My polyandry isn’t about sex, I can give up that part for monogamy.

I may not have been clear enough about the reasons why I don’t contemplate monogamy anymore. I think it may sound like an insistence on sexual freedom, but that’s not quite what it is. I can give that up rather easily for monogamy with the right person. The real reason for my polyandrous view is rather more pressing than that.

There’s a line in Fast and Furious 7, in which the wife of Vin Diesel’s character, whatever he was called, has lost her memory in an accident in FAF 6, which I haven’t seen. At the end of 7, she regains her memory and asks him: “Why didn’t you tell me I’m in love with you?” He replies: “You don’t tell another person they love you.” Or something to the effect, and in this post, I’m going to rather break that rule, which I do, generally speaking, believe to be the right approach. 😀

However… To describe my experience with you lot in spirit… We have past-life history that has weight. A lot of weight.

Yellow King

I am the reincarnation of a lot of legendary women. I’m not going to name names in a public post, but one characteristic of my incarnations is that there’s always a ton of men around. The first one of them is Yellow King. He’s the only one I’ve been truly monogamous with, but… We were literal apes. He had fangs and no issues with using them. No truth be told, he’s always been a gentle giant. He has a manner to him that is commanding, but he’s never been violent, often the victim of violence. Inconceivable violence at times.

I’ve been his mate, his wife, even his slave, a sex slave, at least once – eventually he married me. Never his child. That’d be a tragedy. ;p He is the first non-negotiable. He has never done wrong by me; he’s accused me of stuff I haven’t done, but I don’t think he’s under an obligation to trust me blindly. There’s a lot at stake.

The reason he doesn’t trust me, I feel, is that a lot of men have loved me in my previous lives. In fact, they all have the same fear. Currently, they fear other women more than they fear other men, as they fear I’m in denial about how much I actually love women, and eventually I will snap out of my heterosexuality and choose a woman. I find it amusing how little I worry about that possibility myself. I couldn’t possibly be less attracted to women if I tried… Boobs, I do like boobs, but at a safe distance. Visually only. I have never felt the need to touch, let alone suckle. I feel revolted at the thought; as a baby, I must have. THAT’S how freaking unattracted I am. 😀

Let me explain the woman stuff again.

But yes, I do LIKE women, in a sense, and I like being friends with specifically straight women, because I need them at a certain distance. With a (closeted) bisexual or gay woman, that distance becomes an issue really fast. It always has, because once they cross that line from being a friend and they try to make me “theirs”, I’ll bolt. I will instantly, instinctively tell them to go fuck themselves. They tend to ask another woman to choose between them and the man you’re in love with, and there’s never even the slightest question; it’s ALWAYS the man, even if he’s a mere crush. No contest. (And fuck you, girl’s girls, I give absolutely no shits about you having a massive issue with that. Go cry at the moon, for all I care.)

I have a straight bestie who is literally the only woman I’ve been comfortable with for longer than a few years. She’s also reincarnationally legendary. We share some past-life memories or, rather… One in particular, but she was already dead when I met and married her son. Still, she remembers the same people. There have been interesting discussions when I go, like “but how come this doesn’t make sense,” and she comes back with “oh, that’s because…” One funny one: “Do you think Velvet Barbarian was materialistic at all?” She goes: “Oh, he used to love a fine tunic!” We’re both Christian and feminist icons, and we have NO FUCKING INTEREST in repeating either credential. Whatever feminism we have been or will be linked to, it’s always about the love of men and the need to follow them anywhere they go, NOT because we’d be championing other women. Fuck them. We want to be with our men, not huddled at a fireplace doing embroidery, gushing at babies. Fucking fuck that.

That was a side track. 😀

Great men and great women.

Let’s just quote a guy from this morning. “Great men love great women. That’s why I’m intrigued despite my marital status.”

You can get your knickers in a knot by saying this: Great women are rare. Yes, your mommy was a fucking hero, a great person, yada yada. I’m sure she was a fucking marvel, but the way that influences millions of lives, still being spoken about for millennia after her passing, in a way that doesn’t get forgotten with the grandchildren- great women like that are rare. They exist, but they are rare. Queens, ruling queens, are one thing; inventors, thinkers, writers, social influencers, even socialites, are rare. And socialites… We’re towering a mile over those.

Therefore, women like us stand out. Men look to us with hope and adoration, even a need to be… In our presence. And monogamy is the biggest bitch in that equation. Enforcing some ridiculous rule, “only one per person”, when it simply does nothing but cause violent damage to everyone involved.

I will not bury any more husbands.

In our past lives, you’ve loved each other and me so much that you’ve gotten yourselves killed so I can marry the next man. I think one of the reasons why we are currently separated was when I was walking across my living room floor on my way from the fridge back to my laptop – probably to write Sebastyne.net – in 2000 or so, and I got this feeling of Yellow King thinking, “I’d die for you”. I fly in rage: “Why don’t you stay the fuck alive for once? What on earth do I do with a dead husband?!” I think I actually said, “Why don’t you let me die for you for once and see how you like it.”

This creates a dilemma. As it stands, I can’t marry more than one man at a time. And they are not allowed to die, and they certainly cannot divorce me.

Therefore, you little shits need to learn to get the fuck along and stay the fuck alive doing it.

Like, much appreciated; you’d die for me, yes, I get it. You’ve done it a million times over, and yes, very dramatic; message received. But bitch, do you have ANY IDEA what it feels like to be a widower? Even when you’re happy, you’re partly dead inside. There’s a pain that never goes away, and your happiness… You can’t enjoy it because you feel guilty about the one in the ground. It’s not fun.

Just stay the fuck alive.

Spirit had to jump through hoops for me to understand Yellow King wasn’t the only man alive.

Of course, there’s been other “kings” in my life. But most of them, I simply disregarded as possibilities. You don’t watch movies thinking, “oh, I’ll marry the leading man,” if you have half a brain. Aaaand leading men it is. Lead singers and lead guitarists. The Red Carpet. Half of the male half of the fucking A-list red carpet trampers are my former husbands from one lifetime or another. 😀 V.I.P. only, no L.I.P. If they’re not there, they’re on stage somewhere else, being admired and worshipped.

Those who are not are my lovers at my brothels that I’ve run over the years.

And one, my priest and my physician, cousin – my backbone and external conscience, the one whose approval I always needed to seek, not because he expected me to, but because his standards were high and worth reaching for; Saint Dick. I don’t think we’ve ever been married, but we damned well should have been.

And I just joined their worshippers and thought nothing more of it.

Although I did catch myself feeling weirdly disappointed when I heard Saint Dick had gotten married. Divorced now, with an unclear marital status atm, but I did give myself a talking-to for having caught myself secretly thinking, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I’d marry him one day. (I think he should do a few paternity tests… Just to be sure.)

And the first time I saw a picture of Joking Dragon, I scoffed at him. “Fake. A product. Yack. I’ll stick with Saint Dick.” Turns out HE thought he was “a product”, feeling disgusted about it.

The first time I saw Yellow King, too, I thought he was ridiculous – I changed my mind in under 3 minutes, tho, and thought I was a moron for thinking a man like him would love little ol’ me. A lot happened during that minute or 3.

So now that I know…

A “better” strategy would be to not tell you that I know there are others. But I can’t do that; I’d rather have you hesitate in the beginning than have you blind sighted two months into a perfectly happy monogamous thing that you have no reason to suspect would be anything but. It isn’t about sex (alone); it’s about shared history. We belong together. We’re cut from the same wood.

I don’t need you to die for me; it gives me no joy. This would be nice tho.