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Millie and I seemed to be off to a good start during those first couple of months.  We enjoyed each other’s company.  We did fun things together, as trite as that sounds.  We tried new restaurants and hung out at coffeehouses.  I hung out at her apartment while she decorated her son’s “alien” birthday cake the evening before his birthday, and we laughed and ate bile green frosting.  We made love with green frosting still in our teeth and giggled.  We went to an art fair one Sunday, her two young sons in tow, followed by supper at a Chinese buffet, and we both agreed that my first meeting with her children went well.  My husband and I helped her move from her apartment into her new house.  She met Dave that weekend and I met her father, and we all seemed to get along.

I was a bit concerned about her level of polyamory.  One might say that she was VERY polyamorous, and she had a number of sexual relationships going on with men.  I wasn’t sure where I stood in that line-up and was just playing it kind of ’cool,’ enouraging her to talk to me about those relationships so I would have an understanding of them and just taking things easy between the two of us.  There were no “I love you’s,” no long discussions about our relationship at that point.  I didn’t feel any need to sit and analyse it’s every nuance.  I was just paying attention, you might say, to what was going on and trying to get a sense for where things were headed for us.

It started to get kind of hinky in June.  The “yo-yo” thing started, although the first time it happened, I tried not to let it bother me too much.  This is how the first “yo-yo” incident went.  She and I met up after work one evening.  We met at a restaurant we both wanted to try, which as it turned out was closed.  She was waiting for me to show up, parked at the curb beside the restaurant.  I got into her car so we could make a Plan B for our supper.  She pulled me close in the car, in broad daylight on a busy city street, and kissed me.  Passionately.  In fact, we sat and necked for awhile with a couple of passersby stopping on the sidewalk to gawk!

Eventually, we made a plan to go somewhere else for supper, a place that was laid-back and comfortable, and we held hands publically over dinner and wine.  After supper, we went out for ice cream and strolled the neighborhood, a cone in one hand, the free arm around each other’s waist.  Didn’t care who saw or gawked.

And, oh, that felt so nice to me!

At the end of that evening, we sat in the car and kissed a bit more.   We both agreed that since it was a work night, it was late for me to drive to her house for some lovemaking and then drive home again.  That actually covered quite a few miles over our metropolitan area.  We delayed our gratification and made plans to meet Sunday afternoon, and she promised me she would “ravish me!”

I went to her house on Sunday, and we went out to lunch.  After lunch, she gave me my first lesson in cribbage.  (I sucked at it whereas she was an expert gamer.)  Eventually, I wanted to cash in on that offer to “ravish me!”  I had been looking forward to it and had even worn my silk panties!

She then started alluding to a headache, was feeling out of sorts, restless.  She just wanted me to hold her.  Okay, that was fine.  I’ve been around a bit, too, and know what it’s like to just not feel quite in the mood due to this or that.  Then she mentioned her “confusion” about her relationships.  It didn’t seem to be directed at our relationship specifically, and I didn’t really know where to go with that.  To be honest, under the circumstances, I really wasn’t in the mood to talk about Scott or Bill or Dan or Whoever Else she had something going on with.

This was the first bout of “yo-yo” I experienced with her: passionate and affectionate on Wednesday evening but four days later, ambivalent and moody about being close with me.

In a weird turn of events that afternoon, she suddenly got a bit intense and aggressive and we had sex.  Just prior to that, I had been wondering if I should get up and go home and leave her to nap or whatever and work out her odd mood.  Before I left that afternoon, we got to talking about the Pride Festival coming up the next weekend, and I said I had never gone.  She announced that we should go then!  I was all for that.

We went to the Pride Festival the next Saturday and had a fabulous time.  I had never felt so open and free, so comfortable in my own skin.  We walked around the entire Festival with our arms around each other’s waists, had our photo taken together in a big, rainbow-banner draped chair, held hands, kissed.   When I had to leave to pick up my husband at the airport, she said that it was the best Pride Festival ever for her, and we kissed passionately good-bye, drawing grins from the other Festival-goers nearby.

I was literally on Cloud 9.  I just felt so good about my life, about everything, like all the pieces were finally coming together.  

The Friday evening after the Pride Festival, Millie and her 3-year-old came over for supper with Dave and me.  We had a nice “family evening,” the meal geared towards the tastes of a 3-year-old.  We went to a nearby park after supper.  The grown-ups talked while Jay played.  I was comfortable and happy with the way we were all meshing together.

The following evening, Dave was leaving on one of his business trips and Millie’s kids were at their dad’s, Millie’s recent ex-husband.  I dropped Dave off at the airport and then went directly to Millie’s house.  We had plans to go out to dinner, and I had thrown a few personal items in my bag just in case it evolved that I was spending the night.  (I never had yet, but she had said very early on, “Sometime I would like you to spend the night,” and I thought that night might be the night.)

I immediately took note of the fact that there were no hugs at the door.  No lingering kisses. 

She told me on the way to dinner that she had a recent one-night stand to confess, something that she needed to tell to all her partners.  She had been flirting with her kid’s karate instructor for the past six weeks or so and “got carried away” the previous week.  She didn’t think that this was a good situation to be in with this man since she feels he doesn’t understand polyamory, and he has a girlfriend who would be jealous if she knew about this affair.  She doesn’t want to be in that situation, but they had sex.  Hence, the one-night stand.Okay.  Thanks for sharing, Millie.  We hadn’t as yet had sex since the karate instructor encounter so I wasn’t worried from an infectious disease standpoint.  I appreciated her honesty, as far as that went. 

And I thought, well, why not?  If I’m not what you need, if I and my lifestyle don’t light up your dials, then move on! 

What did she want from me, a sympathetic ear?  A shoulder to cry on?  If she had just wanted a friend, then why the passionate kisses, why the lovemaking that she initiated, the public displays of affection?

I felt like a damn yo-yo!  A mere week earlier, I had shared with her her “best Pride EVER!”  I left her with a gleam in her eye!  A week later, she doesn’t know what I offer to her life, if we have anything in common!  

Did she not think that I was becoming emotionally involved in the relationship?  Did she think I was immune to that because I was a married woman?  Did she think that I was just out for an occasional romp in the sack to fulfill my kinkier side?  I actually think that’s what she thought. 

We had supper.  We shopped at the mall a bit.  I took her home.  We hugged briefly goodbye.  She invited me in, and I declined.

I drove home, feeling gutted and raw.  I knew it was over.  I can’t be a human yo-yo for someone –  someone who wants me one day and is ambivalent and confused the next.