friend

Another person I've asked about open relationships is Aaron. Aaron is stretched out on my massage table and I'm giving him a massage. He has a cold and is feeling shitty, so he's at my mercy. He snuffles and blows his nose while explaining how when they first met Polly was the one with play partners and Aaron felt insecure and had to be persuaded. Now Polly is busy with her career and Aaron is the one who wants to play - and not just play but have romances and relationships on the side.

I ask him how things are going with Polly. There was definitely something wrong when they came (separately) to my birthday breakfast a few weeks ago. "Not good," he says. "We're great sexually and intellectually but I need romance. Polly wouldn't say I'm at all romantic but I am really, just not with her. I need to find someone to feel like that about." I ask if having an open relationship is why they might split up and he says no.

Polly and Aaron have been together for a couple of years. I thought they were one of the most solid of my friends' relationships but a few days ago my newsfeed told me that Aaron is now single. God, don't you hate the way Facebook does that? Me and Virgil have not changed our Facebook statuses to announce our relationship, although I've had moments when I've wanted to and thought it would be nice, like a public avowal of commitment blah... Now I remember why it is an awful idea.

The Facebook page of one of Virgil's Facebook friends, which he flicks closed as I glanced at his laptop screen in bed on Saturday morning, draws a surge of gloom and jealousy. We are about to watch the leaders' debate together. I glimpse a brightly coloured professional shot of a vivaciously attractive woman and think he is flirting with someone. Even if he isn't, I tell myself, this is exactly what he will be doing in the not-too-distant future. Virgil has thousands of Facebook friends. He uses it for his business and for networking, and he knows a lot of performers and pretty girls through his work too. I meet no hot people in my line of work. It's not fair.

We start to watch the debate. I lie stiff and silent as a board. A small cloud gathers over my side of the bed. Virgil's far too sensitive sometimes. "What's up?" he asks, "I don't feel that we're together in this anymore."

I sigh. I say nothing. Then I say "It's nothing," in a very feeble way. I say, "Let's get up and have some breakfast. We haven't time to watch this now." Agh! he says, and goes into the kitchen to cook.

I won't make eye contact. I think I'll keep this bad mood to myself and learn stoicism, but I'm utterly incapable. I wish I were somewhere else, but we live together. Eventually over breakfast I have to tell him what happened. It's embarrassing. I've never been so paranoid and jealous before.

He says it's so and so... - a performer I've heard of. I think he says that I've met her but I can't remember. It's her birthday and he's writing her a birthday message. He says it's ok to feel like that, that it's not stupid or wrong. I feel a bit better, but not much.
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Sleepovers

Connor disagrees with Dee's view that it's easier if you can vet the other partners and know what's going on. In Connor's opinion open relationships only work when you are in separate cities. Yvonne works for an airline. "Out of sight, out of mind," says Connor.

Virgil and I met Connor and his girlfriend, Yvonne, through a contact site. We went on a date a couple of months ago - and still might have a foursome with them, but we haven't yet. The only definite hitch is that Yvonne has a trout pout and it weirds us out slightly, but she is from south America and I think it's a bit more normal in that culture.

Connor and I are in a similar situation work-wise, as in we do a similar thing and neither has enough work. I'm talking to him while we have coffee one morning. We're about to do a skills swap, so it's sort of professional but we're hanging out too. Connor is of the opinion that men are totally different to women in that they can happily fuck without the least bit of emotional attachment, or even much physical attraction come to that. He adds that a man will never leave the woman who will let him have sex with other people, her generosity and self-assuredness securing his everlasting adoration and commitment.

I'm not convinced. Virgil has a much more emotional, romantic perspective on sex with other people than I do. We have already had a conversation about sleepovers that illustrates this perfectly. It's a day or two after the date story breaking and we're talking about my reaction to the news. Specifically, my shouting "I fucking hate you!" before slamming the bedroom door, pacing from room to room crying, passing a mostly sleepless night, crying again in the morning (I'm back in our bed by then, generously rubbing his face in my misery) while Virgil looks stricken and confused.

"How do you think you'll handle it if I go out one evening and don't come back that night?" he asks. "What are you talking about?" I say. Virgil says quite emphatically that although he has had a couple of one-night stands in his life he almost always spends the night with people he has had sex with. He says that to not be able to do this would cramp his style severely. He points out that public transport stops at a certain time. "You didn't sleep with me the first time we had sex," I counter, "Even though I invited you to. You came round on a Sunday afternoon; we went to bed; you left at nine. Sex can happen at any time of day. It doesn't have to be late in the evening."

I recoil at the thought that Virgil would want to actually sleep with another partner. That kind of affectionate intimacy is something I save for special. I love the warm entanglement of Virgil at night and the cuddles we have. "What, you have sex with someone and then get up and leave?" he asks, somewhat unnecessarily. Of course I do. That's normal when you're having casual sex, isn't it? I am pretty sure that is what most people do. Virgil finds that sterile, perfunctory and a bit sordid. He says that he doesn't want to have that kind of sex and that sex without romance is empty and unexciting.

"What do you mean by romance?" we ask each other. I could scream with frustration. I feel like I know nothing anymore. I can't even explain myself anymore. I know what I mean when I say romance. I know when I feel romantic about someone and I know when I don't. Virgil says that, barring sex parties and orgies, almost everyone he has ever had sex with has registered somewhere on a scale of romance. I imagine a fairground test-your-strength game, where you hit a bell with a hammer and it sends a marker shooting up a pole. That's not me: I have two scales. Romance either is or isn't there. It's a qualitative shift, not a question of degree.

Virgil is driving a hard bargain.
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