Operation **Reclaim** Loveland

Polygamy- Exploring Scripts

One morning, I heard a rhythmic beat coming from outside. I looked out and there was this guy who I’d never seen before chopping wood. He was cute in a super Amish sort of way.

He was friendly and sweet, and considerably older than me, not that age meant anything to me back then. He had been a life-long friend of The Old Witch, and occasionally he did maintenance on the property that she managed. There were 3 cabins total including the one we were staying in.

I had a blast chatting with Mr. Amish-ish. He was kind, and helpful, and naughty, but respectfully naughty. I got the distinct impression that this particular friend really loved women- ALL women. It was pretty adorable.

That afternoon, he and his wife who was quite a bit older than he was, hung out at the house and she was just as much fun to talk to, and just as naughty it turns out.

One of the first things The Old Witch told me about them, was that they were polygamous, they were just lacking an extra wife. It was one of those moments in a conversation when someone adds the juicy tidbit that they’ve been dying to get a reaction for.

I was nothing short of curious.

I had been enthralled with the idea of polygamy when I first heard about it in anthropology in high school. Of course I found the sexual potential interesting, but there was so much more to it than that. I loved the idea of women having community together within the same house. I loved the idea of the shared workload and kids having a group of loving adults to bond with. I loved the idea of relationships without jealousy and mind games.

I loved that there were cultures that practiced polyandry and not just the polygyny that most people think of. I love the idea of loving without rules or shame.

They talked about old friends they had had, and experiences in college and other places that they had lived. They talked about Mrs. Amish-ish’s daughter who was grown in a lavender marriage with a child of her own. They talked about how everyone envied the relationship that the Mrs. had with her daughter during her high school years, because they had such open communication and understanding.

They talked about the place they owned out in Daniel, on their 10 acre plot of land. They were so easy to talk to, and they were clearly quite curious about me.

Mr. Amish-ish had a very hard time making eye contact with either his wife or me, or The Old Witch for that matter. Every time his eyes met anyone else’s he’d immediately look down and blush.

Mrs. Amish-ish was clearly amused by his easily provoked embarrassment, and she maintained a knowing grin throughout the exchange. It was obvious that she was more in on it that I was, and she did her fair share of instigating, baiting, seducing. It was so fun.

Throughout all of this, from the time I left home, I had a very strong sense of being pulled in the direction I was supposed to be going. In each of these transitions, there was a sense of something clicking into place, like a missing piece of my puzzle being found, leaving me to find the right place where they fit.

I really loved staying with The Old Witch, but I didn’t want to overstay my welcome, and I really didn’t want to get into trouble with her son any more than I had. (Also, once we started having sex, all of the fun stuff kind of stopped and all that was left was crappy sex.)

Ever feel like you’re always the scapegoat? You probably are.

The Amish-ishes

It didn’t take very much convincing for me to move in with the Amish-ishes. Their home consisted of three trailers that had been pieced together so there was a double wide, and a little porch between it and the third trailer which they used for storage.

The rooms inside were quite big, including their bedroom which had a California King waterbed in it, which comfortably fit all three of us sleeping sideways on it. It was terribly convenient.

We bonded over open-mindedness and spirituality. They were “metaphysicalists,” which she really loved explaining, and I ate it up. A lot of it coincided with my Wiccan beliefs, and at least it wasn’t trying to make me feel ashamed just for living.

Everyone knew. There was absolutely nobody who wasn’t aware that the three of us were a thing. I couldn’t care less about the smirks or stares. Really it was fun to stir up the fire and give them something to talk about. In retrospect, I’m sure that closed a lot of doors for me, but I didn’t to walk through doors that weren’t meant for me.

I got a job at Daniel’s Junction, a big gas station at the intersection of HWY 89 and HWY 191. They had a deli with a specialty menu built around the tri-tip that they smoked on site. It was pretty tasty, but I never developed the hard-on for it that everyone else seemed to have.

I did love the fried gizzards though.

I got to know a lot of the ranch families in the area, I learned how to do a lot of things, and I really loved my coworkers. I really got along with the older gals who weren’t messing around. That felt good.

Things were a little awkward at first but not as much as I expected and awkward translates easily into sexual tension. I wanted to be mindful of equity, but she very much felt that he should enjoy his new toy, and that she would supplement that. Thankfully, he enjoyed a shorter refractory period than the average man, and so after he had finished with me, he would then enjoy a second course of his usual favorite main entre.

They still had time together, just the two of them. I was not allowed time with just him, at least not sexually, which I understood, because I wanted very badly for her to feel respected. I was honestly happy just to have a chance to be sexually open without being shamed for it.

They didn’t care that I’m a slut; so were they.

They had clearly put a lot of thought into all of the needs, desires, and boundaries, and I was absolutely high off of the communication.

They also had clearly established what worked well for them sexually, and there was never really any exploration beyond that one specific script.

Mr. Amish-ish was a bit of a handy man, and he actually had more work booked than he could keep up with. He had quite the reputation in the area, and people liked him a lot.

Occasionally, I’d get to ride along with him on a job just to hang out and help where I could. It reminded me of the time I spent helping Grandpa tinker around on the weekend, except he was way more patient than my Grandpa had ever been.

There is still so much to be said for Humans Healing Humans

He looked at me like something he’d waited for his whole life and couldn’t believe was in front of him. It was an intense connection when our eyes met, and nearly palpable for others.

I really loved living with them, and they encouraged me to reach out to my mom to try to rebuild the relationship now that there had been some space.

I tried.

I called, but she was not happy with anything that I had to say. The only acceptable answer in her mind was me admitting I was wrong and coming back home groveling. I did make arrangements to drive down and get more of my things than I had originally left with, now that I had a home.

That was something at least.

I really wished people would quit saying, “But she’s your mom,” like I had crossed a line. I heard it from the Ways. I heard it at that little coffee shop. I heard it with Twinkie. I heard it from The Old Witch. I heard it anytime anybody asked where I was from, and I had to tell them. It was universal.

He drove me down, met my mom who was not the least bit impressed, loaded the van, and drove me back. He stopped saying, “But she’s your mom,” after that.

I learned to drive a stick shift in that van. I know I had driven that one stretch of highway, but now I could downshift. He really enjoyed teaching me, and made me feel special and smart.

Handfasting

In July of that year, we had a spiritual ceremony to bind us that was performed by The Old Witch, and crafted by all 4 of us. I sewed our dresses (mine was lilac and hers was deep purple), and we were handbound in their yard at sunset. My mom did not attend.

At the end of the summer I was fired because they were “cutting back for the season,” which happens a lot in the right-to-work state of Wyoming. It’s largely a tourist state, and Daniel’s Junction sits on one of the main paths to Yellowstone.

That firing hurt a lot, especially because the owner hired three perky blondes over the following two weeks.

Erasing the Silence- Previous Post

Erasing the Silence- Next Post