My husband and I had an open relationship. When he died unexpectedly, my support system included several partners who had been part of our lives for years.





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By Anonymous





Victor* and I were making out on my couch when he pulled away and asked, “Should we talk about this? Are you sure you’re ready?”





I rushed to respond—yes—but he was not convinced.





“Is there anything specific that would feel good to you tonight? Is anything off limits?”





Again, I stammered. “No different boundaries than usual. You know how to make me feel good.”





I am normally quite confident when navigating sexual scenarios, but nothing felt normal. My husband Alex had died unexpectedly six weeks earlier. Alex and I had always been non-monogamous; he loved Victor and celebrated the relationship Victor and I had, so I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt when I texted Victor to let him know I was craving sexual touch. I knew, unequivocally, that Alex would want me to continue experiencing pleasure, joy, love and connection. Even so, rocked by grief, I had lost my usual bravado.





***





...What [Alex and I] initially envisioned as mostly sexual adventures with other partners gradually developed into a network of deeply intimate, loving friendships. As a result, when Alex died, my support system included several partners who had been part of our lives for years.





In the months following Alex’s death, I connected with dozens of young widows online. I was relieved to hear my own experiences echoed in theirs, to commiserate about the clueless and hurtful platitudes people utter to the grieving—throwaway lines like “Everything happens for a reason” or “He’s in a better place.” Every widow’s experience is unique, but most young widows grapple with some common challenges, including how to navigate relationships with in-laws and when (or whether) to stop wearing our wedding rings. But when it came to sex and dating, I couldn’t relate. We were a diverse group—gay, straight, religious, atheist—but nearly all were monogamous.





...I read numerous posts from widows who were struggling to navigate sex and relationships. ... It pained me to read over and over that, while most widows were struggling with a lack of physical contact and unmet sexual needs, many wouldn’t seek physical connection because the mere idea felt like a betrayal of their late spouses.





While I had lost the person who felt most like home to me, I was still able to experience connection with trusted partners like Victor, Keith and James. Victor and I met a year and a half before Alex died, and we hadn’t been able to keep our hands off each other since (or to stop jabbering about work, travel and language). Keith and I had been lovers for more years than we could remember, so our connection was soothing and familiar. James was quite simply family—my emergency contact, the witness at our wedding.





Alex and I met Keith shortly after we started dating, and grew close with him and his wife. One evening, Keith helped me write Alex’s obituary and design the program for his memorial. When I explained that I wasn’t ready to be intimate, relying on a clumsy euphemism for sex to mask my insecurity, Keith responded, “I think this is the most intimate we’ve ever been.” ...





At social gatherings, without Alex to anchor me, I felt adrift among a sea of happy people. After years of proximity, James was deeply attuned to my emotional states and how I expressed them through body language, so he provided a safety net at events. ...





The support I received extended beyond my romantic partners and came from our broader polyamorous community, as well. One friend organized a rotating group to bring me meals, be on call for emotional support and stay with me when I didn’t want to be alone. For weeks, a different friend slept in my bed every night and cuddled me when I asked. ...Others opened their homes to care for and feed each other when we were all in shock and reeling. his type of community care and platonic touch were instrumental in my healing, but I’ve found these practices exceedingly rare in the more mainstream (read: monogamous, heteronormative) circles I occupy. ...





***





So, there I was on the couch with Victor, clumsily navigating my first sexual encounter as a widow. He coaxed me patiently until I finally managed to utter, “I’m just worried it will become too emotional for me in the moment.”





“What do you want me to do if that happens?” he asked.





“Just hold me,” I replied. ...





...Eventually, I stopped crying and began stroking Victor’s arm. He pinned me beneath him and planted butterfly kisses up and down my torso. I gasped as he entered me, releasing weeks of tension and devastation and evoking a fleeting, visceral escape—without any sense of betrayal or regret.