Walking through the streets of Paris together, nearing our two year anniversary, strung out on love, we passed railings covered with padlocks left by lovers. I made some little comment about how dysfunctional a padlock was as a symbol for love — unless of course, I qualified, it’s some kind of BDSM thing. Little did I know that the lock and key emoji would one day become one of our most used.
He and I have a polyamorous love. Not an “open relationship.” The kind of love where we both live with other partners, have serious future plans and dreams with other partners (a baby for me, building a house outside the city for him). The kind of love where we are free to create other connections in whatever way we choose, where we are free to have as much sex and romance with other people as we want. The kind of love where each other’s sovereignty and independence are of the utmost importance, where we work to protect these even when we feel the occasional shiver of insecurity or stab of jealousy. Those feelings do not take up any space in our relationship but neither are they banished to the shadows. We are transparent with each other. We love each other in our freedom. Freedom is a deeply held shared value.
We both have nesting partners but we are not “secondary partners.” Our relationship is not defined by its proximity to or distance from the compulsory monogamy model. The fact that we have made certain commitments with other partners does not diminish or take away from our relationship or our commitments to each other. At every stage of its becoming we allowed our relationship to be exactly what it was, without rushing it up any relationship escalators or pinning it down to any particular label. And yet — our love blossomed and with it our commitment. What we have is really fucking deep and really fucking real.
I remember, early on, writing the erotic love letters that pass for sexting in our relationship, I dared to share a fantasy that could easily be misunderstood in a polyamorous context. I typed the words, my heart beating in my chest — I want to be yours. Leaving no chance of being misunderstood, I qualified that this yours was a polyamorous yours — a deep, erotic desire to belong to him but not one that longed for exclusivity or even priority — a belonging that existed for us inside the container of our own relationship. He liked the idea and he thanked me for explaining what it meant to me. I had always leaned submissive and he was skilled at taking and holding the vulnerability I offered him. Begging to be allowed to be his became an extremely sexy expression of my devotion.
My partner and I both have liberated genders. We are both free to be all of who we are, uncaged by the stifling tropes and roles of compulsory heteronormativity. Our commitment to our own and each other’s freedom does not end with honouring and encouraging each other’s other relationships. It’s about welcoming each other in all of who we are, encouraging our self-discovery, self expression, and growth. We have a growth-oriented love. My partner is a perfect mix of masculine and feminine — hard and yielding. He looks equally delicious in his work overalls as he does in lacy lingerie. My yielding sits inside my power. He sees and loves both and it is precisely because of how truly he welcomes my power that I feel so safe to be so soft with him. I’ve always been more submissive sexually, because I am a powerhouse in my real life and I long to relinquish responsibility in the space of the erotic. He has always known exactly how to let me let go.
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