On being polyamorously in love

“How old?” He asked. 

“32. He’s tall. Very tall. Very married.” She told him the truth.

“How did you meet him?” He continued with his inquisition. 

“On a bus.” She answered. Transbay bus. 

“So he lives in your town.” He asked.

“Yes.” She was being honest.

“Dating people in really extreme height ranges are fun. I fucked a girl who’s 4’11”, and then someone taller than me. It was fun.” He told her matter-of-factly.

“Is that it? Anyone else?” He continued.

“Why? Do you want  me to be loyal to you?” She asked.

“You ARE being loyal by telling me the truth. Tell me everything.” He commended.

“There is another. Another man.” She answered, resolved to tell him the every bit of truth she could by using her last bit of courage.

“How did you meet him?” 

She went silent. It was too much. A man who wanted her to be submissive, who played a dominant role, who had always expected her to behave certain way, changed his game when he found her cheating behind his back. Instead of dismissing her, he wanted to know everything about her relationships with other men. He wanted to know she was a slut, and when he was with her, he wanted her more. When he was away from her, he wanted her just as much. She had taken a different form in his life, she was at once mysterious, uncontrollable, defiant, and devoted. He knew she loved him thoroughly, despite that she was fucking others, married to someone else and saw him infrequently. He knew because inside of her eyes he found the truth. She cried for him and fell for him, she had let him go and just when that happened, he returned and declared his love for her, not devotion, for he fucked other women too, but love, a strange kind of love bounded them so completely, so thoroughly, that they invented games to make it real. 

He wouldn’t come in others but in her pussy, she made others wear condoms. He would only tie her up, piss in her mouth, spank her until her butt cheeks hurt, no one else but her. She would not let others do that to her but him.

She stayed over at his place, and for others she met up and left, never staying, she would never say the word “love” to others, neither would he.

In those narrow paths that led to pure dark tunnels trapped with tortured souls were sudden beacon of lights that guided them through the lost mind jungle, and a green meadow appeared out of nowhere, and once there, their hearts opened to receive one another, and there they fantasized a world only the two of them existed, and they’d love each other, fuck each other, drive each other crazy, care about each other, finally stop fooling around, keeping tags on each other, just peace, peace and serenity, coupled with intense passion for each other. 

They shall remain there until the end of the day. They’d finally be united. Body and Soul. They were complete. As one.