Rick, 52
I’ve tried knowing and not knowing, and I find both difficult. In an ideal world, we’d go looking for sex together
We’d been dating for six months when Rachel suggested non-monogamy. I went in with an open mind – you never know what something’s like until you try. It’s been wonderful, but also the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t know if non-monogamy will make or break us, but monogamy could just as easily ruin our relationship.
On her profile, Rachel’s interests read: “Reading, jigsaw puzzles, running, fucking.” It made me laugh. Divorced and single, I had joined the dating app Feeld after my sex life fell off a cliff. I didn’t want a relationship – I was enjoying being single, I just wanted sex. I matched with Rachel after a month, and fell in love with her very quickly: sexually, emotionally, intellectually – everything just clicked.
Rachel has never wanted to know what I was doing with other people, whereas I thought it was better to know everything. But the more I knew, the more I struggled. On the drive home after picking her up from a threesome, I remember thinking: why did I sacrifice my own comfort for the fantasy of a couple I’d never even met?
When I’m at home vacuuming and Rachel is out with someone, I can spiral. Going for a run or having a cold shower helps, and I’ve learned to check the facts: do I actually know she’s having a better time than she does with me? Do I know whether the sex is good? Usually, the answer is no.
Our rule now is: don’t ask, don’t tell. We’re allowed to lie to each other – Rachel would rather not know. I’ve tried knowing and not knowing, and I find both difficult. In an ideal world, I’d be part of the process, or we’d go looking for sex together. If it were up to me, we probably wouldn’t be non-monogamous. I didn’t go into this wanting sex with lots of people. What I want is stability, but then I remind myself there’s no guarantee of that in monogamous relationships, either – I’ve been cheated on before.
Rachel is the most important person in my life and I don’t want to give her up, but, ultimately, if we can’t learn to do this better, I don’t know whether love is enough.
Rachel, 43
I’ll want monogamy again one day, but someone needing me to that extent scares me
If you were to describe someone who is cut out for ethical non-monogamy, it wouldn’t be me. I don’t understand how anyone doesn’t worry about being replaceable. They say that you have to believe in the solidity of what you have – but that doesn’t come easily. My poly friends say you’re not doing it right if you hide the reality from yourself, but as far as I’m concerned, a policy of “don’t ask, don’t tell” allows me to suspend a certain amount of disbelief.
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The “right” way to do it, in Rick’s view, is to get it all out in the open. He wants to hear details, but then hates knowing them. Experience has taught me that the more I know, the worse I feel. But we’re committed to making the other our priority, and Rick is very good at reassuring me when I feel insecure.
I was in a monogamous relationship for more than a decade, and after that, I realised I wasn’t looking for anything committed or long-term. It’s a truism that the older you get, the better sex is and the more confident you are, and in my 40s, I’m the most confident I’ve ever been. I get a lot of delight from variety – I don’t want to go to my grave thinking: I wish I’d had a threesome.
But there have been times when I look around and realise I’m no one’s number one, and that brings up insecurities. Maybe I’m only good enough for a certain amount of closeness. Rick and I have said we’re each other’s number one, but neither of us find non-monogamy easy, and it’s very possible one of us will say we don’t want it any more. I think he might be getting to that place. Keeping the relationship open made sense at the start, but we have to keep checking in about whether it continues to work.
I’ll want monogamy again one day, but being needed by someone to that extent scares me. Right now, we’re trying to find the sweet spot with how much we share.
