I am the “hinge” in a committed polyamorous V. For the past 10 years, I’ve had relationships with two men, Justin and Henry, and we’re all free to date others. Like most people, I grew up thinking monogamy was the norm, but a part of me always felt I had the capacity to love more than one person at a time. I got married in my early 20s, but it soon fell apart due to his cheating. Since then, I’ve explored all kinds of open relationships, from no-strings-attached swinging to don’t-ask-don’t-tell arrangements to committed polycules. Whenever someone new finds out about my thruple, I steel myself for the questions that invariably follow. Who sleeps where? Don’t you get jealous? What are the rules? How does it work? Everybody’s version of non-monogamy is a little different. This is what mine looks like.
Monday, 7:30 a.m. Justin’s alarm is going off. That’s our code for me waking him with a blow job. He moans sleepily as I tease him to orgasm and collapse on top of him, giggling. He brings out the playful sex kitten in me.
Monday, 8 a.m. I hop in the shower and then head down to the kitchen, where Henry has coffee waiting. Tonight is our date night, so we make dinner plans and discuss our schedules for the week. Technically, Henry and I live together, and Justin has his own apartment about a mile away, but it feels more like I have two homes. I’m at Justin’s two to four nights a week, and he often sleeps at our place.
Monday, 8 p.m. Henry and I cuddle up on the couch, watching Dancing with the Stars, while Justin goes on a first date with Sarah, a woman he met last week. I’m nervous and excited for him. The joy I feel when my partners experience pleasure and happiness that doesn’t originate from me almost always outlasts any twinges of jealousy or fear.
Tuesday, 12:30 a.m. Justin texts me good night and lets me know he kissed Sarah at the end of their date. We have an agreement to be honest and keep one another up to date on how we’re feeling and what we’re up to. Henry and I go to sleep in separate beds. Our relationship is light on sexual passion, but we’re best friends and very compatible partners in life. We’re foodies and art lovers, and we share the same irreverent sense of humour. There’s comfort, stability and a deep, abiding love between us.
Tuesday, 7 p.m. Henry’s girlfriend sleeps over. She’s the first woman he’s dated seriously in the 10 years we’ve been together. In general. I’m happy he’s finally taking advantage of the benefits of being in an open relationship. I stay over at Justin’s so they have more privacy.
Wednesday, 7:30 p.m. There’s a basketball game on. Henry, Justin and I watch it at our favourite fish ’n’ chips joint. Justin has his arm around me, and I’ve got my hand resting on Henry’s across the table. The three of us laugh at the confused expression on our server’s face when he walks away. Later, back at our place, Henry falls asleep on the couch, and Justin and I retire to my room. Our foreplay turns into drowsy cuddling, and we drift off to sleep instead of finishing the deed.
Thursday, 6 p.m. Justin and I attend The Munch, a social gathering for kinky people, which I co-host. I’ve been active in the Vancouver BDSM community for almost a decade. Henry isn’t particularly interested in it, but Justin is curious about exploring sadomasochism and power play. Tonight, I meet Devon, a smart, sexy woman who is new to town. She intrigues me. I invite her to meet us at a comedy cabaret the next evening.
Friday, 7 p.m. Sarah, Justin, Henry, Devon and I go on a group date to the cabaret. I sit between Devon and Henry, with Justin and Sarah on the other side of the booth. Conversations criss-cross the table, and it would be nearly impossible for a casual observer to distinguish who is there with whom. Henry is tired, so he heads back to our place early. Now it kind of feels like I’m with Devon and Justin is with Sarah, but after the cabaret, each of the women goes home alone. (There’s much less indiscriminate f-cking in polyamory than most people think—and a lot more scheduling and laundry.) But Justin and I do have hot, intense sex when we get home, both aroused by the possibilities that Devon and Sarah represent.
Saturday, 10 a.m. I make breakfast for the three of us while Henry and I discuss household bills that need paying and who can take the cats to their vet appointments this week.
Saturday, 7 p.m. Justin and I opt for an evening of kinky role play, spanking and lovemaking in front of his fireplace. I lose count of my orgasms.
Sunday, 11 a.m. I wake to a sweet text from Henry, who has just left brunch for us on Justin’s stoop: cheese, sausage, a baguette and some bubbly. He’s almost too good to be true. I text back a picture of the feast as we savour it, feeling like the luckiest woman on earth. I’ll probably head back to my place soon, or maybe I’ll stay and help Justin tidy up his apartment in preparation for the dinner he’s making Sarah tonight. The possibilities are endless.
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