I told Claire about my indiscretion as soon as she got back from her retreat. As the words were rolling out of my mouth, I realised that half an hour of anonymous sexual abandon had transformed the dynamic of our affair dramatically. We were now both in the game. Of course, there was a big difference between my youthful enthusiasm for this new-found thrill and Claire’s laid-back, more philosophical approach to it all. For her, it was a matter of principle not to feel completely tied down by the so-called shackles of a relationship. She told me many times that the principle behind it all was far more important to her, than the act itself. This was not the case as far as I was concerned. Claire recognised this immediately, but she had no choice but to give me my freedom.

A month or two after I had first strayed, I had to interview a French-American photographer who was exhibiting in a Parisian art gallery. Her name was Dominique Lavalle, she was born to a French father and an American mother and had been living in Paris her entire life. She also had the most beautiful milk-chocolate coloured skin I had ever seen. And she would stretch the right to freedom in my relationship with Claire considerably in the weeks to come. It started innocently enough. Sure, I asked her over-the-top flirty questions like ‘why on earth are you behind the camera and not in front of it?’ And she replied in the same silly fashion, saying she wanted to photograph me and we should do a shoot some day. But on my way home I knew, despite my lack of experience in the field, that was not the way an interview usually goes. When I found myself calling her the next day to ask some fake follow-up questions, I knew it was probably not a good idea, but it didn’t stop me. It didn’t stop me at all. I wanted her to invite me to her studio, and I didn’t want it to stop there. It didn’t.

Before I could even think of the consequences, or consider the rules, I was having an illicit affair. Because this was no longer anonymous sex in a dark alley way, this was full-fledged secret courting. Not that I had suddenly fallen for Dominique, but I was going out of my way to hook up with her, and I didn’t tell Claire. Thus breaking the most important rule of the open relationship: complete honesty. Of course, Claire was no fool. One night − in one of the darkest hour of our romance − she was telling me about some guy she had slept with, giving me way too many details. She knew I didn’t want to hear all the particulars when it came to men, but she kept going on about it, and got visibly upset. That’s when I understood that she wanted me to come clean about Dominique, but I couldn’t. I was engaging in some serious relationship betrayal, I was fully aware of it, but more than that, I was terribly ashamed.

By then I had slept with Dominique five times in the course of three weeks. I have no idea what exactly I was thinking at the time, but I’m pretty sure I was subconsciously rebelling against Claire and her rules, and my own twisted desire to shag around just for the hell of it. That’s when it dawned on me that I was probably not cut out for relationships of the open kind. I was such a lesbian that way.

To be continued…