Sex Diaries: Real-life Stories of Non-Monogamy and Polyamory

28, in a relationship, Canada

DAY ONE

7:45 a.m. I wake up and think to myself, This is going to be a crazy f***ing week.

My partner, B, and I have been together for two and a half years. We’ve had a whirlwind of a romance. Basically, they walked into my birthday party off the street, and we fell in love instantly. We’re both queer, nonbinary, sex-­positive, slut-­positive, and kink-­positive. We started out as polyamorous, but after B experienced a deep personal loss, our priorities and capacities shifted. Being monogam-­ish feels healthier and more grounding right now. This shift has been challenging for my identity, but I’ve started to expand my idea of what polyamory is and so I’ve been feeling more settled. I also have a submissive, who is one of my favorite people, but more on that later.

We’re flying east with two friends, Cleo and Seb, to surprise our friend Ali at a show they are performing in. Then we’re going to a two-­day sex party at a mansion, on the ocean, thrown by an acquaintance, in the middle of nowhere.

11 a.m. After landing, we grab our bags and realize that Cleo’s bag, which is full of rope and needles, per their current kink fascinations, was searched. We know this because inside the bag is a little note that reads, This bag was searched for safety reasons. Nothing was removed. I guess Security realized that we’re kinky, not dangerous.

1 p.m. As we drive to the apartment where we’re all staying, we discuss our boundaries and desires for the week. I really want to kiss a stranger. It sounds exciting and within my limits. Plus, I want to have a few scenes at the party—­ones that feel good, powerful, cathartic, and maybe dark. For me and B, there’s a difference between kink play with others (on the table) and romantic sexual activity (off the table).

5 p.m. The group goes out for oysters before surprising Ali at their show. It’s fabulous and I cry watching them perform.

10 p.m. We go to a rave at a . . . lobster house? Yeah. The combo of the music and the smell of seafood was less than ideal for me. But it’s by the ocean, people are dancing, and it’s fun enough. I smoke cigarettes and eat my first real-­meat hot dog in ten years.

11 p.m. Someone comes up to me and says they’ve followed me for years. I like being noticed, but sometimes feel a little insecure. Am I as cool as they think I am? Am I shorter than they imagined? Parasocial relationships are weird and I’m so certain that being online in the way that I am isn’t healthy for me.

1 a.m. A girl comes up to our group. She’s staring intensely at B. I mean, I’m the first to admit that B is absolutely f***ing gorgeous—­they’re tall, blue-­eyed, and built like a model—­and also happens to be completely charming, but it feels like I’m invisible. I’m striking too, in my own ways. But I’m not a white person. I’m not as conventionally attractive, and sometimes I struggle with that. As this stranger’s gaze goes on, I feel my rage building. B discloses right after that they matched years ago with this person online. I am very jealous about all of this. On the car ride home, I talk about how I hated every second of that interaction to B and our friends. They love me and let me vent. I’m a person who experiences jealousy like most other people, but I don’t attach to being a “jealous person.” Jealousy is an emotion that is usually hiding useful information underneath, so I think it’s important to discuss it.

3 a.m. We get home late, take our makeup off, take our clothes off, kiss, spoon, and talk about how excited and scared we are for the next few days.

DAY TWO

11 a.m. We sleep in later than we thought we would. Someone else makes coffee for the group, thank god.

1 p.m. B, Cleo, Seb, and I go to a fancy seafood place for lunch and we get rained on. I push my fork into a cherry tomato that explodes all over B’s white button-­down. I am responsible for most of the staining in our relationship and B is in charge of getting stains out. We talk about the upcoming party. Someone says they want to be a rope top. Another wants needle play. B also wants to kiss a stranger. The four of us will likely build a kinky scene together, as we have before. We’re just friends, but we are “sexy friends.” It’s a funny title, but I don’t know what else to call us. We’ve had explicit conversations where we’ve agreed that we don’t want to date or engage with one another sexually without everyone present. We care deeply for each other and want to keep getting closer.

3 p.m. B and I go thrifting. At home, we’ve turned our second bedroom into a shared closet. We’re almost the same size, and when we’re not, we pretend. We share all our clothing—­socks and underwear included. I buy B a pair of white wide-­legged jeans that look so hot on them. They say, “Thank you, Daddy.”

5 p.m. B and I take a minute away from the group to deal with some emails. Back home, we are about to sign a lease on a studio. This is something that we’ve both dreamt of, and it’s happening quickly. There are a lot of other things going on and we don’t want to f*** it up. The paperwork is complicated, and this move requires a big up-­front cost. I dream of using this space to host events and experiences at the intersection of fashion and sex.

I use this downtime to communicate with my submissive, who is cleaning the house and doing some errands while I’m away. She’s wearing what I asked her to: a corset, stockings, and a garter, plus a little bit of blush.

I met her when I was working as a house-­dom in a dungeon a few years ago. I don’t work there anymore, but I’m still her dom and she’s still my submissive. She pays me, so there is still a financial exchange between us for sessions; we’ve also become quite close and spend time together outside of D/s scenes, which can make things feel unclear at times. She’s been integrated into my life more and knows B and has met some of my friends. I wrestle with the ethics of it all sometimes because of the financial component but ultimately land on the fact that I can make the rules up as I go and that everything is all right, so long as both of us are consenting to and excited by what is happening. I’ve clearly stated to her that I have no desire to financially destroy her. I want to be compensated for my time, but if she’s in a tricky situation at some point, she can tell me. I demand attention and loyalty and respect, but the money is only an added piece of this. She can compensate in other ways should she need to.

9 p.m. We arrive at the mansion, and we all look amazing. I’m wearing a floor-­length halter top Rick Owens dress, with an open back that goes almost to my butt crack. B is wearing a short, sheer, beaded dress, lace gloves, and a red lip.

I am immediately overwhelmed, however. This is a brand-­new group for me. I’m nervous, and when I’m nervous, I start judging. I judge the space, the people, and I know that it’s unkind, so I try to stop once I notice I’m doing it. I’ve been to plenty of play parties, though not as many over the last year because things in our life shifted and my priorities shifted accordingly. This feels hard, but worth it to me. A big part of my identity is connected to the world of sex—­it’s part of how I express myself.

10 p.m. I need to do something. I need to start a scene. We go to the dungeon space. There’s already been a big consent talk, so we all know the rules. We start a scene with someone named Kate. Three of us negotiate co-­topping her while she bottoms. It’s like an amoeba-­type situation, the way the scene begins. Or an interpretive dance. It feels very grounding to just be breathing and moving together. There’s not a lot of talking. We put Kate on a spanking chair for impact, which I start, but only after she’s been tied to the chair. For impact, I use a variety of tools, but I start with my hands. I’m good with my hands. Then she starts kissing B, then kissing Cleo. I know I can kiss her too, but I don’t want to. There’s so much sensory information and suddenly, it’s hard for me. Not so hard that I need to end the scene, but hard enough I feel myself start to float away a bit. I wasn’t anticipating how it would feel to watch B look so . . . hungry. I haven’t seen or felt them hungry for me in a little while. It’s been at least a month since we’ve had sex.