“I don’t know if I could be into that polyamory thing,” he says as we’re on a date. I’m sipping my complimentary tequila soda, so I try not to bristle too much at that statement. Mostly because what I do isn’t polyamory. Polyamory is a relatively rigorous relationship style that requires complete honesty with all of one’s partners, and I certainly do not adhere to the polyamorous concept of “an ethical slut.” I am, in every sense of the word, an unethical slut, and what I do is called sleeping around, or female macking, or sexual affluence, or promiscuity, but it most definitely isn’t polyamory. Fuck, I could never be into that polyamory thing, either! But sleeping around and lying about it? Hell yeah, I love that shit. I love cheating. It’s a sport, really.
But I know what he’s saying. He’s not down for that either, even if he is misusing his newly found vocabulary word. But what I’m garnering from this statement is: if you’re sleeping with me, then can you be sleeping with only me and not, like, three other dudes, too? That’s what I’m hearing as he’s continuing to speak, and what I don’t have the time and the patience to tell him right now as I’m working so diligently on getting really drunk is: no. No, I cannot do that. Or, rather, no, you cannot do that.
You see, the problem with him wanting to be the only one getting in my panties is that he doesn’t understand that the female body is not a piece of property to be possessed in a sexual manner. No, instead I’m an incredibly high maintenance human being with a plethora of emotions and a really high sex drive and bizarre sexual urges that I’m not even sure he has the stamina or the freak-a-leek-ishness to fulfill. He wants to be the only one I’m fucking? Why in heavens would he want that! It’s so much fucking responsibility! (pun intended.) I mean, this guy has a job and friends and shit, I really don’t think he has the time or the energy to put into sexually maintaining me on a daily basis, especially not this early in a relationship. What, he’s going to come over to my house and spend 30 minutes listening to me bitch about my life, at least 45 minutes eating me out, and another 20 minutes after that telling me I’m pretty at least 3 days a week? Up to 7 days a week? That’s a huge time commitment, and I don’t want to shackle him with the responsibility of being the only person who is responsible for my sexual well being.
But I don’t know how to say that. That’s a really hard thing to say to someone. Because that’s just the bare minimum that I require from lovers. That figure doesn’t even include taking me out on dates, paying for fancy dinners, meeting me at dive bars at last call in Downtown Oakland while I’m getting wasted with my friends. It doesn’t include the stress that my family puts me through or accommodating my erratic work schedule. He wants to be the only one that fucks me? Why would he ever want that!
I look at him, and I wonder if I want to be sexually responsible for him, too. Because if he’s willing to invest that much time and energy and money into keeping me happy, am I willing to reciprocate? I mean, what can I say, I know I’m an irritatingly high maintenance person, but him – what is he going to get out of this? I’m starting to get suspicious, but I smile and purr anyways. Might as well see if he’s up to the task. I guess we’ll see if he passes level one.
Because it’s not that one person isn’t capable of sexually maintaining me on a monogamous, long term basis, but it just makes so much more sense to spread those responsibilities among a variety of people with different skill levels. Sure, I deserve that kind of love from one person if I can get it, but it just seems so…stressful. And I’m not really into stress, especially when it comes to my lovers.
“Well, it’s not that I’m opposed to monogamy, even though I have made certain decisions in my past. I don’t know, I’m always growing as a person,” I reply after that five second inner monologue of consideration. I smile and rub my leg against his. Let’s see if he passes level one. Let’s see if he’s down to fuck me in the bathroom right now. I have a feeling he won’t pass level one. Oh, well!