I was 16 years old when I went with my family to New York City. I remember one morning, I woke up early, grabbed some cash & told my parents I was going to get a pumpkin spice latte. Yes, I was that basic. Still am by the way. It was a crisp fall morning, ice cold outside. I was walking among the people in Manhattan, feeling the most free I’ve ever felt. I think that’s where it started, my need for disappearing. In those 30 minutes when I was out for my basic bitch juice, I got a taste of anonymity and I knew this was what I wanted. This was the dream: to be in a city where I was nobody, so that I could be anybody.

Then I met the second love of my life, a relationship that lasted nearly ten years. With him, my need to escape vanished. I was ready to settle down. We met for a random hookup and ended up spending almost a week together. After he left, he decided he was going to move to Europe to get a masters degree and we were going to be together. The safety I always looked for in anonymity, he provided. He finished his masters, we moved in together, bought a house. It wasn’t easy, but it also wasn’t hard. It felt right, at least to me. We always had a great relationship, especially on an intellectual and conversational level. We could discuss for hours about politics, racial inequality, art, movies, travel. He was enough for me, and I felt I was enough for him. Until I wasn’t anymore.

After 7ish years of monogamy, he opened up to me that he might want to venture out a bit. But we do it together. I was never a big fan of the plan, but you do what you need to do to keep each other happy. So we did. We had our first threesome in Lisbon, with a very cute, muscled guy. It was a very hot experience, and the sex was a lot less vanilla than what we were having. Don’t get me wrong, our sex life was still active and doing well, but looking back now it was maybe a bit bland. When you’re both tops, there’s only so much you can do, right?

So we did the whole threesome thing for a couple of years, but only while traveling. It was exciting, it was fresh and we both felt good about it. Then COVID-19 happened. Everything changed in a heartbeat. Locked inside, nothing to do and nowhere to go. The first weeks we really grew closer together. We painted our new house, we went for long walks, we cuddled on the couch. But the need for excitement started itching again. We decided to do our first threesome in our home country Belgium. I don’t know who it even was anymore, because after that it all became a blur. After a while, I got tired of sleeping with guys I wasn’t really attracted to. Because to invite a third in your bed is often to compromise. And to waste time. So many hours on the apps on the couch. I saw my precious relationship change in front of my eyes. Evenings we used to spend time together, we would now search Grindr for a third.

I was done with it. I said either we open up fully, or we break up. He did propose closing the relationship again, but I was too far down the rejection rabbit hole to give him that satisfaction. So of course, we opened up – per my request. And despite me demanding it, I was hurt. I felt rejected. The man I thought I’d spend my life with deemed me “not enough”. Or at least, that’s how I felt. My insecurities took over. I became obsessed with “winning” the open relationship. I slept with guys he couldn’t get, and made sure he knew about it, just to show that at least somebody wanted me. I started working out more, taking care of myself, posting more on social media. The more attractive I got, the uglier I became.

I knew he was never going to break up with me, and I still loved him enough not to make him suffer any more. If I didn’t end things, I was going to eat him alive. And so I did. I ended it. Ten wonderful years came to an end. Though we parted as friends, I was still broken inside from it. I left the relationship with many fond memories, but also very insecure. I couldn’t blame him, though. All he wanted was to experiment a little, have a little fun. Turns out he found the one person who couldn’t really cope with it. Looking back, I don’t regret my relationship at all. I loved him with all my heart, and my body. But sometimes that just isn’t enough.

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