Lexi: Over Before It Began

Remember Lexi, My Husband’s Sex Friend?

She was the first woman I “authorized” my husband to explore on his own. I was curious what would come out of it, how I would feel knowing he’d be spending intimate time with her online. To be honest, it was nice at first. I enjoyed hearing about the sexy moments they had while I was at work or sleeping. A few times we even Skyped her as a couple. Even though our threeway conversations had never taken a naughty turn, I’d fantasize about Master J and I putting on a live show for her eyes only. The thought was thrilling.

Months passed and the connection and trust seemed to be building, with a heightened focus on making sure she was comfortable. When Master J and I felt the time was right, we dropped the idea of meeting in person upon our return to North America – no pressure added. Maybe a drink… Maybe a weekend away…depending on how we all felt, and where it was heading.

We wanted to know where her head was at, and if we were a couple she saw herself having “real” fun with. She seemed fairly responsive. She admitted, however, that she was used to speaking to the woman in the relationship, more so than the man (she only had experience with cis-gender, heterosexual couples). Up to that point, the private talks were exclusively between her and Master J. Plus, I’m the first to admit I’m terrible at keeping up with online communication. I much prefer meeting and getting to know people in person. She understood this, and promised not to take my delays in response personally. So, I agreed.

I think, in total, we sent thirty messages back and forth before I quit it. As much as I appreciated her, and respected her as a person, I found it increasingly difficult to connect with her. Not only was her work schedule deeply demanding – on top of the six hour time difference we had between us – the moments we were able to catch each other online were filled with one-sided banter about how difficult her life was, and how she couldn’t straighten certain aspects out. No matter how much I’d listen, or what advice I’d give, she had an excuse as to why she couldn’t change her current situation (her weight, her health, her anxiety, her non-existent romantic life, etc.).

As I mentioned, she had a very demanding job. She was a young professional, and although I could understand the pressure of this, I’m also a person that, when confronted with an issue – especially one that causes the slow deterioration of my health and/or happiness – I find a solution. I also didn’t want to be my husband’s sex friend’s therapist. This may sound harsh, and everyone is fighting their own battles, but not once was I asked about my day. Not once was I asked about my relationship. Not once was I asked about my likes, dislikes, desires, dreams, job, family or friends…

I could write a bio on this woman, and I doubt she could recite my full name. Safe to say, I very quickly withdrew. Whenever Master J would tell me about their conversations hereafter, I would become severely agitated. I didn’t care, because she didn’t care – at least, that’s how I internalized this.

If you’re going to speak dirty to my husband – with the potential of one day fucking him – and ask me to get involved…? I’m sorry, but it’s time you start impressing me. Otherwise, leave me out of it.

Turns out, Master J had been playing her therapist for a long time too. Which rattled me to my core. I understand that there is an emotional element to any exchange – be it sex friends, serious relationships, casual relationships, whatever. We’re all human, and we require respect, trust, communication, and understanding; but, don’t walk into my relationship and expect us to give you everything – our truth, our bodies, and our compassion – with no intention of reciprocating even a fraction.

Lexi, I believe, is a great human being. We shared many of the same fundamental values. She seemed to genuinely care about human rights, was accepting and non-judgemental towards lifestyles that she could not relate to on a personal level; however, she was lost. But she was the worst kind of lost. She was wandering on a loop, and even when offered a new path, she would cover her eyes, and make her excuses as to why she needed to remain. I hope for her she meets someone, or discovers something, that pushes her beyond this comfort zone…because, let’s face it, it isn’t that comfortable there.

The greatest lesson I took from this experience is that…

Master J and I, no matter how glamorous and wild our fantasies seem, we’re still dealing with real, living human beings, and that means there’s a vetting process. Like any other type of relationship, we can’t just settle for the first person who seems to check all the right the boxes. Sexual compatibility, although critical, doesn’t guarantee balance.

Another lesson I’ve learned: my husband is no one’s emotional waste bin. His inbox is not your Twitter feed. He isn’t there for other people to just toss their baggage at whenever they want, without any regard for the fact that he is human, too. I may be his submissive, but I’m still the fucking Quean. A very protective one.

Until next time,

Fuck well, friends!

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Author, Sex Coach, Creator & Writer of Call of the Quean. For more about me, visit page: Meet the Quean.