The idea that if we fall in love, Quinn wanted someone else, caused panic in my chest like a bright match. We stopped talking about polyamory and floated along monogamy as we navigate other things. The fears of my rest, setting the boundaries of their difficulties, my parents’ upset reactions to what I come out, and Quinn and I come up with ways to become both “I” and “I.” In our relationship.
“Nothing will change,” Quinn promised to return to our bed. They felt like betrayal to keep it a secret, so I wanted me to know.
They also thought it might be a good moment to reevaluate our relationship structure. “I love you so much, and I love our love. But I miss being polyamus,” they admitted, rubbing my back.
I didn’t. I wanted to believe in rich love and freedom, but my relationship with Quinn showed that polyamory was an escape hatch that pulled me out of an unfortunate relationship. I was happy, so I didn’t want anyone else. I couldn’t imagine anyone else wanting about anything other than the lack of relationships with us. I was worried that opening up our relationship would only lead me to where I took what was before: an inevitable, painful ending. But for Quinn, wanting others was more wealthy than lack.
In theory, I was completely evolved and on board with polyamory. I was reading “Sex at Dawn” and “Ethical Woman.” I knew it was terrible Bonobos. In my last relationship, I wanted us to be open to the first place. But in reality, my body was filled with fear-inducing adrenaline. After Quinn returned the polyamory to the conversation, I stayed up all night in anxious panic, relieved to see their soft, sleeping faces in the bed next to me.
I was afraid that it wasn’t important anymore – to lose them, to lose us. I imagined they would fall asleep, wake up next to someone else, call someone else when they were hurt and marry someone else in my place. We were lesbian stereotypes and we handled them infinitely.
Quinn was patient and calm. We have multiple intimate relationships, including what Polymerus gave them, building deeper relationships with friends, and creating more space to go together to the kink party they loved on their own. and talked about how to meet their needs for freedom.
“Whatever we decide, I still want to be with you,” Quinn promised. I was well known enough to know that they weren’t saying anything they didn’t mean.
My crashes did not mean they weren’t about to leave me as I slowly began to trust them, and the summer turmoil settled down. Quinn’s crash faded in a few months, but it was just a catalyst for the relationship conversation we desperately needed. Perhaps our relationship didn’t have to be binary, such as monogamy or polyamory. Maybe there’s space between us to make our own.
We quietly shifted to what we both felt comfortable. It is Monogamisch, a range version of our own foothold stones, and Quinn will play with others at the kink party he missed.
“I don’t know if this is a step in the ladder or if it’s for me,” I said nervously. To say yes to open in a small way means going from zero to 100, and was afraid that there was no other option other than monogamy or marrying someone else.
“That’s fine,” they reassured me. “We just see what it goes, and if this is it, it’s fine.”
Source: BuzzFeed – LGBTQ – www.buzzfeed.com
