“It’s just sex, Lee. There is nothing intimate, let alone loving about it. It’s a sudden need that gets met, a momentarily desire that gets fulfilled. What I get out of it, is miles away from what you give me. Yes, there is small talk, and seduction, but only of the most meaningless kind. There are no sleep-overs and no breakfast. It’s just basic sex.”
“I think I should move to Paris.”
“That’s not the reaction I was expecting.”
“Would you fuck strangers if I was there?”
“Regardless of the answer to that question, it’s not the right reason to move.”
“I love you and I love Paris, is that reason enough?”
 “More than enough. But again, I can’t make promises.”
“You drive a hard bargain, woman.”
“And you are trying to change me. I am what I am, and I do what I do, and I’m too old to compromise on that.”
“So, either I accept your infidelity, or I don’t.”
“It’s not infidelity, Lee. It’s an open relationship. There is a big difference.”
“So you keep saying. It feels about the same though.”

Throughout our affair, Claire and I went through several variations of this conversation. I wouldn’t say I ever grew to accept it, but I did become more tolerant. It was either that, or break up, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. Also, having the same fight over and over again, is no joke. In the end, I just chose Claire, I decided she was the woman I wanted to be with, no matter what. I was so completely besotted with her, I would have done anything. Of course the real issue, and my biggest fear, was that she would fall in love with one of her one-night-stands. But isn’t that what we all fear at the beginning of any relationship, open or not? That the person we want, will ultimately fall for someone else? 

As insane as it may sound, Claire was a master at making my trust issues go away. She was always completely honest with me, she shared everything, from the pick-up line to the size of their manhood. You shouldn’t get the wrong idea however, Claire wasn’t a total slut who slept with everyone she fancied, regardless of them wearing pants or a skirt. It happened on occasion, maybe seven times in the three years we were together. And it’s not as if I was a saint myself. She would never have admitted it openly, but I think she did make an effort to meet me halfway. She tried very hard to be a free spirit, but love tied her down in the end as well. 

After about six months of weekend train rides between London and Paris, I moved in with her. I left my job in London, my crazy boss Theresa and my fabulous flat mate Alex. Alex saw it as an opportunity to tap into a whole new French market whenever he came to visit. The first few months I missed Theresa terribly, she was such a wacky, but wonderful boss. Thanks to Claire’s many connections, I got a job writing for an English magazine in Paris. While the actual work was great fun, and something I had always wanted to do, my new boss was a dull, bland Englishman, a far cry from the colourful management I had worked for in the London advertising industry. You win some, you lose some. That’s life. I lost Theresa, I didn’t get to hang out with Alex and my friends anymore, but I was now working as at least some kind of journalist, and I was living with Claire, in Paris. Or as Claire put it when I moved the first box into her apartment, “Isn’t it time for different dreams, Lee?”

To be continued…