Quality and Satisfaction

Offended stranger (sounding incensed): You snob.

Poly-friend of mine (sounding perfectly calm): There’s nothing wrong with having standards.

******

I don’t smoke, unless I’m out of the country and have access to Cuban cigars.  That still happens several times per year.

I don’t drink unless the libation is particularly pleasurable to me.  That usually happens at least weekly.

And I’m not having sex unless there’s something spectacularly good or enjoyable about the person I’m with.  That happens... well, sometimes, it can happen several times a day.

If any of these experiences didn’t fit my standards, I’d have them less often.  I wouldn’t seek out lesser quality experiences; I'd simply do without, and I'd do so happily.  Unlike food (for which I aim for good quality and quite frequently settle for whatever’s in front of me), I can live without tobacco, alcohol, and sex.  They can either augment my quality of life or detract from it, depending on their quality.  And I only choose to partake of those which are above a certain threshold of pleasurability.

Because I have sex with more individuals than society thinks I’m allowed (and I therefore qualify as a slut, a title I wear proudly), a common assumption is that I’ll have sex with anything with two legs.

That thought exhausts me.  I’m so busy keeping up with the people I’m really into, and who add a great deal of joy to my life, to bother with casual sex.

A large number of the new people I meet who know I have a lot of partners--and who therefore think I’m easy--seem genuinely surprised when I’m not into them.  The truth is, it’s not easy.  I am willing to work hard to make sure the people whom I value a great deal enjoy what I have to offer and will continue to invite me back.  Sure, I’m easy... for the people I'm already with.  After they’ve worked hard to win me over (as was the case with my spouse and my non-spousal primary), or finally broken down and allowed me to date them (as with my girlthing), or just displayed some delightful set of pheromones that like to play with mine (as with my secondary), the tables turn and I work hard to maintain them.  Given that I also have a day job, that doesn’t give a whole lot of free time left to seek out/meet/sleep with everyone else in the world.

Not to say that I’m closed to new experiences.  Just that the people I already consort with have set the bar very, very high because of their extremely high quality (here defined as compatibility with me).  In fact, I don’t get the sense that I’m attracted to a great many people (as evidenced by the large number of first dates I’ve been on that didn’t have any indication of that “spark” people are always talking about on dating sites).  The difference is that I’ve had extreme luck in convincing a large proportion of the people to whom I am attracted (and to me, attraction requires a degree of familiarity with a person, so I’m not particularly picking up random hot people on the street) to sleep with me.

Certainly, there are people who think of sex differently than I do.  For some, there is much more of a sense of need than the mere desire I describe.  The analogy might be more along the lines of food (any love is good love, especially if it’s about time for some action).  And for some people, the extreme need for food that I feel every few hours may not apply, and so they may be willing and able to hold out for higher-quality specimens than I would be if I'm in the mood for instant gastronomical gratification.

But in general, I’d say I’m fairly satisfied with my sex life (the recent month I spent apart from my non-spousal primary that had me moping around and useless is a noted exception).  Quite possibly the large and varied nature of it--rather than indicating an insatiable appetite--contributes to my general satisfaction and subsequent disinterest in anyone who’s not already tried and true.

*****

Questions or comments?  I’ve got answers!  Try me at polysaturated@rocketmail.com.

Privacy and Openness

Me (finding a bottle of lube on the floor in the kitchen in the morning): Oh!  Was there phone sex last night?

Spouse (blushing): Um, yeah...

*****

What’s the balance between privacy and openness in a poly relationship?  The brainless answer to this and all poly-related questions might seem to be the age-old open and honest communication.  But Roe v. Wade, controversial as it still seems to be, pointed out everyone’s right to privacy.  And what about a right to not have to see, hear, or think about something you don’t want shoved in your face?

Unlike a lot of open couples, my spouse and I aren’t particularly big on rules.  The one “rule” we tend to live by is if we’d be scared to tell each other about the experience, we don’t do it.  Even so, just because we’ve had an experience doesn’t mean we tell each other about it (if we didn’t edit our experiences for each other, we’d be in danger of death by overcommunication).  Sometimes I’m protecting the privacy of the other person I was with (I was amused rather than annoyed when one of my meta-lovers surprised me by pointing out my deep-seated hatred for Garrison Keillor’s voice, an attribute of mine that’s usually kept at home and that she learned about through my spouse.  But that easily could have gone a different way).  Sometimes an experience is just not relevant to another person, or there’s not much to be gained from telling, so why bother?

Some things I like to keep private out of convenience.  I don’t like people looking over my shoulder at things I’m reading or typing (I happen to be typing this on an airplane, which has a lot of potential for spying), and I certainly expect people to keep their eyes on their own business (my life is interesting enough to not inspire me to peer inappropriately into others’ business, and I expect the same of them).  But the reason I like privacy when reading or working isn’t because I feel ashamed of what I’m doing.  Usually, when I’m working, I’m in flow.  If someone asks about it, there’s usually a lot of background and context that needs to be explained to tell the full story, and that’s not usually worth the time and energy for a quick one-off email or text.  Then we’ve wasted a lot of time for very little gratification.

And sometimes, I’m OK with something in theory, but I don’t like to think about the practicality.  If there’s an emotional component to that (I’m fine with you being with someone else, but I feel hurt/insecure when I hear details about it), the workaround may be a simple don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy.  On the other hand, the reason for not wanting to hear something may be perfectly innocuous, such as boredom (I’m pretty sure my non-spousal primary is fairly fond of me, but that might have something to do with how rarely I spout the emotionally-neutral math-nonsense that’s often occupying my head).

VIPs’ such as lovers’ and meta-lovers’ preferences aside, what about the rest of the world?  I’ve clearly offended someone I thought was a good friend by disclosing my open relationship, and one might argue that it was none of her business.  That’s true, but how good a friend can they have been if they can’t handle basic information about how I structure my life?  People usually know their friends’ spouses/partners.  Spouses and partners usually have some form of sex or intimacy with each other.  And yet, introducing my spouse to a stranger only puts my life into context (these are two people who are important to each other and make many of their major decisions together), rather than throwing them into a rage of having to imagine all the sex we’ve had in the last decade-plus that we’ve been together.  I would really like to have the option of introducing a lover in a way that gives the same context (this is someone who is very important to me, and I’d appreciate your treating them well for my sake.  Or, there is a very good reason I visit this person more often than I visit you, and I’d prefer you don’t take it as a sign of weakness in our Platonic friendship) without the backlash.

*****

Questions or comments?  Ask me: polysaturated@rocketmail.com.

Extra clothes

Non-spousal primary: You have four lovers.  You need four times the normal clothing budget.

*****

Spouse: Ever since we opened up, you’ve gotten a lot more... shoes.

*****

My lovers all have taste.  Unfortunately for my wallet and closet space, it’s not the same taste.

There’s the one who likes bright sundresses that bare the shoulders, the one who prefers skin-tight black, and the one who doesn’t like skirt-shaped objects at all.  There’s the one who can’t stand synthetic fabrics, and the one who responds well to latex.  There’s the one who likes platform fuck-me heels, and the ones who don’t like any lift at all.  There’s the one who likes the look of almost going hiking, and the several who like the look of almost doing yoga.

Packing for a trip is much more straightforward if I’m only going to see one lover at a time.

Shopping for clothes turns into an optimization problem for an extra level of consideration.  Not only do I pay attention to the normal considerations of how flattering is the look, to what occasions I’d be able to wear it, cost, quality, and applicability to my wardrobe as a whole--I also get to think about for whom I get to wear it.  It makes clothes shopping almost not worth the hassle.

Then again, there are some surprising overlaps.  Everyone seems to like the jeans my non-spousal primary invested hours into researching for/with me.  Well, except the one who just doesn't like jeans.  They all seem to agree on the yoga wear.  Which is good, because that stuff is pretty much indestructible, and I don't like replacing it.  The best option I have been able to come up with is to more or less tailor the clothes I wear to the lover (the spouse gets to see it all, so good thing he has broad tastes) and replace or update often.

So yes.  Multiply the clothing budget by number of lovers.  Or just ignore their preferences and do whatever the heck you feel like.

*****

Questions or comments?  I’ve got opinions!  Try me at polysaturated@rocketmail.com.

Threesomes

I love threesomes.  I can’t imagine who wouldn’t.

Here’s what’s great about threesomes: no matter what the politics are, I always win.

Nina Hartley’s Guide to Total Sex, Chapter 13 gets a little defensive about why Nina would put up with having some other woman in bed with her and her husband (he may want to fuck your brains out, but he loves me), but at least she’s fairly secure through the pushiness.  It’s nice to be in a committed relationship, where one of the many fun and varied times you’re getting it on involves a third person.  That third person isn’t going to take either of you away from the other; there’s no drama about who’s going to sleep over; there’s no threat.  It’s fun.  On the drama-scale, it may even be a little boring.

The other likely option is that you’re the unicorn, the extra person brought in to spice up some established couple’s sex life.  That’s a great position to be in, because it’s almost impossible to mess that up, or at least to mess that up because of what you did (as threesomes seem to be an uncommon experience for most people, they can bring up some unexpected emotions, but that’s usually drama between the established couple rather than specific to the third).  Everyone’s looking for the unicorn, and with finding one being so rare, the established couple isn’t going to be too picky about what they get by the time they’re actively looking.  And if they’re any good at people, they’re going to bend over backwards to make the unicorn happy about being with them.

The established couple gets security (boring, but generally what people want or claim to want).  The occasional treat gets treated very, very well.

When we’ve had a unicorn (and “we” here can mean me with any of my heterosexual lovers, as I consider them all established), the new person in bed is exciting.  They’re novel, and must be poked, stroked, and played with to figure them out.  They usually start out getting all the attention, from both me and my lover.  And if they’re playing with one of us, the other will make sure to keep them distracted.  Anybody who survives the adventure with me in my lover’s bed all night is going to get breakfast made for them, to their specifications, and first crack at the shower.

When I’ve been the unicorn (given my sad general lack of interest in straight-up causal sex, this has only been with my girlthing and her spouse so far), life is fun!  They giggle.  All of my unique qualities (the ones I’ve lived with all my life and therefore take for granted) get pointed out to me, usually gleefully.  They both want to play with me!  They’re a gloriously fine-tuned sex machine that’s churning out results.  If I am playing with one of them, the other’s usually helping, and there’s instant gratification.  One evening began with me unwrapping a kinky sex toy.  I got a four-handed hot wax massage when I keeled over from exhaustion.  And I don’t even have to feign ignorance of the coffee maker; coffee just appeared in my hand the next morning.

The sad thing I’m noticing is that threesomes are fun no matter where I am in a hierarchy, but there’s still a hierarchy involved.  And the Commie in me doesn’t take too kindly to that.

The other choices are a perfect triad with equal emotional attachment among all parties (sounds fun, been published elsewhere, and since there’s no source of drama, boring), or having a V wherein two people have an equal emotional attachment to one central person, but not with the other.  I’ve tried the latter several times as well, either as the center or as one of the arms of the V.  In those cases, the center of the V got all the attention, and it either went gloriously and synergistically with the two arms, or it somehow crashed and burned with drama.  I’m sure those stories will come out later.

So maybe the safest thing for a threesome is for everyone to know and be secure in their ordered place on the totem pole.

*****
Got questions on dealing with multiple lovers?  I’ve got answers!  Try me at polysaturated@rocketmail.com.