Kink in exile

Notes from a kinky nomad

Not your faith group nor your sex group, there are no special snowflakes

I love this article on XOJane about cheating in a poly relationship.  I love it because there I was, vaguely following the threads of a blog post about how I’m too tired to be radical about my sex, and this weird, new-found comfort of, well, just having the sex I want.  Behind closed doors. Far away from “am I queer enough?”  And I’m scrolling through the internet between making dinner and figuring out the password for the renter’s insurance website when I stumble upon this.  And suddenly all that stuff at the edges of my mind about how I’ve had a million conversations in the poly scene about how it’s all about communication, and yet there seems to be never-ending complications and miscommunications, comes into focus.  It’s nice, like, “nope, I wasn’t nuts, the situation was just nuts and that’s good to know,” nice.

And this relationship, as it’s described, was basically a steady diet of lies, verbal abuse, and gaslighting. Most of my poly experiences were far more honest and respectful.  But even with a relatively high hit rate on honesty and respect, I was always impacted by my partner’s other partners.  That was ok for a while.  It was ok while I wanted to be a secondary for example. And it was pretty great when the other women and I were compatible in our own right – the woman who’s picking me up from airport when I move myself and all my bits of precious cross country for example, we used to date the same guy. He’s great too.  But you see, that’s called friendship and that’s built in its own right, not because we’re pining after the same dude.  I get to pick my friends.  That’s important, I’ll say it again: I get to pick my friends.

I could, in theory, pick my metamours too.  People have suggested it, and I’ve thought about it, and you know what, it doesn’t feel ethical. There’s a person on the other end of my partner’s cock.  Not a metamour or a member of the poly scene.  A person.  That person has feelings, needs, wants, birthdays, and Christmas traditions.  Precious few people just want to have casual sex with you on the 3rd Tuesday of every month, but don’t care you if you remember their birthdays.  Some do, sure, if that’s you, congrats.  But most humans bond, it’s what we do, we’re social animals. And when humans bond they get emotional and when multiple humans bond in complex patterns, well, it gets messy.  And when all was said and done, it’s the messy that got me, not the sex or the jealousy people talk about.

If the messy is worth it for you, that’s cool – more for you.  But the idea of caring about only one person’s emotional state and sexual quirks feels blissful.  I want my relationship to be my home base, not my hobby. For my hobbies I have a sex blog, a pile up of random quantified self data, some raspberry shrubs, and I’m learning about meat chickens (apparently different then egg chickens!).  For my relationship, I want a stable, interconnected sort of autonomy where I do get to pick who impacts my relationship.

Oh, but I can’t close this post without saying that I still think women having the sex they want, with the people they like, without apology is exactly the kind of radical I’m willing to work for in the world.

P.S. The real question is how am I going to make this possible for other women without being the voice of “you should have your Empowered Radical Sex(tm) like this”?

Written by kinkinexile

December 2, 2013 at 10:06 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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