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The Ex-Girlfriends Club
There are so many of us.
After my fifteen or so years as a trophy wife had come to an end, I spent a period of time in the intimate company of a gentleman who was, shall we say, fond of the ladies.
This is not to speak ill of the man: quite the opposite. He was always clearly, openly honest about his romantic life. It was called polyamory, he explained to me; he had a number of partners, all of whom knew about one another — they were polyamorous themselves, enthusiastically on board with the concept. Some were married or partnered up, others were free-floating on the dating scene.
What was more, he explained, I myself should feel free to seek other partners, if I wanted. In fact, this man encouraged that. Introduced me to his like-minded friends. Gave me a copy of The Ethical Slut, the then-current bible of polyamory.
Long story short, after some initial (pretty brief, I have to admit) soul-searching on my part, I decided that all this sounded like a fantastic idea.
What followed is a very long tale which I will tell in another essay, perhaps, some day. I only tell you this much so that you can get some sense of how many ex-girlfriends this man had.
This man had a lot of energy. Six hours of sleep a night was generous for him; he often needed only four or five. He had a…
