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Tag Archives: polygamy

So, let’s examine the other side of the coin from my last post.

It’s no secret to Tina that my sex life with Ashley has historically been less than satisfying.  In fact, the details of our sexual relationship were one of the first things Tina and I discussed after finally admitting our shared interest in each other: the rarity with which I fuck my wife, her general lack of interest in sexual exploration, and so on.  Tina couldn’t fathom how Ashley could feel that way around me, because she had wanted me for years.  (I can be quite oblivious at times.)  So, she offered to help me relieve some of that tension.  Fast forward to a cold winter’s day reunion, when Tina and I fucked like there was nothing else in the world that mattered.  Our affair was born out of mutual respect, physical attraction, and an acknowledgement that neither of us were even close to living the sexual lifestyle we truly wanted.

When Tina started fucking her new lover, they established that they would tell each other any time they had sex with another person.  This affects him more than her, as he frequently fucks new and random people, and she wants to make informed decisions about her sexual health.  This is an entirely pragmatic arrangement in my mind, and she and I agreed we would be similarly open with one another.  It’s not been much of an issue because I haven’t had any new sexual partners in a while–just her, and Ashley–and she has only slept with him while she’s been away from me.  I understand that she sleeps with him on a regular basis, and I don’t expect her to tell me every time they fuck, but I do expect her to tell me if he sleeps with someone else because I, too, want to be informed about the risks to my sexual health as much as possible.

That’s our arrangement, in a nutshell.  We tell each other if we fuck someone else, share anything that could change our exposure to risk of STIs, and understand that we could be fucking our significant others at any time.

At least, I thought that’s what it was.

It came as a real surprise to me when Ashley suddenly became more sexually active.  For the longest time, literally years, she wasn’t at all interested in sex, and we would go weeks, if not months, at a time without being intimate.  Hence the topic of this blog.  Neither she nor I know what flipped the switch for her, but we now fuck much more regularly than we once did, and she has begun exploring new fantasies and activities with me, including BDSM, pornography, mutual masturbation, female dominance, and other fun and exciting things.  (This is likely the reason I haven’t had any new sexual partners in a long while.  I just haven’t needed them!)  I didn’t share this with Tina because I don’t ask her for similar details of her sexual escapades, and my understanding, as stated above, was that we know the other could be fucking their local partner at any time.

Boy, was that a mistake on my part.

Tina recently asked me who all I had fucked this year.  My answer: just her, and Ashley.  The anger and resentment that followed was truly astounding.

How could you possibly think I wouldn’t want to know if you had sex with Ashley.

What if my lover didn’t tell me he slept with someone else, you would be livid.

I can’t believe you would be so dishonest with me.

I reminded her that I don’t expect her to tell me when she fucks her other lover, and I assumed she felt similarly.  She argued that it was different because she shares a house with him, and she fucks him so regularly it just makes sense that she probably fucked him on any given day.  I countered with, I live in the same house with my wife, and married people fuck sometimes, which I took as a given.  She responded with a bitter comment about the “sanctity of marriage”.

Point is, it was a very, very unpleasant exchange.  She and I are still recovering from the events of that day.  It was a bit of a turning point for us, frankly, and our relationship hasn’t been the same since.  There is an underlying hostility and resentment in her words at times, roiling just under the surface, that she acknowledges because she “is slow to forgive, and never forgets”.  (Her words.)

I wonder, who is at fault here?  Was it unfair of me to assume that we had a mutual understanding?  Or was her response an overreaction to the obvious realities of being in a clandestine relationship?  Admittedly, I could have told her that my sex life with Ashley had been improving, but it seems perfectly reasonable to me that two people in a relationship will occasionally have sex.  I would have told her if I fucked a new person, or if Ashley had fucked someone else and thus exposed me to a new risk (not that that would ever happen, Ashley is depressingly monogamous)… but fucking Ashley is nothing new to me, and doesn’t change my risk exposure.  So I never shared it, because I often didn’t think to, and when I did, I simply didn’t want to chance hurting Tina.

Or, is assigning fault a useless exercise?  Emotions rarely adhere to strict reasonable guidelines.  Tina freely admits that she loves how receptive I am to her being promiscuous, and simultaneously admits that, though she wants me to have that freedom as well, she would probably be terribly hurt by me sleeping with someone else, because she wants me to be hers and hers alone.  So it is entirely plausible that her reaction was born from that jealousy, and thus assigning blame is simply a juvenile response to a natural human inclination.

Really, what it makes me wonder is whether Tina and I are truly compatible.  She is a phenomenal lover, and sex with her is arguably the best I have ever experienced.  She is a gifted professional and a remarkable woman, and I care much more deeply for her than I should.  I wonder whether that depth of feeling and our inability to act on it, and the exposure and vulnerability it brings to our emotional lives, makes us hypersensitive to things that would normally not bother us were we to be together regularly and in a committed fashion.  I’ve no way of knowing, obviously, and there are so many questions and unknowns that I can’t shake this sense of unease I’ve felt for so many weeks.

Perhaps I should just let it go, let the relationship end, but the thought of not having her in my life is extraordinarily painful.  So ever onward do I trudge through discontent and melodrama.

Perhaps I just need a vacation.

Writing these entries has inspired me to think more critically about sexuality in general, and the stereotypes associated with it.  I’ve been reading a lot of blogs and articles lately on the subject, from professionals and laymen alike, but mostly personal accounts from people struggling with issues related to my own.  (In particular, I find the blogs of MsTitty, Fuck & Schmuck, and Lynn very insightful when it comes to sexuality, yet representing very different sides of a multifaceted issue.)  Everyone takes a different approach and has wildly differing opinions on the subject.  So, I thought I would weigh in on the matter.

EDIT:  I would be remiss to not also mention Sexual Life of a Wife and TerriblyTorn13.  I love their stories.

I find it troubling that so many people are bothered by being hypersexual.  Modern western society is all about empowering the individual to be the individual.  Everyone is different, everyone has his or her own needs and wants and desires.  You are a beautiful and unique snowflake, Tyler Durden, and you are entitled to pursue your dreams, whatever the cost, come Hell or high water.  You want to go climb Everest?  Don’t forget your supplemental oxygen.  You want to stand on the corner playing music?  Here’s your tip hat, hope you like fedoras.  You want to write?  Here’s a new blogging website just for you.  Ours is a culture of entitlement and personal success, and you are encouraged to pursue whatever wishes and dreams give you the strength to get up in the morning.

Why, then, do people feel guilty about wanting to pursue the pleasure of sex?

This isn’t a rhetorical question.  I really don’t get it.  Sure, sex is dirty.  It’s wet, slippery, sweaty, exhausting, smelly.  Pick your adjective.  But it’s also incredibly beautiful.  It’s personal.  Intimate.  It’s you giving everything you are to someone else.  And it is fucking glorious.  It’s the one thing that the majority of people can agree that they love to do.  So why do we so often feel ashamed of engaging in what is arguably America’s real favorite pastime?

If I had to pick a response–the usual gun to the head give me an answer scenario–I would say it’s because, as forward-thinking as we like to be, our culture’s approach to sex is still so fucking draconian.  One man and one woman, period.  Promiscuity is to be avoided at all costs, and open relationships are in direct defiance of the societal norms.  And God forbid you even think of trying anything homosexual, because if it’s not gonna produce babies, then it must be wrong.

Quick factoid.  All those religious arguments against homosexuality based on Biblical scripture are based on one of the first Jewish laws, that a good Hebrew was to procreate and populate the earth.  Homosexuality in and of itself, as an act of lovemaking to your same sex, wasn’t taboo.  It was wasting a baby-making opportunity that was frowned upon.  If you doubt this, I recommend researching Hebrew religious law, particular the history of Leviticus.  It will blow your mind.

Back on topic now.  I don’t think that our society’s view on sex is a product of religious morals.  Not anymore, anyway.  Originally, yes, certainly.  But with the rise of the scientific method and a general turning away from religion, there must be something else driving it.  Again, if I were to posit an answer, I would cite two reasons: 1) Entitlement, and 2) Infringement.

First, entitlement.  We, as unique snowflakes in pursuit of our dreams, believe we are entitled to happiness.  Hell, it’s even in the U.S. Declaration of Independence–“…that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are LifeLiberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”  This is the basis of our culture.  And sex makes us happy.  Therefore, we are entitled to it.

Second, infringement.  You, as a snowflake competing for your happiness atop my snowy mound, are not entitled to your happiness when it infringes upon mine.  Therefore, denying sex to me when it would otherwise make me happy makes you an obstacle to be surmounted.  And if you leave me, or give my God-given right to sex to someone else, then you are a traitor to the American way of life.

Couple entitlement and infringement, and you end up with the monogamous relationships so common today.  One man and one woman, committed to each other at face value, but often pursuing the elusive Side-Tail.  Jealousy runs rampant.  Divorce skyrockets when couples realize that their capital-aych-Happiness is not theirs alone, but being shared with Someone Else.  It’s a recipe for disaster, a cauldron bubbling over with overpossessive assholes, codependent pricks, and dishonest jerks generated by a system at odds with our desire to just be fucking happy.  Hell, I’m one of ’em.  (Well, dishonest, anyway.  Never been much for jealousy, and I’m too independent to be needy.)

I don’t think this is ever going to change.  At least, not within my lifetime.  It will be a very long time, if ever, before people realize that the happiness of their genitals need not depend on being in or around the same other set of genitals forever.  But this doesn’t mean that we, and by we I mean sexually obsessed or otherwise hypersexual people, should be ashamed of our wants and needs.  Hell, I think we should embrace them.  It’s not always that easy, since finding other people who share your particular viewpoints and proclivities can be incredibly difficult, but isn’t that sort of the point of all this, being happy and comfortable with who and what you are?

Society wants us to be unique, except when it strays from what they define as “unique” and borders on “deviant”.  Then we’re something to be shunned, or mocked, or objectified, or even pitied.  I say fuck that.   If the world wants us to be ourselves, I say, do it.  Don’t give a shit what they think or say, live your life how you want to live it.  Never let yourself be shoehorned into a stereotype, into feeling as though you must, by default, feel and behave a certain way.  Own your life, and own your dreams.  Do what feels right to you.  If your behavior produces ghosts and demons, as mine does, then so be it.

At least they will be your ghosts and demons.

Hmm.  I’m not exactly sure where I’ve gone with this.  I seem to have ended up someplace totally different from where I had intended to arrive.  Ahh, the joys of writing from the heart.

Author’s Note: Foul language and adult material ahead.  You’ve been warned.

I first realized I might have a problem several years ago, when I was in a serious relationship in college with a girl I thought I was going to marry.  I’ll call her Kelly.  Kelly is an artist–not the painting or drawing type, but the physical type.  Dancing, singing, acting.  She is really quite talented.  She is also the third woman I ever slept with.

And oh man, was she ever good.  Her dance experience made her particularly strong and limber, and the things we did together were just amazing.  She was curious in bed, willing to experiment and try new things (many of which I’m sure I’ll write about at a later date).  She was eager to please, and she could perform fellatio better than anyone I’ve been with since.  Couple her natural sexual abilities, trim body, and desire to experiment to a generally kind and compassionate soul, and she was one hell of a catch.  Our adventures together are still a subject of consideration on my part.

One weekend, she went out of town to visit her family.  A girl I had met a few months prior showed up at the store where I worked and was following me around as I performed my retail duties, chatting with me about this or that and flirting quite heavily with me.  After work, we ended up at her place, where we fucked ourselves silly for a good four hours.

This sort of behavior wasn’t at all unusual for me.  By this time, I had cheated on Kelly multiple times with her best friend, my previous ex-girlfriend, an old friend from high school, my best friend’s girlfriend, and several random girls I’d met at parties.  It had never meant anything more than a bit of fun, being involved with someone and knowing them as well as anyone can.  But that night was different because I wasn’t the slightest bit interested in this girl.  She was simply unappealing in every sense of the word.  Kelly was beautiful, funny, smart, great in bed, and as crazy about me as I was about her.  This girl was pointedly unattractive, a sleazy cliché of a human being, something I realized halfway through our marathon sex session.  She was nothing more than a friend to me, and a poor one at that, yet there I was, having sex with her.  I felt true revulsion for myself and what I was doing, to myself and to Kelly.  But it sure didn’t stop me from doing it.

I left the girl’s house with a sick sensation in my gut, for the first time feeling truly guilty for what I had done.  It was an immediate guilt that passed quickly when Kelly came home, but I will always remember it as the first time I was ashamed of myself for what I had done to someone for whom I cared so deeply.  It was a sensation that I have experienced over and over again since then.  Sex with that girl is now part of an incredibly long list of examples of how weak I am, a list that I view with a mingled since of guilt and nostalgia, because no matter how ashamed I may be of myself, thinking about what I’ve done and with whom always turns me on.  The guilt is overshadowed by recalling the pleasure of feeling a warm body pressed against and around me, the smell of sweat and exertion, the moans and grunts and everything equally disgusting and exciting about giving your body to someone else for their pleasure.  And I desperately crave that feeling, in equal parts genuine contrition and blissful disregard for anything but that single moment of ecstasy.

……………man.  I’m still not sure if I’m truly a sexual addict, but having written all of this down, I can say one thing for certain.

I might be one sick puppy.

Let me preface the following by saying that I’m not really sure why I’m writing this.  Part of me thinks that it might be therapeutic.  Another part of me thinks I just want to get my thoughts down.  Another part of me thinks it might just be a turn-on to finally tell the full truth about myself.  I don’t really know.  But I’ve been thinking about starting this blog for a while now, and for whatever reason, I’m finally following through with it.  It’s sort of a big leap for me.

Also, I imagine this blog is going to be rather unpredictable.  Right now, I just want to write about my thoughts and what I’m feeling.  But I’m sure I will also recount stories because, as I mentioned above, it’s a bit of a turn-on to share these intimately private details in their full truth.  Maybe I’m also a bit of an exhibitionist on top of everything else.  So, if you’re reading this, be prepared.  You’ll surely end up seeing a lot of foul language and adult content.

I should also state that, due to the sensitive and intimate nature of what I will be writing, certain measures will be necessarily taken to protect the identity of all of the people involved in my posts.  No real names will ever be used, no real locations.  The main points and details will be otherwise 100% accurate.  This is being written for my benefit only, so there’s no need to endanger the reputations of other people, and there’s no reason to fabricate the truth.

So, who am I.  I’m an American male from the southwest, now pushing 30.  I’m not model material, but I’m handsome enough to be considered attractive, or so I’ve been told.  (This comes from other sources.  I’m really no good at assessing my own appearance.)  I was raised in a highly religious background and still consider myself a believer.  I attended a small rural school.  I earned a bachelor’s degree from a state school, a Master’s degree from elsewhere, and am now working on a science-related Doctorate.  I have been happily married for several years to a woman who is truly my best friend and the great love of my life.  And I am a sex addict.

At least, I think I am.  I think most psychiatrists are quacks, so I won’t go and be formally diagnosed.  But I am sufficiently self-aware to recognize that I have a certain dependency upon sex.  It’s my go-to form of relaxation.  It’s what I do when I’m bored, or when I want to take a break from work.  It’s what I think about 90% of my day, and what I crave if I go more than a day without it.  It’s the thing that I want more than all else, yet attaining it frequently places my relationships and long-term happiness at risk, or outright ruins them.  Perhaps it’s not a true addiction in the strictest sense of the definition, but my desire for, and pursuit of, sexual activity has certainly shaped more of my life than would seem healthy for your average person.

I take great pleasure from sex.  Sort of obvious, I know, but that simple statement can pretty much sum up everything I want this blog to reflect.  I love being close to others.  I crave it, in fact.  And there is no closer intimacy than that of consensual sexual intercourse.  I don’t objectify those people with whom I have been sexually involved because that would ruin the moment.  I also don’t find much enjoyment in bondage/discipline fetishes, and the idea of hurting someone for my own pleasure, or theirs, strikes me as wrong in every possible level.  (I would never judge another person for finding pleasure in these activities, mind you.  What takes place between two consenting adults is their own business.  I’m merely establishing my own proclivities.)  But pretty much everything else is fair game for me.  One-on-one, threesomes, or larger groups.  Heterosexual, bisexual, or homosexual.  (Edit:  I self-identify as heterosexual, though my pornography collection does have a few not-quite-hetero pieces.)  One night stands or extended interactions.  Whatever gives me that sense of closeness, of truly being with another person.

What, then, do I hope to accomplish with this blog.  Maybe I want to find like-minded people and know I’m not alone in this.  Maybe I need a sounding board for my thoughts, something to make me feel better about this all-consuming obsession.  Hell, maybe I just get off on it.  Frankly, I don’t know.  But I know I want to be honest, somewhere, somehow.  I think it’s enough that I’m actually writing this, following through with something I’ve been wanting to do for a while.  I’ll leave it up to whoever reads this to decide what it’s for.  Maybe it’ll mean more to you than to me.  Maybe you’ll be shocked and horrified by my exploits.

I frequently am.