The most I could force him to confess to was that it had to do with whatever happened to him in Germany, when he was in the Army, and that it involved the woman he got a vasectomy for—a relationship that didn’t work out, in the end.
A bitch whose name I don’t even know but who I wouldn’t piss on if she was on fire.
A woman I’d love to hand a gasoline cocktail…and then toss her a lit match.
Because of what she did, Carter and I can’t have kids. I know he would love to have kids. I thought about Owen fathering them for us, able to co-parent with us, because Owen also wants to be a father.
Until Carter gently pointed out to me during one of our private conversations that we ask enough of our boy already when it comes to publicly denying who he is to us, and that we will be asking even more of him throughout the years. That it would be cruel to add this sacrifice on top of that pile, to force him to watch his children be publicly claimed as Carter’s.
And he’s right.
I don’t want to put Owen through that, either. Because then the issue is compounded—how do you explain to the kids not to call Owen “Daddy” around others? How do you ask children to keep their entire lives a lie?
Or how do Carter and I even pretend Owen isn’t the father of all our children when all either of us want is to include him in all ways as our husband?
We can’t.Ican’t. I won’t ask Owen to endure that, either. It also means I won’t pick IVF or other methods of parenthood, because then it’s like we’re rejecting Owen, and Carter agreed he’d already thought of that, too.
Carter did give me a choice—kids, or politics. That he’d toss my birth control pills himself and we’d settle down together, the three of us, as an openly poly triad.
Except…
I want what I want. I wouldn’t be happy leaving politics this early in my life, before I even have a chance to make a run of my own for any office.
Carter permanently closes that discussion with one caveat—that unless I change my mind about kids versus politics, I won’t discuss the subject of having children with him or Owen again, unless Carter brings it up to me first.
It’s the only time I think I really felt a crisis of conscience regarding our chosen path.
There’s a seductive emotional pull when I imagine a houseful of kids, and the three of us sitting by the pool while watching them splash around together. Of carpools and PTO meetings, kicking back at the end of a day, or on a Friday after leaving work for a weekend with our family, and justbeinga family together.
I know Owen would be an amazing dad, and so would Carter.
Unfortunately, I was seduced a long time ago by my first love—politics.
Its siren song is far stronger and more hypnotic than any what-if thoughts about the three of us playing house together.
While I have no doubts about my husbands’ ability to be great parents, I’m not so sure about my own.
I was an only child of doting parents who raised me well, if I do say so myself. Unconventionally in some ways, but that’s because they were rich and because of Daddy’s chosen career path. I learned to work hard to get what I wanted, and that drive has always been there.
But it also means I’m not used to giving up my dreams for others. Stepping aside and being magnanimous and sacrificing myself. I can drop to my knees for Carter when Ifeellike it, but he’s the only man I’d ever think about kneeling for.
And he knows when to back off.
Owen, however, has a pure slave’s heart, if you could ever categorize such a thing. He lives to serve us. He truly is happiest living in ways beneath myself and Carter that would make me miserable if I had to live like that all the time.
Add to that the fact that Owen wants to be governor and never thought he could make that dream come true, until he met us.
I’d be taking away his dream of higher offices, not just my own, if I asked for us to switch course now. No, we haven’t talked about this with Owen. It’s a “command decision,” as Carter calls it. Owen wouldn’t complain, I’m sure, but Owenliterallywill not complain about anything that doesn’t make him violate Carter’s most unbreakable rule—Owen will always protect himself first and foremost, in all ways, even if that means protecting himself from me or Carter.
Right now, with the two of us alone in bed together, Owen is relaxed and focused onme, onus. I feel it when he settles into his rhythm as he fucks me, one he can maintain for as long as he needs to. Every driving thrust he takes makes his cock and his body hit every perfect place inside and outside me and mine. My climb starts again, too.
With his forehead pressed against mine he makes love to me, kissing me, sucking my lips, nuzzling my nose. When Carter and Owenkiss—meaning more than just a quick, gentle peck—for any length of time, it looks like they’ve barely survived an orgy, both of them ending up with swollen lips and reddened cheeks. I love watching themkiss.
When Owenkissesme, even at his most passionate, it’s sweet, gentle sunshowers, hot chocolate on cozy winter nights, the whisper of lace and satin across skin.
When Carterkissesme, it’s straight bourbon and the dirty growl of an electric guitar while a tropical storm roars outside.
Like this, completely corralled and pinned down by Owen’s body, I know I can come. Years with Carter have taught me I need the bite, or the restraint, the same way Owen does, in his own way.
