My weird and wonderful wanderings are proving fun for providing little insights and moments that make me pause to reflect – and this weekend has been no exception.
That’s not because it was the first weekend away I’ve spent over at Lady S’ without Lady M, or how I ended up at a social event on a naturist beach, but because of a brief conversation post-breakfast on Monday.
Lady S had flicked on the TV to have something on while we had caffeine, and food went down ahead of my journey home – and she saw that the series finale of Westworld was available.
We both looked at each other, and then I said “No, if I tell Jo I’ve seen that before she gets back from her conference I’ll never hear the end of it”
So we didn’t.
I watched the show with Lady M last night once she’d stopped spinning round the flat in excitement and glee at how inspiring and helpful her conference had been, and we’ve been sharing our gossip and theories and reactions to the show on our group chat ever since.
This amuses me perhaps far more than it warrants.
About the only thing that consistently sucks about our throuple dynamic is the distance. It’s not huge – an hour and a quarter down the A3 if the traffic behaves on the M25 and around Guildford – but still enough to give pause when it’s late in the evening and I just want to reach out.
It’s something that anyone who has had some distance in their relationships will identify with, I’m sure. It isn’t as easy to read nuance on a screen, or have the simple companionship and intimacy of touch, support, shared meals, or just those looks you can give each other in response to a truly awful pun.
But it does mean that I appreciate the time I have with each of my partners even more. The time and effort made to travel makes the visits at either end more precious; as well as highlighting what I have when I’m home.
Lady M is my wife, and to use a phrase bandied around at the moment, is my nesting partner with whom I intend to live out my days.
Lady S is my girlfriend, partner, and sub – and I also intend to live out my days with her in my life. We may even down the line all end up nesting together, but who knows what the future holds.
For now then, every so often, I just have to occasionally growl under my breath when I consider the physical distance between us.
One of the best things about having the weekend together last week was having the time to hang out and all go get a meal together without clock-watching. The hour or so drive between us doesn’t sound too bad in theory but as it’s mostly motorway-style driving it can be quite draining. Being able to retire to the hotel and eat at the restaurant therefore was a wonderful luxury.
We’re lucky enough to look relatively young – good genes as we call it – and normally this isn’t anything more than a nice bonus when people tell me I don’t look old enough to have a daughter at university.
On our first evening though, Lady S was asked to prove her age under the Premier Inn’s 25 age check policy as we’d ordered wine with our meal. She was mortified to find she hadn’t brought anything suitable with her but was reassured by the manager that it was alright as we were eating. The query had been raised by our trainee waitress in passing so it was a good training moment for her.
Then Lady S asked how old the waitress thought she was, and was somewhat flabbergasted to hear the age 17 quoted back to her. Flabbergasted and amused enough to threaten to show her C-section scar for her seven year old son.
The teasing continued through the evening from there, and fortunately the manager had a robust sense of humour when Lady S started saying things like “Mum, Dad, can I have some more wine?” as any staff came near.
The meal was good though, and it has at least given us teasing material on all fronts.