Meet Brad and Janet, two young virgins in love. The very epitome of wholesomeness. Not one stray hair out of place.
They mean well, they really do. They’ve colored within the lines all of their lives, gone through the recommended motions, and one night, their car breaks down, and they find themselves surrounded by perverts. Nothing will ever be the same for them again.
I’ve been running into Brad a lot on OkCupid lately. He and his wife are new to this whole open relationship thing and are crossing every T and dotting every I. One Brad apologizes to me for the delay in writing me a message after our mutual like, explaining that he had to wait for his partner to review and approve the message he was sending. Another explains he is only allowed to date married women because it’s “safer” that way.
Oh darling, I want to write. Poor sweet darlings. Nothing is truly safe. There’s no reward without risk.
Instead, I am me, incidentally contrarian, sashaying down the stairs in my lingerie, every bit an alien transvestite. A Ghost of Poly Future.
They’ll learn eventually — or get out of the game. Maybe both.
I can remember the point where I transformed into Liberated Janet. The first time I visited the dungeon, I was so excited by the energy, the sensuality, the sheer spectacle. It dawned on me once and for all that this whole non-monogamy thing was actually pretty kinky and counterculture and that I’d been hiding behind “polyamory” as a label to distance it from deviant, dirty activities like swinging. Forget that I’d warmed up two lovers with foreplay to get them excited and then watched them fuck each other. That I wanted to do it again, push it further. That I was sick with desire whenever my boyfriend talked down to me or slapped me squarely across the face.
I took Frank N Furter’s hand, stepped through the doorway, and haven’t turned back since.