Girl on the Net

I am monogamish. Monogamish like mostly monogamous. Monogamish like not polyamorous. Monogamish like ‘I’d love to have a boyfriend who loved and respected me enough that he was happy to share me around (and vice versa) while never making me feel like I’m second best.’ Monogamish: a manifesto. Let’s do this.

The term ‘monogamish’ means different things to different people, but here’s what it means to me: a relationship where the two of you are together, committed. In love if that’s what you feel, or in lust or security or comfort/care/partnership, whatever. I love the teamwork that comes with monogamy, and I thrive on the feeling of knowing I’m somebody’s favourite. But I also really want to have the odd threesome, if that’s OK?

When I was younger, I didn’t know how to articulate the kind of relationship I wanted. There weren’t even words back then (or at least, I didn’t know of them) for some of the relationships I see my friends having today: polyamory, relationship anarchy, open, nesting partners, coparents etcetera. As I learn new terms and new ways of living, there have been various points in my life when I’ve sat with the idea of each, trying it on for size.

I’ve had a go at polyamory, but never quite got on with the feeling that I might be someone’s spare. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t resign myself to the knowledge that their love for me would always be limited by the needs of somebody else. Perhaps I could do it if there were a strict hierarchy, with me sitting firmly at the top. Although maybe the only reason I think that is because I’m obsessed with bareback: spare girlfriends don’t get bareback, and I’m such a slut for cum.

A while back, I discovered the term ‘ambiamorous‘ – meaning you aren’t monogamous or polyam, but you could flex into either relationship style depending on what’s right for you at the time. That felt OK, but the bareback problem rears its head again. Besides, I crave the teamwork that comes with healthy monogamy! I like having someone who’s my partner in deed, not just word. Someone who’ll plan adventures with me, share goals with me, invest in a future with me. Live together, support each other, take it in turns to do the horrible tasks so the other person can rest or pursue their dreams. Develop shared in-jokes that span periods of time so long you end up forgetting where they sprang from in the first place. I know some of this is possible in polyamory, but – call me selfish, call me insecure – I want to know that the person I do these things with believes that I am best.

I want to fuck other people (and get spanked by them, snog them, maybe suck their dicks for fun if I run into them at festivals) but I don’t have much interest in doing that if my partner isn’t on board – actively playing a part in whatever I do. Ideally in the room, but at absolute bare minimum… on the end of a phone, texting encouragement and wanking as I report back. Monogamy means not fucking anyone else, but what I mean by ‘monogamish’ involves making space for this sort of thing: loving and prioritising your partner, while embarking on adventures that seem like fun for both of you.

Interrogate your needs

Recently, in the pub with some nonmonogamous friends, I tried to outline a little of this. One of my friends told me (I paraphrase):

“The problem is, you approach relationships like a nonmonogamous person when it comes to openness and mindfulness and self-awareness, and most monogamous people don’t know how to do that.”

He explained that monogamous people who haven’t examined their choices are more likely to do things I find weird and sneaky – like lying that they don’t ever fancy anyone else – or acting suspicious if I have close friendships, or applying jealousy in other controlling ways. Apparently openness and genuine emotional honesty is a lot to ask of those who have never examined their own monogamy, who are working off sexual scripts rather than embarking on relationships mindfully. I get that. It’s hard to slough off all the things we’ve been taught about the way relationships ‘should’ be. I suspect a lot of my desire to be someone’s favourite comes from a similar place.

But just because introspection is hard, doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Every single one of us is able to question our choices, interrogate them, and come up with some broad ideas about what we want out of life, and sex, and love – ones which come from genuine self-knowledge rather than a script we’ve been taught we have to follow. If you’ve not done it yourself, why not have a go? Write a manifesto for the kind of relationship you want, and ask yourself how you might go about finding and building it. If you want a fun place to start, Coffee and Kink is a fantastic, thoughtful writer who blogs a lot about relationship dynamics in polyamory and I find her thinking is often applicable to monogamous (or monogamish) relationships too. She wrote a piece recently about weaponising boundaries which has some incredibly useful advice, likewise this fabulous piece on managing jealousy.

I read a lot of stuff like this, and I think about it really often too. Thanks to the opportunity I have to really get into the detail of what I want and how I feel, I can say pretty confidently that my ideal relationship is something approaching monogamish.

What monogamish means to me

Some of my best shags with a partner have been shared with a friend or two (or three). Monogamish means keeping your heart and eyes open to opportunities. Expanding your sexual repertoire together. Writing collaborative stories that you can tell for years to come.

Monogamish means acknowledging that even if someone’s your favourite, that doesn’t mean your fantasies can only ever have them as the star. Many of my hottest fucks have happened while the pair of us whisper into each other’s ears about what we would do if another person came to join us. Or if there were a crowd there to observe just how brilliant we both are at sex.

Monogamish, to me, means we go on fucky adventures together. Sex parties, group sex, kink clubs and more, but always with the safety net of knowing the other one loves us. And loves us best.

Monogamish means there’s no pressure to reach out to that random hottie who seems as if they might like your vibe, but it’s always an option. If both of you say ‘yes’ then you’re in, and if one of you says ‘no’ then you’re out. Monogamish means caring more for your relationship than random bonus lays.

Not polyamorous, like you can go off and fuck someone and that whole thing sits outside of your primary relationship, monogamish like this is as much a part and parcel of what you do as the shopping lists you write together, the holidays you plan and the DIY projects you embark upon.

Monogamish, like the time I watched a good friend suck my ex-boyfriend’s cock. Monogamish, like the fact that I got a bit jealous when he called her a ‘good girl’, and the way he immediately understood when I told him of my insecurity, and hugged me to reassure me I was best.

Monogamish, like the time we watched one of our friends ride her boyfriend on our sofa, touching each other while they did that and whispering about how it looked just like ‘porn in real life’.

Monogamish, like the moment just before an ex was about to put his cock in somebody both of us fancied, when he looked me in the eye and mouthed ‘is this OK?’. Monogamish, like the confidence I had that I could have said ‘no’ if I needed, and he would have stopped.

I don’t know if this kind of relationship is anywhere in my future, to be honest. I’ve made peace with the fact that it may never come up again. But as people around me experiment with consensual nonmonogamy, I find myself impressed by the level of detail they’re able to give about who they are, what they want, and what they can give to their partners. I wanted to have a go at doing the same for me: articulating the broad shape of what I want to build, and reflecting on the times when it’s worked for me in the past. If I never find this kind of relationship again, that’s OK. I’ve been lucky enough to have them twice before: that’s two times more than most people get in a lifetime.

But it’s harder to find what you want if you cannot articulate exactly what you’re after, so I thought I’d have a go at filling in this particular gap. Setting my goals. Defining my terms. Acknowledging that I shouldn’t try to crush myself into a shape that doesn’t feel right.

So there: not polyamorous. Not solo-poly or relationship anarchist or monogamous. Monogamish, like ‘let’s build a life together and fuck together as well’.

Monogamish, like ‘let’s be a sexy team’.

Monogamish, like bareback and I love you.