The F in the Middle
I discovered something about myself on a recent vacation: I would not do well in a menage unless certain criteria were met. No, it wasn't *that* exciting a trip.
Normally when I fly, I take the aisle seat. Not only do I not have to bother people if I have to get up (and I don't mind getting up for my rowmates), but I can stick my foot into the aisle for a smidge more leg room. Well, until the service cart comes by.
Sitting in the middle between strangers--who frown upon my leaning against them should I snooze, which I rarely do--makes me tense. Sitting by the window is marginally better, but I feel trapped.
How does this relate to menage? During the implied activities I think I'd be fine no matter where I was. Too busy to care, shall we say. But afterward, when everyone settled to sleep (I'm assuming sleep goes with the menage thing) I'd need to be on the end. I can't stand being trapped under the blankets or between bodies.
No, I haven't had this experience with adults, but I have had a child crawl into bed with me and my husband. I had to scramble out of the middle to the freedom of the edge or to the couch. The idea of being sandwiched between two adults makes me twitchy. Even when it's just me and my husband I need to be able to kick the blankets off or stick a foot out from under the covers.
I don't think I'm claustrophobic. Other small placed don't bother me. Though I'm not keen on sleeping bags that are too close-fitting. Forget a mummy bag.
Should I ever get inspired for a more adventurous romantic liason, there will be a post-coital condition. I sleep on the end. If I'm with two men, I hope they like each other because a MFM will become a MMF. If it's another woman, I can only hope she isn't like me.
Either that or someone's on the couch for the night.
How about you?
Labels: on my mind