Polygamy is Not a Threesome

ThreeringsEach marriage is separate and unique.

I am my husbands’ wife. They are both, separately, married to me. My husbands are not polygamous, they both have monogamous marriages with me.

I try never to take anything with me from one marriage to the other. It’s difficult.

If I have had a conflict with one husband, it’s difficult to completely shut the door on it, and the bad temper, when I go to the other husband. If I’m worried about one husband, it’s difficult to hide it from the other.

Mark is having problems right now with the concern and worry I feel over Graham, what with the stroke and the depression and everything. And Graham is hurting over how our intimate life together has been disrupted by the stroke, and by his medicines. He’s jealous, and it adds to the depression.

Suddenly, I feel the urge to have my husbands talk this out together. Find the way back to seeing each other as friends, not as rivals. But they don’t want that.

They both say polygamy is my problem. I’m polygamous, they’re not.


ThreeringsGraham had a stroke.

It’s still difficult to write the words, even though it’s more than a week ago, and we know by now that he is going to be ok. It was only a grade 2 stroke, and he’ll be just fine.

But I’ve been so scared.

If I had lost him, life would have lost all luster. Oh my god.

They called me, and told me he was rushed to hospital. I was with Mark and he took me to hospital and I was so glad that he was there. We did this together, got through this together. Two nights ago I came into Graham’s room with three cups of coffee, just in time to hear Mark tell Graham that he had never realized before how important Graham is to him. That he is so happy to have him in his life.


As Requested: An Ode to Taste

80px-Dame_Edna_(6959717624)De gustibus non est disputandum. And still, it is a subject we always return to. Taste is something we all know, but define differently. It is a mark of sophistication, of class – or not.

Taste is also illusive, en aesthetic mind is something that takes a lifetime to develop, and it needs cultivating. Maybe this is why rich Americans spend fortunes on stylists and interior decorators – they have the money to spend on the style they have no training to develop.

In European tradition, which of course means American too since they have very little tradition of their own, ( ๐Ÿ˜‰ ) there are two main schools of aesthetics – the Greek and the Roman. I could give a lengthy lecture on this, but suffice it to say that Greek ideals claimed there’s nothing better to spend your money on than an understatement, while the Romans chose the opposite view – if you’ve got it flaunt it. With a few exceptions, mainly to do with court culture, European ideals have ever since the fall of the Roman Empire been very Greek – less is more, an educated eye detects quality – not quantity. America on the other hand have adopted Roman ideals, which can be seen in public architecture as well as in patriotic rhetorics and in general taste.

This has lead to Americans and Europeans (mostly) friendly habit of bantering over each other’s taste and ideals. Englishmen often find Americans loud and outspoken, while Americans find Brits to be stiff and old fashioned.

I was taught early that anything ostentatious is bad taste. Anything loud is bad taste. Anything gaudy is to be avoided like cholera. Because a lady is rather seen dead than showing a lack of taste. This is never said openly of course, it is just a part of our schooling. It’s silent knowledge. And if you don’t know it, it just shows a lack of education.

I know this sounds awfully arrogant. I would never have expressed myself like this ordinarily, but I’m trying my best to comply with the request of a valued contributor here, who said I have to speak candidly and clearly for him to understand since all this is unknown to him.

So, does it take money to have good taste? Of course not.

If you buy false Gucci-bags it proves you have no money and no taste. If you buy real Gucci-bags it shows you have money, but no taste. If you have taste but no money, you buy good quality second hand or plain IKEA, without pretending it’s anything else. If you have real money and taste, you buy quality with no visible label.

So dear Saad, if you have ever seen a program like The Real Housewives of Bevery Hills, I can tell you that those people seem just as vulgar and strange to me as they probably are to you. Tv-shows like Jerry Springer or Baywatch make me cringe, and I find the language in e.g. rap-music just as offensive as you probably do. But not because I am morally outraged, I’m just aesthetically gobsmacked.

If you’ve got it flaunt it appears just as vulgar to me if it’s a millionaire wearing diamond studded watches as if it’s young people wearing hotpants and bras only. American vulgar culture, as opposed of course to all parts of American culture that are not in poor taste, focusing on flaunting whatever you have hence to me is simply a statement of poor taste.ย Errors of taste are very often the outward sign of a deep fault of sensibility. ๐Ÿ™‚

The above stated is of course a prejudiced generalization, I admit it willingly.ย 

There’s a reason why de gustibus non est disputandum became a quote known by all ๐Ÿ™‚


THE Most Unlikely Person in Polygamy

My childhood was very happy, summers spent in our family home in Norfolk, swimming, riding, playing, fishing, building tree-houses. My brother and I and our cousins, and later on friends from school, loved those summers ๐Ÿ™‚ In the autumn we always visited my grandparents, family was important – and grouse ๐Ÿ˜‰

Winters were spent in London, my parents both worked a lot and when my brother was off to school I could feel rather lonely at times. So the library became my favourite place, I would spend hours there living through all kinds of make belief adventures ๐Ÿ™‚

I went off to school when I was eight. I loved school. My school was in Sussex, beautifully situated at the edge of a bluff, teachers were wonderful and I was taught to believe in myself and in humanity. We were taught that we could do anything, accomplish anything, and we were given the best tools to do just that.


After that I went to Oxford. I studied Art and History and joined a theatrical. And the Oxford Union. ๐Ÿ™‚ Getting me to talk has never been a problem… ๐Ÿ™‚ I loved the debates, and the openmindedness. By that time I was a typical tweed Brit, proud of my context, self-assured and easy going. I met Mark at Oxford. He swept me off my feet with his charm, his exotic looks and his adoration. When I first took him to meet my parents, my mother said “I believe you will marry him”. She was right. We were married while still at Oxford, and had our first child. I think, looking back, we were a bit proud of the bohemian fashion of it all ๐Ÿ™‚ My parents were happy, but now I can admit – to you and to myself – that they probably wouldn’t have approved of Mark had he just been an Omani upper class boy, no they accepted him because of his English mother, who is even a distant relative of ours.

Those were wonderful years. We had two beautiful children, Mark worked in the City, I got a fellowship. When I look back, it still makes me smile.

Then my parents were killed in a car crash. The shock, the pain – unbelievable. The present became unbearably ย precious. I kept my family so close, I never wanted to let anybody out of my sight. My brother let me have the house, he knew I needed to hold on, hold on to family, hold on to love. When the children were off to school, I felt so alone. I started writing and completed my Ph.D. I ended my fellowship and did lecturing in stead. I’ve always loved to travel. I’ve had a very happy life.

I am the last person anybody would see ending up in polygamy. I’m the typical milk and honey English girl. I know I’ve lived a life of privilege, and I am grateful.

But I’ve lived through pain too. First the death of my parents. The shock was horrible. It scattered my world.

Then the slow, killing agony of having to watch my brother die. He was slowly tortured to death, but managed to keep his dignity and his warmth and marvelous sense of humour right until the end.

Still polygyny is by far the greatest pain I have experienced.


I’m the Alfa-female in our Polygamous Marriage

polygamy-femaleI’ve been out shopping today with a friend who’s moving to a bigger flat and needs some new furniture. Been a long time since I went shopping and I thoroughly enjoyed it. We had lunch at Waterstones, Piccadilly, and I have come home with a bag of books I’m looking forwards to reading. I just love Kate Morton.

I’m feeling great and my friends tell me it shows. My hair is getting a bit curly, isn’t that funny? I never knew pregnancy could make your hair curly ๐Ÿ™‚

I’m spending the evening with Mark. We are making plans to go to Scotland next weekend to visit friends, and we’ll be spending the evening talking about what more to do once we’re up there. I feel a strong need to spend quality time with him. I need to feel I’m his lover and his wife, I want to take the strange feeling out of our relationship.

Mark came back. Basically I suppose, because he loves me. Partly I believe because he’s not willing to give me up having sacrificed so much to keep me.

He tried at first to give me a lot of ultimatums about our relationship, time spent with him, never to bring the baby along during his time with me that kind of thing, but I wouldn’t have it. I told him polygamy is a thing between the adults, the baby isn’t bound by any rules. In the end he gave way. He came back with only one condition. He said he couldn’t go through with his divorce now, he couldn’t take the pain of a divorce while he also had to live with the pain of my having a baby with Graham.

I was furious. I mean, after all we’ve been through? And what about his #2? Would he keep her hanging again? Mark just said that since she was still in iddah, he had a right to take her back. He also said he was going to look at new ways to bring her back to the UK.

So here we are. Back in our dance macabre.

But you know what? I’m at peace. I’m having a baby. Both my husbands have agreed to act as fathers. I’m happy.

Let’s hope it stays that way.

The Pain when your Polygamous Spouse is having a Baby with #2

Heart-beatHaving a baby changes everything.

It’s the strongest bond between a man and a woman.

It’s bigger than love, greater than your own life. It’s new life. And it’s your responsibility.

When you have a child together, your relationship changes. You’re not just husband and wife anymore. You are a mother and a father. Your life doesn’t entirely belong to you anymore – because you have a child.

Having a baby makes your love for your partner grow, you are sharing something indescribably amazing. And this new life has sprung from your love.

My first husband kept going over this, his pain and grief and dismay made him elaborate on this over and over. And there wasn’t much I could say to comfort him. He was right.

I just kept reminding him I love him too. And we have children too. The same bond exists between us.

Mark said: Yes, and that’s what used to make us special.

I do so understand. But I can’t change things.



I told my Husbands I was Pregnant

Backlit_Pink_Rose_Interior_With_Drops_(209284324)So, I knew I was pregnant.

I sat in the conservatory and looked at the late roses. A life was growing inside of me and my life would never be the same. I was happy. I was afraid.

I told Graham. The way he looked when he understood – I’ll never forget it. It was sheer joy. He cried. I have never seen him cry like that before, with a great smile on his face, tears running down his cheeks. He kept saying “I love you”. I am so grateful I got to share that moment with him.

Next day, I told Mark. He cried too.

And he said he would never forgive me. That this was the end.

He said it was disgusting, that he would never be able to touch me again, that I had ruined our marriage. He said he wanted a divorce. He left.

I was devastated. Why couldn’t we just live our lives and be happy?

Couldn’t things just get easier? Ever?

A Lot of Curiosity about Polygamy

ใƒ•ใ‚ธใ‚ณๅฃ็ด…01aๆ–œI got a mail from a TV producer!

They had received tips about this blog from people who wanted them to do a show about polygamy in the UK, from a different perspective.

Obviously, with more and more muslims in the UK and salafi and wahabi movements gaining ground, polygamy is becoming an issue.

They wanted to know if I would consider giving an anonymous interview, or maybe even let them do some kind of reality production..


Fat chance!

But I must admit, I was flattered by them showing an interest in my story. And I am very happy people find my blog interesting.

The Pain of Realizing that Polygamy won’t go away..

S%C3%A9pulcre_Arc-en-Barrois_111008_12I know I come off strong, and in many ways I am. And yet.

When my husband told me he had married again, and had another wife, it hurt me in a way I had never known or imagined. I never knew pain that bad existed. It was like my soul left me, my breath left me, like my inside was suffering third degree burns but my voice had died and I couldn’t scream. When he left me to be with her instead, I thought I’d go mad from the sheer pain of it. The fourth time he left me to spend her nights with #2, I cut myself, because the pain from the cuts made the pain in my soul more bearable. I was frighteningly close to really losing it. When he came back, and saw the wounds, he cried. He held me, told me how much he loved me, told me he couldn’t live without me. And four days later he left me to go back to her.

Just writing this makes me tremble. The memory of the pain of those days is haunting me.

Love for your Brother what you Love for Yourself

S%C3%A9pulcre_Arc-en-Barrois_111008_12Once, about two months after my husband told me he had become polygamous, he came home having spent his four days with #2 to find me in bed, shivering and crying, with all the curtains down. I was just lying there in the dark. He came and lay down beside me and sighed. After a while, he said:

“I wish you could see how much I love you, that nothing is going to change that. I wish you could stop hurting and enjoy our love and our marriage, and find it in you heart to love for your sister what you love for yourself. I so want you to stop hurting, Fiona.”

Love for your sister….. I could have just killed him when he said that…

I sat up and looked at him. I said:

“Will you promise to lie there, silently, without saying anything or interrupting me ย for five minutes? Will you promise to let me talk for five minutes?” He said yes. So I said:

You remember Ali? That oily, revolting guy you hated so much who used to work at your office? Imagine coming home to me now, only to have me tell you I have married him, and that I will spend four days with him, four days with you, for the rest of your life. Imagine letting me go to spend my wedding night with him. Imagine being here alone, picturing Ali taking my clothes off, kissing my neck you know, behind the ear the way that always makes me so wild. Picture him kissing me, exploring me with his tongue, kissing my breasts. I will fall to my knees, pull down his trousers and slowly take his huge **** in my mouth, enjoying his size, the taste of him. Do you picture it husband? His **** in my mouth? He groans as I caress his **** with my tongue. I look up into Ali’s eyes and see how he wants me. I lie down on the bed and spread my legs to him. Can you picture it husband? Can you picture him getting on top of me, going down on me. Slowly, he begins to eat my *****. For just a second my mind wanders to you, home alone, crying and imagining me, but I soon forget as pleasure rises when he licks me and I scream out for him to f**k me, and slowly he enters me with his big ****, f**king me hard, smiling down on me, can you picture his smile husband? I moan and beg him to f**k me harder and faster while you’re lying here alone crying, knowing that this will go on for the rest of your life and even when I’m making love to you pictures of me f**king Ali, riding his ****, being f**ked from behind, screaming out as I come, will invade your mind and you will see his ecstatic face when he comes inside of me before your inner eyes husband, can you see it?

By this time my husband was crying like a baby, and he suddenly took hold of my arms, shook me and screamed, “Stop it! Stop it!! I can’t take it!! Stop it!!!!”

I stood up and looked at him, he was convulsing in tears.

“Look at you. You can’t take imagining it for five minutes even. But you’re making me live it for real, for the rest of my life.”

I left, and stayed the night with my brother.