r/polyamory -

[Vingle]

Originally found this on the WitchesvsPatriarchy sub:
View attachment 2268310

The guy looks like Jewel Rancid from IP2, a mentally ill whore showing her black hole from time to time.
He should have his kids taken away. Even though you love them, does not mean you're fit to be a parent.
Yes, you can love more than one people throughout life. That's pretty natural. It does not mean actually being together with more than one person at a time.
There's not much to comment on this, because the dude is never ending rambling and never gets to the point.

 

[Home Again]

Originally found this on the WitchesvsPatriarchy sub:

Which had this linked in the comments:

Here he is at his most put together. Gave the video a try, but having a hard time letting this rambling train wreck tell me how to build a supportive family and be a good dad.

Interesting how transitioning always includes wearing either hilariously bad or hilariously over-done makeup. If I hadn't taken my normal pills, I'd say it's almost like it's not genuine and a not-at-all disguised fetish.

 

[Coccxys]

Another relationship advice one



And the comments section is pretty sure she's already "open". As is everyone with a brain.

And one downvoted idiot who just repeats the creed of polyamory.

 

[Vingle]

Another relationship advice one

View attachment 2273334

And the comments section is pretty sure she's already "open". As is everyone with a brain.

View attachment 2273335View attachment 2273336View attachment 2273337View attachment 2273338View attachment 2273340

And one downvoted idiot who just repeats the creed of polyamory.

View attachment 2273339

Would expect most of plebbit would be into cuckold, so this is surprising to read.

 

[Drachenlord]

I love how Reddit flipflops between „sex doesn’t mean anything and you don’t need it“ (when incels complain about debilitating loneliness, or when men try to pressure women into poly shit) and „omg yikes sex is a basic human right you bigot“ (when women want you to pay for their birth control, or when women try to pressure men into poly shit).

 

[Block Me]

I love how Reddit flipflops between „sex doesn’t mean anything and you don’t need it“ (when incels complain about debilitating loneliness, or when men try to pressure women into poly shit) and „omg yikes sex is a basic human right you bigot“ (when women want you to pay for their birth control, or when women try to pressure men into poly shit).

Modern sexual politics is almost 100% just about getting people (particularly young women) to fuck around like spring breakers forever, because single adults with no family and lots of free time make better consumers than married parents who have to budget their time and money wisely. It always comes back to profit margins for megacorps.

 

[Black ContraPoints]

Another relationship advice one

View attachment 2273334

And the comments section is pretty sure she's already "open". As is everyone with a brain.

View attachment 2273335View attachment 2273336View attachment 2273337View attachment 2273338View attachment 2273340

And one downvoted idiot who just repeats the creed of polyamory.

I just love the dichotomy between the sensible 'Oh come on you fucking idiot' and the 'She still loves you, you just see sex and intimacy differently!'

 

[NoReturn]

My Open Marriage Ended — But It Also Helped Me Accept My Sexuality
Archive
Hayley Folk
Last Updated June 18, 2021, 7:20 AM

I never told my ex-husband I was interested in women. I never had the courage. We didn’t speak about my desire for an intimate connection with a woman or the attraction that I buried deep under the surface. He just knew — a fact that’s even more surprising considering that, in retrospect, I barely knew.
At the time, I wasn’t sure if I was queer, bisexual, pansexual, lesbian, or plainly bicurious. I did know, and had known for most of my life, that I wasn’t straight. But I had spent my childhood in a place that lacked LGBTQ+ representation, and then I attended a private Baptist university. As a result, I had grappled for years with the idea of being categorized as other, and I pushed away my desire to experience a connection with a woman, clinging to the hope that I’d be content never exploring it.
So when my husband came home one day and said, “I know you’re not straight. I’ve known for years,” I was surprised. As I heard this come out of his mouth, I felt the hot shame travel up my body, making me red in the face. I fought that lump in my throat, the one you get when you’re holding back tears. The wall I had always put up within myself had been forced down. I now had to face that, whether I identified as gay, lesbian, bisexual, or queer, I was other. And although I didn’t see it then, other could feel okay.
“I think it’s really important for you to be able to explore,” my then-husband finally said, “so if you’re up for it, I think that we should have an open marriage.”
At first, I was averse to the idea. I thought the usual: I couldn’t do it; I’d get jealous. But beneath those objections was the fear that perhaps I’d discover something about myself that I would no longer be able to look away from. I grappled with the idea, but I was comforted by the reassurance that it wasn’t permanent; if I didn’t enjoy it, I could stop. Slowly I began telling myself that I deserved to at least try it out, to see how it felt, that maybe I didn’t have to give up anything in order to explore this part of myself. So after considering it for months, my then-husband and I decided to give ethical non-monogamy — a catch-all term for relationships outside of monogamy — a try.
When I met Sierra, I had been on exactly one date with a woman. I was, as Urban Dictionary has coined it, a “baby gay.” A less-than-romantic, first-world way of dating — swiping my way through an app — led me to a conversation with one of the most beautiful women I have ever known.
I remember her picture so vividly, even now. She had a tall frame, and she wore a little black dress that hit right above her knee, with a pair of black lace-up Dr. Martens. Her skin was a cocoa shade, and her luscious, dark curls framed the light smirk on her face. In her last photo, she wore the same outfit and had been caught in the middle of a huge burst of laughter, her hair blowing in the wind. It wasn’t love at first sight, but it was certainly an instant swipe right. And luckily, she swiped right, too.
We connected and agreed to meet at a local café. It was a small, plant-filled coffee shop where she was a regular. I had the same first date jitters as always, but something also felt different this time around. A few hours into the date, we moved from the coffee shop to her favorite Irish pub, where we drank Guinness and she told me about the night she got drunk with her best friend and got her first tattoo at the shop right next door. She wasn’t afraid to divulge that her last relationship was with a man and how it shaped her. And with a huge smile, she explained how she came to accept her own sexuality.
She was patient and kind when I told her I had never been with a woman before. It wasn’t as if I didn’t want to experience it, I explained, but that I just didn’t know I could — a feeling that I’ve since learned isn’t uncommon amongst queer women in relationships with men.
As we sat in the bar, I found myself wishing I had met Sierra sooner in life. I felt that I’d been found — or, rather, that I’d been seen for the first time.
It got late, and eventually, I offered Sierra a ride home. She asked if I’d stop at the gas station so she could pick up a pack of cigarettes before I dropped her off. I welcomed anything that would delay our departure. We sat in the dark car. She said she wasn’t ready to leave just yet. I wasn’t, either.
My then-husband was at home asleep in our bed. He knew I’d be home late. He knew exactly where I was.
Sierra and I kissed slowly and then fast, pulling each other closer as if we already knew it would be our only chance for a while. A few days later, she would go to Brazil, where she’d fall madly in love with a woman and get married, turning what was supposed to be a month-long trip into a much longer one. Almost two years would pass before we saw each other again.
During her time away, I further explored myself. Having met Sierra provided me with the courage to go on many more dates, most good and some bad. When I had sex with a woman for the first time, it was like finally being awake. Holding a woman’s hand felt natural and easy. I had the courage to be myself.
Meanwhile, my then-husband only took a few opportunities to partake in our open relationship. He struggled with jealousy often, and in moments of deep sadness he’d say, “Maybe you’re just a lesbian.” I knew I wasn’t a lesbian, but I also knew that these newfound relationships with women felt extremely meaningful and fulfilling. We stopped being intimate; we fought often. I felt the most me I had ever felt, and he felt the most hurt. We went on like this for two years.
It turns out, he didn’t offer an open marriage because he truly felt it was something he wanted. It was a proposal made out of desperation. He offered it only to please me. And because of that, it ultimately failed. It’s true what they say — ethical non-monogamy isn’t for everyone. But the freedom and capacity for love that I felt during this time was unparalleled to anything else I had ever experienced. With or without my marriage, I knew that this lifestyle and practice felt authentic and aligned with my values. And ultimately, he came to know that it didn’t align with his.
The decision to end our marriage after seven years together was mutual. There was no hatred or resentment, but rather a deep sense that each of us deserved to live a life of happiness and fulfillment, whatever that was — it just wasn’t with each other. I’ve learned that not everyone will understand that, but they don’t have to.
It turns out, I am a bisexual woman. And yes, ethical non-monogamy is for me. The path to getting here has been messy, complicated and painful. But without it, I wouldn’t be here, honoring myself. For that, I am thankful.
The day after we made the hard decision to separate, I saw Sierra again. It had been two years since our last meeting. We’d stayed in touch in the intervening time, and I knew that she was in an open marriage with her wife, while I was still in the midst of truly accepting myself.
We met early in the morning in Venice Beach. With coffee in hand, we kicked our shoes off and walked on the sand. It was June, a month signifying a celebration of Pride. The only lifeguard tower nearby was painted brightly with all of the colors of the rainbow. It was only fitting.
I didn’t have to explain much to Sierra. I knew she would understand where I was and what I wanted: to live my only life to the fullest, to be proud of who I was, to love my fluidity, my freedom, and my queerness. But more than anything, I wanted to be honest with myself and the world.
We lay on our backs, looking up at the sky, and then at each other. The waves of the Pacific crashed against the sand. I realized I hadn’t felt that at ease in years. Our cheeks hurt from smiling. With a courage I didn’t know I had, I leaned in to tuck her hair behind her right ear, holding her left hand in mine. I felt completely clear-headed as I grazed my fingers against her wedding band. Children, families, couples, and runners began to flood the beach. But it felt like no one else was there at all.
Later, we sat on a park bench, and she told me about her relationship with her mother. I watched the way her lips curled as she spoke and the way she moved. I grabbed her hand and thought to myself: Hold this moment forever, even if you don’t forever hold her.
Shortly after, I uprooted my life and moved to New York City. Sierra and I would go on to speak from time to time, with whispers of I love you and I miss you sometimes. It is the way of speaking our truth, without having to say any of the other things, at all.
I can’t think of Sierra now without the remembrance of sand, on a beach in Los Angeles, next to a lifeguard tower painted with all of the color I lacked in my life. She brought out of me the courage to live, the courage to be. For the first time, I felt it. I can look at myself without flinching away.

 

[blablabla]

congratulations on being a dyke and destroying your husband i guess?

 

[KingofNothing]

congratulations on being a dyke and destroying your husband i guess?

He was stupid enough to suggest it when she apparently wasn't even willing to go that route at first, so that's on him really.

 

[NoReturn]

He was stupid enough to suggest it when she apparently wasn't even willing to go that route at first, so that's on him really.

The classic poly tale, whoever suggests it, regrets it.

 

[melty]

I just don't really buy her story. The husband suggested it without wanting to do it himself because he secretly knew that she was a lesbian and wanted to date women before she even knew herself or said anything about it? Somebody's story doesn't add up.

 

[Constellationzero]

My Open Marriage Ended — But It Also Helped Me Accept My Sexuality
Archive
Hayley Folk
Last Updated June 18, 2021, 7:20 AM
View attachment 2280670I never told my ex-husband I was interested in women. I never had the courage. We didn’t speak about my desire for an intimate connection with a woman or the attraction that I buried deep under the surface. He just knew — a fact that’s even more surprising considering that, in retrospect, I barely knew.
At the time, I wasn’t sure if I was queer, bisexual, pansexual, lesbian, or plainly bicurious. I did know, and had known for most of my life, that I wasn’t straight. But I had spent my childhood in a place that lacked LGBTQ+ representation, and then I attended a private Baptist university. As a result, I had grappled for years with the idea of being categorized as other, and I pushed away my desire to experience a connection with a woman, clinging to the hope that I’d be content never exploring it.
So when my husband came home one day and said, “I know you’re not straight. I’ve known for years,” I was surprised. As I heard this come out of his mouth, I felt the hot shame travel up my body, making me red in the face. I fought that lump in my throat, the one you get when you’re holding back tears. The wall I had always put up within myself had been forced down. I now had to face that, whether I identified as gay, lesbian, bisexual, or queer, I was other. And although I didn’t see it then, other could feel okay.
“I think it’s really important for you to be able to explore,” my then-husband finally said, “so if you’re up for it, I think that we should have an open marriage.”
At first, I was averse to the idea. I thought the usual: I couldn’t do it; I’d get jealous. But beneath those objections was the fear that perhaps I’d discover something about myself that I would no longer be able to look away from. I grappled with the idea, but I was comforted by the reassurance that it wasn’t permanent; if I didn’t enjoy it, I could stop. Slowly I began telling myself that I deserved to at least try it out, to see how it felt, that maybe I didn’t have to give up anything in order to explore this part of myself. So after considering it for months, my then-husband and I decided to give ethical non-monogamy — a catch-all term for relationships outside of monogamy — a try.
When I met Sierra, I had been on exactly one date with a woman. I was, as Urban Dictionary has coined it, a “baby gay.” A less-than-romantic, first-world way of dating — swiping my way through an app — led me to a conversation with one of the most beautiful women I have ever known.
I remember her picture so vividly, even now. She had a tall frame, and she wore a little black dress that hit right above her knee, with a pair of black lace-up Dr. Martens. Her skin was a cocoa shade, and her luscious, dark curls framed the light smirk on her face. In her last photo, she wore the same outfit and had been caught in the middle of a huge burst of laughter, her hair blowing in the wind. It wasn’t love at first sight, but it was certainly an instant swipe right. And luckily, she swiped right, too.
We connected and agreed to meet at a local café. It was a small, plant-filled coffee shop where she was a regular. I had the same first date jitters as always, but something also felt different this time around. A few hours into the date, we moved from the coffee shop to her favorite Irish pub, where we drank Guinness and she told me about the night she got drunk with her best friend and got her first tattoo at the shop right next door. She wasn’t afraid to divulge that her last relationship was with a man and how it shaped her. And with a huge smile, she explained how she came to accept her own sexuality.
She was patient and kind when I told her I had never been with a woman before. It wasn’t as if I didn’t want to experience it, I explained, but that I just didn’t know I could — a feeling that I’ve since learned isn’t uncommon amongst queer women in relationships with men.
As we sat in the bar, I found myself wishing I had met Sierra sooner in life. I felt that I’d been found — or, rather, that I’d been seen for the first time.
It got late, and eventually, I offered Sierra a ride home. She asked if I’d stop at the gas station so she could pick up a pack of cigarettes before I dropped her off. I welcomed anything that would delay our departure. We sat in the dark car. She said she wasn’t ready to leave just yet. I wasn’t, either.
My then-husband was at home asleep in our bed. He knew I’d be home late. He knew exactly where I was.
Sierra and I kissed slowly and then fast, pulling each other closer as if we already knew it would be our only chance for a while. A few days later, she would go to Brazil, where she’d fall madly in love with a woman and get married, turning what was supposed to be a month-long trip into a much longer one. Almost two years would pass before we saw each other again.
During her time away, I further explored myself. Having met Sierra provided me with the courage to go on many more dates, most good and some bad. When I had sex with a woman for the first time, it was like finally being awake. Holding a woman’s hand felt natural and easy. I had the courage to be myself.
Meanwhile, my then-husband only took a few opportunities to partake in our open relationship. He struggled with jealousy often, and in moments of deep sadness he’d say, “Maybe you’re just a lesbian.” I knew I wasn’t a lesbian, but I also knew that these newfound relationships with women felt extremely meaningful and fulfilling. We stopped being intimate; we fought often. I felt the most me I had ever felt, and he felt the most hurt. We went on like this for two years.
It turns out, he didn’t offer an open marriage because he truly felt it was something he wanted. It was a proposal made out of desperation. He offered it only to please me. And because of that, it ultimately failed. It’s true what they say — ethical non-monogamy isn’t for everyone. But the freedom and capacity for love that I felt during this time was unparalleled to anything else I had ever experienced. With or without my marriage, I knew that this lifestyle and practice felt authentic and aligned with my values. And ultimately, he came to know that it didn’t align with his.
The decision to end our marriage after seven years together was mutual. There was no hatred or resentment, but rather a deep sense that each of us deserved to live a life of happiness and fulfillment, whatever that was — it just wasn’t with each other. I’ve learned that not everyone will understand that, but they don’t have to.
It turns out, I am a bisexual woman. And yes, ethical non-monogamy is for me. The path to getting here has been messy, complicated and painful. But without it, I wouldn’t be here, honoring myself. For that, I am thankful.
The day after we made the hard decision to separate, I saw Sierra again. It had been two years since our last meeting. We’d stayed in touch in the intervening time, and I knew that she was in an open marriage with her wife, while I was still in the midst of truly accepting myself.
We met early in the morning in Venice Beach. With coffee in hand, we kicked our shoes off and walked on the sand. It was June, a month signifying a celebration of Pride. The only lifeguard tower nearby was painted brightly with all of the colors of the rainbow. It was only fitting.
I didn’t have to explain much to Sierra. I knew she would understand where I was and what I wanted: to live my only life to the fullest, to be proud of who I was, to love my fluidity, my freedom, and my queerness. But more than anything, I wanted to be honest with myself and the world.
We lay on our backs, looking up at the sky, and then at each other. The waves of the Pacific crashed against the sand. I realized I hadn’t felt that at ease in years. Our cheeks hurt from smiling. With a courage I didn’t know I had, I leaned in to tuck her hair behind her right ear, holding her left hand in mine. I felt completely clear-headed as I grazed my fingers against her wedding band. Children, families, couples, and runners began to flood the beach. But it felt like no one else was there at all.
Later, we sat on a park bench, and she told me about her relationship with her mother. I watched the way her lips curled as she spoke and the way she moved. I grabbed her hand and thought to myself: Hold this moment forever, even if you don’t forever hold her.
Shortly after, I uprooted my life and moved to New York City. Sierra and I would go on to speak from time to time, with whispers of I love you and I miss you sometimes. It is the way of speaking our truth, without having to say any of the other things, at all.
I can’t think of Sierra now without the remembrance of sand, on a beach in Los Angeles, next to a lifeguard tower painted with all of the color I lacked in my life. She brought out of me the courage to live, the courage to be. For the first time, I felt it. I can look at myself without flinching away.

This illustrates beautifully why lesbians Cannot (clap) Stand (clap) Bisexual (clap) whores (clap clap clap clappity clap clap)

PICK (clap) A (clap) LANE (Clap) And, like a good neighbor, fucking STAY OVER THERE!

Yeah, I know what bisexuality is. You wanna fuck men and women...but it's always with the self serving cunts like this who define bisexuality as their God given RIGHT to reenact Salo or whatever degenerate "erotica" and have BOLTH at the same time. Fuck the man's feelings. Fuck the woman's feelings. This skank NEEDS to feel like the HAWT pornstar she thinks she is. She needs BOLTH. Because, hey, every car comes with a spare tire, right?
And if you think the man is always the loser, again, lemme mention lesbians or single women wanting a relationship. They, too, have feelings and boundaries. But nah... Skank needs BOLTH. Skank needs to 'spress herself and explore.

And 90% of the time skanks like this aren't even bi anyway. They need BOLTH so they can show how hot sex sex sexity sex sex they are and everybody wants to fuck them. She's an emotional supermassive black hole. And lesbians are TIRED of being tricked by whores like this into crossing their STD addled event horizon.

 

[FatalTater]

Occasionally I see talk of aromantics and asexuals and I wonder if a lot of them aren't just normal people hiding from the polys.

 

[interrobangings]

This illustrates beautifully why lesbians Cannot (clap) Stand (clap) Bisexual (clap) whores (clap clap clap clappity clap clap)

PICK (clap) A (clap) LANE (Clap) And, like a good neighbor, fucking STAY OVER THERE!

Yeah, I know what bisexuality is. You wanna fuck men and women...but it's always with the self serving cunts like this who define bisexuality as their God given RIGHT to reenact Salo or whatever degenerate "erotica" and have BOLTH at the same time. Fuck the man's feelings. Fuck the woman's feelings. This skank NEEDS to feel like the HAWT pornstar she thinks she is. She needs BOLTH. Because, hey, every car comes with a spare tire, right?
And if you think the man is always the loser, again, lemme mention lesbians or single women wanting a relationship. They, too, have feelings and boundaries. But nah... Skank needs BOLTH. Skank needs to 'spress herself and explore.

And 90% of the time skanks like this aren't even bi anyway. They need BOLTH so they can show how hot sex sex sexity sex sex they are and everybody wants to fuck them. She's an emotional supermassive black hole. And lesbians are TIRED of being tricked by whores like this into crossing their STD addled event horizon.

You okay, bud?

 

[hash-slinging slasher]

If she's telling the truth about not pressuring him, her husband probably opened up the relationship because he was worried she'd cheat on him with a woman if he didn't, thought he was being a good Ally by encouraging her to date women, or he thought this was the way to constant porn-esque threesomes.

Either he has insanely low self-esteem so he sabotaged the relationship to prevent HER from possibly sabotaging the relationship, is really really fucking stupid, or is really really fucking stupid. I think he was an idiot who had lesbian threesomes on the brain because it makes the story funnier. Either way, glad she split with him eventually. He was actively pushing his wife away then whining all day that he pushed her away. He would've sabotaged the relationship some other way eventually. She really should've dumped him far earlier though.

 

[Drachenlord]

If she's telling the truth about not pressuring him, her husband probably opened up the relationship because he was worried she'd cheat on him with a woman if he didn't, thought he was being a good Ally by encouraging her to date women, or he thought this was the way to constant porn-esque threesomes.

Either he has insanely low self-esteem so he sabotaged the relationship to prevent HER from possibly sabotaging the relationship, is really really fucking stupid, or is really really fucking stupid. I think he was an idiot who had lesbian threesomes on the brain because it makes the story funnier. Either way, glad she split with him eventually. He was actively pushing his wife away then whining all day that he pushed her away. He would've sabotaged the relationship some other way eventually. She really should've dumped him far earlier though.

If you take her side of the story at face value you’re a literal brainlet.

 

[Black ContraPoints]

My Open Marriage Ended — But It Also Helped Me Accept My Sexuality
Archive
Hayley Folk
Last Updated June 18, 2021, 7:20 AM
View attachment 2280670I never told my ex-husband I was interested in women. I never had the courage. We didn’t speak about my desire for an intimate connection with a woman or the attraction that I buried deep under the surface. He just knew — a fact that’s even more surprising considering that, in retrospect, I barely knew.
At the time, I wasn’t sure if I was queer, bisexual, pansexual, lesbian, or plainly bicurious. I did know, and had known for most of my life, that I wasn’t straight. But I had spent my childhood in a place that lacked LGBTQ+ representation, and then I attended a private Baptist university. As a result, I had grappled for years with the idea of being categorized as other, and I pushed away my desire to experience a connection with a woman, clinging to the hope that I’d be content never exploring it.
So when my husband came home one day and said, “I know you’re not straight. I’ve known for years,” I was surprised. As I heard this come out of his mouth, I felt the hot shame travel up my body, making me red in the face. I fought that lump in my throat, the one you get when you’re holding back tears. The wall I had always put up within myself had been forced down. I now had to face that, whether I identified as gay, lesbian, bisexual, or queer, I was other. And although I didn’t see it then, other could feel okay.
“I think it’s really important for you to be able to explore,” my then-husband finally said, “so if you’re up for it, I think that we should have an open marriage.”
At first, I was averse to the idea. I thought the usual: I couldn’t do it; I’d get jealous. But beneath those objections was the fear that perhaps I’d discover something about myself that I would no longer be able to look away from. I grappled with the idea, but I was comforted by the reassurance that it wasn’t permanent; if I didn’t enjoy it, I could stop. Slowly I began telling myself that I deserved to at least try it out, to see how it felt, that maybe I didn’t have to give up anything in order to explore this part of myself. So after considering it for months, my then-husband and I decided to give ethical non-monogamy — a catch-all term for relationships outside of monogamy — a try.
When I met Sierra, I had been on exactly one date with a woman. I was, as Urban Dictionary has coined it, a “baby gay.” A less-than-romantic, first-world way of dating — swiping my way through an app — led me to a conversation with one of the most beautiful women I have ever known.
I remember her picture so vividly, even now. She had a tall frame, and she wore a little black dress that hit right above her knee, with a pair of black lace-up Dr. Martens. Her skin was a cocoa shade, and her luscious, dark curls framed the light smirk on her face. In her last photo, she wore the same outfit and had been caught in the middle of a huge burst of laughter, her hair blowing in the wind. It wasn’t love at first sight, but it was certainly an instant swipe right. And luckily, she swiped right, too.
We connected and agreed to meet at a local café. It was a small, plant-filled coffee shop where she was a regular. I had the same first date jitters as always, but something also felt different this time around. A few hours into the date, we moved from the coffee shop to her favorite Irish pub, where we drank Guinness and she told me about the night she got drunk with her best friend and got her first tattoo at the shop right next door. She wasn’t afraid to divulge that her last relationship was with a man and how it shaped her. And with a huge smile, she explained how she came to accept her own sexuality.
She was patient and kind when I told her I had never been with a woman before. It wasn’t as if I didn’t want to experience it, I explained, but that I just didn’t know I could — a feeling that I’ve since learned isn’t uncommon amongst queer women in relationships with men.
As we sat in the bar, I found myself wishing I had met Sierra sooner in life. I felt that I’d been found — or, rather, that I’d been seen for the first time.
It got late, and eventually, I offered Sierra a ride home. She asked if I’d stop at the gas station so she could pick up a pack of cigarettes before I dropped her off. I welcomed anything that would delay our departure. We sat in the dark car. She said she wasn’t ready to leave just yet. I wasn’t, either.
My then-husband was at home asleep in our bed. He knew I’d be home late. He knew exactly where I was.
Sierra and I kissed slowly and then fast, pulling each other closer as if we already knew it would be our only chance for a while. A few days later, she would go to Brazil, where she’d fall madly in love with a woman and get married, turning what was supposed to be a month-long trip into a much longer one. Almost two years would pass before we saw each other again.
During her time away, I further explored myself. Having met Sierra provided me with the courage to go on many more dates, most good and some bad. When I had sex with a woman for the first time, it was like finally being awake. Holding a woman’s hand felt natural and easy. I had the courage to be myself.
Meanwhile, my then-husband only took a few opportunities to partake in our open relationship. He struggled with jealousy often, and in moments of deep sadness he’d say, “Maybe you’re just a lesbian.” I knew I wasn’t a lesbian, but I also knew that these newfound relationships with women felt extremely meaningful and fulfilling. We stopped being intimate; we fought often. I felt the most me I had ever felt, and he felt the most hurt. We went on like this for two years.
It turns out, he didn’t offer an open marriage because he truly felt it was something he wanted. It was a proposal made out of desperation. He offered it only to please me. And because of that, it ultimately failed. It’s true what they say — ethical non-monogamy isn’t for everyone. But the freedom and capacity for love that I felt during this time was unparalleled to anything else I had ever experienced. With or without my marriage, I knew that this lifestyle and practice felt authentic and aligned with my values. And ultimately, he came to know that it didn’t align with his.
The decision to end our marriage after seven years together was mutual. There was no hatred or resentment, but rather a deep sense that each of us deserved to live a life of happiness and fulfillment, whatever that was — it just wasn’t with each other. I’ve learned that not everyone will understand that, but they don’t have to.
It turns out, I am a bisexual woman. And yes, ethical non-monogamy is for me. The path to getting here has been messy, complicated and painful. But without it, I wouldn’t be here, honoring myself. For that, I am thankful.
The day after we made the hard decision to separate, I saw Sierra again. It had been two years since our last meeting. We’d stayed in touch in the intervening time, and I knew that she was in an open marriage with her wife, while I was still in the midst of truly accepting myself.
We met early in the morning in Venice Beach. With coffee in hand, we kicked our shoes off and walked on the sand. It was June, a month signifying a celebration of Pride. The only lifeguard tower nearby was painted brightly with all of the colors of the rainbow. It was only fitting.
I didn’t have to explain much to Sierra. I knew she would understand where I was and what I wanted: to live my only life to the fullest, to be proud of who I was, to love my fluidity, my freedom, and my queerness. But more than anything, I wanted to be honest with myself and the world.
We lay on our backs, looking up at the sky, and then at each other. The waves of the Pacific crashed against the sand. I realized I hadn’t felt that at ease in years. Our cheeks hurt from smiling. With a courage I didn’t know I had, I leaned in to tuck her hair behind her right ear, holding her left hand in mine. I felt completely clear-headed as I grazed my fingers against her wedding band. Children, families, couples, and runners began to flood the beach. But it felt like no one else was there at all.
Later, we sat on a park bench, and she told me about her relationship with her mother. I watched the way her lips curled as she spoke and the way she moved. I grabbed her hand and thought to myself: Hold this moment forever, even if you don’t forever hold her.
Shortly after, I uprooted my life and moved to New York City. Sierra and I would go on to speak from time to time, with whispers of I love you and I miss you sometimes. It is the way of speaking our truth, without having to say any of the other things, at all.
I can’t think of Sierra now without the remembrance of sand, on a beach in Los Angeles, next to a lifeguard tower painted with all of the color I lacked in my life. She brought out of me the courage to live, the courage to be. For the first time, I felt it. I can look at myself without flinching away.

Revolting. Utterly revolting.

She tries so hard to make this seem so touching and romantic. I get the feeling she's seen a lot of soft-focus, gentle piano-scored, mumblecore lesbian movies and when she looks back on these events, she sees them through the lens of a film that she's the sympathetic main character of.

I barely believe the story that the husband was just sooo considerate of her feelings that he suggested it, but let's pretend it's true. How monstrous do you have to be to agree to this? I know we live in a self-centered culture but marriage sometimes requires sacrifice. If you truly loved your husband, you would never hurt him just so you can fulfill your selfish desires. You would never prioritize orgasms from a stranger over your married intimacy. It's just sex, the best sex of your lifetime shouldn't even come close to being worth hurting your spouse. That's why cheating is so evil. And polyamory is still cheating no matter what you call it. You are slapping your spouse in the face with the fact that you don't love them enough to just live being less sexually satisfied, but with your marriage, love, and intimacy intact. Once you get married, that should be it, no hand holding with some slut on the beach for get some temporary high. Sometimes you have to deprive yourself of things you want in life. But at least you didn't destroy a marriage and probably another person for that.

I'm terribly sorry for the rant, I'm usually amused and fascinated by these stories, but something about this one is so repulsive. The husband sounds like a fucking moron but she's just so dishonest in the presentation it brought out my autistic rage. I deserve all the hats.

 

[Positive Vulture]

It's awfully convenient that this American-English-speaking guy happens to live in a remote part of the world untouched by the coof (but for some reason doesn't want to say what country it is.)

Slightly OT, but most of Australia and all of New Zealand were basically unscathed by the coof.

 

[Country Matters]

i think the husbands had such low self esteem he just assumed she was gonna cheat anyway, and rationalized his way out of the cuck-zone by saying to himself "well, if shes just gonna cheat, might as well make it official and get some myself."

at least, that is the only way i see it opening like she said it did: he was afraid of losing her, and also expected to get more than he did, and when he didnt he regretted insisting on opening it and bitterly suggests she might just be a lesbian, actually