Posted by Lex Konrad in Relationships | Sep 28, 2004
For all the frustrations it causes, monogamy has the advantage of simplicity. You date, mate, marry, move to the suburbs, inflict your hellspawn on the world and then, with any luck, settle into a comfortable, mutual contempt. The roadmap is a given; it’s simply a matter of finding the right traveling companion.
Deviate from this path—into swinging, open relationships, triads, vees, quads, tribes and so on—and your options grow exponentially. You may find yourself a little confused at your newfound freedom. Be forewarned: there is no roadmap; there are no established cultural expectations to lean on. Creativity is a must.
Leslie and I took Layla out to dinner at our old standby, Cafeteria. For a while we talked about the usual things—jobs, birthdays, weddings, volunteer work, brine shrimp. After the entrees arrived we launched into a frank discussion about relationships. I’d expected to squirm in my seat, this being the sort of conversation Les and I don’t usually have with our lovers.
Layla sat opposite from us, talking across a low table, perched on a giant egg in a position that kept her legs apart. Pity she was wearing jeans. She had a slight drawl that crept in at the edges, something faintly outer-borough in her inflection. “I’m content right now,” she was saying. “I feel like I can handle at most one man, one woman and one couple. I feel almost like I’d be cheating on you guys if I slept with another couple.”
Leslie smiled and touched Layla’s leg. “That’s so cute.”
“I’ve lied before and that made me unhappy with myself, so I’m trying to be completely honest with everyone I’m seeing. They both know about you.”
“I try to be open too,” Leslie said. “I know Lex writes about what’s going on with us but I see that as separate from my own conversations with people. It’s hard sometimes, how some people know more about my intentions than I do about theirs.” For a moment I wondered whether things would be different if Layla hadn’t read my scribblings. Better? Worse? Hard to say.
“Sometimes I’m insecure about my lovers—I wonder what they’re up to when I’m not around—but I never get jealous of you and Lex.”
“Maybe you don’t like us that much,” said Leslie.
Layla chuckled. “No, that’s not it at all. You have each other and I don’t want to interfere. There’s a boundary… less risk for me somehow.”
“We’re an open book,” I said. “I only get jealous when I don’t know what’s going through the girl’s head… when there seems to be a disconnect between her words and actions.”
“Do you ever feel like someone’s using you to get to Leslie, or vice versa?” Lay asked.
I poked at the ragged catfish remnants on my plate, then rested my head on the padded partition. Thought of the others. Have I learned anything yet, or is it the same old merry-go-round? “That’s usually the case. It’s unrealistic to expect someone to like both of us equally, but still—”
The girl’s pretty face brightened now. “But I like you both equally.”
“Then you’re a rare woman. Still, you know what I mean… you’ll see different things in each of us, I think.”
I went out for a postprandial smoke, the conversation echoing in my mind as I watched New Yorkers flutter to and fro. The boundary she mentioned—what if it were no longer in place? I still felt a little strange, at a loss for words: fucking is easier than talking, after all. But maybe if more people had conversations like this, if people didn’t take the roadmap as a given, then… who knows? When I returned Les and Lay were carrying on and smiling. They had changed positions; it was my turn on the egg seat.
“We were professing our undying love for each other,” Les said, giggling. She put on a more serious expression. “Just so you know, I told Layla we want to get to know her better. I thought you might want to add something.”
The girls were watching me intently, waiting for me to say something. I felt myself loosen up a bit. Cleared my throat. “I like you. Leslie obviously likes you. Neither of us wants to be your keeper—you have your own life and your own relationships. Shit, this is still new to us, something the three of us are going to have to figure out together.”
“I do think I want to find a partner eventually,” Layla said, “but I’m young and I’m in no rush right now.”
“Well, when you find that man—”
”—or woman—”
”—right, right—you’ll have to decide how important this part of you is to your happiness. Either way, we aren’t going to disappear.”
“Lex and I will still have our fun,” Leslie said, “but I wanted you to know we’d like to have something deeper with you.”
We fell silent for a moment. I finished my drink and glanced at the check. Layla shifted in her seat, frowning pensively. “Have you guys thought about how your lifestyle will change once you have kids?”
“I used to think that would definitely be the end of it,” Les said, “but we’ve met some swinging couples with kids. Obviously we’ll be much less active… I’ve read about alternative families but that’s a lot to take in right now.”
Lay smiled. “Kids, say hi to Auntie Layla.” We all burst out laughing.
“Good grief,” I said. “Let’s not worry about that just yet.”
And so our experiment began. Not for us the silent yearnings, the unspoken bitterness that defines so many relationships, but a forthright collaboration. The three of us were co-conspirators, for better or worse. It’s not that I was without my doubts, just that I was willing to set them aside for now. Willing to have a little faith.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Opinions | Sep 25, 2004
My recent post concerning polyamory spawned quite the discussion in the comments. One commenter was skeptical of all this free love jive:
People who do the polyamory thing always seem to dilute the definition to make it work for them.
And I suppose everybody does that with every word in the English language so they can live with themselves, but it almost seems a law of physics that we pitiful humans just have so much junk to spread around and we are too insecure to give it to more than one.
If we do try, there is always something essential withheld that is only given to the One. And I do respect women who detect that and move on to people who can give it all to them. That’s the real issue.
Hey! And none of this “they will choose to stay if they want to…” Of course they will, but the discussion is more why is it that so many females don’t? Or more terrifyingly, are any humans capable of being in a sustained committed romantic realtionship with more than one? I kinda sorta doubt it.
I responded with the following:
There is no fixed “definition” of polyamory… polyamorous relationships can take on innumerable forms defined by the participants themselves. This is really the whole point: to let people pursue relationship styles that work for them as individuals. Even monogamy is a fluid concept. What most people call monogamy these days isn’t pure monogamy (i.e., lifetime pair-bonding) but serial monogamy: several loves spread over time. And issues like premarital sex and cohabitation are now negotiable.
History and biology suggest that humans are inclined to spread themselves around. Lifetime pair-bonding is a relatively recent invention, one with a spotty track record at that. I won’t go into all the dreary statistics concerning divorce and single parentage here, but it is interesting to note (re your point about women “moving on”) that, in the US at least, women initiate a substantial majority of divorces. And even for the couples who beat the odds on paper, you have to factor in affairs and unhappy marriages. The best you can say for monogamy is it works for some of the people some of the time.
We’re not overly concerned with longevity (after all, how much time has to pass for any relationship to be considered a “success”?). I think you’re misreading us there. It’s not about marking our territory either: one of our former lovers met her future husband through us. All we ever require are honesty, openness and mutual respect. If you’re seeing Joe or Jane Blow let us know, yo. And if you want to give monogamy another shot then go right ahead. Treat us well and we’ll buy you a nice wedding gift, or be there for you if things don’t work out. It’s never all-or-nothing in the non-monogamous world.
But we all know theory is bullshit. The question is, can anyone make this work? Looking at things now, I see that in spite of our occasional hiccups we’ve been able to practice what we preach. Emma, Jen, Natalia, and Layla are all connected to us in some way, with varying degrees of intensity. They all treat us with respect; they’ve all stuck around through life’s inevitable ups and downs.
Perhaps all this talk of “single” women has caused some reader confusion. We prefer to sexually interact with women as singles but we don’t expect them to actually be single, just that they approach their relationships ethically. The women I mentioned above have other people in their lives, and that’s just fine with me.
I’ll leave you with this thought, a quotation I originally posted last year:
Do you know what you are talking about? Love, yes. Word known to all men. Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus...
—James Joyce, Ulysses. Latin roughly translated to mean “love truly wishes some good to another and therefore we all desire it.”
Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Sep 20, 2004
Leslie wore her stunning red dress and her white wig. No underwear. I couldn’t contain myself.
Enter Layla, wearing an impossibly small denim skirt and a midriff-baring top over which her pretty brown hair cascaded. Flower child. “You look gorgeous,” I said.
We puttered about for a while, considering dinner plans. “Hey, you should have had Natalia come over,” said Lay.
“You seem to have a thing for her,” I said.
“Well, yeah—she’s hot.”
“And where would we all sleep? Besides, we wanted to, um, get to know you a bit better tonight. Next time we all have a weekend free… then we’ll do it.”
“I’m picturing all these women lying on top of each other and you crawling between their legs and licking them all.” I realized Lay could be a bad influence, a co-conspirator. She turned to Leslie. “So, how many women has he been with at one time?”
“Six,” Les responded.
I made a hissing sound and shook my head. “Two words: never again. I’m not interested in opening a gynecology practice.”
Later on, Les was talking about personality tests. “I’m ESFJ,” she announced.
“INTP,” said Lay. Me too, obviously.
Lay’s a Libra, also. Not that I believe in all that astrological jive, but I believe in hippie chicks who believe in it. “So I understand how both of us can be attracted to Leslie,” I said, “her being the exact opposite and all that. But what about us? I am you. Isn’t that like masturbation?”
“Maybe it’s just that we know each other so well,” Lay said.
We smoked weed. Les erupted into a coughing fit, tears streaming down her cheeks. I went into the bedroom to pick out socks, never a good idea when you’re stoned. Sat there and agonized over my choices, then began to stroke the cow-spotted cat. He slinked away. I panicked: ohmygod what if I’m petting him too hard? Then I heard that lawnmower drone, the sound of contentment. Nonsense filled my head. “We’re gonna lay Lay,” I said to the purring cat. “We’re gonna get layed.”
The pizzaman rang the doorbell. “Don’t blow the pizzaman,” I sang as I glided toward the kitchen. I did a little jig, celebrating the arrival of food. I stared at the two women as they ate. So pretty, I thought, even with wedges of pizza stuffed in their mouths. So very pretty.
“I think I’ve set a record tonight,” Lay said. “This is the longest I’ve been here without having sex.” A subtle hint, perhaps?
In the bedroom again, I lifted Layla’s skirt from behind, felt her black silk panties and pulled them to the side to have a look. Meanwhile, Layla tasted Les and Les reached into my trousers to pull my cock out. “We have to go,” I was saying. “The sooner we get out of here the sooner we can come back and do what we’re doing right now.” It took me a moment to appreciate the absurdity of what I’d just said.
We approached a karaoke bar downtown, the location of Emma’s birthday party. On the way in we ran into Emma and company. Already a year that we’ve known her. Derek smiled and shook my hand; he did not punch me this time. Ran into Babs downstairs, who was all smiles as always. And then Emma’s other friend, the pretty black girl who’s interested in swinging, who informed us she’d just broken up with her boyfriend. We mellowed on a couch, Les, Lay and I. An hour passed. We said our goodbyes. I promised Emma we’d make it up to her, preferably in a naked way.
Heads turned when we entered the VIP room at Quo. We were the hottest unit there by far, a party within a party. We found some open seats in the bottle service lounge and the girls excitedly mapped out potential conquests like field commanders surveying a battleground. I was content with what I already had. As they chatted away I let my hand wander up Layla’s skirt.
We went out for a smoke, the three of us. I looked up and contemplated the two pale columns of light, inverse shadows against the velvet night sky, and at some ill-defined point, high up there, the twin beacons merged into a single beam. I held Leslie and turned to Layla. “What do you think of today? This date in history, that is.”
“I hadn’t really thought about it until now. I guess I wanted to block it all out.”
“Me too. You know… to hell with them and their petty vendettas. I’m not terrorized. This is just another day.” We’re still here, I thought, putting all their sacred nonsense through the shredder.
Leslie held my hand, leading me through the crowd in the front room. I looked back and took Layla’s delicate hand in mine, aware that I’d crossed what for me is a subtle line of intimacy. Some people reserve their kisses, or special sex tricks, for the people they trust. I reserve the most innocent gestures of affection.
Back in vips, we split off and made our rounds but didn’t meet with much enthusiasm; it seemed the three of us were too much to handle. I bumped into the party organizer and heaped praise upon her, told her to keep up the good work and so on. Found Lay leaning up against a support column, swaying to the music. Approached and placed my hands on her waist, leaned in to kiss her neck, smelled the faint scent of roses. She closed her eyes and brought her hands up above her head, holding onto the column. “I’m having so much fun,” she said, a dreamy smile planted on her fresh face.
I made eyes at an attractive, shy couple and asked Les if she’d like to go chat them up. “Sure,” she said, and without hesitation walked over and sat next to them. I followed suit, and then Lay came over and sat on my lap. This was distracting enough that I forgot all about the couple and pressed my lips to Layla’s. She slipped behind me and began to massage my back.
My vixens disappeared for a little while. “Looks like you’re all set tonight,” the male half of the attractive couple said. I just nodded, unable to think of any reply. When Les returned she removed the white wig and flung her curls about. She lowered the top of her dress and applied heart-shaped pasties to her nipples. I pulled up the hem, exposing her shaved pussy. She giggled. It wasn’t long before I was done with the party, ready to walk out of there with the two women sauntering a few paces ahead, laughing and carrying on.
At home, I put on a Henry Mancini collection, music that evokes images of an older, more glamorous New York. The three of us tore into one another, became a six-legged beast that rampaged through the living room and spilled onto the bed. Before I could process what was going on Lay was already on top of me. Up and down. In and out. Then slowly grinding herself to orgasm—me grasping her buttocks firmly, smothered by Leslie’s kisses. And when Layla came she released the night’s erotic tension into me, so much of it built up that when I mounted Leslie from behind I didn’t last long. I withdrew and pumped myself over Layla’s tits, wondering whether I’d shoot or dribble. A little of both, as it turned out. I splattered her face and breasts and she massaged my spill into her skin, tilting her head back to take me into her mouth.
Sleep overcame us. Hours passed. Les and I woke up early, both of us restless. Layla slept in and for a moment we watched her doze. “She looks so cute,” I said. Did some chores and grabassed with Leslie in the living room. The morning brightened and I felt tired again. Slipped under the covers and snuggled up to Lay, had those vivid morning dreams. We both awoke at noon. “What a strange dream,” I said.
“What was it about?” She yawned.
“We had this large, sunny, duplex… I kept running upstairs to see Les and downstairs to see you.”
“Aw… that’s cute,” she said as she stretched, blinking the sleep from her eyes.
Les came in and crawled under the sheets. She grabbed my erection and then brought her lips to it as Layla looked on. I placed a hand on my girlfriend’s bobbing head, closed my eyes and felt Layla’s soft lips against my cheek. My heart banged away. Leslie straddled my face and Layla snuck off to find the camera. She snapped photos of us from different angles, all the while egging us on. Les flipped around and impaled herself on me, squeezing down there. Milking me. How is it that someone so familiar, so comforting, can still fuck me senseless? I flipped her onto the bed and settled on my side, slowly, lazily pushing into her. Layla set down the camera and lowered her face between Leslie’s legs, licking both of us at once, her long hair tickling my thighs and balls.
I pounced on our lovely guest as Leslie held her. Hard and fast, crashing against Layla’s pubic bone as she curled her lips and growled. Then slowing down, burying my face in her neck, whispering, waiting to unload into that thin piece of latex, the only thing that separated us.
