When my partner and I decided to open our relationship and sexually engage with other people I (dare to say, as the woman in the arrangement) was confronted with all sorts of reactions from friends and family. These ranged form the well-intentioned concern over my willingness to do it (the assumption here being that I bowed to my partner's demands for promiscuity), through dogmatic lectures on monogamous love and intimacy, all the way to the support of those who are in similar partnerships, who would like to be in similar partnerships or who simply see my relationship as the epitome of modernity (the latter often being accompanied with some sort of statement like "oh gosh you are so like Samantha from Sex and the City!").
I admit that the initiative did not come from me. Whether because I grew up in a proto-Catholic, normative nuclear family, where liberalism goes only as far as "understanding gays" but not actually engaging in any kind of homosexual or homoerotic activity, or because I myself am (or was) not shaped for such a thought, I do not know. The truth is that in the two years of my relationship whenever the idea of having sex with other people popped up I would cringe and wonder if I was so appalling or boring that my partner really felt he needed to 'sleep around'. What is more, I always thought such an act would mean the end of love, and thus, for an eternal romantic like myself, forfeit the whole purpose of our relationship. Until a few months ago.
The old radical feminist slogan - "the personal is political" - is a fallacy in many ways. It discredits political-economic questions (namely class) and assumes a series of false notions such as patriarchy as the malaise and not just a symptom, that gender-relations are based upon power and all power is political power, and, worst of all, it embeds politics in moralistic tenets based on personal experience (often the obfuscatory element to a economic analysis of politics). This said, the personal is political (qua Dunayevskaya and Krupskaya), in the sense that our (my) life as political agents ends up entangled in our ideological developments. To put it simple, for revolutionaries to whom to talk the talk and walk the walk is such an important part of their identity, love, sex and everything in between becomes an inescapable level of political dynamics.
Hence, when facing the question of relegating monogamy to a corner and embracing polyamory, I was equally confronted with my revolutionary principles. If I could theoretically understand non-monogamy, why could I not try and do it. One can only beat indoctrination and bourgeois values through praxis and revolution, right? So I went on to read about human sexual origins, about the habits and gender relations of our nomadic forefathers and foremothers. I also read a lot of what was available on the web, specially opinion articles from people who had been and/or are in open relationships or polyamorous relationships. Surprisingly, the topic seems to have seen a post-60s revival, as even the mainstream media (namely the Guardian) featured incredibly positive articles on it recently. As I put it to my partner at the time, I did not want to know how to do it, but more if I could do it at all. Was being in a relationship where sexual interaction is not restricted to both partners such an emotional roller coaster? Was I bound to get hurt, abandoned, and feeling 'used'? Or was this new arrangement between my partner and I rather a reaffirmation of our love for each other, which transcended sex and libido (albeit still heavily incorporating both)?
To us, the latter seemed to be the case and after some deliberation over each other's expectations, needs, wishes and doubts, we decided to give it a go. I am happy. In fact, I find myself often wondering why I was so often cynical about non-monogamy. It is true that each relationship is different and, despite there being no absolute guidelines to polyamory, no dos and don'ts, there are tweaks and 'rules' established by each couple in order to avoid misunderstandings, hurt feelings and especially to ease communication between everyone. My partner and I, for instance, are primary partners. We decided, for the time being, not to enter 'love' relationships outside our own, but exploring sexuality and friendship with others. There are no rules, no taboos, no people who are 'off limits'. And it is good that way. If questions arise we ask them, if mood swings happen we talk them through. Change is understood to be possible and is welcomed with the appropriate amount of discussion.
If sexual freedom is today rather commonly embraced (if not hailed) by our society for both men and women who are single, why is it looked upon as such a great treachery for those who are not? I do not love my partner any less whenever I sleep with someone else. In fact, to a great degree I love him more, for I know that he respects my libido, loving me for the fact that I love myself enough to explore what there is to be explored, without neglecting or discarding our relationship. And I admire him for doing just the same. We are not promiscuous, we are human.
Ultimately, it is not different from any 'healthy' monogamous relationship I know. Two people, best friends, lovers and confidents, who communicate their fears and ambitions, who cannot promise to each other that everything is going to turn out perfect, that things are going to last forever, but only that they will work together on it. I call it true team-work.
If you rather trade that for a ring and picket fences, it is up to you. I would definitely not.
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