Bisexual Ffm

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Bisexual Ffm
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When my two closest friends invited me into their marriage, I thought it was the perfect relationship. Until it wasn't.
Champagne flute in hand, I stood with my two best friends at the front desk of a resort in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic, confronting the situation with our room.
The hotel wanted to give us a room with two beds. "We'd rather have a king size," my best friend said.
I stood by with her husband, letting her do the talking. The three of us had been best friends for six years, since college. They'd been married four years that week. Standing there with them, sweating in the hotel lobby, amused at the concierge's confusion, nothing felt more right.
Just a few months before the trip, over a long weekend, all three of us had slept together like three spoons, her in the middle. It was her idea—she said she wanted the closeness. I thought it was sweet. It felt entirely natural to be in such close physical proximity to the two people I had often felt emotionally closest to.
"She dressed me up in costumes—then asked me to make out with her while her husband watched and made suggestions."
Inevitably, we all got drunk the next day. Fueled by alcohol and the spirit of the weekend, she took things up a notch and showed me their sex toy collection. She dressed me up in costumes—then asked me to make out with her while her husband watched and made suggestions.
When I left, I wanted more. It seemed like we all did. It made the implausible seem possible.
By the time we were vacationing together, they had introduced me to the concept of a "unicorn"—a bisexual person who could join an existing couple without threatening their relationship. I wasn't sure the definition fit me, but I was willing to give it a try.
That summer things progressed even further: We moved into a studio apartment together. Granted, he was only there part-time, holding down a job in another state. But she and I did everything together, from planning meals to planning a future. She slept curled around me in bed and we shared an easy physical affection (she'd often email him during the day to suggest including me in their foreplay). But it wasn't just physical—we even built detailed daydreams about the three of us living together full-time.
But there were some awkward moments too—some indication that not everything was okay. When I picked him up from the airport to spend a week with us every month, she'd often ask me to wait in the car before coming home—while they had sex. Sometimes, they also had sex in the bathroom while I was in our shared full-size bed. I pretended it didn't bothered me.
Then one morning in July after she left for work, he turned to me in the bed we all shared, slid his hand up my stomach, and said, "I could trace the lines of your body all day." When he kissed me, I didn't say no. He said we could keep going and I said yes. Then he said he didn't think we should tell her.
"I'm not going to go any farther with you than she has," he said, although he immediately did. I consented to that too.
That fall, I lived alone while they went back to school. They talked about a future with me in it but made their plans without my input. I struggled with how distant our reality seemed from the dreams we'd shared. When I reached out to talk about it, only he answered. This was also not the "unicorn" way—I was supposed to be "easy" and not cause problems for the couple. But I deserved to know where this was going and I wanted to feel included, like a valued part of their relationship.
Eventually he told me, months after she told him, that she didn't want to include me in their sex life anymore. But I didn't know where that left me—I still wanted to be with them. So I did the next best thing to stay involved: I tried on the idea of being someone's mistress. I clung to him and his talk of a long-term relationship with me.
For six months, he and I were secretly having weekly video chat sex during her night class, talking on the phone on his way to or from work, or exchanging daily snapchats and emails.
I never asked him to leave his wife for me. To me, they were still a package deal. I knew I didn't want to give up either of them, but I was terrified of losing him. I wanted him to be mine, I told him, but I didn't need him to be all mine. If she'd ever asked, I would have said I felt the same way about her.
The week after Christmas, he called it off. He said our relationship was destroying him. He asked if we could stay friends "without all the sexual stuff." I said no. I said I could no longer keep his secret. I finally demanded he tell his wife what he'd told me: That he wanted both of us. I said I could share if she could.
That night I got a text from him: She said no. I never spoke to her again and he stopped responding to me soon after.
"Please don't throw me away," I begged him during our last conversation, knowing they already had.
Much later, my therapist would tell me this was a complicated arrangement that required emotional transparency between the three of us, something we could never successfully do. They wanted the appearance of a conventional marriage. I wanted more than to be a toy.
Ultimately, what they offered me really wasn't enough. Even if there were two of them.
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How to Do It is Slate’s sex advice column. Send your questions for Stoya and Rich to howtodoit@slate.com . Nothing’s too small (or big).
My girlfriend and I had our first threesome a few nights ago, and it was great. We talked about it, and she felt most comfortable trying it out with a guy first (with a woman possibly in the future), and I was fine with that. We found a guy on an app designed for couples looking. I’ve never been naked with another guy outside a locker room, much less seen one hard in person, so I was nervous, but it was actually just comfortable and fun from the get-go. Maybe too comfortable. Things took a turn about halfway through—he was watching her blow me, and I got really, really hard, and to both of our surprise, he asked if he could join her (he went for the … jewels). He had told us he was straight but fine with some man-on-man contact in threesomes; we figured that meant we might touch inadvertently, but nothing more. In the moment, we just kind of went with it, and I came shortly after, possibly harder than I ever have. It was great—except now I feel like I’ve learned something about myself that I don’t really know how to process. My girlfriend seemed unfazed and barely acknowledged it happened, which I sort of appreciate, but I am not sure what to make of this. Can I be bicurious and not know it? Is it just that it was hot in the moment, two people on me at once? I’ve never had a threesome before, much less thought of a guy this way at all, so I’m not sure what to do.
I’m not sure bicurious is really the word, since you seem surprised by a sexual interest in the same gender after an absence of curiosity. Regardless, while you absolutely could attempt to ignore this for the rest of your life, I think your curiosity is a great place to start.
It’s very possible to be sexually interested in a kind of person, a body part, or an activity and not know it. This sometimes happens when the person hasn’t been exposed to whatever the specific is, or hasn’t been exposed to it in a sexual context. Another phenomenon is context-specific arousal—this particular guy, or that particular day, or because you were wearing blue striped socks. Who knows?
So, is it just that it was hot in the moment having two people on you at once? I suggest you dig into that and find out. Try a threesome with your girlfriend and a woman. Try threesomes with other men. Maybe that first guy wants to come back with better boundaries and more thorough negotiation (it’s better to be totally clear in these situations about who’s comfortable with what). If in-person interactions are too difficult to arrange, too risky, or something you don’t want to pursue for other reasons, that’s fine. Maybe read some man-on-man erotica and see what strikes your fancy.
Remember the Kinsey scale is just that—a scale—and not a binary set of categories. Most of us are somewhere in the middle or edges, not 100 percent homo or heterosexual. So what you’ve discovered is that you’re complicated, like most of the rest of us.
Before meeting my girlfriend (I’m a bisexual cis man) in our early 20s, I’d never held hands with anyone in any sort of romantic way, let alone had sex or been in a long-term relationship. She was a little more experienced than me and was understanding as we took things slow for a few weeks before eventually starting to get intimate in any way. After the first time, we continued having fairly vanilla sex for a few months before hitting our stride and starting to try (just a few) new positions. For the first 11 months, we had what I thought to be a fairly healthy physical relationship, having sex two or three times a week, which I was ecstatic about and she continued to enjoy just as much. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, sex became very difficult for her.
She’s a survivor of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse. Our issue started as a lowered sex drive in her, and our sex became less frequent, dropping to once a week, then once every two, then a month, and so on. Eventually she admitted that not only was it harder for her to get in the mood, but she was now also experiencing pain during sex that she had been embarrassed to bring up for the first few months. I tried to keep up other forms of intimacy as our sexual relationship plateaued at a once-every-two-months basis (it’s been as long as five months in the past). This pace seemed easier for her and less likely to cause the pain. We were eventually able to maintain about a 50 percent success rate, and when it doesn’t work out and we have to stop, I’m always sure to remind her that not being able to finish isn’t the end of the world.
After a number of doctor’s appointments, we learned that the physical issues she was experiencing are common to victims of sexual abuse and were told that physical therapy was our best bet. The doctor gave us a recommendation and informed us that most patients she’s recommended this PT to see real results after about a year of appointments and focused sessions with a therapist (which she was already seeing). Unfortunately, her (and my) financial means pretty much ensure that she hasn’t had the time or money to start PT in the year since then. Now we’ve been dealing with this very passively for two and a half years (the majority of our three-and-a-half-year relationship), and I just feel like I’m the only one putting effort into maintaining what little is left of our physical relationship. Our emotional relationship is the strongest it’s ever been, and we’ve talked at length about wanting to spend the rest of our lives together, but sex and most forms of intimacy haven’t really been a part of our relationship for a long time. We cuddle all the time but she’s rarely receptive to making out or even to taking her shirt off while we lay in bed. More intimate activities like oral sex never happen outside of foreplay before our successful attempts.
She’s finally able to start PT in a few months, so hopefully that does start to make a difference down the road, but in the meantime, I would love to be able to introduce smaller forms of intimacy back into our relationship. She’s said that making out and cuddling without clothes on is often uncomfortable for her because she worries I’ll get too excited and she’ll end up disappointing me, and it seems off the table. Because of this, any new plans to, for example, try making out at a scheduled rate fall by the wayside within a week of agreeing on them. I think the biggest issue now is that it’s easy for us (less so me since I still very much have a sex drive) to give up on even trying, but I don’t want to push because I know how hard it is for her too and I don’t want her to feel obligated to do anything she doesn’t want to. I’m just not sure what is left for me to do as every form of intimacy past cuddling in our underwear and T-shirts seems to be too much of a step, despite both of us desperately wanting to get back some semblance of a healthy sexual relationship. How can I strike that balance between staying supportive and not pushing her too much, but also not just letting our intimacy fizzle out completely just because it seems like a lost cause?
Your girlfriend suffered through months of pain because she was too embarrassed to bring it up, hasn’t had the funds to access the physical therapy recommended by her doctor, and you want more sexual interaction?
Having penetrative sex when there’s pain could be making your girlfriend’s situation worse. The right, supportive thing to do here is to wait. Wait until her body is ready. Wait until her emotions and soul are ready. There’s no acceptable way to push for more here. If you can’t put your sexual desires to the side until she’s physically ready, you may want to consider breaking up and letting her move on.
I’m dating a man who is very set on a particular sex act that I’ve never tried and feel kind of gross about (straight woman). He says he’s encountered women before who didn’t like it either, but they tried it and loved it with him. I feel it is gross and thoughts of having him that close to … this particular body part … really wigs me out. I know I don’t have to do it, but this seems like his main fetish, if you can even call it that. Should I try it, even though the thought stresses me out?
Is it rimming? Is it feet? Is it… gasp … kissing?
Whatever this guy’s kink is, you don’t have to do it. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. If someone asks you to do something that squicks you out, you are completely within your rights to say, “No, thank you,” or even just “no.” You can turn and flee while screaming if you really feel the need to.
But, clearly, since you’re writing, you either think you do have to on some level, or you aren’t entirely sure about your choice. So how much does this guy mean to you? Is he great and funny and comfortable to be around? Then you might want to consider trying this act that wigs you out. Do you have a difficult time matching with people? Then I would absolutely understand you being willing to do something that grosses you out just in case it turns out to not be so bad.
And I’d love to help you navigate that—aid you in mitigating the gross factor—but I’d really need to know what the particular body part is. Without that detail, the best advice I can give you is to listen to your gut, have an open and thorough conversation with your partner about what he’s into and how you might be willing to accommodate it, and remember you can always stop if it turns out you do dislike the, um, anal? Foot job? Forehead kisses? Good luck.
Like many other women, I have a major roadblock impairing my ability to achieve an orgasm. My therapist and I are going to try EMDR to work on overcoming trauma from sexual molestation when I was a kid, and I’m really hoping that will help, but I was also hoping that you also might have some ideas to help me get over the hump.
When I am nearing orgasm, my brain will sabotage me every time. When I get close, my brain just takes off—not always just to mundane things I need to do or remember, but to unpleasant memories, to very unsexy people (like an old teacher, my dad, my kid, my elderly neighbor, that chick I don’t like, etc.), to unpleasant images, to ANYTHING that will shut down the mood. I have tried concentrating on the feeling, watching porn, listening to music, listening to hot scenes in audiobooks, trying to imagine something sexy, and other things like that, but when I get close? Bam. I’m thinking about gutting fish or grammar or my 80-year-old mother-in-law complaining about her (lack of a) sex life with my father-in-law. When I try to steer it back on track, the thoughts come faster and harder. Any ideas?
Intrusive thoughts sometimes come along with trauma. I’m curious whether they appear outside of sexual contexts and confident that the right treatment with a qualified therapist will help reduce them.
In the meantime, Staci Haines’s Healing Sex, a Mind-Body Approach to Healing Sexual Trauma has some ideas about how to stay present in your body when your brain starts giving you memories or images you don’t want. There’s a lot of stuff about breathing into one’s body and focusing on this or that erotic specific. It might be worth picking the book up as a guide to turn to.
Mostly, your therapist is going to be the most useful person here. They can help you work through what’s going on in your brain and give you tools for returning your attention to where you want it to be. One example is going through the rainbow. You find an object of each color, repeat the search with new objects each time, and eventually your brain is calm enough to chill out and stop throwing you your life’s greatest horror-show hits. These sorts of skills are part of the EMDR pr
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