I Won’t Be a Masochist to Keep You

Photo by Nastia Petruk on Unsplash

Even though losing you is its own kind of pain.

After dinner and a fulsome discussion of the happenings in our lives and the world since our last date, my partner asked, “Can we go upstairs and talk?”

Never the best prelude.

“Of course,” I responded, ever striving to be the easy, low-drama partner, as I followed him up the steps of the house he shared with his spouse and their multiple fur children. In his room, we sat on the bed where so often our passionate moans and cries competed with the rock music he selected, always with a heavy drum beat.

I figured I knew what it was about. We had been having less sex over the past year, and I wasn’t thrilled about it. The raw physicality of a sexual connection is important to me in my romantic relationships. In recent months, half the time — or more, he was too tired or not feeling it or had work to finish before a meeting the next day.

I was disappointed but uniformly understanding and generous (I was!), giving him a wistful smile and kiss before leaving him to his laptop, with the parting words to give his spouse my best. At home, my husband would ask how my date was with his metamour, whom he adored. He could read the exasperation on my face or in my tone, telegraphing another chaste date. My husband and I shared a preference for intimate relationships that included sex; otherwise, they were friendships. Sex was a strong bond between us.

My boyfriend and I faced each other on the bed. He acknowledged the (obvious) lack of sex lately in our relationship. Medication side-effects were partially to blame. His lack of sex drive had made him reconsider how he spent his time and the kind of sex that satisfied him on that medication, whose benefits to his mental health were significant.

“The sex that works for right now involves pain,” he said softly.

I waited for it.

He continued. “I know that’s not something you’re into.”

Ironically, we had met in the kink world, where he described himself as a lazy top (an understatement). I liked sensation play but not intense pain. We toyed with some kinky situations and tools, but that was rare. Very rare and usually at my instigation.

I was okay with that. It was our intellectual, emotional, and intense physical connection, not electric apparatuses and implements or artificiality that bound us. I didn’t need artifice. I wanted flesh on flesh. Hands, fingers, tongues, teeth. The light scratch of nails, the pressure of being held or holding. The sparkle in his eyes, the growl in his throat, and the grins on our faces.

After his revelation, my heart rate rocketed. My jealous suspicions and insecurities overtook me in all their ugliness. I knew he had been dating someone else. I had met her many moons ago when they were just friends, but he could play the long game. He was good at that. She was kinkier than me. An exhibitionist to the core. She was into pain.

I was replaceable, disposable, disregarded, an inconvenient pain-averse obligation. My words. Totally my words, not his. He would never say any of that, or, frankly, even think it. He was kind. No, really, anyone would describe him as kind. I had met his former girlfriends, married with children, who still pined for him in some way. He was that kind of ex. I had only heard him raise his voice once in agitation (not at me) in the many years I had been his partner.

“Is that something you get with your other partner?”

“Yes.”

My brain spiraled. Were we breaking up? Was he waiting for me to do it? Was he too “nice” to do it? I wasn’t sure whether I was ready to pull the trigger.

I chewed on my lip.

“I still love you and being with you,” he said. “We could still hang out. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with.”

That was friendship. That was not the polyamorous partnership we had. It was not what I wanted — to be friend-zoned, watching television and snuggling on the sofa. Yes, I loved that connection we had, but how the fuck was I supposed to be okay with that after years of so much more? And when I was being replaced in bed because I wasn’t a masochist? I was angry and hurt. And pathetically desperate not to fail at this relationship.

“I could be open to exploring ways to connect that way with you,” I offered. I had recently been to a class that gave me some role-play ideas that might tap into a more toppy, if not painfully sadistic, sex he craved.

“Sure,” he said.

But he never brought it up again. He never suggested that we engage that way, so I didn’t either.

I thought, “Okay, let’s try an asexual relationship where we do all the things we did before, but without sex. People do this, right? Maybe I place too much emphasis on sex.” Our dates would be much less often because he was spending his discretionary time with his other partner and his wife.

We had a few more dates, each one more distanced in time and affection than the last. Each one with less tears (mine) and fewer kisses (his). Eventually, I stopped initiating texts, and when he texted, my responses were muted. I was still wounded, but I was growing numb.

When he vacationed with his partner — something we used to do— I spitefully hoped the snowy weather would ground his flight. That’s when I knew that it was over. If I wished him ill, I could not be his partner anymore, with or without sex.

One girlfriend said, “Finally! You deserve better. He’s boring anyway.”

Another said, “I’m sorry. I know this is hard.”

Monogamist friends say: “Why do you put yourself through this? You have a sexy, supportive husband. Why do you need others?”

How do I explain that exploring more love and connection is how I want to live my one wild and precious life? Heartbreak and disappointment come with all relationships—including monogamous ones. Do we tell monogamous people to stop seeking love after a breakup?

I do not regret this poly relationship, nor any I have had over the decades. Its demise won’t stop me from having others. I am brushing myself off and dating someone new. Where will this go? I have no idea, but I am present, I am open, and I am seeking the connections I want.

I won’t contort myself for a relationship that no longer fits, especially when my partner isn’t willing to devote the energy to sustain it. The bitter pill is that he prefers others. I have to respect him for being true to his needs. I know he will respect me being true to mine.

It has taken me months (yup) to accept (and mourn) the death of a decade-long love. I am entitled to that time. Many marriages end sooner. I am grateful for the space to grieve. My (now former) partner afforded me that time, so that our intimacy could fade rather than rupture.

Thank you for reading!

I’m excited to announce that my memoir, Saying Yes: My Adventures in Polyamory, is available in hardcover, ebook, and audiobook from big box retailers and your favorite bookseller. Check out my website for book tour dates and interview links. https://nataliedavisadventures.com/

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I Won’t Be a Masochist to Keep You was originally published in Polyamory Today on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

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