Sharing Information is NOT Asking Permission.

A does something that's not consented to within their relationship, and, when A's partner is upset about it, A is angry with that response because, "I don't need anyone's permission do to anything I want. I own my body, my time, and it is my right to do what I want to do, when I want to do it, and with whom."  A is correct.  Those are all choices that each person gets to make for themselves.  It's also a poor way to stay in a connected relationship with anyone that actually gives a rats ass.

The thing that perpetually sticks in my craw is the conflation of "asking permission" and "sharing information, and/or asking for input".  They aren't the same thing.  My current partners count in my world.  I'm not asking permission when I say, "I think I've got a date coming up later this week with New Person.  Does this time/date work for you?  Do you have any input on what boundaries would feel reasonable to you? I'm thinking that the interaction is likely to look like _______."  I'm digging into my own trusted resources, acknowledging that my life doesn't exist in a vacuum of my own desires, and sharing what I might desire for myself.  Choosing to share information, or limit my own actions in any way out of consideration for someone else IS me exercising personal agency, not them controlling me, or submitting control of myself to another.  It is in my own best self-interest to bring my partners along with me, rather than just dictating my decisions, so I put effort into making that happen. 

Maybe I've just been super fortunate in choosing non-controlling people, but in my experience, the more I share with my partners, the more they feel like they DO have input, the faster and easier it is to get where I want to go without alienating anyone, or feeling stifled.  Why?  They feel listened to, safe, relevant, considered, valued, and have the information desired to manage expectations.  They say yes, and they mean it, they share relevant information about their perceptions, their feelings and desires, and I make stronger decisions that benefit us, that benefit ME more. 

How Do You Handle It?

On January 1, 2014, I received a cool comment on my Poly 101: Fluid Bonding post yet, regrettably, the author retracted it.

A bummer, seriously, because I believe it addresses a common squick, so - with many, many apologies to the reader who thought it deleted - I've pulled it from the proverbial garbage can while ever-so-kindly omitting the author's name. It read as follows:

### asks:

How do you deal with your lover being sexual with another? Thinking about the actions that take place with sex, fluids and intimacy being shared. Your lover has sex with their partner, then they come home and want to be with you; after them being with someone else it feels a little dirty to engage in physical intimacy. How do you handle knowing their face was in between someone's lap? Even if I like my lovers partner and respect them, how could I turn to my lover and be physical with them after they touched someone else? Trying to figure it out. What helped you? 

Wow. Really good stuff.  And let me tell you why I love this question.

First: it's terribly provocative - truthfully, it would likely garner scornful sneers within the touch-positive communities I'm involved in but a blog is a totally perfect place to voice the question, and, second: it is so brilliantly honest. I just love it. And I was looking forward to replying.

The answer, for me, is found in the notion of sex positivity.

I like sex. I'm fairly positive about it. Shuh, I should be positive about it: I've got three partners and every one of them loves sex. I'm seriously having sex anywhere between 2, 4, or 8 times a day. It's an integral part of my life.

For me, sex isn't a bad thing - sex is a good thing. It's abundant. Sex is a natural and fun biological function well-suited for recreational purposes. I embrace sex in my life and the sexual appetite, expression, and health of my partners is of significant importance to me.

More so, I'm very certain all of my partners had sex prior to meeting me and yet they still so deeply appealed to my heart and mind that I fell in love with them. Further, I'm also convinced that their having sex with others won't fundamentally change them, regardless of what sexual encounters they may have.

Now, dear reader, I'd encourage you to read your response closely. There's an underlying set of ideas:

• sex is bad, dirty, gross;
• the act of sex is so terribly intimate that it shouldn't be shared;
• respect is earned through fidelity (slut-shaming);
• sexual exclusivity equals love and devotion

Arguably there's a lot of sex-negativism here and these ideas are quite opposite to the way that I feel about sex. Perhaps it wasn't your intention to communicate these ideas yet they're clearly here, and I'd be the first to suggest that it's okay and not your fault; your thinking has been shaped throughout your life by Western cultural norms. You've been trained throughout your life to believe these things.

If you're one to pick up your ideas, examine them, wonder how they got there, and consider alternatives, I would encourage you to read more on sex positivity.

Still, to address, "... how do I handle knowing their face was between someone's lap?", I don't concentrate on that very much; I'll often repackage the idea. Example: my wife returns from a daytime adventure with her boyfriend with the 10-inch shlong. I don't obsess about the deeply-penitrative experience she had with somebody else, nor am I overly concerned about his fluids pouring out of her vagina or something (as if my partners aren't capable of basic hygine). Instead, I'll ask, "Did you have a good time? Was it very connective? How do you feel?" This is my attempt to convert jealousy into compersion - excuse the hippy-dippy but I am happy for my partner, and pleased that they're joyous and happy. How the act came and went isn't of any big concern to me (unless I intend to eroticize it in efforts to cope with it).

I also trust my partners who have specific safe-sex practice agreements with me as I've with them. I trust that they'll take into consideration my health and emotional well-being.

Aside from that, I would say that I've a certain degree of faith. Before and after sex, I will continue to love my partners and they'll continue to love me. Yes, believe me, this is hard, for even as I'm writing this, I'm having flashbacks to moments of intense jealousy and fear that I experienced when my partners did have/were having/would have sex with somebody else. Learning to examine your feelings around this stuff is part of the polyamorous experience and it's something we all work on every day, but underlying all of that crap is the sincere belief that my partners will return to me. And they do, as I return to them.

I think the hardest thing for me isn't the physicality reflected in your question but the emotional content of the engagement, leaning towards base sentiments expressed between monogamous lovers that are fairly contentious within the context of poly:

• I love you, and only you, forever
• You are my destiny
• You are the most important person to me
• You're the best lover I've ever had
• That's the most amazing sex ever

Yadda yadda ... stuff like this are part and parcel of pillow talk that seeks to comfort, re-assure, and reinforce the emotional bonds we have with our partners. Yet they're sticky wickets in non-monogamy. It's these kinds of thoughts, expressions, and ideas that keep me up at night. What helps me fight through these kinds of feelings are honesty and communication: discussions with my partners about what I'm feeling and in seeking reassurances, leaning heavily again on that faith I spoke about earlier.

Finally, your imagination is your worst enemy. It will ruthlessly create every fear imaginable to you. Cope with your imagination by dispelling it, ask open and direct questions of your partners, invest in both understanding and empathizing with their sexuality, and specifically talk with them about your insecurities. For me, being told how a sexual experience played out with one of my partners removes a heavy weight of insecurity from my shoulders - no longer huge, unknown, and scary, the event becomes perceivable, understood, manageable.

Again, thank you for the opportunity to respond to your question even though I had to bring it back from the dead. Hope it helps - thanks for reading and all the best.

Russell

Feelings Matter

Feelings matter.

The way that somebody feels is a real response to emotional stress.

If you love somebody, shouldn't you be taking their feelings into consideration?

I've witnessed some polyamorous circles dismiss or marginalize feelings by creating a landscape of non-accountability, wherein the culture agrees to a standard for divulging sensitive information about their relationships. They all agree upon the terms of that communication. Then, to that culture, those conditions become an ethical baseline that contributes to a narrative that looks like this:

"Well, based on our agreements, I've done my obligation by telling you that I'm going to be gone tomorrow night. I will have sex with that person."

Whether or not setting a baseline of "moral principles" surrounding communication is ethical can probably be debated - I don't believe treating others like crap is "moral" in any sense of the word, even if it's under the guise of agreed-to expectations - but within this narrative we see two things:

1. A persons' feelings are being summarily dismissed;

2. Accountability for contributing to the feelings of another is being avoided.

In effect, the practice of ethical communication becomes a license to do as they please without fear of accountability or being told no. In effect, the narrative is allowed to continue:

"Your feelings are your own. You're just going to have to deal with it."

In my mind, this is unacceptable behavior. It's not treating the other party in a way that'd be loving or respectful. Nobody should be treated this way. This is a practice of control. It's a practice to get what you want by deflecting feelings behind a shield of self-righteousness - perhaps brought on by a delusion of intellectual or moral superiority.

Get down to basics. Look at a person. Look into their eyes. If they're hurting, and if their feelings matter - and in loving, committed relationships, they should - it's time to embrace your responsibility for her frustration and help change it, rather than dismiss it.

s1m0n

The Opportunity to Consent

Consent.  It's a cornerstone of poly, right up there with communication, and yet is often confused with "control".  These days, I am highly motivated by consent, and most specifically by being given the opportunity to consent by my partners.

S has a new connection, C, that is developing, and D is also ramping things up with another partner, which is leaving me immersed in other people's NRE.  My other partner, J, and her two children are in the process of moving to a much closer home.  In addition, there is another major situation unfolding on a parenting front that is enormously stressful.  In short, I'm feeling attacked by change from multiple sides, and even positive changes can feel scary.

One of my first stops in managing stress levels has been to take things off my plate as much as possible in other areas.  Another has been to request additional assistance and flexibility from people in my network.  All of that has been good, and I feel like there is a great level of support across the board.  Where I've been feeling shaky has been that so much change makes me feel unstable and out of control across the board.

This weekend I came across a concept that I think will be highly helpful to me in my relationships:  Being given the opportunity to consent. As with most things discovered in poly, there was stepping in something triggering, figuring out what was difficult about that, and trying to come up with a strategy that will create a better outcome!  Gotta love those opportunities to learn! ;)

This weekend, S and I were at a party together.  We'd set it up as a date for he and I.  Although other partners were slated to be present, they all had other dates set up as well.  At some point, S disappeared with C for a while.  They pulled things up before crossing lines that hadn't been previously negotiated, but I was still pretty hurt and upset.  Not because they were making out.  Not because I don't like her (I do!).  But because I found myself sharing date time that was supposed to be focused on our dyad.

It was a violation of consent for me.  NRE can be pretty compelling, and I get that.  If S had come to have a conversation with me, and see if I were open to some non-exclusive date time, chances are pretty good that I would have said yes.  I want to get on board with their relationship.  I want to buy in.  To give to my partner and metamour willingly, rather than having assumed consent, and sort it out later.

Sure, it's his life, and he gets to do it any way he wants.  He can give his time, energy and affection as he sees fit.  What I'm talking about here is often referred to as the difference between inform and ask. A lot of people get really irate about the idea of asking a partner for something that relates to another relationship.  Rather than asking for "permission", try reframing it as giving your partner the opportunity to consent to what you want.

There is no desire for me to have decision-making power in my partner's other relationships.  However, in a landscape that may feel very chaotic/scary/threatening, having the choice to say "yes" to something, rather than being informed of a decision, can be extremely empowering.