They’ve been back in touch, and I’ve been remiss in not keeping current on the story. Their position is as follows: we’d be happy to fuck T, but not you. To be fair, they were a little more politic – but I’ll let you judge:
M. is not really ready to be with another man unless she has, first and foremost, trust added to chemistry and physical attraction. For her, that’s going to take time, lots of interactions and experiences in a casual, low-pressure setting. Being with a woman, though, is different. She is ready to be with another woman anytime and wants the two of us to enjoy that experience together. She’s just really reluctant to be with another guy unless the trust, chemistry, and attraction have been built up over time. Having a Y chromosome, I, of course, feel no such reservations about being with another woman.
I didn’t react so well to this, to the artful, delicate way in which this man presented his wife as wanting him to fuck my wife, while being too delicate a flower to imagine fucking me. My ego’s fragile, perhaps. But it rubbed me the wrong way in every way. From the substance – we’ll fuck her, but not you – to the way in which the message was delivered – M, the woman (but not the writer) is both the one who wants J (the man) to fuck my wife, AND the one who wants me not to fuck her. My wife suggested perhaps we should go drink with them, without expectations, or have sex near them. At the time, I agreed to that. But as I ponder it, and write about it, I think probably not. Where things have been left for now is that we’ll meet for drinks and maybe dancing (I HATE dancing – or at least, I hate dancing when I’m not certain that I’m going to get laid) in January.