It’s been a long time coming, a long time waiting patiently. So much discernment.

We’ve opened up our doors, our home, our hearts. 

Our pants.

Well, “we” have in theory. But in application? 

He’s opened his pants. I’ve only had the opportunity to open my mind.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to move from a monogamous relationship to an ethically non-monogamous one? Shit.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to do so when once opened your partner is the first to find another? Holy shit.

How about seeking other partners when you’re an owned slave? When any potential partner needs to meet not just your high standards but also assure your Owner that you won’t be damaged? Holy fucking shit.

Years of the option on the table. Nary a single taker. 

Until.
 
You taste different. You smell different, look different, feel different under my fingertips. Feel different in my presence.

It’s not better or worse or even comparable.

That’s not the point.

That’s not what it’s about for me, for us, for this.

It’s about not writing off the chance to taste “other.” Other life, other experience, other challenges. Other opportunity for growth, for lust, for curiosity, for people.

It’s about welcoming in new energy. A connection.

A connection sometimes so brief. A fleeting memory of walking past a stranger and feeling as if the universe is pushing you towards them.

Sometimes it’s more. Sometimes it’s a mental connection. You find yourself completing the sentence of a stranger-turning-not-stranger. 

Or maybe it’s a physical pull and it’s all you can do to not close that six inch gap and feel new lips. My hands itch to unbutton you, to reveal more of you, so I fidget and blush instead. 

That connection (any new connection) would be left undiscovered if we weren’t open to “other.”

 I finally understand it now, after tasting you. 

After tasting new.

You tasted different. Not better or worse or comparable. 
 
 And you tasted incredible.