When I do something it's ok. When someone else does the same thing it is not ok. The problem is that while I understand my own motivations entirely, I don't understand the motivations of others. Instead I assign to them passions and agendas of my own concoction.
Feeling in need of something pretty to wear, I went shopping for a dress today but instead bought a bottle-green scarf for Beatrix whose birthday it is. I am thinking about Beatrix's request to see me without Virgil. I owe her a letter but haven't had the chance to really think it through. Virgil and I discussed it last night and with that conversation I gleaned a few more details of what had previously passed between them.
I sit in a coffee shop with my laptop to think and write about it. It's the first shop of its kind on our street. A couple in the corner smile at me and in my misery I give them a blank look back. Twenty minutes later I realise that I know them from somewhere but it's too late.
Yes I would like to see Beatrix alone. More specifically, I would like to have sex with her, just the two of us. The obvious consequence of this is that if I see Beatrix alone then so can Virgil. He hasn't expressed much of a desire to do so although they often do things on weekends when I'm at work. He told Beatrix recently that it would be better if we saw her together from now on. The next day she asked me to go for a drink. I am thinking: maybe we could see her together and both see her alone at times when circumstance made that desirable or necessary.
I feel slightly tearful when I think of Virgil and Beatrix going to a hotel, whenever that one time was, to have sex. It doesn't matter that they had to do this because Beatrix lives in a tiny room filled with clothes and antiques and has only a single bed to lie down in at night. The need for a hotel on Virgil's part was due to the preference I had expressed to not know when and whether he slept with other people and for him not to bring them home. He'd rather tell me what he was doing. He'd have no problem with me seeing Beatrix alone.
Beatrix says she's mostly interested in girls. Apart from Virgil, she only played with other women at our sex party on Saturday. I find the idea of beautiful, feminine Beatrix, who is a dancer, being gay or at least mostly gay wildly appealing in a way that has nothing to do with Virgil. She also has dandruff and dirty fingernails, by the way. I wonder at the significance of my buying her a woolly scarf. It seems it is possible to feel simultaneously intrigued, attracted, protective and suspicious of someone.
Virgil comes into the shop looking for me. He thinks I am upset because he wouldn't come outside when I told him how nice the weather was. Today feels like the last day of summer. I tell him that I came out to drink coffee and write because I needed some space. We start to talk it through and then we walk out into the sunshine, discussing as we go, and take our open relationship to the park.