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The online diary of an ethical pervert.
Poly Means Many: There are many aspects of polyamory. Each month six bloggers - Amanda Jones, An Open Book, One Sub's Mission, Polyamorous Parenting, Post Modern Sleaze, and Rarely Wears Lipstick - will write about their views on one of them. This month: explaining poly to other people.
I'm currently single, which means I'm going on a lot of dates - I think I worked out that last year I'd gone on over fifty, resulting in only two second dates. This is a tribute to my own particular specific tastes as much as anything else, more on that later, but what it does mean is that I'm developing a very good line in a particular sort of sales patter, specifically on how I want my relationships to be. Generally speaking I don't mind, and even quite enjoy the whole "explaining myself" thing. Especially on a first date. After all, it's really important to be able to tell a prospective lover what it is you want - if you can't articulate, how can you both work out whether you might, well, work out?
Currently I'm going with: "Hi, I'm electronic doll, I'm bisexual, kinky and non-monogamous" followed by a big grin. Reactions vary, if I'm honest. Some people have needed further elaboration, which is fair enough. And it's mostly around what people think I mean when I say those words.
There's a lot that I don't mean.
I don't mean "I will fuck anything" because frankly, nothing could be further from the truth. For all that I write a detailed kinky sex blog, I haven't actually had a lot of sexual partners (it's around twenty, or so, if you are interested). I don't do one-night stands and I don't fuck around a huge amount. I have very exacting standards for what I find "sexy". I'm a specialist, you see. I only find a few people sexually attractive and I like really, really specific types of sex, which means it takes a lot of time for me to find the right person - or people.
Kinky sex is also more disposed towards things that don't look like sex but we perverts enjoy them just as much, if not more - flogging, bondage and so on. It's all "sex" to me. And I want all of it. But only the good stuff, and I would rather not have sex than have any old sex, which means less sexual partners. On a really practical point, I also have a very high sex drive, so when I find someone, I tend to fuck them a lot. Which makes them tired. Which makes it very useful, and pleasurable, for me to have other people to have sex with. Sex is like any other activity. You wouldn't only ever go to the cinema with one person, or go for a meal with only one person, or go to the same supermarket, so why would you only ever fuck one person?
This is the point in the conversation where I generally take a deep breath, and check whether my date is still awake, looking at me with horror, or drooling with their tongue on the floor. No-one has actually run away yet, but I suspect that's because of car crash fascination or "what will she say next?" rather than anything else. So, assuming they are still interested in what I am saying, I try and summarise: I think it's very unlikely I will want to only have sex with one person for the rest of my life.
This often leads us on to the second incorrect assumption which is that "non-monogamy" means "I can't commit and can't settle down". I'm actually really looking forward to falling in love and building a life with the love of my life. Now, here's the rub. That might be one person, it might be several. Together, one after the other, or all separate. I can't predict the future or what's around the corner and I don't want to be closed to those opportunities, either. But when they come along I want to be able to grab them with both hands and love them with all my heart. In my mind's eye, I imagine that I will have one main partner, and either as a pair or separately we will have lovers who come and go through our lives. I am not stating that this is exactly how it must be and nothing will sway me, merely that this is the kind of future I can see myself being happy in, so it's the example I use to explain myself.
This does cause confusion, no matter how clear I try to be. And I do understand the confusion. There's a lot to take in, if the universe has hitherto consisted of monogamous, heterosexual, vanilla pairings. "Exotic" relationships are often the stuff of film and fantasy: crazy sex fuelled hedonism of the rock and roll variety which is not a very realistic example of how people might live their lives. Throw in the kink and the bisexuality and people can sometimes think I will only ever be satisfied with an high-octane orgy on the hour, every hour. I do my best not to come across as some kind of sexual revolutionary, but as someone who wants a normal, but different, life. I don't always succeed. It can be difficult to explain "non-monogamy" as normal. Because for many people, it just isn't. Communicating an entire world over a cup of coffee on a first date can be a bit of a challenge.
There's also a lot of responsibility in being the first person who explains all of this. Because then you become, in part, responsible for how this person perceives this new universe of relationship possibilities. Over time, I've learnt to become very specific with the words I use, partly because I love words dearly and like to make sure they are put in the right places, and partly because I appreciate that what I'm saying is new to lots of people and I don't want to give them the impression that I'm speaking for every person who has ever had a "non-traditional" relationship. I can only ever talk about what I want, what I've enjoyed, what has worked for me.
So, for example, I don't describe myself as "polyamorous". I use "non-monogamous" specifically because I enjoy having more than one ongoing, sexual partner (when the opportunity presents itself), but I've never yet had an extended relationship with more than one person for anything more than a few months. In other words, I've never been in love with more than one person at a time, so I don't feel I can really call myself "polyamorous". I've loved several people at once, certainly and I've been fucking several people at once, and been dominant or submissive to more than one person. So I'm absolutely non-monogamous. These days I use the phrase "lovers", because it's a nice romantic word and I'm a romantic at heart. It's an easy word to get your brain around, and I think it sounds positive, caring and sexy in a genuine way, rather than "partners" which can sound as if you are in business together. I never, ever use "fuck buddies", because I don't like relationships that are "friends with benefits", I want relationships, sex and romance.
Following these, often lengthy, often with diagrams, explanations, reactions have varied. I've had people who are happy to have "found" other people who think the same way they do, relieved that they aren't the only ones, I've had surprise from people who genuinely didn't know this was a real thing outside of films and books, I've had friends think I was doing it to be cool or to be different. I've had people worry I'd get hurt. I've had people be angry or upset with me for still not wanting to sleep with them despite obviously being a slut. I've had people who got what I was saying but didn't think it was for them. My favourite was from a friend who merely said "gosh, that's quite, um, bohemian of you."
To finish, I'll give you two concrete examples of "explaining myself." My most recent two encounters, with Ten and Technophile, have resulted in break ups or whatever you have when you break up before you've really started dating. In this case, it wasn't about the sex, or the kinky sex, or the group sex. It was about how the relationship might function. So, the important bit, really.
Neither of them felt as if they would be able to "cope" with what they considered such non-traditional set ups. They were simply outside of their comfort zone. The idea of having a threesome, especially with another girl, was exciting. But the idea of my having a girlfriend, who might come and stay regularly, was strange. Still exciting, but I could tell they weren't sure whether I was being serious (I was) and if I was, how on earth it might work. The idea of my having another boyfriend was mind-blowing and triggered all kinds of negative responses. In the end, both of them decided that I wasn't the one for them, in part because of how I wanted to live my life. Neither of them were willing to give it a go so I can't comment on whether I am extremely good at explaining and it is entirely the opposite of what they wanted out of life, or I'm a bit rubbish at explaining and they would like it if they tried it. Mind you, I do keep telling straight boys that this is also true of sucking cock for my viewing pleasure, and they don't seem keen on that either.
Perhaps it's the way I say it, or the way I leer when I'm saying it?
Fundamentally, however you explain yourself, the reality of living relationships is always a little different to the writing on the box. I know from my own experience that some multiple-relationship set ups have worked better for me than others. Frankly, some monogamous relationships have worked better for me than others. The main factor that has divided the good from the bad has been about the content of the relationship, not the set-up in and of itself. It's been about the people. The expectations we've had of each other, our ability to deliver those and the way we have communicated our hopes and dreams. Not how many of us there were, or how we were living at the time.
But those are all topics for another month.
A brief posting, due to my ongoing lack of regular Internet. I've recently got back on the horse that is Internet dating following a review of my sexual portfolio (something someone once kindly referred to as my "chocolate selection box of fucking" which creates all sorts of puns relating to fudge, nuts and walnut whips).
I'm currently running a series of D/s relationships in tandem, primarily with Mannequin and more recently with Mr Smith. I'm fond of both of them, but very aware of their needs outside what I can provide or what they want from me, which means I'm looking for other people. Specifically, for a suitable long term (probably male) partner. In the meantime - I'm in no rush so happy to enjoy what comes along and play the long game - I've got something of a balancing act on my hands, particularly regarding time and how D/s operates when you are not the sole partner.
I'm able to view my previous musings on the subject in the context of being a submissive and either being in love or certainly falling in love with The Photographer. Those two factors made life hard, too hard to bear in the end. Now, things are a lot easier. Perhaps because I have learnt from my mistakes, and learnt how to better manage my feelings. I can keep a lighter emotional touch these days, I care about my partners, certainly and could see myself caring more. I am passionate about them and about what we do. But these are "in the moment" passions, remembered fondly. Zen BDSM, if you will. These people are not always mine and there are places these relationships cannot go, ways in which they will not develop and that creates a remit that must be adhered to.
The dominant position means I am more in control of what is going on and taking a more active part in what I am doing and with whom rather than being controlled. This requires a certain amount of self-control, as well as control of others. I order my personal expectations and need to keep a cool, pragmatic approach when managing the "externalities" of our interactions, especially about where the lines are drawn, and not getting too territorial when they need to be re-drawn because of the needs of my partners' other partners.
To take a good "lines" example, I recently had a discussion with Mr Smith about marks on his back. His wife had seen them and been upset. Now, I had spoken to him about marks - because they were going to happen if he wanted to submit to me - and he had told me that the usual standard was fine (nothing visible in a suit and shirt). However, nothing can really match seeing marks, realising them for fact and she had reacted to that in a way that had not been predicted. Upon hearing about this, I went into two parallel thought modes: D/s and open relationship management. The dominant in me was annoyed about this shifting of goal posts, especially over something I had checked and thought was fine. There was a spark of anger over interference in my play. All of these D/s reactions needed to be absorbed, understood and left to one side because I do not have full D/s control over him. On the wider relationship front I personally felt uncomfortable about upsetting someone else, even though I hadn't known it would be a problem. My response was to change the sort of play activity (for the moment) to something less marking but not less in terms of D/s and to try and arrange a coffee date with his wife to set ground rules face to face.
Time is another issue. I'm busy. I do a lot of things. Add to that multiple partners and the need to find time to locate new partners (as well as blogging about it all) and my diary becomes a very serious piece of work. I have stopped fledgling engagements in their tracks because the other party couldn't organise themselves out of a paper bag. My partner's time is important, my partner's partner's time is important. But mostly, my time is important, because it is my D/s time.
Whatever they do elsewhere, whatever other relationships they have, when they are with me they run to my clock. I take my time, because it is my time to take and to indulge in. Taking and indulging is part of the power exchange, they give me themselves and they give me their undivided attention. From stepping into the restaurant until I leave them in the morning, those hours are mine to do with as I wish. Afterward, and before, are blank pages for other people to write upon. The sense of transitory ownership and the anxieties or difficulties that can present is mediated by ring fencing specific points in time. My D/s only works because I can view these people as belonging to me for the moments they are with me, allowing me to appreciate them to the full when they are with me, but leaving well alone when they are not.
I'm afraid that it's a rocky road ahead, so apologies in advance for sporadic posting and a complete lack of sexual exploits. I had hoped that after all the ups and downs with The Photographer, we might have come to a better, stronger place, but sadly that isn't the situation.
I also feel it worthy of comment that this is the first of my posts that has ever been sent over to someone else before going live. Because it is probably the most personal thing I've ever written about us, especially about him, so I wanted him to see what I was going to put. There have been a couple of changes from the original, but only in terms of "what actually happened" - nothing about what I thought or felt. That was hard in and of itself. After me, he is the person most exposed by what I write here and despite having reservations has been generally ok with the project, and perhaps I am not as sensitive as I could be to this fact. I was tempted to not put it up at all, because I didn't want to upset him. But I wasn't sure what the point of the blog would be then, if I didn't talk about this experience - if I only talked about the light and frothy side of BDSM rather than when things fuck up. And I couldn't write without saying what had happened. Warts and all. So here it is.
I've recently been congratulated on being variously "strong", "brave" and of "doing the right thing". These are all wonderful accolades, and come from folk who have been very loving and supportive of what has happened between myself and The Photographer. Which is why writing this feels so strange. Because I don't feel strong, or brave and I'm not especially convinced that I've done the right thing. Unconvinced because the whole thing is so painful and seems also so foolish - there was no argument, no terrible fight, yet here we both are, on other sides of an internet connection. Apart.
For me it's a very difficult time, I've never left anyone whilst still being in love with them, I've never really had my heart broken before and I am surprised to find that all those things I had scoffed at in films are turning out to be true. It is painful. Physically painful. And that pain is located in my heart: under my ribcage is a very sore place, it's almost like a panic attack - sometimes strong, sometimes abating for a while but always there. I'm scared and I keep on bursting into tears. In a way I'm really glad that I've managed this far without having to go through any of this and on another hand the cold, calculating bit of me is trying to get to grips with it, to understand it like any other experience I've written about here.
And I'm hoping, amongst other things, but more on that later, that by understanding what is happening it might feel better. I always reach for knowledge when I need solace, it was always a difference that was evident in our relationship - I found security in knowing the options, in having a plan or a list. I usually pride myself on knowing what I'm doing - on being secure in my own mind and my own decisions. At the moment, I don't have any of that security. Which is ironic, because ongoing anxieties were the main reason why I couldn't continue in the relationship.
Let me take a step back. I've often refrained from discussing poly and the poly set up in the blog, partly because I wanted to keep a kink focus and partly because when touching on it I feel as if I'm interfering with someone who I don't want to make the subject of conversation - The Photographer's other partner. After all, she and I don't have a connection outside of him and she certainly hasn't agreed to be the subject of any internet related dissection. But also because I didn't want this to be a blog about poly relationships - I wanted it to be about interesting kinky adventures and my responses to them. Like a lot of things, time changes what they were initially meant to be and they become something else. So here it is: Poly, me and what came after.
I'm not a poly person. I thought though, that I might be able to be in a relationship with someone who was poly. And whilst the person is probably the most amazing partner I've ever had, who came along at a perfect time in my life, the poly lifestyle that he has makes it impossible for me to stay with him. I know that now, and I also know that I am unlikely to enter into any similar sort of set up again. I don't have the mindset, the desire or the emotional toolkit. I'm not going to apologise (although I do feel sorry, but that's not the same thing) because it's part of who I am.
The poly made me anxious, and that anxiety ate away at me. Little seeds of doubt, once planted, are very hard to get rid of. Questions that I wouldn't normally have to ask in a monogamous relationship cropped up. We agreed that we wanted to live together, however there was no clarity on what that life might look like - what sort of time commitments, what kind of space sharing? I felt sometimes pressured by requests to form a dialoge with his partner, because previous relationships had worked well when this had happened. I wasn't expected to become friends with her overnight, but to be able to talk, to be in the same space. And I couldn't do it. Didn't want to do it. I wasn't in a relationship with her, and we didn't move in the same circles. I only saw her when she was doing something with him. I didn't want to manufacture a relationship, but there was something else. I was forced to admit that in fact I was happiest when I could pretend that she didn't exist. When I could pretend, for all intents and purposes that it was a monogamous relationship and he had a very good friend who he visited and sometimes slept with. But that wasn't true, certainly wasn't healthy for any of us. And sometimes I remembered who she really was to him, inasmuch as I will ever understand it. I remembered that she was someone who he loved deeply, who he had been together with for a long, long time and who must know him so much better than I ever could. I felt dwarfed by that relationship - rendered insignificant.
I wanted to know what it was that I wasn't, what it was that I was up against. I viewed it as a competition, which to me it was, but not to anyone else. I thought of the two relationships as separate. Him and me. Him and her. I kept forgetting that for him, we were a three. And perhaps he also forgot that for me, we were two. There was a difference in how we viewed the relationship and I became on guard - looking to protect what I had against the unknown threat that she represented in my eyes: whatever he was getting from her must be something that I was unable to provide. If I could provide it, he wouldn't need her. So I tried hard. Really hard. To be everything in a partner that a person might want - I'm not saying that I did anything I didn't want to do, after all, the relationship with him was something deeply satisfying that I desperately wanted to continue. It wasn't the trying that was the problem. It was the fact that it didn't make any difference, because the only person in the competition was me. It wasn't something I could ever win at - I was never going to make him leave her no matter what I did. I could not make him fall out of love with her, or want to suddenly become monogamous with me any more than I could make myself be polyamorous, or comfortable with someone who was. But I did try.
When that didn't work, I tried to work alongside the setup, to try and boil down my anxieties into clear goals, reasons why I was worried about our relationship. I wrote a list. It started off as a short list, a simple checklist of what I wanted in a partner:
1) One main partner
2) Shared living space with that partner
3) A shared life with that partner - not just weekends here and there
4) Long term, permanent, till death do us part, looking after each through thick and thin type commitment
5) Publicly recognised, formally, by family and friends
6) With a big party to celebrate it
7) Kinky sex (lots of)
I sent it over to him. To my mind, if he could say yes to all of those things, then everything in the garden would be rosy. I waited. I had my ups and downs whilst I waited, but I also knew that these things couldn't be rushed, that thinking time was hard and people needed space to do it. After a couple of months I asked for a response and it was not what I had wanted. There was a lot of uncertainty - he didn't know. I felt let down, I was fairly angry with him, even after he explained how a lot of this was new to him and he was finding it difficult. He also explained that he'd been scared by what I'd written and felt unable to engage with it. I didn't understand what he meant at the time, part of me still doesn't. We have very different outlooks on life. The questions remained.
It all came to a head last week. A series of tensions drove him out of the house, despite me asking him not to leave and indeed, being terrified of him leaving. After a week we scheduled a time to talk. This time I wasn't going to walk away with anything less than the answers I wanted. I'd sent an extended version of the list, going through each point, then adding things I'd like him to talk to his partner about, so that I would know for definite, who they were to each other and what impact that would have on me. What X deducted from the 1 of him and me.
I got some answers that made me happy: that he wanted to live with me and share a life and a house with me. I got some that made me nervous, but that I thought could be worked through: that he was scared of a marriage or any sort similar public commitment, which to me made it appear as if he was embarrassed of me or didn't believe that there was any future worth shouting about. Then I got the answers that I didn't want: that he would not leave his other partner for me, that I would never be his and his alone and he would never be mine entirely. That he could not explain or define the life that they led, how it might work or what room there would be for me. That he would never not be polyamorous, in effect. And for his part, no matter how much he wanted it (and I wanted it to) I would never be happy with someone who was.
And in the end that is the sad, entire truth of the matter. I am who I am, he is who he is. Neither of us love each other any less because of it (we probably love each other in part because of our stubborn, self-confident stance about what we want and what we don't want)
Being with someone who was in a poly relationship gave me all the drawbacks of such a situation (jealousy, limited time, concern over who was the "better" partner) without any of the benefits. I tried. I have done a lot of soul searching and can honestly say that I tried as hard as I could. However it wasn't good enough. Or rather, there was nothing else to try. It would have meant changing who I am. A mean part of me wonders whether he would have tried monogamy for me, yet that sort of thinking is unlikely to end up in a place that will be good for any of us. And again, that would have meant changing who he was.
Breaking up with a poly person is as unusual and curious as being together with one. Part of my hurt right now is being driven by the knowledge that whilst I'm alone and feeling lonely, and have lost a great strength in my life, as well as someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, he is with his other partner. I'd like to be happy for him, that he has that support - but I'm not that charitable, unfortunately. The fact that he is with someone who is not me, someone who he loves and who loves him in return is contributing to my unhappiness. Exactly the same as it did when we were together.
Yet there is a nagging doubt. I know how happy he made me. How much I want to be with him. I know that life is about compromise and that nothing is perfect. I know how right he is for me, and wonder if perhaps there was a little bit more clarity, a bit more understanding of what the situation is, might I be able to pick up the phone and say, as I so want to do "come back, please?" I worry if I haven't just substituted one sort of anxiety for another.
Everyone I've spoken to keeps telling me that it gets easier with time. That the unhappiness and the pain fades. I'm hoping that it does - that the clouds will clear and I will be confident in the choice that I have made. I just need to get through it. So I'm currently a little bit of a robot, putting one foot in front of the other. Trying not to think about much of anything at all. Until it becomes possible to think properly. There is sense in that, even the act of writing this has helped slough off some of the nerves and worries, to make it all as black and white as perhaps I foolishly would like my life to be.
Met up with Kiss Curls for a cup of tea and the closest to girly chit-chat that I get - we were both girls and we both chatted. At the moment she's dating a lot, on the look out for nothing more complicated than interesting sex so we took a while to compare notes. After we'd shared a few choice details (her: newly discovered kink for filthy hill-billy accents, me: experiments in kink/pagan crossovers) we discussed future projects and came to the general consensus that two hot bi boys to play with were this season's must-have item, the important thing being that they must be into each other and that we must be in the middle.
The conversation meandered over to lifestyle choices. A male acquaintance of hers is in a poly relationship, a V with two women, both of whom have become pregnant within a few months of each other. Our reactions were separated by time but allied in attitude, a kind of surprised horror at the thought that he is intending to maintain both families, in different parts of the country. We decided that as a concept, it didn't work for us, to say the least. I know that there are folk who manage poly with babies and possibly even with kink thrown in there as well, but to try and do double duty with two distinct households? Perhaps I'm overlooking the thought of love conquering all, but I'm sure that love often needs the assistance of time planning and a decent cash injection every now and then. I know my life does and realistically I'm only seeing The Photographer, Knight of Wands and some double-dating at the weekends. We eventually hit the nail on the head and rammed it into the coffin with the thought that he would only be able to be half a Dad to each kid, half a partner to each mother and that wasn't fair (for fair read what we would want in that situation), given the amount of effort that our mother's have led us to believe babies are.
It got me thinking, about poly as a life choice, rather than a passing phase or a way of having my kinky cake and eating it. With cream. My attitude to poly has a tendency to vary with my mood, in the way that everything looks a little worse on a dull and gloomy day. At the moment, the outlook is not as favourable as it has been, it seems a tad over-complicated and a lot of effort rather than boy meeting girl and deciding who ties up who. On a good day, it seems the perfect way of living - everyone has their own space to explore sexual preferences, different long-term relationships can be established without sacrificing another part of your life: no-one has to compromise on what they want. And that's the key word, for me, compromise. I've never been particularly good at it, preferring a more all-or-nothing approach because for me "kind of right" is just a nicer way of saying "wrong". So is poly a permanent compromise or a way of avoiding any compromise?
I guess it depends on the exchange rate - what has been given up in return for what, and whether I can live with that ongoing. For me, poly was a consequence of meeting, and becoming very attached to, The Photographer. It wasn't something I've ever done before, and it has remained a means to an end, effect rather than cause. Given the option, I'd probably not do it. But I live in the real world, rather than the hypothetical, so it pays to examine exactly where I stand and whether it is worth it.
What have I given up? Exclusivity is a pat response, but it is true. I've lost monogamy, and have previously been one of its great adherents, finding security in the knowledge that there was just the two of us, against the world, a symmetry and balance that you don't get hanging on the end of a V. There is a loss of control also, the knowledge that someone else, who you don't know very well, regardless of how lovely they might be, has a say in your relationship with the person you love. That's hard, but not unheard of in monogamous relationships: best friends, parents and well-wishers all might chip in, however it's not the same thing. In this case, the other person has just as much stake in the relationship as you do, if not more.
There's a joke that anyone who says that their poly relationships aren't hierarchical and that they are all different and special is just trying very hard not to tell you you're a secondary. Powerplays and games of subservience are all well and good in BDSM, very well and good, in fact, but I don't think I can live like that. I know I can't. It's one thing feeling small and insignificant when compared to a Dominant partner, but not to their partner. I'll consent to the first, but not the second.
Finally, I've given up marriage. The big white dress moment, church bells, family, friends and any sort of large-scale public acknowledgement of committment, life-long love. I'm a natural nester, and no matter how many times previous relationships have come crashing around my ears (and oh they have!) I remain confident that out there, is the right person for me and that when I meet them I'll have that Happy Ending we've all been promised by so many stories and films. Without wishing to inject further melodrama, I burst into tears as I typed this, which only goes to show what a hopeless (pathetically, naively so, I know) romantic I am and also that I am a little run down and unhappy at the moment making everything that little bit harder. However it probably goes a fair way to expressing how much this image and what it represents means to me.
There's a flipside to it, obviously, because as much as I'm a masochist, I'm not in the business of making myself unhappy. Both men in my life make me extremely happy. The situation and the style of relationship, less so. I'm just not sure how to square the circle on this one, but I'm working on it. We're working on it.
Things have started to reach an even keel, or something approaching it. At least I feel as if rather than reaching out into the unknown, I'm now pursuing definite areas of interest. The Photographer and I have a firm relationship, within it we are fM although the odd burst of Fm does occur if my switch is flipped. We also have, I'm happy to say, a strong bond outside of play which as helped develop our powerplay into something more than the odd visit to a hotel now and then. Not that that wasn't a welcome distraction from the day to day, of course, but there is a lot to be said for strength of connection, of attachment. Well, I'll say it - of commitment. Because that is what the decision to be someone's slave is, surely? I am committed to him. It's not something that can be turned on or off as and when or a role to be adopted for a few hours that then I can then shrug off as easily as taking off my coat. I am his, I do not only play at being his. There is also an onus on him, on his decision to have me as his slave, the responsibility to me which that brings.
Which brings with it a series of quirks and conditions. Not least the fact that we are both seeing other people, and so our lives are curiously balanced, with time spent away and the needs of each relationship being considered. Which we work through as we go on, communication between ourselves and our partners, little touches and messages to check that everything is still OK, that worries are being dealt with as and when they arise and not left to fester. There is a certain amount of mental juggling that goes on, especially where D/s is concerned, given that I am submissive in both of my main relationships yet they are both happening in specific and different spaces.
We are not 24/7 in the sense that I do not look to him to make every single choice about my life, and neither of us are especially interested in that aspect but there is a certain amount of creep as time goes on. At first, there was a definite boundary. When we were alone together, and especially when we were playing I would wait for him to make the first move, defer to him, look to please him. When we were in public, I wouldn't do this. Now there is a grey area. A way of leaning into him whilst on the tube, him holding me tight, leaving little crescent moons from his nails on the back of my hand. I am conscious of being his more and more, and when I bring it to mind, it makes me smile. It is a powerful thing, being owned: comforting and safe, reassuring and also extremely erotic.
Polyamory rubs up against BDSM, and not always in a good way. On the plus side, it enables my partners and I to explore different types of relationships; to enjoy a depth of feeling, both emotional and physical; to have a structured and well-nourished context for play with ongoing scenes. On the minus side, a lot of poly works by balancing the needs and demands of each person, treating your relationship with them as different, because everyone is different, but a universe to itself: the time I spend with one partner is time spent with just them, it is their time, our time.
Except it isn't. Not quite. Not a hundred percent. All poly relationships create knock-on effects: partner A can't see partner B if he's with partner C. BDSM relationships compound this, adding layers of complexity that also give excitement and sexual thrills but overthrow the idea that each individual relationship grouping can grow and develop into anything. It can't. At least, it can't for me. I am The Photographer's slave: this means I belong to him, and this makes me enormously happy and content, the protocol (only he gets to use my cunt, he has to agree to any other relationships or play that I might engage in) that we have developed supports the relationship, makes me feel more like his which makes me more happy and more content. I'm emphasising this because it's important to make clear that denial is a powerful source of stimulus and something I've agreed to, it's not a punishment.
This is fine for play, because limits on what I might do in a club or in a one-off meetings are part of setting the context for a scene, for what precisely I (and whoever I'm playing with) want to do. And I like that, because I like clarity, especially from those I don't know very well. Understanding which boundaries will and won't be explored allows me to enjoy what is being done all the more: I know that I will be pushed, but I also know that my hard limits will be respected. Part of my hard limits are those set by myself and The Photographer. However, relationships are different. By "relationship" I mean an ongoing partnership which has other, non-BDSM factors involved, it's not just a frequent-flier for play (lovely as that is), but something with the potential for a wider emotional and day-to-day context. So whilst restrictions might work well for me (being denied something you are never going to do or want to do is hardly denial) it places contraints on what my other partners might want to do which limits their remits as a Dom. Which also affects my ability to serve them as a sub. This is the situation I'm contemplating with regards to Knight of Wands.
I am never entirely his, I can't be. He discussed that whilst he is enjoying exploring the power of being able to do almost anything, there is always that aspect of almost that reminds him his control is not absolute, even within the confines of any given scene. At the moment, there are no immediate issues, mostly because Knight of Wands and I have only recently started to explore, although the bedrock is already resent because we were friends beforehand. There is already an existing relationship. We've talked about it, and given that this was always going to be the case with any other relationship I developed, it's not a case of him feeling cheated, but it is a limit on our exploration. On the other hand, one could view it as an excuse to dive into other waters not yet tested and tried, and that's what we are trying to do.
It is just not possible to please all the people all the time: you can't have your cake and eat it, however it must be possible to at least pick off the icing and nibble at that.
Date last night with Tie Tighter, who was a lot more than met the profile page. Given our conversations I'd been expecting a certain type of person and found my expectations utterly, pleasantly, confounded. It's nice to find yourself in that situation, whatever the reverse of being let down is. We had an extended chat, and I observed his eyes light up when he spoke about rope bondage, his metier, listening to his descriptions of tying people, of how he enjoyed delivering pleasure through mummification, sensory deprivation and loop after loop of rope was energising, as it is whenever you hear someone talk about something they obvious love.
As a strict heterosexual (the mention of tying up a man made him wince as if he'd bitten lemon) there is obviously less room for The Photographer in any potential scenario, but although co-subbing is certainly still high on the agenda, also too is the desire for my own experiments and experiences. It's interesting to find someone for whom sexuality is so tied to gender, as this is something that I am quite aware of and beginning to explore more of myself as I play with more women.
Speaking of joint ventures, New Friends dropped us a note wanting to slow our interactions down somewhat, to become, well, friends before continuing further. It's true that we had moved very quickly from chatting to meeting to playing (the latter stage occurring within a few hours). And whilst a part of me can't help but feel a little disappointed, I'm also genuinely looking forward to getting to know them both a bit better: at worst, we will have a couple of cool new people to chat to, and at best we'll have a firmer relationship on which to base play.
I'm feeling generally very positive about future meetings, both as a pair and flying solo. We have a play date lined up for Friday with Shuttered Lens who gave us both the most business like of pre-play chats we've ever had, which I certainly appreciated for it's candour, if nothing else. I'm not precisely sure what to expect of this, his experience would lead me to hope for good play (why hope for bad play?) but it will be one of the few times I've played with someone who I know very little. Play-as-play is still quite new to me, so that may contextualise my feelings and sensations - and as well as everything else, I'm keen to know what effect this has.
I keep trying to work out whether or not I am actually polyamorous, and the answer is I don't know. I'm definitely in an open relationship, and (time permitting) keen to date and see other people, just as The Photographer has his partner. And we're certainly both busy trying to find those special someones who would like to tie us up and put us through our paces.
I'm not sure if that makes me poly, though. I don't know precisely where the line is between "feelings" and "play". I know that I need some connection with my partners, but I think that's true of everyone. Certainly better play has happened with those I've felt something for. Whether that is pure attraction, affection, friendliness, confidence in their presence or a mixture of all of these. I don't know where this leads - I am reasonably confident that I don't have the room in my life for another relationship that is as emotionally involved as the one I have with The Photographer, and I absolutely will make time for him before anyone else. Which is meaningful in and of itself. Does that make me not poly, then? Equally, I'm not sure that hanging labels on things ever does much good, I know that I've had a few cheeky little sniggers at people who introduce themselves as being firmly fixed in one category or the other. But perhaps they are. Just as I am happy to try new things, and would hate to shut the door on potential options. Which admittedly makes me sound greedy, but a little bit of what you fancy does you good. As my gran says, though probably not in this context.
So why the worry? If I'm happy to keep sampling from the varied menu of sexuality, why do I feel the need to work out just what my ideal relationship status is. I suppose the key here is in the word "ideal". As many of my friends are now cemented in their Noah-esque pairings, with weddings going off here there and everywhere, I'm starting to wonder how everything will pan out, where the dust will settle. Part of this has come from recent conversations in which I've tried to sound out how the future might look, but of course no-one can do that, and as time moves on, things change. I've changed. In the last nine or so months my life has moved into a very different place and I feel more comfortable with my love life, my sex life, my life. But less settled in my future.
Where once boy met girl and they went and chose curtains I'm not even sure I could begin to plan for anything now. It's a curious mix of freedom and anxiety. Worries about how it might all turn out, terribly aware of the fragility of these relationships see-saw with the excitement of possibilities, of everything from fun dates to finding love. Again, again and maybe even again. For as long as it works. And that's the rub. Which I know is exactly the same with any sort of relationship ever, but I think that recently I've been forced to be more honest and appraising of how relationships work (and don't work) and more accepting of impossibilities, of things that can't be changed.
It sounds a little maudlin, I suppose, but I am generally very positive, but perhaps also cautious. The more people that are involved, the more complex things get, and the less in control of the situation each individual feels. I've lost the illusion of control. Which can only be a good thing, but I'd gotten used to it, and now I'm doing without.
Three brief snippets of dialogue have put me in a slightly contemplative mood, which has turned out to be overall positive, but the way they came about was interestingly staggered and set the tone for my current state.
"I don't mind that you borrow my toys, it's just that it reminds me that I'm not in a relationship at the moment"
This to The Photographer from his LT partner, which caused me to squirm with social and also emotional embarrassment at first, until assured (at length) that all was well. As mentioned previously, the more time I spend around the pair of them the more normal the relationship becomes, but sometimes I feel a bit awkward. Feeling being the key word here. Initially I was a little upset, or perhaps bothered is a better word - after all, I don't want any of my behaviour to have a negative impact on anyone. However, just as it wasn't me that did the borrowing, neither is it me that is responsible for her feelings - I'm not to "blame", I'm not an interloper or an interesting extra fling for the moment. We later sat around with tea and chatted a bit more about life, the universe and so on, which made me realise that the insecurities I have are not unique to me, and therefore not a result of being new to poly (and by inference inexperienced and wrong, which was my worry). They are the feelings that everyone gets, regardless of how long or how stable or how well connected they are in their relationship.
"So when do we get to see this nice young man?"
"Erm, you don't"
"Oh. Right"
Discussions with my mother regarding my private life never seem to include the word 'private'. Or 'my'. I would say that I'm not hiding my proclivities from my parents, except it would be an obvious lie. Of course I'm hiding it from them. But that has the knock-on effect of having to hide other things to, lest a spiral of questions takes me down a path I'm not prepared to tread. My folks are not especially conservative, and they are very loving and supportive. They are traditional, I suppose would be the best way of putting it and certain things are expected to come up in my future: marriage, babies, family life. None of these are on the cards from where I'm standing, and I'm not prepared to outright lie to them and declare spinsterhood so conversation avoidance is currently my only option, sadly. I'd like them to know, but more than that I'd like them to be comfortable and happy with the life I'm living. And those two are currently mutually exclusive.
"I guess I want something that's just mine"
"I understand...I just worry that the other someone will mess up you and me"
A slightly edited down version of a conversation I had with The Photographer, which led to us concretising our relationship in such a way that the pair of us both feel much better and more positive. Not that there was any particular difficulty that I'd noticed, although I do think that my acknowledgement of the lack I feel in not having something or someone 'for myself' (putting whatever drives that aside for later analysis) was if not news to him, certainly more obvious for being clearly stated.
We are in a D/s relationship which is open and poly - primarily he is my Dom, although we also occasionally switch. He has a significant other, and at some point I might also have one. We will have play partners, together or separately. We are in it for the long term. We are friends. We care about and look after each other. We are emotionally as well as physically involved.
If that sounds a little cold and clinical, it doesn't to me, sitting here, after much thought, with this little road map for the future, put aside for handy reference. And smiling.
I had a lovely dinner with Not Blond last week, a relatively new arrival to BDSM who is interested in polyamory, mixing it up a little and general experimentation. He's also smart, funny and nice to be around. We talked about his ideas on polyamory, which is something I've been thinking a lot about recently now that The Photographer and I have moved to having a more 'serious' relationship. Not Blond expounded a 80% / 20% idea in which his ideal relationship was to have one fixed partner who took up most of his time and energy and then a number of casual interests who filled up the other 20%.
Like Butler's theory on gender, I'm beginning to consider relationships as a sliding scale rather than a binary and exclusive on/off situation in which some roles are prioritised more than others. There are a lot of ways of working it, but not an awful lot of words for describing it, and being a very wordy person, that can be a little challenging. However, whilst not having a template for how-it-works can be daunting, it is also liberating. Polyamory works in the way that those involved in that specific relationship require it to work. But it is still very new and needing a lot of thrashing out.
There is a strong element of social and cultural conditioning and also a certain element of old-fashioned English politeness. I've met The Photographer's partner, she is very clear on not wanting a monogamous relationship with him and I think we get along well enough. I still have strange sensation of treading on another woman's toes. I am self aware enough to realise that this isn't the case, but logistically I do have to 'share', for want of a better word. I'm working my way around to considering it as I would any other fixed requirement in the life of someone I want to spend time with. Given that all parties understand and accept the situation for what it is: is him being with another partner any different from not being able to see someone because of their work, or their family commitments? We have a (small) number of clear rules on how the relationship works and the more time I spend with both of them, the more real and therefore familiar and easier the situation is.
It also gives me plenty of space for myself and my musings, as well as time to have alternative dalliances. Over coffee with Offensive Charmer recently he worried that my increasing connection to The Photographer might perhaps harm my 'Great Experiment' as he put it. And that is a valid point - there are only so many hours in the day and there is only one of me and certain situations exclude others such as The Photographer's control over my cunt. It is exciting, and I'm enjoying it, but it limits other options. I cannot have my cake and eat it. But I can take a tasty morsel from lots of different ones.
There's a lot that's been written on polyamory, so I'm not going to re-hash all the whys and wherefores, but I have been thinking about it, as well as discussing it with a few people. In the past I have always been monogamous, I've had a number of long term partners and been committed to them and only them. I never "cheated" although I did think about it once or twice (or more in the case of the tail ends of the relationship). I am a Christian, and would like one day to get married in a church with the dress and everything. If that happens, and currently it is not something that I'm actively looking for and maybe even will never occur, I expect to only ever fuck or be fucked by that one person.
That's in the potential future, perhaps. Right now, I'm in a very different place, and also a very different place to where I'd ever expected myself to be. Crucially, however, I'm happy, and having rather a lot of fun, which is my usual yardstick for determining whether or not I'm doing the right thing.
Ethical Hedonist once commented half-jokingly that he worried about polyamory being a way of being half as good to twice as many people. I can see his point. I think that we are socially accustomed to monogamy to the extent that multiple relationships give us category difficulties. Combine that with failures of language and issues with context and we start to get nervous. The Photographer has a main partner, does that make me "lesser"? We need a better, more appropriate set of values, new ways of thinking. I've recently described my situation as a chocolate box relationship - and it's true that I like variety and being able to pick and chose, but that too leads to ranking those flavours that might be preferred.
The removal of preference is probably not an option unless we throw our hands in the air and declare that all shall win and all must have prizes. It is human nature to qualify and sort. Everyone wants to be special, to be important and valued, everyone worries that they are not. Which is where the difficulty comes for me. Whilst I might be closer to (in that I know more about, see more of and fuck more often) some of my partners than others, I still want to see them all, or I'd be monogamous. No-one is being lied to, or fooled and I'm clear in what is and isn't on offer physically and emotionally, but I am still finding it a little tricky.
I wonder if I am stuck in playground rules, thinking about lovers in the way that "best friends" used to have that peculiar emphasis. School room cliques where in order for one to be valued another must be excluded or diminished. I grew out of that, and I can grow out of this too.
Being English carries a burden of politeness, a desire to do not so much the right thing in any given circumstance, but the correct and proper thing. Which, on Saturday, left me wondering what was the precise required gift when going to stay at The Photographer's partner's house and being introduced to her for the first time? Meet the parents for the polyamorous generation.
Fortunately, anxiety over the gift itself managed to submerge any worries on the day about the actual encounter and by all accounts it went very well. Thank fuck. Much better than I had anticipated, and she was very easy going and friendly. I had expected to be quite tense and was, a little, through the week, but all was allayed. Although other minor quandaries did appear during the course of the weekend including who should sit next to whom, in the car, at lunch and in the cinema, most of which seemed to be resolved by being relaxes and not fussing. A good maxim, I suppose.
There is a ongoing tendency, and I know that I am extremely prone to this, to grade, rate and evaluate. I expect that it stems from language development - we learn to speak through classifying X as Not-Y, and thus learn the "value" of X. In this context, however, it doesn't seem like an especially good idea. I want to know where I stand with my partners, I don't, however want to be in a marriage of unequals with their partners: phrases like "main partner" leave me a little cold as this clearly imply that others are "lesser". I'm not going down that road, and by avoiding such labels I can avoid some of my worries about something that seems (hopefully) able to progress to the medium and perhaps long term, to be a little deeper than two people who enjoy fucking each other.
There are all sorts of issues, some which might be termed (unkindly) vanilla hangups, others which are obvious factors of how I was brought up: my mother asks me if I have a boyfriend, I reply "no". I don't go on to elaborate. I'm not going to recite sections from The Ethical Slut, or any form of manifesto for modern living, there are some types of conversations that I'm just not prepared to have just yet.
Both The Photographer and Ethical Hedonist are in open poly relationships with other people. I'm not actually sure what my precise, OED defined status is with either of them beyond "enjoying myself very much, thank you" but I do know that naming a thing makes it real. To give a name is to bestow an identity and to give it a referent, co-ordinate points that will distinguish it from other interactions that one might have.
Once you've defined something, you create a ideological list of what it is and what it isn't. Which is both limiting and comforting in the way of all definitions and it can cause a little anxiety. The Photographer and I have started calling it the "r word" in an almost underhand fashion, skirting around any form of category. I like knowing where I stand, but I also don't want to clamp down on something that seems to be doing very well without any linguistic interference. It's possibly a societal hang-up, the need to assign a value to any relationship, to be able to positon "me" as regards "you". In play it's easier, of course, and roles are much more defined.
I got an interesting message from Understated Fetishist, clarifying that one of his reasons behind our mutually agreed "thanks but no thanks" decision was that I was not prepared to enter into a monogamous relationship. Which is fine, and I appreciate his point of view, I just don't share it. This doesn't stem from any particularly strongly held belief about relationships in general, merely that I'm in an experimental place at the moment and I'm not going to be able to explore everything I want to with one person. This may change, of course and I'm open to that possibility. It may not, I'm open to that possiblity as well.
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