Compersion (n): A feeling of joy when a loved one invests in and takes pleasure from another romantic or sexual relationship. Referred to mostly in poly or open relationships.
I don’t feel it. Ever.
I am not a kind or giving person that way.
I am selfish and greedy.
What’s mine is mine and you can’t have any of it. Not just physically, but emotionally. That shy smile he does just before I kiss him, that’s MINE. That vulnerable look he gives me when we are sharing intimacies, that’s MINE. That secret he’s shared with me, that’s MINE. The way he strokes me with his thumb when we hold hands, that’s mine too.
And god forbid a partner of mine should express a genuine romantic or sexual interest in someone else. Aw hell no. ALL of his romantic and sexual energy belongs to me.
When another woman wants my man, flirts with him, comes onto him, I think it’s great. I love it for him. I love how it makes him cocky and confident. I love how it makes him feel desirable. I love it when he looks at me and goes ‘Do you see this?’ And I love that feeling of ‘Yes ladies, I know, I know, but that’s mine’.
I’m not insecure over it: I know my claim on him, and he knows it also.
That kind of thing is innocent and it’s still all about us. He can’t wait to tell me about it later, we giggle about how irresistible he is, I tease him about how I should never let him out into the world on his own, he agrees sweetly that no, I should keep him always locked in my closet, we will kiss and bring that energy into our little bubble.
While I can imagine that compersion might feel somewhat like that (only on steroids and ‘for real’), the kind of flirting I described is about a gazillion miles away from *actual* romantic or sexual interest, or indeed any real engagement on his part at all.
My relationship with my last submissive was the first in which the lines got slightly blurred. I say ‘slightly’ because my rabid possessiveness was never far from the surface. I kept it tightly controlled because I wanted something for him. I contacted a sadist who I met at a play party to thank her for a wonderful caning workshop and needle scene she did. We got talking. It turned out that she was looking for a no-strings masochist. I offered up my boy to her because I knew that she could give him experiences I couldn’t. He was a complete newbie, a masochist, and I wanted him to know what it was like to be under the hand of a very experienced hard-core sadist, which I am not.
I controlled everything about those encounters: I negotiated it, I set the boundaries, I asked her for a debrief afterwards, I redirected if there was an issue. It didn’t hurt that she was a lesbian, so had zero romantic interest in my boy. But it was still a huge stretch for me. I struggled with it and he had to ‘manage’ me, which he did extraordinarily well.
But in the end, while he enjoyed it, he said of the experience:
…she’d sent me off to two different sadists (are you catching the drift of this generosity? It still amazes me about her) to get a sense of how it feels to be beaten by other women, and the sense of how it is to get beaten by other women did not make me happy, and I only wanted her to beat me…
His conclusion there *still* makes me happy: It was just about the perfect outcome for me.
I honestly don’t know how I would have felt if those experiences had eclipsed (or even been equal to, or anywhere close to) what we shared. While I’d not have done it if I didn’t think he would enjoy it, the selfish core of me didn’t want it to be in any way (at all!) close to his experience with me. Not even a little bit. Not even one second of it. Not even the things that I had never done with him and would never do with him. None of it.
I think people who feel compersion are astoundingly generous of heart, and I admire it, but I am both greedy and selfish and in this my heart is small and dark and mean and will share not even a morsel with others.