Polyamory

The exponential complexity of four-way attraction, and the useful sting of rejection.

I imagined, for just a nanosecond, outing myself as non-monogamous to a table of straight professionals. The moment passed.

I don’t just want you. I want you to want everything I want, for me — and to keep up as I ask for more.

Three questions, no simple answers, and the honest admission that hanging a flag doesn’t summon a gazillion great sex partners.

I don’t fit in among the polyamorists or the swingers — too earnest for the one crowd, not earnest enough for the other.

I wanted to write about the impossibility of symmetry in non-monogamy. Turns out I already did.

From the strip club to the hotel room, I directed your orgasms by text — and then joined you for the rest.

She tells it better than I could.

Snap judgments, Birkenstocks, and ostrich burgers: a date that was over before it started.

T had a date. I stayed home, meditated, and sat with the ugly progression of emotions that followed.