Introduction: Tethys has already told a bit of her story, and she and Mimi thoroughly enjoyed reminiscing about our "good old days." She's been nagging me to tell "my side", although I don't think we have any major differences. I guess the biggest difference is that my version will cover a longer time interval, but maybe spend less time on what she already wrote about. She and Mimi love to elaborate on small details. Mimi does the actual story writing from interviews with us that she records over the phone and emailed notes of certain details. She enjoys that kind of stuff. Otherwise, if you left it to Tethys and me, it would be just gossip and small talk, and precious little writing.
So, possibly against my better judgment, here's "Taylor's version" of how Tethys and I have succeeded in a polyamorous relationship, and why I wanted to make it forever and exclusive -- if that term even applies to our situation!
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(Note: If you want to read the adventures of Tethys up to this point, you can link on the Author's name, MimiRay, and find her stories: "Gesso" in its 5 installments, and "Tethys -- Growing the Tribe" which continues the story in 7 more. I hope this particular series stands on its own, but it's always fun to see it from her point of view. Her memory's probably better than mine anyway.)
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Chapter 1 -- How Did I Get Myself Into This Mess?
I've already heard all the insults, so don't bother. It doesn't bother me, because I know why I'm here and you don't. You might, if you read this. If you do, I hope you enjoy it. If you don't, then you have nothing to say to me anyway.
Some jump to the conclusion that I'm a "cuck ," Most people who toss the term about don't know what it means anyway, but whatever it means to them, it doesn't apply to me. I don't lack self esteem, or self respect. I'm not into humiliation. I'm not submissive. I don't do self harm. I don't even have a tattoo, for chrissake. I don't do pain -- I don't want it, and I don't seek to cause it. Whatever the name-callers think my relationship with Tethys consists of, they're simply wrong. I'm actually proud of her, and I'm proud of myself, and everyone in our circle is caring, considerate, respectful, thoughtful, and big time fucking sexy. I'm honored to be a part of it, I'm proud of the role I've played in nurturing and developing this "tribe," as Tethys refers to it, and I recognize that she's the one who really brought it about.
I'll admit to this much. She's...
unusual
, and thus, so is our story.
I'm not unusual. Physically, I'm pretty average. Average height, average weight, average looks, average age for the stage of my career. I'm neither a villain nor a saint, but like I said, I do respect others, and try to think well of them. I'm not the jealous type, and I don't hold grudges. I'm pretty live and let live. In a relationship like ours, that's a positive quality to have.
There is one unusual aspect of my physical structure that comes into play here, but we'll get into that later.
My name's Taylor, by the way. Glad to meet you. I'm thirty-three years old, an application developer by trade. It's not a bad job, it pays fairly well, and I enjoy it. I like my employer, I get along well with most of my colleagues, and we're solving interesting problems. I like building things out of code. There's more creativity involved in it than a lot of people realize. I create things in the same sense that an architect does. My products are functional rather than art for art's sake, but I learned long ago that code beautifully written, apps well designed and aesthetic in their structure, tend to have fewer bugs and are easier to maintain. Spaghetti is great in the restaurant, but in software it's a horror.
All that said, I do enjoy art, I like seeing it and contemplating it, and I admire those who throw their souls into the process of creating it. And that, in a nutshell, is how I got myself into this mess.
Ok, I'm lying. Just a little. It's not really a mess. Well, maybe kind of a mess, but it's a beautiful mess. Sorry to keep droning on.
It was Black Friday, 2017. Not a day that I would normally choose to remember, and not most people's favorite day, but this one will stick with me. I was at a mall.
Now you're already calling me out for a fake story. "Come on, man! You're computer literate! Nobody goes to the mall anymore, we order our shit online!"
Well sure we do, when we know what it is we want. I didn't have a clue. I have a bunch of nieces and nephews, from toddlers all the way up to almost-teens. I love them to death, but they're kids! I don't know anything about kids. I don't remember ever being one. We play in the park, or in their back yards. I chase 'em around, catch them, throw them up in the air and fling them about, and then they chase me, we wrestle and tumble around, then we all get tired and go find something to eat and drink. We have a great time. I'm good for that.
But then they want toys. Or their parents think they want toys. I don't know what they want if it's not running around getting wild. Every year I try to buy them age and gender appropriate stuff, and every year it's a disaster. Everything I get them is either boring or incomprehensible or somehow dangerous. Sometimes it kind of works out. Something I buy for one of the nephews might actually be of more interest to his cousin, and if they're lucky they can arrange a trade. I can't count on that though.
The bottom line is that Christmas shopping for kids, on Black Friday, is exhausting, discouraging, soul-eating, and miserable. I've heard it said that nobody ever had written on his tombstone "I Wish I Had Spent More Time At The Office." I was thinking about breaking that rule. Nobody mourns not spending more time at the mall, either.
I'd made the rounds of a couple of toy stores, a couple of clothing stores, and a so-called "Gift Shop." Those things are the worst. I was ready for a break. With boxes and bags in tow, I headed over towards the food court on the upper level. Just before reaching it, I noticed something that seemed just a little out of place. Santa was already set up on the first floor, and there's nothing unusual (or pleasant) about Santa in the mall on Black Friday. Here on the second floor, there's an art gallery not too far from the food court. It's not big, it's not fancy, it's not exclusive, but they do show some nice paintings and small sculptures, and every now and then they host shows for local artists out on the corridor in front of the store. My first thought was that Black Friday is NOT the most auspicious day for an artist to be trying to show their work to the public. But, on the other hand, this is a mall. About the only time it has a lot of visitors anymore is on Black Friday or similar consumer assault events.
There were a few booths scattered about nearby, and most of them had chairs and tables for the artist, or a representative, to sit while they made themselves available to anyone who might be interested. On the walls of the booths, on the tables, and leaning up against items on the floor, the artists had set up for display as many items as they could fit.
For a small show there was some nice variety -- charcoal drawings, porcelain sculptures, watercolors, oils, acrylics, glass. One good-sized canvas caught my eye, almost at random. It was an oil painting, an interesting splay of dark and light, an idyllic woodland scene that hinted at being a landscape, but the trees blocked distant views. There were flowers, stones, fallen leaves and ferns on the forest foreground, and just at the point where the foreground began to fade into the shadows, a lone figure walked. A woman, caught in mid step, but her face was focused in a direction other than where she was walking. It struck me that there seemed to be a lot of detail in the woman's light yet flowing gown, her hair the color of fall, but brighter than the dimness around her, and in the winsome expression on her face, attractive, distant, ambiguous as to whether she was lost or found within the scene.
I noticed a woman seated at the table by the booth. She was pretty, about my age, slender, a Mediterranean skin tone, a somewhat shaggy head of medium brown hair, and dressed a bit lightly for the local temperature. Her blouse was sleeveless, flowery, and somewhat loose over a slender figure. I liked her face, it was a bit rounder than average, with cute chubby cheeks that contrasted with the rest of her slim appearance. Her mouth was wide and naturally cheerful-looking, giving her an expression that made her look on the verge of laughter. What I especially liked was what appeared to be a complete absence of makeup. If she wore any at all it was too subtle for me to detect. I've always thought most women overuse makeup, they don't need it, and it takes away from their natural attractiveness more than enhances it. This girl just looked wholesome.
"Is this yours?" I tried to nod at the painting and herself at the same time, rather awkwardly. My hands and arms were still overburdened with kid stuff.
"Yes," she simply smiled politely.
I put my load down in front of the table so I could approach it more closely. I admired the delicate brushwork, and how it made use of the texture of the canvas to add to the fine details rather than blur them.
"This is good work," I said, still facing the canvas. "I don't usually see this much detail up close."
"Yeah, I had to use a sewing needle for that part," she acknowledged. "I don't do it everywhere, though, just on critical details. It would have taken forever otherwise."
She stood and approached me. My impression was in part that she wanted to be available to explain more of her approach and point out items of interest, and in part that she wanted to be able to protect it if I did something stupid. The first thing I noticed up close were her arms. Yes they were slender, almost skinny. But there was some good muscle definition there too. It was a wiry skinny rather than scrawny. I'm a runner, and I like that kind of build. She was below average in height, well into the petite portion of the spectrum, small breasted, slender waisted, and a nice butt that was not quite round, but still gave her form under her khaki shorts. On her feet there were only a pair of sandals. For late November, it was a nice summer outfit.
"You must be freezing!" I couldn't help but observe.
"I will be once I leave tonight," she sighed. "I was so busy loading everything up to make it here on time this morning that I forgot to lay out the right clothes for the day. It's ok here in the mall for now," she added.
