Truth about me: I’m not sure where I land in monogamy. Monogamist? Monogamish? It’s a range I’m curious about. This week in collaboration with Chance Taureau we look at commitment. What’s terrifying and what’s enriching.
I don’t want you to be the last person I have sex with…
Not the ideal thought to have in moment one of having sex with somebody, but there it was. Hanging there. Totally distracting me from the man inches way from my face, and yes, currently having sex with me. He wasn’t bad in bed. This wasn’t like an, oh no what have I done, moment. I didn’t not like him. In fact, liking him was the problem. Liking leads to dating leads to me not having sex with anybody else. Maybe ever. And that fucking terrifies me.
With any man I find intriguing I always wonder, what would he be like in bed? It’s the strip-downess of it. The vulnerability that cuddles itself into intimacy. It isn’t just the sex. Even though there is something undeniably delicious about giving and receiving pleasure purely for the sake of it. But it’s also about the unique entry point into someone else’s mind achieved by way of connection. I mean, the man’s just been inside of me. Different topics of conversation are now on the table.
With every new partner there is a beginning. I’m afraid monogamy is an ending.
For me, it might be. I’m not sure yet. But also, could my definition of newness too small? A question I keep coming back to lately is what is possible on a platform of safety? Or in this case, of knowing. Sex changes shape when we’re with the same person hundreds and hundreds of times. We know their crevices. The precise pressure they like their nipple bitten. But we don’t know all of them. Their fantasies or their fears are still strangers to us. We don’t know how they’ve been wounded and how they crave to be healed. That comes with time. And repetition. There are always beginnings available to us. And sometimes they’re housed in safety.
My partner have been having discussions about getting married so recently the idea of commitment has being getting some airtime in my brain. I’ve been wondering,”Am I really committed to having sex with only one person… forever?” I’ve wondered what it’d be like to commit to that at an even deeper level in a very conscious way and logically too. FOREVER. Yeah, I know, some of you might be thinking what’s the big deal? Or… not me, not ever. Either way, bear with me.
Do I fear commitment? Yes.
As I’ve been thinking about commitment, I’ve been thinking about its depth and then wondering if I’ve ever really been that committed. In the past, I’ve been married and I’ve also been in several long term relationships. I’ve thought I was committed. I thought of myself as monogamous. With the examination of my history I can see otherwise. Why? As I’ve come to understand commitment and integrity the way I have, this has become a more powerful aspect of myself.
What am I afraid of losing? Freedom? Autonomy? Options? I think all of the above on some level.
I don’t know a ton about the brain. I know enough to sound intelligent to some and like an idiot to those that really now the brain. I do know that different aspects of us are handled in different parts of the brain. I think we can somewhat all agree on that.
The part of the brain that handles our survival needs, commonly referred to as the “reptile” part causes certain behaviors. These behaviors are recognizable in many animals. We want what we can’t have, we chase what moves away from us. When operating in this part of the brain we think certain things, we choose certain things, and they’re usually focused with specific goals in alignment with that level of needs. So the more I think about what I can’t have the more I want it. The key, for me, is to live in the parts of my brain that are in charge of higher order living. Love, wholeness, peace, truth, god.
What would cause me to break my commitment?
I’ve been having sex with the same person for over five years now. Just one… mostly. I do on occasion like to have a little fling with myself. I have two distinct sexual relationships. One that is with others and one that is with myself. Here’s the deal… the person in charge with turning me on and keeping me interested is me. Yep, me. And if I’ve learned anything from Maddie, her focus, and obsessions it is to talk about it, be vulnerable, take risks, ask for what I want or need, and enjoy the ride (both figuratively and literally).