Chronicles of a Poly-amorous Lesbian

It's both amazing and terrifying how fast things can change in life. How at the drop of a dime things are rolling at a break neck pace and you're left spinning out of control as your life leaves you behind.

These last six months have been a rush of activity that's left me blindsided and in a rush to catch up. That's not to say that it's all been a terrible time.

Once we got rid of the toxicity that was living in our house, things really took off.

Now, six months later, my childhood love is here with my wife and I. If you, dear reader, read the first chapter of this installment, you will know to whom I refer.

It was about three years ago that she and I got back in contact, after, as I mentioned before, a twenty-two year long absence from each other's lives. At the time of our re-connection, she had one-year-old twins.

A few months into our conversing over the phone, as she was in the southern part of the U.S. while I am in the northern part, she confided in me that the father of her kids, her boyfriend, was abusive. It was then that my wife and I began to convince her to collect evidence and press charges.

This endeavor took us two years.

Finally, she began doing what she needed to do to get her and the kids away from him. It took her (almost) a year for things to come full circle, and to finally escape him.

Seven weeks ago, she and the twins found their way here. It was a process that took far too long, but one that I'm glad she finally started.

Right now, even as I type this, I hear the twins running through the house laughing and playing. Their laughter is such a beautiful thing to hear, knowing especially that it wasn't a common thing before seven weeks ago.

The kids, for the most part, are adjusting to being here better than my wife and I expected after such a short period of time.

B is doing well also in her adjustments. Though, with over thirty years of abuse under her belt, it doesn't surprise me that she's no quite so sure.

While on a logical level, she knows that we would never hurt her, she's still cautious. She's unsure of how long she and the kids are going to be here. We keep reassuring her that they're home now. They're all three where they belong.

We three know the feelings we share between us, as we talked about it on several occasions. Though, my wife and I have not acted on anything more than that of the feelings of close friends.

B wants us to become a three-some couple as much as my wife and I...but as promised we're allowing things to develop naturally. She's still too scared of intimacy and realizes that she's not ready to jump into anything.

Something which I commend her for.

This is not the typical super-speedy-lesbian-love-affair that moves at the pace of a high-speed fighter jet going at mach seven.

No, we need finesse, time, patience and an unrelenting amount of love to mold the three of us into what we all eventually want to be.

I'm looking at them now, my wife and B, and I can't help but smile. They're both wonderful. Their laughter is music to me. A symphony created only for me, as the laughter we three share is private...pure and free...and unlike any other laughter.

I have a greater understanding of love now than when I was ten. If for no other reason than life experience. And while I have gained that greater knowledge in the last twenty-six years, I also realize that, despite that lacking of life experience, my love for now, isn't all that much different.

Perhaps on a deeper level now, because of that experience...but the things I wanted for her then are no less than what I want for her now.

I want to make her smile and laugh. I want to dry her tears until she has no more sadness to cry out. I want to help her heal from her tragic past. If she does cry, I want them to be tears of laughter.

I want to help her not be scared. And she's so scared. It breaks my heart while filling me with murderous rage against the ones that have made her this way.

Not long ago she and I went to Wal-Mart. And everyone knows how that place is an absolute and automatic cluster-fuck...the way she was clinging to me throughout our time there pulled out the protector within. I don't think she let go of my arm the entire time, her eyes barely raising from the floor as we walked.

Her grip on my hand was crushing, but I didn't say a word about it. Whatever it took to make her feel safe. I hardly felt the pressure, conscious as I was about anyone who came near her. Anything that made the pressure increase, or made her try and mold herself to me...as if she could vanish within my hold.

No, I realize now that, while my feelings for her have grown and matured as I have over the years past, they haven't changed.

I look at her now and can only be grateful that the Universe has given me a second chance at making things right. Of correcting a wrong that I didn't understand...of doing what I've always wanted to do. Protect them. Love them. All of them.

We've all in this house have had our share of traumas...but together we can heal each other. Together we can love and create the family that we've all always wanted. Happy and together. A home, not a dwelling.

And within it's own timeline, we are all heading in the direction that we're all meant to be on.