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My oldest daughter finally asked me what was going on. I don't have stupid kids, quite the contrary and my "friends" have been staying over for a really long time now.
I didn't lie about what was going on to any of them, didn't try to hide anything. I mean, Viggo's dirty socks are all over my bedroom floor and Miranda is taking my girls shopping all the time. I haven't tried to hide them into a closet, but I haven't spelled out what they were to me either. I'm sure everybody assumed I was being nice to my old friends who also happen to be about to get married. I can pretend to still be single and recovering from my last disastrous relationship.
I'm not ashamed, but the words "threesome" and "bisexuality" don't seem to want to go past my lips when I'm talking to my girls. I told myself I didn't know if they'd understand. I'm not sure I understand it myself, really. It all sounds terribly depraved and... impossible. Then I get up every morning and Viggo has set something else on fire and Miranda is offering me orange juice and it's the simplest thing in the universe.
If I had finally come out as gay, I wonder if it would be so difficult. I understand things now. I've been running away all my life but now I'm wondering what was so scary that I had to pretend I was straight as a ruler, that some of my friendship with my good mates weren't just a bit more, than I didn't enjoy kissing that fellow actor on the mouth... it was just alcohol talking and I wasn't so narrow minded, after all. Still straight, no reason to be alarmed, it was all perfectly natural.
Until I met Viggo and all my old certainties shattered. I think I fell in love with him years ago but I locked it away so well that I didn't even have to acknowledge it to myself. When he cried over me as Boromir was dying and I just wanted to put my arms around him and never let him go, I blamed it on the acting, on New Zealand, on the magic from Ring. I didn't even notice how depressed I was when I was finally forced to leave him behind. I mourned him for a very long time.
I saw him again in Malta, he was with Miranda, he was fucking Marton and Sarah and god knows who else. I was jealous, so damn jealous, not that I even dared to call the feeling by its real name. Then Viggo reached across the table, touched my arm, offered me everything with just one touch. I don't know what changed then but I couldn't ignore it anymore. It hurt like hell and I just ended up beating the shit out of people because I couldn't deal with it.
I never expected that I'd fall for Miranda too. I'm not sure, some day, if I should feel blessed or totally overwhelmed.
I didn't know what to tell my daughter when she asked me about it, so I told her the truth, in the end. That I had been wandering in the dark for a long, long time, but now that I was happy. That I didn't care if the whole world saw me kissing either of them. She told me she was happy for me and she didn't mind one bit.
I really have wonderful kids.
I don't know if I'm dealing with the aftermath of years of repression. I keep running my fingers through red hair, then falling on my knees to swallow Viggo down. I want to drag them both to bed and spend the week lost in their bodies, rocking into Miranda as Viggo fucks me again and again. I can't get enough of the two of them. I can't stop wanting to taste the salt on Viggo's skin when I told myself that it was forbidden for so many years. It's like a fever burning inside me.
Look what they hell they've done to me now. I'm practically writing poetry.
Hell will be freezing over soon and maybe one night I won't dream of Orlando dying in front of my eyes. I wonder if I'm the only one who remembers we all had the same tattoo inked on our body.
I didn't lie about what was going on to any of them, didn't try to hide anything. I mean, Viggo's dirty socks are all over my bedroom floor and Miranda is taking my girls shopping all the time. I haven't tried to hide them into a closet, but I haven't spelled out what they were to me either. I'm sure everybody assumed I was being nice to my old friends who also happen to be about to get married. I can pretend to still be single and recovering from my last disastrous relationship.
I'm not ashamed, but the words "threesome" and "bisexuality" don't seem to want to go past my lips when I'm talking to my girls. I told myself I didn't know if they'd understand. I'm not sure I understand it myself, really. It all sounds terribly depraved and... impossible. Then I get up every morning and Viggo has set something else on fire and Miranda is offering me orange juice and it's the simplest thing in the universe.
If I had finally come out as gay, I wonder if it would be so difficult. I understand things now. I've been running away all my life but now I'm wondering what was so scary that I had to pretend I was straight as a ruler, that some of my friendship with my good mates weren't just a bit more, than I didn't enjoy kissing that fellow actor on the mouth... it was just alcohol talking and I wasn't so narrow minded, after all. Still straight, no reason to be alarmed, it was all perfectly natural.
Until I met Viggo and all my old certainties shattered. I think I fell in love with him years ago but I locked it away so well that I didn't even have to acknowledge it to myself. When he cried over me as Boromir was dying and I just wanted to put my arms around him and never let him go, I blamed it on the acting, on New Zealand, on the magic from Ring. I didn't even notice how depressed I was when I was finally forced to leave him behind. I mourned him for a very long time.
I saw him again in Malta, he was with Miranda, he was fucking Marton and Sarah and god knows who else. I was jealous, so damn jealous, not that I even dared to call the feeling by its real name. Then Viggo reached across the table, touched my arm, offered me everything with just one touch. I don't know what changed then but I couldn't ignore it anymore. It hurt like hell and I just ended up beating the shit out of people because I couldn't deal with it.
I never expected that I'd fall for Miranda too. I'm not sure, some day, if I should feel blessed or totally overwhelmed.
I didn't know what to tell my daughter when she asked me about it, so I told her the truth, in the end. That I had been wandering in the dark for a long, long time, but now that I was happy. That I didn't care if the whole world saw me kissing either of them. She told me she was happy for me and she didn't mind one bit.
I really have wonderful kids.
I don't know if I'm dealing with the aftermath of years of repression. I keep running my fingers through red hair, then falling on my knees to swallow Viggo down. I want to drag them both to bed and spend the week lost in their bodies, rocking into Miranda as Viggo fucks me again and again. I can't get enough of the two of them. I can't stop wanting to taste the salt on Viggo's skin when I told myself that it was forbidden for so many years. It's like a fever burning inside me.
Look what they hell they've done to me now. I'm practically writing poetry.
Hell will be freezing over soon and maybe one night I won't dream of Orlando dying in front of my eyes. I wonder if I'm the only one who remembers we all had the same tattoo inked on our body.