Vsevolod Maximovich, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Hello! I am the woman who married the person you know as the altrockchick. I know her as Arielle, the force of nature who helped me manifest my true self and fills me with joy every day.

I should tell you something about my early history so you can appreciate why it was so unlikely that our paths would ever cross and how a series of unexpected turns eventually brought us together. I was born into a respectable, traditional, Catholic family in Madrid. My parents had already mapped out my life path long before my birth: someday I would meet a handsome prince from a respected family, marry and provide them with several grandchildren. They made sure I went to the best schools, learned French and English and received tutoring in the social graces along the lines of a finishing school. I was encouraged to take up a classical instrument and chose the cello because I loved its deep, expressive sound. On the academic front, I was fascinated by mathematics and when it was time for me to attend college, I decided to pursue a degree in Accounting. My parents approved of that choice because they hoped I would marry a financial wizard and assist him in managing the business.

I bought into the princess story for the most part, but once I entered puberty and the corresponding emotional upheaval, I found myself drawn to experiences that didn’t fit my good-girl persona. Out of respect for my parents, I kept up the façade and never gave them any reason to doubt my commitment to the future they had planned for me, but unbeknownst to them, I developed a passion for heavy metal—the polar opposite of the Disney-like soundtrack of my home life. I imagined myself clad in spiky leather, dropping the cello for a bass guitar attached to a monster amp and losing myself in the dark mystery of metal.

Though I was feeling intense sexual urges, I dealt with those in private and remained a virgin until my third year at the university. I had sex with half a dozen men, and though I enjoyed the physical sensation, I felt something was missing. I could not give the feeling a name until years later when Arielle started writing her review of Peggy Lee and I heard the song “Is That All There Is?” for the first time. I attributed the disappointment to not having found the man of my dreams and continued to wait for my prince to arrive.

After completing my studies and a brief apprenticeship, it was time for me to find a real job and leave the parental nest—and much to my surprise, it was my father who pushed me out the door. He had a lifelong friend who had emigrated to the United States and started a business in the Miami area providing services designed to help Latin American companies compete in the American market and attract American investors. During one of their regular phone calls the friend happened to mention he was having a hard time finding a forensic accountant fluent in English and Spanish. My father replied, “I have one right here in the house—Alicia.” I was surprised by his recommendation and excited about the opportunity but told him that I doubted that his friend could obtain a visa. “Don’t worry about that—Salvador has connections.” The process dragged on for a while but I finally received my H1-B visa, moved to Miami and began work in early 2007.

Now serendipity entered the picture. It was late in that first unbearable Florida summer when the owner stepped into my office and told me he wanted to attend an important marketing conference in Chicago. Naturally, I asked him why he thought it was a good idea for an accountant to attend a marketing conference when we had a Marketing Director on staff. “Gabriel’s English is weak and he won’t get much out of it. I want you to go because I know you’ll take good notes and you can share what you learned with Gabriel when you come back.” I thought the plan was silly but because it was an opportunity to see more of the USA, I agreed to go.

On the first day of the conference, I arrived early to get a front-row seat so I wouldn’t miss anything. As we were returning from the morning break, a man sitting in the row behind me asked me if I would hand him the notepad from the empty seat next to mine. As I stood up to give him the notepad, I saw a strikingly beautiful woman sitting at a table near the back. I was so enchanted by her beauty that I decided to get a cup of coffee from the urns located behind her to get a closer look. Her makeup was clearly European and her blonde hair suggested she might be German or Scandinavian. I couldn’t take my eyes off her until she looked up, met my eyes and smiled at me. I felt myself blush in embarrassment and tried to smile back but could only manage a weak grin and returned to my seat, very confused. I had certainly admired beautiful women before but never felt attraction or desire when doing so. Beautiful women were like paintings to me—aesthetically pleasing but lifeless. I tried very hard to banish her image from my thoughts but it wouldn’t go away. I spent the night tossing and turning, not getting much sleep, but in the morning I decided that my responsibility to my employer was more important than whatever I was feeling and vowed to avoid contact with that woman at all costs.

As luck would have it, the afternoon session was designed for us to work as teams in breakout rooms to design a marketing plan for a fictitious company. The facilitators created the teams by dividing the group by the initial of our first name. When I entered the room assigned to the A-D group, I felt my heart skip a beat when I saw the beautiful woman sitting at our table. The group conversation meandered for about fifteen minutes, making little progress until the beautiful woman entered the discussion. She spoke clearly and articulated her points well, getting straight to the heart of the issue and giving the team a framework for resolving the problem. We came up with a marketing plan with forty-five minutes to spare, gave Arielle a round of applause and then went our separate ways.

I was now determined to introduce myself to this woman but couldn’t find her anywhere in the conference hall. I wandered outside and into the plaza, and spotted her about twenty meters away, smoking a cigarette. I only smoked on occasion, had no cigarettes with me and I didn’t want to come across as a beggar. So that night I went out and bought a pack, choosing a brand that complemented my looks. As I had never “hit on” anyone in my life, I felt nervous about approaching her but I reminded myself that I was one of the least threatening people in the world. I simply had to satisfy my curiosity.

I followed her out during the morning break and asked if I could join her. We covered the usual small talk, but before I could tell her where I was from, she asked, “You’re a madrileña, aren’t you?” “How could you tell?” “The way you enunciate your esses—with a slight touch of th.” She then took me by surprise by shifting to Spanish with a decidedly Mexican accent but modified her esses to the Castillian th. She clarified my perception of European origins by crediting her French mother for that influence and asked about my family. All in all, it was a pleasant conversation that I found comforting. She wasn’t scary anymore—she was knowable.

We went out together during the afternoon break and feeling a bit more confident, I asked her out to dinner. She explained she had a prior engagement that night but would be happy to dine with me the following evening. I made sure to wear my best outfit and we had a lovely time over dinner, where she delighted me with her sharp sense of humor. During our after-dinner coffee, I took a deep breath and asked, “Can I tell you something?” “Sure.” I swallowed, looked her in the eyes and said, “I find you incredibly attractive.” She smiled and said, “I heard a flutter in your voice. You’ve never been with a woman before, have you?” I admitted I had not.

“Well, Alicia, I find you very attractive as well and I’d fuck you in a New York minute but you’re not ready for this. I suggest that you go home and take some time to get in touch with your feelings and your fears about being with another woman.” She also pointed out that because we lived on opposite coasts, any kind of intimate relationship was impossible and she was not interested in “quickies.” I asked her if we could stay in touch and we exchanged emails and phone numbers. When it was time to go she gave me a hug and the sensation of her breasts pressing on mine gave me an orgasm. She felt the shudder and whispered, “Think of it as a nice going-away present!”

I would not see her again for three years, but we kept in touch regularly. The conversations resembled therapy sessions with me in the role of patient. I was very naïve regarding same-sex relationships and her recollections of the challenges she faced were very helpful. I had to ask her what she meant when she described herself as a switch-hitter and she explained the term was borrowed from baseball to describe bisexuals. She told me that during her college years she explored relationships with men and women but now that she was looking for a long-term relationship, she would rather mate with a woman because she felt that women had greater emotional intelligence. When she eventually told me about her BDSM orientation I was thrilled by the possibility of manifesting my metal fetish in a sexual context. “There’s a lot more to it than dressing up in leather,” she replied. “It’s more about trust, vulnerability and the yin-yang dynamic than anything else.” She recommended some books and websites if I was interested in exploring the scene in greater depth and left it at that.

At no time during our long-distance relationship did she hint or suggest that I might be the woman she was looking for, but I had already decided I would become that woman.

Early in 2010 my boss announced he was retiring and closing the business. I had only two choices: move back to Spain or find another American employer to sponsor me within sixty days. The choice was simple: I wanted to be near Arielle and that meant moving to Seattle. I knew from my conversations with her that the job market in Seattle was strong and I was fully aware that most employers try to minimize recruiting out of state to avoid relocation costs. My best bet was to move to Seattle and rent an apartment so I could present myself as a local. I chose not to involve Arielle because I did not want to force myself on her. The day after the business closed I flew into Seattle, booked a room at a downtown hotel and sketched out a plan of action that night.

The next day I found a decent studio apartment near where Arielle lived. I applied to all the big accounting and finance firms with open positions and received three invitations to interview. With fifteen days left in my visa grace period, I accepted the first offer that came my way and only then did I contact Arielle. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when she responded enthusiastically to my news. “You really want me, don’t you?” “More than anything.” We consummated our relationship the following evening—an experience that surpassed all of the fantasies I had dreamed up during our long period of separation. After six months of intensive training in the erotic arts and many deep conversations about what we needed from each other, she asked me to move in with her, an invitation I enthusiastically accepted.

My parents were unhappy about my decision to move to Seattle and I chose not to tell them I was living with a woman I considered my life partner. Keeping my relationship a secret from my parents weighed on me but I dreaded the likely rejection even more. Arielle was very sympathetic and reminded me that “coming out” was often problematic and that the decision to do so or not was entirely mine.

We had lived together for a year or so when Arielle launched her blog and it was about a year later when she stumbled across an album by the Scottish band Admiral Fallow that piqued her interest. Many of you are aware of her deep listening process, but she also plays the album she’s exploring over the sound system when she wakes up in the morning and again during dinner to give her a different perspective. Though I usually treat the music as a background soundtrack while I get ready for work, Louis Abbott’s Scottish accent caught my ear and I listened more closely. While I was applying my makeup, a line from the song “The Way You Were Raised” stopped me in my tracks: “It’s the courage to turn your back on the way you were raised.” It hit me so hard that I ruined my mascara with a flood of tears. Arielle heard me sobbing and rushed in to see if I was okay. I turned to her and said, “I need to work up the courage to tell my parents about us.” She looked puzzled, so I quoted the line and said, “I’m proud of who I am and I want them to know.”

Long story short, I flew to Madrid that summer and told my parents about my relationship. My mother started crying but my father wanted to know more about Arielle. I gave him a brief bio then remembered I had a picture of her in my wallet. I handed it to my father, who smiled and said, “I bet the two of you look good together.” My mother finally stopped crying and asked, “Are you happy?” “Yes, Mother—happier than I’ve ever been.” “That’s all that matters—but please, be safe.” She was more worried about someone attacking me than having sinned. At this point my brother walked in and Papa told him I was in a serious relationship with a woman. All he said was “Guay!” (Castillian slang for “cool!”) and walked out. My father asked when we could meet her and I said, “I’m not sure, but soon!” When my family finally met Arielle a year later they fell in love with her.

With that burden lifted, Arielle and I settled into what has become our lifelong routine: where she goes, I follow. When she decided to leave the USA after the sickening episode in Sandy Hook, I followed her to Paris. When she decided to quit her job there and move near her parents, I followed her to Nice, where we opened our consulting business. Now I have followed her back to Paris, fully supporting her desire to explore a career in international relations. That may sound like our relationship is dominant-submissive but that is a misunderstood cliché. Arielle is an extrovert who enjoys taking the initiative; I am an introvert oriented towards responding to other people’s needs. I love making people happy, especially my wife. In other words, I am not a wimp!

*****

I’ve written enough about myself to bump up against my comfort zone, so let me tell you a few things you may not know about my partner:

• You want to avoid contact with Arielle . . .
  • In the morning until she’s had coffee and a cigarette. This created some problems at first because I am particularly sunny in the morning, so I’ve learned to take my happiness outside via a morning stroll, weather permitting.
  • When she is writing the introduction to a review. She finds that part of her work the most difficult and I’m not afraid to label her an absolute bitch when she begins a new review.
  • Whenever she is practicing on flute or piano (but you can interrupt her if she’s playing guitar).
• She is a voracious reader with seemingly endless interests. Right now she’s reading a book on Structural Engineering. Last month it was one of Winston Churchill’s war volumes. Before that, she read the biography of Christian Dior (in French).
• She is an excellent cook when it comes to Mediterranean recipes but her attempts at baking are nearly always disasters. Once when we were in Seattle, she set the oven on fire while attempting to bake macaroons. Don’t ask me how.
• She expects two treats stuffed into her Christmas stocking: a Rocky Road candy bar and a box of Hot Tamales. As these confections are sometimes hard to find in Europe, her parents and I take turns having them shipped from America.
• Arielle is the worst gambler I’ve ever seen in action. In the Honeymoon Series, she omitted the fact that before we went clubbing in Biarritz, she lost five hundred euros at the roulette table. I won three hundred back at the blackjack table.
• When we lived in Nice, we had a small space for a garden and I wound up doing most of the gardening because Arielle lacks the patience to deal with common gardening challenges. The one odd exception is that she’s a whiz when it comes to tending roses. I think she has an affinity for the thorns.
• Her father has commented on her beautiful singing voice and she frequently sings her way through her share of the household chores. I love that.
• She has a deathly fear of hospitals, police stations and places of worship.
• Arielle has been practicing martial arts since her teens and once again, I followed her lead. We also like taking long walks and we get plenty of exercise via our sexual escapades. The one athletic area where we differ is winter sports: I love to ski; she can’t stand being in the snow.
• Though she passionately defends her right to smoke, she doesn’t smoke that much—maybe five cigarettes a day. Contrary to common practice, she never smokes when she is stressed—she finds it too distracting.

Despite my support of her new career direction, I firmly believe that she should continue writing about music and keep the website open. She puts as much energy and talent into writing music reviews as she does with sex, and believe me, that’s a lot of energy and talent! When we lived in Seattle, her Sunday morning ritual involved completing the New York Times crossword puzzle. After we moved to Europe and she finally found her voice in longer, more insightful reviews, she would wake up early Sunday morning and no matter how late we stayed out or how long we engaged in sex, she would read, and re-read and re-read the week’s review, double-checking this fact or that tempo to make sure the review was fair, factually accurate and clearly stated her case. I miss the research phase when she would read books and articles on musicians, share her findings with me, and we would talk about how those findings manifested themselves in the music. She was fully engaged and happy, and I am very committed to securing and maintaining her happiness.

I am also worried that . . . well, let’s put it this way: Arielle either picked the most opportune time to help save the world or the most hopeless. Every day we hear of another right-wing nationalist victory somewhere in the world—the same sort of right-wing nationalism that kicked off World War II. People everywhere are looking for simple solutions to complex problems and look to strongmen as saviors. My parents told me many stories about what it was like living under the Franco regime and I’m sure they would say that Franco was no savior—but as Arielle has reminded me several times, the average person has little interest in history, no matter how many times history repeats itself.

We have talked about the situation at length and Arielle believes that there is still time and enough people with common sense to avert a war and save the planet. She feels very strongly that she has to try and I admire her for trying to make things better at a time when many people are checking out and trying to ignore the serious problems we face. The truth is I love her with every fiber of my being and I don’t want her energies to go to waste.

She has often written of relationships as a refuge from the dark world around us, and no matter what happens we know our refuge is secure. In the erotic biography that she posted years ago (since removed), she closed with a comment that could have come from my lips: “What matters is that I have someone I love passionately who devotes herself completely to fulfilling my needs and fantasies in a relationship where we can both be who we really are. That’s heaven.”