OK, having a threesome isn’t exactly an everyday thing. At least it isn’t for me. My sex life is pretty vanilla, or maybe it’s cookies and cream, but still fairly pedestrian. So when the latest man on the docket suggested that we have a threesome, I wasn’t sure what I thought or felt. Was I flattered that he wanted to share this activity with me? Was I titillated by the prospect of a third party in the bedroom? Or was I frightened, given my history with hypersexuality and bipolar disorder, that any interest would signal a descent into mania?
For a while, I entertained the prospect of having a threesome. Under boyfriend circumstances, when I’m in a long-term relationship I’d say no, as in no way would I want another person to take part in our intimate moments. I believe that I feel similar to most people in that I’d be jealous if I witnessed my man doing something with another person that he never did with me. Or making a noise. Or giving a look. But Mr. Threesome was a friend with benefits — a no-strings lover for whom I had no romantic feelings. Under these circumstances perhaps there’d be no jealousy and, therefore, nothing to make me feel uncomfortable. Perhaps.
Then I talked to Mr. Threesome about who we would invite to join in on our bedtime activities. He requested a woman, which seemed safe to me both physically and sexually. But I wondered where to find such a person. She couldn’t be a close friend of either of us; that would make future dealings rather awkward. We wouldn’t go through a personals ad or pick up a random woman at a bar; both those options were too weird and lecherous for us to consider. I didn’t want to be the kind of woman who picks up another woman at a bar, or picks up a man for that matter. I consider those days to be over because I’m in my 40’s, and also because I experienced bipolar mania the last time I engaged in that behavior. Not only was I hesitant to relive my hypersexual mania, but I was also loath to trigger it.
A manic episode is sometimes accompanied by hypersexuality — a very high sex drive, an inability to be satisfied by sexual encounters, and a desire to pursue sex in risky situations. For me, hypersexuality manifested in a series of one-night stands and some experimentation with sex clubs and swinging. Nothing good came of that period in my life, other than using it to help diagnose my bipolar disorder. What I remember most was feelings of loneliness in spite of my high mood, and then feeling like I couldn’t control my thoughts or my actions.
I worried that having group sex with Mr. Threesome would somehow set off a trigger in my brain that remembered the mania. I wondered whether having — and enjoying — an outre sexual experience would lead me to want more, and lead me towards a manic episode. I was also concerned that a threesome would trigger my depression, that I would become jealous and decline into a series of negative thoughts about myself and my sexual prowess. Neither depression nor mania were worth a night of sexual escapades, no matter how much fun they could be.
Oddly enough, another friend asked me if I would be in a threesome with him. While I’m still flattered and a little excited by the prospect, I’ll stick with my mental health. Maybe someday I’ll be one of those women, and maybe not because I’m not getting any younger. But I’ll always be more content sleeping happily alone than with worries of depression and mania.
