There are TwoWho’s in my life.
Jean-Baptiste, and Luciano.
Jean-Baptiste lives in Paris. He’s lithe and finely-drawn; as my fingers trail down his back I can feel the knobs of his vertebrae; as my hands work their way between his skin and his shirt I feel the slightest rise of muscle from his waist to his shoulders; a long neck supports a bearded face which smiles down at me from above; he is 31 years.
Luciano lives in Buenos Aires. He’s a smoky Argentinian, short but powerful; well-built with an incredibly strong spiritual core; powerful thighs which springboard his body from floor to bed to shower to work to a restaurant to bed to sleep. Atop him, I slide my hands under his buttocks, raise his jeaned legs above my waist, and let my hands continue under his back where my hands follow the cool caps of his shoulders to the tiny peaks of his nipples. He kisses me with the passion of the tango; he is 27.
They both know about the other; I’ve known Luciano longer than Jean-Baptiste. I left Jean-Baptiste four days ago in Paris and I’m planning to visit Luciano in Buenos Aires within the month.
I spent the better part of every morning texting, calling, laughing, arguing with both of them.
I’m very close to each of them. None of us like labels. So we’re not “lovers”. And no, I’ve never imagined bringing the three of us together for a menage a trois.
The three of us don’t have a relationship. I have a deep friendship with Jean-Baptiste and I have a deep friendship with Luciano.
The question people always seem to ask is, are you faithful?
This is how I try to answer: By faithful, do you mean honest? Because I’m honest, we’re honest. By faithful, do you mean jealous? I’m not jealous of them, and they’re not jealous of each other. By faithful, do you mean monogamous? No, I’m not monogamous.
But I’m not, nor are either Jean-Baptiste or Luciano married.
They’re simply my TwoWho’s.