I should sketch out a sequence of events: after that multi-girl fling, James and I started dating. I liked him. I liked him enough to date him. He put it out there that he wanted a real relationship, something emotionally monogamous but sexually open, the sort of relationship I love best. But I had my own baggage, particularly the inability to let him in on the other 80% of my life, so I couldn’t say much. Unfortunately, people seem to love me most when I don’t talk, and this led to a pretty imbalanced dynamic. He liked me more than I deserved; I was a well-mannered and highly fuckable mute.

I met Gabriel. With him, I’m not mute.

I lost interest in James. But I’d left my ring at his apartment, so I went out with him again, which resulted in a mediocre threesome, and I retrieved my ring in the process.

James called. I was busy. James called again. I was busy. He called again – a threesome! And again – a foursome! I told him that I needed a little space. And again. I told him that I needed a lot of space. This was during Spitzermania, so I was feeling distracted.

Then I stopped responding altogether, and when I did, I heard from the woman with the wit and the curvaceous ass. He’d asked her to contact me to arrange for a threesome. I told her that I couldn’t do it.

He kept calling. Eventually, I just left my phone at the bottom of my bag and let the messages accumulate. My phone’s now packed with the detritus and anxiety of a fragmentary relationship.

There’s something neurotic happening here. Not stalkery – he’s definitely not a stalker – but there’s a pinch of repetition compulsion in all this, something almost frantic or urgent about his need for multiple women, constantly (sorry for killing the hotness of a menage with a bit of Freud). And there’s something panicky about his response when I, or we, recede. And that’s the trouble with multiples, or at least my experience with multiples: there’s no stable core that holds these relationships together. They’re free by their nature, so they tend to be ephemeral. When James said that he wanted a real relationship, I considered it, I tried, but it just wasn’t there to be had. I can’t will it into existence.

So last night I exchanged messages with this woman. She said that James was getting to be too much for her so she told him that she’s moved on. I’ll have to do the same, I think, and I feel bad about this. In her case, she said that she found someone else. In my case, I know I have.

I’m not opposed to anxiety, fear, and shame, and I think these responses can be leveraged into scathingly hot sexual experiences, but deep neuroses are tougher. Dealing with a neurotic – an extreme neurotic – is like trying to shout in a bar. There’s too much mind-noise, too much to compete with, and I’m sensing that in James. I question whether he’s okay with the sort of free-and-loose relationship we have. I think he’ll be better off if I end it completely.