Sex & Journalism

 There is no shortage of glamorous men in my life.  Both in my professional and personal circles, I am introduced to those at the top of the figurative food chain.  I have stopped asking if the people I meet are tired from their flights, because I know they’re not.  If it wasn’t their own personal sky bed they were sleeping on, it was the bed in their own cabin.  I have stopped looking at price tags when out shopping with them, as I’ve learned those little tags are nothing more that a nuisance and an eyesore.  These are the people I meet, seemingly effortlessly, and these are the people I’ve grown to love.  Despite the occasional frustrations, I find being in their presence both a pleasure and a luxury.  However, all pleasures and luxuries come with their own dilemmas.  In an earlier blog, I actually forcasted a predicament that I now find myself in.  I either have a very strong intuition or a way with self-fulfilling prophecies.  Although, this particular issue is something I imagine poses a potential threat to any elite companion: the dilemma of social incest.

I once said that I imagined myself meeting a man I cared about, who I wanted to be with “in real life”.  I imagined that I would be sitting at a function or family event with him only to realize that I was across the table from a man I dated professionally.  Perhaps I had been a one-evening escort to his uncle, or a long term mistress of his cousins, and there I would be, at the table staring them in the eyes while trying to figure out in a split second how to either 1) pretend nothing had ever happened 2) lie about how I know everyone and hope that they lie, too, or 3) be prepared to defend my position and explain that my relationship with my chosen man was different and sincere and that my past relationships should not be held against me.  Or maybe it would be the other way around.  Maybe I would attend an event with a client, only to be confronted with my boyfriend, asking why I was out with his investor when I had said that I was staying in that evening.

It could just have been that I was being paranoid and once again running my overactive imagination.  Just as well, it could have been common sense telling me that due to the very small world that I keep my trysts within, it is not at all unlikely that at some point, I would be faced with such a situation.

Dorchester Hotel, London:

 “ We should go to the Maldives after Paris.  But first, we have the event in London. I’m not sure how much fun it will be for you. It will just be a bunch of big wigs from XX sitting around talking business. ”

 “ That’s fine with me. It could be interesting. Who’s on the guest list? “

 “ The biggest manufacturer of XX from XX. The most respected XX from XX and XX will be there, too. He owns XX. “

 “ I think I might know these people. What are their names? “

 “ XX, XX, and XX.”

 “ Hmm. Okay. “ (Said with palpitating heart while nervously stumbling for the appropriate words). 

 “ You know them? “

 “ Yes. I know XX. “ 

 “ How? Google search? “

 “ Google search? No. I… um… meet a lot of people. I am much more social than I seem. I’m not sure how I meet them. I suppose I’m just in the right social networks. “

 “ That’s good. “ (Said with quizzical expression).

 “ Yes. The food is very good here. And I like the art. I can’t wait to see the art with you at the event. I’m hoping to learn more about artists and really be able to recognize some of their styles. What kind of art is in the Maldives? Maybe we should go to a museum in Paris. Paris will be nice. Do you speak French? “

The babbling worked and he forgot where we were in the conversation just before. He began talking about himself and his family again. They typically enjoy talking about these subjects.

My new friend is a lovely man.  He is exciting, kind and patient.  He is passionate about what he believes in. He makes me feel wanted and sends me enthusiastic and thoughtful messages.  He plans to travel with me.  I don’t know him except for a long lunch and a several messages we have exchanged online and via text.  He doesn’t know Raquel.  He knows the other me and treats me accordingly.  He claims to be single.  He won’t hide me the way a married man would, but he wouldn’t be a normal relationship either.  I assume that a man of his title, in his culture, would be expected to be with a certain kind of woman, and I am not her.  If we were to move forward, he would make more of a special companion to me.  It would probably be an alternative, part time relationship that I’m accustomed to.  It seems like it could be a nice situation, with the exception that he is good friends with a man who I can not admit to just how much I think about and a man who still helps pay my bills.  He is a comrade of Fancy Pants, and I am scheduled to be at an event with both of them this week.

When faced with the dilemma of secret dating incest, what does a girl do?  If this were a typical situation, the answer would be easy.  You do not date your friend’s friends or the former lovers of your friends.  You walk away.  But there are layers to this particular situation that give it the complexity of an 82 Chateaux Margaux.

I can’t say to this new potential companion  “ I really like your company, but I am a former mistress to your life long buddy, whom I still have emotional and financial ties to and I don’t feel right about “cheating” on him. “   Nor can I say to FP,   “ I like your friend, but YOU are the one that I want to be going to Paris and the Maldives with. Leave your family and run away with me. To hell with responsibility. I miss you terribly.“

I must cross an admittedly exciting, although incredibly awkward and potentially heartbreaking bridge.  Goodness… What shoes shall I wear for such an occasion?

Raquel