As told to Ann DeGrey
When my partner Tim asked if I’d be up for an 'open relationship' I thought it was a good idea. It wasn’t a sleazy thing, it was a decision made under the guise of modernity and progressiveness. We both felt we were empowering our relationship, embracing a level of trust and openness that many couples wouldn't dare to consider.
The idea of an open relationship was exciting because it meant we could expand our experiences and still have the security of our partnership. Yet, as we ventured down this path, the reality of my feelings took a sharp turn from what I had anticipated.
From the beginning of this new journey, the imbalance became very apparent. Tim, who was sexy, charismatic and sociable, found himself on a stream of dates, each one adding to his excitement and zest for this new arrangement. Meanwhile, I found myself struggling to connect with anyone on a meaningful level, let alone go on dates. The disparity in our experiences made me feel like shit and it also started to sow seeds of jealousy and insecurity within me. Nobody wanted me, everybody wanted him.
He was going on three or four dates every week, which I found excessive. I asked him to just see one woman per week, and he agreed for a short time but, eventually he was back to going out three times a week. I also felt he was rubbing my face in his dating success because when he was home with me, he’d be preoccupied, texting the women he’s seen, or chasing new blood.
When I told him this upset me, he said, "But I thought you were cool about us exploring? Isn’t it cool we’re finding new experiences while still being us?" But I wasn’t able to pull anyone–no men, and no women. I’d always been 'bi-curious' and thought it'd be fun to date a woman but the only woman I tried flirting with, told me she was straight and seemed highly offended I’d made a move on her.
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