Tag: polyamory

Poly whatever…

‘Maybe this is the time to experiment with drugs,’ I suggested to my difficult friend while talking about the whole awful cunt Trump thing.

The problem with difficult men is that they have no sense of humour.

‘What do you mean Violet, this is not a time for drugs, this is a time for deep reflection, for looking inward, for…’

‘Oh for fucks sake, I’m kidding, I’m trying to find ways to deal with the world, a bit of LSD…’

‘Reflection, Violet, reflection. Lets see why people voted this way, what they…’

Jesus. I just want to talk about something light. Fun. Quirky.

Anything that is not Trump.

‘No drugs then. Fine. What else can we do?’

Deathly silence.

I made a few more suggestions…

Write a play together?
Rob a bank?
Join a cult.
Become scientologists…

He looked at me like I was mad.

‘The thing about Trump,’ he went on…

‘Polygamy,’ I tried.

He was very quiet for a while.

‘You know I don’t believe in marriage Violet, I’m never going to have one wife, why on earth would I have two…’



He has no fucking sense of humour.

He is not funny.

He doesn’t want to do drugs.

And I meant polyamory not polygamy but everyone gets them mixed up and who cares.

It’s very hard to like a man without a sense of humour.

But I do love him a little bit.

And that does make it tricky.


I man, 82974202 women

Yesterday over lunch I joked with my girlfriend.

Your guy is so cool, I said. Pity we can’t share him.

He is really lovely. Apart from being gorgeous with great abs and a man bun, he has money, knows how to cry, wears flannel shirts and expensive cologne.

Sexy. Did I mention sexy?

She gave me a terrible stare and was silent for the next few minutes.

I thought I may have lost a friend forever.

And then, as if she’d suddenly seen the light, she snapped her fingers and ordered a bottle of champagne.

Apparently we were celebrating!

It’s a bloody good idea, she said. It would take all the pressure off me. He’s demanding, always wants sex, also food, and expects me to talk to him all the time. All the bloody time. I tell ya, it’s exhausting.

We plotted. We planned. We were brilliant. She got out her computer and made a spreadsheet.

She would have him on Monday and Friday, I would get him on Tuesday. Wednesday would be a day off and actually we would offer him to another friend on the Thursday.

Twice a week is good for her and I only need a man once a week.

He could do whatever he wanted on the weekend. We wouldn’t ask any questions.

He shouldn’t live with any of us, we decided. He could stay in a hotel. We’d go to him and have the benefits of room service and huge baths that no-one had to clean afterwards. We’d never have to change the linen and someone else would throw away the condoms.

Huge bonus; we’d never have to cook. Or talk much.

We decided to open up the offer. We invited other women in the restaurant to join our table and handed out the spreadsheet. Weekends were still free if anyone wanted him and maybe every second Monday.

We got a bit carried away and started working out times and rates and charges and then –

He walked in.

We all went very quiet. They kissed each other hello. He’d bought her flowers. And a little something in a box.

They moved to another table.

Jokes over, she said. Keep your hands off my man.

Apparently it’s not really okay to share boyfriends.

Or even to objectify men.

one man

Modern Love

The other night I was chatting up my barman when a couple approached me.

Violet, can we go somewhere quiet to talk.

I was kinda enjoying the courtyard with the music and the moon but they both looked serious and I thought perhaps something was wrong.

They didn’t waste any time.

We’d like to get to know you, they explained. We’re polyamorous. Basically, we’re looking for someone else to love.

Jesus Christ, readers, apart from the fact that I don’t know the difference between polyamory, polygamy and polyfilla, what is going on at the moment.

I cannot get away from threesomes.

I looked at them. Got up, signalled for another scotch, sat down again.

I’m curious, I asked. Why me? What are you looking for? And yeah, again, why me?

They thought I might be lonely.

There’s just so much love in the world Violet, and we want to share it. Spread it around.

I tried not to roll my eyes or fall asleep while they told me about their lives and what they wanted.

They grow their own veggies, smoke pot,tie dye their clothes, oppose nuclear weapons, stand up for the environment, do yoga, meditate, rescue orphaned animals, and children, play the guitar and sometimes, take a little LSD.

More love would be good.

Oh my god, I thought, I am so not a hippie and also how would they ever even remember to include me in their busy hippie schedule.

I would not fit in.  I don’t recycle, or do drugs,  and I also like to love one person at a time.

I excused myself.

Thanks but no thanks, I said, and suggested they maybe start a communal vegetable garden instead of having a threesome.

It would be a better way to share the love.

I left them under their haze of smoke and hurried off.

The DJ was playing David Bowie’s Modern Love. And I wanted to dance.

On my own.

Happily.  Thanks.