My distaste for monogamy does not particularly constitute an identification with the polyamory or swinging lifestyle. Although I prefer non-monogamous relationships, I do not define them as polyamorous or swinging, precisely because both labels imply something that I don’t identify with. Polyamory is generally defined as having intimate, romantic relationships with more than one person at one time. This often involves a certain level of emotional attachment to most – if not all – of your lovers. Swinging is generally defined as having sex with more than one person; it is often (but not always) within the context of a committed relationship, and is usually considered “just sexual” outside of the primary relationship.
I have very little experience with both of these labels, despite my extensive experience with non-monogamous relationships. I definitely would not call myself polyamorous; if I am “in love” with one person, I find it nearly impossible to fall for anyone else. Similarly, I have yet to experience compersion. My jealousy is yet untamed – I suspect this has a lot to do with deep-seated insecurities which will hopefully fade as I get older or meet someone who is able to appease my worries sufficiently. The thought of sharing someone emotionally sends waves of jealousy, sadness, and anger through me – as hard as I try to restrain it. For now, meeting a metamour is utterly unappealing. If a partner is having mere sex with someone else, I am generally less concerned – although I tend to dislike knowing details, and I crave assurances that I am not being replaced. However, I still would not consider myself a swinger. Perhaps this is simply a matter of semantics, or a distaste for the term.
I often feel that people don’t fully believe that I don’t want monogamy – as though I’ve only made this decision because I’m bitter or too young to know what I really want. I suspect that many of my partners believe that I will change my mind about not wanting to be monogamous once I get close enough to them. But even if there are moments when I think, wow, I really like this guy, I wouldn’t mind fucking only him for a while – those feelings fade. Fast. And then I’m left with logic and reality: extended monogamy does not suit me.
Here’s the thing about non-monogamy: it’s comforting. It’s nice to know that I’m not being relied upon for every one of my partner’s needs – because I know that I can’t provide everything. It’s lovely to think that I can continue to meet new people and have new experiences without feeling like I will be replacing the ones that I already know and care about. I am soothed to know that even if my partner meets someone else that he likes, we don’t have to end our relationship. It’s encouraging to realize that I won’t have to eventually choose between the people I want to keep around. There is a sense of radical honesty with consensual non-monogamy that is utterly refreshing and wonderful.
Sure, it sometimes gets lonely. I go to parties alone. I don’t have a default “boyfriend” to go on trips with. I probably won’t be living with a significant other for a very long time, if ever. But honestly? None of those things tempt me to change my lifestyle – at least not yet.
