Polyamory

People always want to label themselves: swinger, poly, kinkster, slut. I hate labels.

The Oxford comma: secret handshake of the monogamish.

Socializing at a poly event plays to exactly none of my strengths.

I call myself a slut, but the truth is more complicated — and more Groucho Marx than easy lay.

What I really missed wasn’t sex — it was seduction.

Letting go of L, and envying her ability to let go of me.

Love is hard when four people are involved and only three of them are fine with it.

T and I find ourselves with rare, kid-free hours, and spend them in a tangle of laptops, oral sex, emailed fantasies, and the complicated arithmetic of compersion.

There’s a tendency to imagine some objective standard of ethical behavior against which we should measure others. I’m not buying it.

Noms de whatever: the evolution from hiding behind “Grey” to being liberated by “N. Likes.”