Why I Say No (Well, Sort Of) To Polyamory

Content 21 + (Explicit Content )(published as is, blog owner may have different opinion from the author) I learned a new word today, just when I thought I had the basic Medium vocabulary under control. The term is: Polyamory. One can haggle over exact nuance-based definitions but the simplest one is the one I googled: “the practice of engaging in multiple sexual relationships with the consent of all the people involved.”

Someone had composed a pretty good article on the subject and it had drawn at least one heartfelt and well-written response. It got me to thinking. In my own lifetime, I have seen the dynamics of sex alter prodigiously. It’s a lot more out in the open now, for one thing, and a lot of what used to be considered inappropriate or even deviant is now on the table as big and bright and cheerful as a basket of fresh fruit. Traditionalists may sigh and wonder why, and the Holy Old Guard bellow about Hell, but it doesn’t change what is going down.

Moreover, despite the fact that monogamy is still the choice of most (in the end the choice of almost all who do not decide on self-imposed solitary confinement) there is also a Dionysian element in many…of us (I say ‘us’ to specifically include myself) which enough wine or powder or pills can unleash in willing company. Nor is it just the province of the pseudo sophisticated dilettantes of the debauched nobility; rednecks have such orgies too. Enough home-grown weed and Old Milwaukee can achieve amazing results.Trust me here, please.

And, my Oh my, what lies under the surfaces. So many untapped layers of our sexuality. Role playing that becomes real, fetish, sado-masochism, bondage — fill in your own blanks. It’s all locked up in the subconscious, and every once in a while someone comes along with a big set of keys. Try to think of ANYTHING connected with sex — the most disgusting stuff you can imagine, for example, and tap out something to that effect on a search engine and BINGO— there it will be. A.N.Y.T.H.I.N.G. One click away.

I’ve done it as a lark (research, if you will) just to see if there is any level of ‘experimentation’ (if you want to call it ‘depravity’ please be my guest) that human beings are not capable of sinking to (or ‘rising’ to, as it were). Want to see a real live woman sucking a horse’s dick? YOU CAN !!! It’s on the internet in living color ! Want to see 12 guys having anal sex together simultaneously? I mean packed together like a row of dominoes? TUNE IN ! IT’S THERE !!

So in the West in the 21st century, the gloves are off when it comes to sex. The old taboos are out the window.

Maybe then the question becomes, how much candy is enough? Is there a limit? Or, looking at it a different way — going in the opposite direction — try to envision a scene like this. Back when I was young, parents regularly spanked (beat) their children when they misbehaved. There was no question about it, it’s how things were done. And a lot of the time, the kid deserved it (again, according to normal mentality of the era). But after a few licks to get the lesson across, time to stop, right? But suppose, as sometimes happened, the parents kept on beating the child. It could get really ugly. If (rare as it was) it happened in a public place or in the home of a friend, you could start squirming. Enough !!! Overkill !! The same feeling occurs when you see an animal abused and can do nothing to stop it.

In short, when all control evaporates, it can cause even the most open-minded of people to feel uncomfortable (though, again, inevitably in this day and age, we must resort to tenuous and elastic amoral maneuvering in lieu of inflexible standards).

I think that polyamory somehow falls into this category. We all want sexual freedom and most educated people will at least give lip service to respecting his partner’s equal right to self-autonomy. But in my opinion, there are certain things that are at the VERY CORE of our being which supersede all nice and tidy liberal-minded rationalizations.

For example, does even the most rampant feminist who would never consider dating anyone but the most WOKE guy available really be happy if this wonderfully WOKE fellow was too yellow to defend her against violent sexual assault from some monster who jumped out of the shadows? I doubt it. Her gut (GUT, I said) instinct would be to lose respect for a ‘man’ who couldn’t ‘man up’ and defend her, or at least try. All the intellectual crap in the world could not absolve Mr. WOKE from his essential cowardice when it counted. That’s what I mean by CORE. The woman, feminist or not, simply would not respect the dude.

So tell me guys, no matter HOW open-minded you are, do you really want to stand and watch while some other guy gives your gal the clit-smashing, vagina-cramming orgasm of a lifetime and listen to her beg the guy for more? Well let me answer the question for you. No matter WHAT you may pretend to answer, I know that at the primeval level in your GUT, it’s going to make you sick. YOU DON’T WANT IT TO HAPPEN.

This is the problem with sharing love. You can swap and barter all the ‘partners’ in the world. But can you share the innermost secrets of erotic sexual LOVE that YOU cherish together with the One who is your Real Deal? Can you hand the Lover with whom you share this innermost exotic, etc, etc, LOVE over to Johnny Wadd or Willie the Worm with his raging boner? Can you share the Spiritual side of great sex with the ONE you need the most? Or does the world suddenly become territorial and very monogamist after all? When push comes to shove. Tough question?

I am an older fellow now and not doing much bed hopping any more, but I have spent a lot of my adult life trying to resolve issues regarding wives, lovers and sleeping arrangements. To a large extent mere convention forced me into being duplicitous about seeking and finding sex (and sometimes love) outside of my ‘official’ relationship(s) of the time. I was never a brute or a guy who wouldn’t take a hint (No meant No), but I just loved the sexual beauty of women, and I was never one to turn down an opportunity. Of course — and here I am guilty as charged with having the old chauvinistic double standard — I didn’t want My Girl sleeping around. It was OK for me, but not for her. Despicable, right? Indeed. (Besides, it doesn’t mean she wasn’t doing it !!!)

My problem was, I suppose, that I felt I could simply compartmentalize. With a ‘mistress,’ I could enjoy the freedom of rampant seduction and passion and novelty without wrecking what I had at home. And I would choose women carefully, to make sure that the game was understood from the start. I could be generous, but I was never ambiguous. In the end, I just started paying for girls I wanted (a lot of this was later in my life, in Russia where everything was gloriously uncomplicated and where these women often became real friends. Casual lovers, real friends).

To confess again — I wanted a ‘guaranteed result’ and at least the pretense of happiness. Also, I was by then mature enough not to be in the least intimidated by a ‘prostitute’ (even one disguised as a ‘masseuse’). It was because I had learned that they were real people with real stories and real feelings, and if you kept going back to one you liked long enough, she would gradually start to reveal herself to you. That’s what I mean by becoming friends. You would just give them the fucking money up front to get it out of the way. Then both of you could relax, even drink some beer or do some dope and unwind. To me it was a hell of a lot better than blowing a wad on some gold digger you met at a club and having to spend all night HOPING she would ‘be your friend’ when the party ended and the money was shot. Screw that for a game of chance.

I learned a long time ago that the guy is always going to pay one way or the other, so why not just cut to the chase? I didn’t have time for a lot of bullshit as an older man. The girls had no problem with my mentality, and we got along great. (I am speaking of East Europeans, Russians, etc.) Let it be said that I was never any sort of ‘intimidation’ merchant nor did I try to come across as an oligarch or a ‘smooth operator’. I left the ‘stud’ mentality on the street. I was, in short, a nice guy. Using my life motto of “Teach ME how to treat YOU”, I was always a real sweetheart as long as the girl did not insult me by acting bored or like her main goal was to get me to bust a nut in record time so she could stash the cash and hit the bricks.

Unlike in America where there is so much psycho-babble and head games, guilt and accusations, Russian and Ukrainian (etc.) women are much more pragmatic and a lot of that is due to challenging life situations. Help them out a little bit where help is needed and they have NO TROUBLE at all accommodating your interest in them. Moreover they are open-minded in bed and in life act like regular women — not a lot rants about sexism and how fucking toxic you are, no screeching ‘WOKE’ accusations and biting your ass off over nothing. (Of course I am generalizing — but only to an extent. A Russo-Eastern European girl will stick a knife in you faster than an American girl, but give you a lot less shit in between while she’s sharpening the blade. My experience.)

In my younger days I was even involved in threesomes occasionally. Several times it was me and some other guy and one woman, but there was another time when it was me and two women (lesbians). It all ‘played on the day’ — in the sense that it was delicious the first time. And maybe the second. Then it just gradually became a matter of having to wait an extra long time to use the toilet. Join the queue. That sort of thing.

It became like those pictures of naked women in Africa that they used to publish in National Geographic when I was a kid. (I guess the editors thought they could do it because those black women were not, in their opinion, really ‘human’ but had rather more in common with the rhinos and zebras standing nearby. So it was really just an anthropology lesson.) For me they were a substitute when I could not get my hands on a copy of Playboy left under a mattress somewhere, but I can truthfully testify that there was NOTHING sexy about them at all…a gaggle of naked women all huddled together trudging through the mud in Zimbabwe with buckets of water on their heads.

I have also seen photos of nudist colonies. Enough to put you off sex forever. If anything, it just makes you realize how grotesque the human form can really be. On the men’s side: Great sloshing bellies pinioned onto birdlike legs adorned by plummeting bags of bollocks like sacks of nails in a pouch hooked onto a carpenter’s belt; and on the women’s side: Whale-sized asses somehow scooped onto thighs as massive as ancient Roman pillars and boobs drooping like half-deflated balloons. If you want to put it all together as one masterpiece, try to imagine a 24-hour Open-to-the-Public New Year’s Eve-Orgy FUCK-A-THON at WalMart right there in your own town !

Well, it just goes to show you how Marketing deceives us. We are brainwashed into believing that sex is just for the Young and the Restless. The Jet Setters. The Beautiful People. The Exquisite Ones.

Hahaha. The fact is this; there are a Whole Lot of people out there having sex, even as I write this: sweating, grunting, rooting, snorting, farting, busting zits, going for the ‘gusto’ — and most of them are Not Beautiful.

Turn out the lights and the difference disappears.

For me, I have found that bodies are bodies but ‘souls’ (tricky word, that) are Souls. Bodies can be shared: after all, most of the great women I have known and loved had been and would later continue to be fucked by all and sundry other guys — some bigger and/or better than me I am sure, some less so. When I was with these women, however— I mean when I had MY time alone with them in this earthly realm, this human predicament, or whatever you want to call it— I can truly say that life was worth living, and I know, I KNOW, that orgasm with the one you love is the greatest feeling there ever can be. Le petit mort — that’s what the French call it, and they are right. Because you die in that moment, and it’s the best moment you’ll ever have. OK, maybe some people can reach this level in a ‘charismatic church’, but for me the cathedral was always between a woman’s legs.

But I cannot L-O-V-E my lover in a shared way. It is just not in me to do so. If you read Kundera’s novel ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being’ — maybe you can understand a little of how I feel. The protagonist — Tomas — is a profligate sex fiend (Kundera can become a little bit nauseating in his obsessions along these lines) and the main women of the novel — Tereza and Sabina — are as different as night and day. Sabina, ultimately successful as an artist and an all-out freelance lover, is shown at the end to be — in my opinion — kind of hollow, kind of empty. You get the feeling she will continue having very ‘sophisticated’ fornication affairs until she just kind of burns out.

Tomas and Tereza (the long-suffering — but willingly so — ‘enabler’ wife) grow old together and, partly though the poignantly described ritual of raising and finally burying a much loved dog (a bonding experience of great significance between them) — arrive, after many years, at what I can only describe as a condition of shared love, even if love partially born of exhaustion. Love of the real kind which is full of scar tissue — they finally find it, or so its seems to me, before they are both killed in an accident in the town where they have grown old. Together.

Of the two, I would always, always, always, remember the great fucking days with Sabina.

I would be much much much happier that in the end I stayed with Tereza.

I am sure that many women (100% if Feminist and inclined to view all males as ‘toxic’) would have me burnt at the stake for my ‘typical’ male mentality.

Nevertheless (alas!) it is how I feel, or have come to feel. The Sabinas of the world are fantastic and you are happy to let them drink your blood. But when they have all come and gone you may just realize that a single Tereza was better than any of them. Which in fact is what I now have, except that her name is Liubov.

This is why, for me, the idea of being ‘in love’ with multiple partners simultaneously simply doesn’t ring true. The hippies tried it and so did the Mormons, and I guess there are Arabs who maintain harems, pimps in the city who run their ‘stables’ (equal number of slaps for all the ‘hoes’) — but it’s like saying that you just had a big party and invited 200 of your ‘closest friends’. It tells me that not only do you probably not have ANY real friends, but that you also lack a mature, deeply considered concept of what friendship is. You are grasping at straws. Love is not a head count or a roll call.

Back in New York City in the Sweet Cocaine days, there was a place called ‘Club 54’ where all the important and beautiful people could go to do their lines and roll around on the floor together if they wanted. Would I have gone? Yes, of course, but no one invited me. It must have been nice to eat the Pussy of the Stars while getting your crank gobbled by a High Society Girl, maybe even a Paris Hilton look alike !!! But it wasn’t love or anything close to it.

What you do, actually do, in a relationship that lasts and indeed finds a level of happiness, is you watch your lover, wife, partner (call it a name) go through the same life cycle as you are going through yourself. You realize as you share it together how fragile both of you really are amid the turning of the seasons. And so, more and more and in the way of the creature, you sit closer and closer together in front of the fire when winter is howling outside, and you know, accept, and love each other with what I believe has become a profound intimacy. It’s about as much love as we can hope for — or handle — in this life.

And it would not help the situation one bit if suddenly a closet door sprang open and a bunch of naked people jumped out, dicks flopping and tits swaying, screaming “My turn ! My turn!”


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