Non-monogamy
Last summer, I made my obligatory stop at The Strand bookstore in NY and noticed The Ethical Slut proudly perched on display. The prominent position of this guide to non-monogamy reflects our culture’s growing acceptance of non-traditional romantic and sexual relationships.
Non-monogamy is an umbrella term covering all sorts of practices in which an individual has more than one active sexual partner at a time with the consent of all parties. Polyamory is a subcategory of non-monogamy, in which one has more than one romantic partner at a time. While non-monogamy is still far from mainstream, it’s becoming much more widespread and has been garnering attention on the media. There are now thousands of resources available from books to articles and online communities; so writing yet another polyamory primer would be redundant. Instead, I aim to relate non-monogamy with companionship and share how my personal experiences informed my professional journey.
When my college friend nonchalantly mentioned her two girlfriends, I reacted with shock and bewilderment. I couldn’t believe she would cheat and be so candid about it. “No, no,” she chuckled, “They both know about each other, and sometimes the three of us go on dates together.” I couldn’t ethically fault her, but her relationship structure perplexed me. I mulled over her words daily in my leisurely morning showers, trying to puzzle out how such an arrangement might work.
I had recently ended my first long term relationship. Overall, it was healthy and a great learning experience. I also cheated on him. I didn’t know how to deal with lust or how to communicate properly or how to solve problems. It didn’t end our relationship, but it strained it. I had just escaped parental authority and wanted to cavort about this this new sexual terrain that had opened before me. Lusting for another man – even or especially illicitly – was intoxicating. I needed more touch, more experiences. Our connection frayed under growing stress, but my boyfriend offered a seemingly magical device that would tie off loose ends and reinforce our relationship. He offered a Ring and with it a deep commitment to each other.
The Ring haunted me with visions of the future. Might I be an old lady who had only had intercourse with one man and never experienced the full spectrum of sexual experience? What about women? I often day dreamed of a lady’s hand between my thighs, but had yet to experience it in the flesh. Oh, and the thrill falling for someone. What experiences would I miss out on by accepting the Ring? I was still young and fueled by a curiosity for life. As much as I loved my partner, it wasn’t worth the gamble.
In my meditative chamber, blissfully immune to the hoards of angry women complaining about my wasting water in my 40 minute long showers, I was hit with a life changing realization: being a slut was ethical.
Being myself was ethical. Thus validated, I shared my love and my loins across the lands. Sexually and romantically, I entered a period of discovery. I lost my anal virginity at a sex party to the admiring applause of the attendees who all came to watch. I learned to appreciate the variety of sexual experience: The goofiness of falling backwards off the bed, instinctively grabbing a lamp for support and bringing it down with me. The raw lust of fucking a stranger in a public, simultaneously repulsed and turned on by the filth smothered against my face, as he pushed me up against the wall. And the spiritual romance of two minds and bodies in sync with the ocean waves, as I looked up into his eyes and beyond into the starry skies.
Not unrelatedly, I discovered that beach sex was highly uncomfortable. No matter how large and clean your blanket is, sand will still creep its way up into all those forbidden nooks and crannies.
Shower sex also turned out to be highly overrated. Unlubricated vaginas; eyes bloodshot from holding them open under the water; trying to maintain balance and grace while he fucks you from behind; arguing over who gets to shiver while the other warms themselves under the shower stream, because there isn’t enough room for two. It was not an experience worth repeating, which was highly disappointing, because I was looking for alternative activities to occupy my long showers.
I loved and lost and learned. I fell passionately and deeply in love with a woman only to have my heart shattered a few months months later. This had the lamentable consequence of barring entry to my favorite sex store for two whole years, because she worked there, and I feared bumping into her. I bewailed all the fancy toys I could have owned – all mind blowing orgasms I could have had. I thought men might be easier. I dated one guy for a couple years and broke up and dated someone else. Both people also had other girlfriends. I took some time off from dating and put my energy into companionship instead.
While I was dating, I was dancing in New York City. And I was discovering that dating and dancing had a lot in common. Ex boyfriend #1 lived in NY, and I did not live in NY, so once a month, I hopped aboard a run down Chinatown bus along with crates of Chinese broccoli, dragonfruit, ginseng, and maybe a chicken or two. The ride was long, and I couldn’t tell you how long, because it varied immensely based on factors like traffic and the boldness of the driver, who drove like he was on speed while rushing his dying wife to the hospital. This was a distinct advantage to taking Megabus, which seemed exceedingly slow in comparison; plus you had the added thrill of wondering whether the bus would catch on fire, which statistically speaking, was fairly likely.
A lot of time in NY was spent lying on the couch next to my boyfriend eating fried chicken while he played video games. I mean, in retrospect, yeah, that should have been a red flag, but “love is blind” – or maybe lust or whatever. Actually, the sex was pretty mediocre as well. Anyhow, what I’m trying to say is that when I was not wasting my time with him, I was making many new friends and spending my evenings in a small cramped room in midtown full of sweaty people and sultry music, and it was magical.
Dancing is perfect for the introvert or the sales manager who’s fed up with talking to people all day, or the curmudgeon who hates people, but actually secretly loves connecting. The connections you make can be deep, sometimes spiritual, and are always wordless. The music is the facilitator, the rhythm that allows your souls to sync with each other. We can choose to make ourselves vulnerable when we dance together, and when we just let ourselves go – when we just be ourselves without fear of judgement – we can reach euphoria together. If that sounds like sex, well, they’re pretty similar.
Whether you are hiring a companion, or hooking up with someone you met while tripping on acid at Burning Man, or making love to your wife of 15 years – we can put up emotional barriers to protect ourselves, because intimacy is scary. Trust is scary. So, here’s my first piece of advice to you: allow yourself to be vulnerable. When you see a companion, she creates a safe space for you with sound proofed, lilac walls; and a floor of pillows; and peaceful, and New Age-y music (you know, the kind they play at spas with flute and a fake waterfall track looping in the background.) She’s a trained guide who won’t judge and will keep you safe while you open up. And, a few hours or days later she will gently guide you back out into the real world where you can don your armor again, which has become miraculous lighter.
When we dance with a partner, we create a similar safe space. When the song ends, the walls dissolve, and we say a respectful goodbye, not with words, but with a sparkling smile and a long, unknowing look: a shared secret. We move on to a new dance with different music. Unique, but not necessarily better or worse. Dancing taught me that it was possible to have multiple romantic connections, each with a distinctive energy, all complementing each other. Partner dancing is about being social, meeting different people, and sharing all sorts of connections. No one dances with the same person the whole evening. I applied that logic to my personal life, sharing different dynamics with people who all had something to offer. A date with a companion is like a dance; some of you may find one companion that satisfies your desires. Others may seek multiple companions, each offering a new perspective.
When a dance ends, there’s a mutual understanding that no matter how wondrous the dance, you have no obligation to dance with each other again. What a reassuring concept when applied to relationships. When we date traditionally, there’s pressure to escalate the relationship – to have live together and have children and get married. But when we date multiple people, we can appreciate them and love them without feeling pressure to push the relationship in a particular direction. For someone like me with anxiety and a fear of commitment, it’s very reassuring. It’s also reassuring for a client and companion, who have boundaries in place to prevent their relationships from escalating. It doesn’t make the relationship less real or valuable.
Perhaps the best part about dancing is hidden in plain sight. When we’re enrapt with our partner, it’s easy to disconnect from our surroundings; but, the music unites all of the dancers. Our bodies mirror the different parts in a song, each picking up a different instrument, together creating a unified whole. Dancers will take inspiration, not just from their partner, but from other people on the dance floor. The band will build from the energy of the dancers and vice versa in a euphoric, symbiotic relationship.
The feeling of joy when witnessing another’s joy is called compersion, and it is one of the most pure wondrous feelings you will ever experience. It’s when your partner’s eyes light up as he animatedly gushes about his newest girlfriend, and you can’t help but laugh and hug him. It’s that triumphant smile when your best friend announces her fellowship in Paris. It’s the pride in your son when he places wins his first swim meet by a quarter of a second. It’s also the excitement of two companions sharing their favorite client together in a threesome. Or a client seeing his favorite companion post a photo of the Jimmy Choos she’s been gifted and feeling happy for her. If you open your heart, there are many opportunities to experience compersion in our demimonde. It’s the glue that creates community: the empathy that empowers us and lifts us all up together.
After a long hiatus from the New York dance scene, I stepped into an anonymous a stark white lobby and up in a lift to the 24th floor of the salsa club. When the sweat and pheromones of the writhing dancers enveloped me, I realized it was the harmonious energy, the sense of community I miss the most. I danced regularly enough in San Francisco, trying to stay fit and all, while avoiding the gym as much as possible. But, in NY, I never seemed to have the time, too busy with family holidays, work appointments, and tea parties with colleagues at the Plaza to run off on my own. My night had just opened up when a friend bailed on me to go wine tasting with her boyfriend at some rooftop bar in Williamsburg. I couldn’t quite understand why, because it was cold and miserable, and winter was reluctant to release her grasp on the city. I clearly got the better deal, snuggling up indoors with my favorite people and lively music. Late night dancing seemed all the more appealing, considering I was still jet lagged and had spent the day languidly sipping on hot chocolate, weaving my way in and out of bookshelves.
Yes, I was at the Strand again, hunting for new spoils to add to my ever-growing collection of unread books. I started working on this blog post half a year ago, writing and deleting, and writing again. All that ever seemed to stick was the first paragraph, and I’m not sure why. Maybe because I have a long history with The Strand. Or because I love to read so much. Or because putting The Ethical Slut on display in a mainstream bookstore would have been unheard of 10 years. Anyhow, the book was surprisingly still standing on the stable. This elicited a satisfied grin. This book was reassurance that our world was becoming a more accepting place.
After about 3 hours of deliberating and taking pictures of covers, and picking up books and forgetting where I put them, I emerged victorious with four books in tow. Back at my hotel, I elected to upgrade my forty minute shower to a 45 minute bubble bath, a distinct improvement. After all, I had asked the man at registration to downgrade my room, so I could get a tub. I put 3 books in my suitcase and put Other Minds into my dance bag. I knew I wouldn’t read it, but I required myself to carry a book at all times. It made me feel smart and nerdy and gave me an out in case I needed to escape social situation. It also made me feel guilty when I didn’t read it, and I’d often lug a book around a 5 lb book with me for weeks without ever touching it. And yes, I still haven’t read that book yet, but it’s been to a few different countries, so hopefully it’s content enough.
I stuffed my shoes, a skirt, and a couple pairs of shorts into my bag as well and headed up to the salsa club. This new venue was huge, a veritable palace by NY standards, which must have cost a fortune to rent. A row of folding chairs circumscribed the room; piles of bags and street shoes sprawled under them. The headlights and sirens on the bustling street below symphonized with the disco lights flashing on the the hardwood floor. Despite the liveliness of the scene, it felt familiar and reassuring – the music I could hum along to, the friendly chatter clustered around the food table, the dance moves that felt as comfortable as walking. As I buckled up my shoes, I surveyed the mass of people, relishing the vivacity of the space. A bright face beamed from the crowd, a face I haven’t seen in 4 years. “Sophia!” she called, charging toward me. Just as I stood up, she grabbed my hand and pulled me into the dance.
