Beyond Monogamy: Between Sociology and the Bedroom

      “Desire can look like possession. The difference is who decides to stay.” 

Romantic love has long been wrapped in a comforting story: a chance encounter, a passionate pursuit, and an unshakable “happily ever after.” In that script, fidelity is not simply a choice — it is sacred. Untouchable. Non-negotiable.
For me, that script never quite fit.
For years it felt like a tight garment — elegant, perhaps, but suffocating. Eventually, I chose to take it off.
Since 2010, I have lived in an open relationship. Swinging and polyamory are not phases, not experiments, not rebellions. They are simply our structure. Our balance. Our normal.
And no — sixteen years is not a phase.

The Geography of Desire

If we look beyond personal stories and into data, something interesting appears.
In the United States, the so-called “Lifestyle” is estimated to involve between 4% and 5% of the population. Entire digital ecosystems exist around it. In Europe, countries like France and Germany have long embraced libertine culture with a certain unapologetic maturity.
And Italy? Despite its public morality and Catholic facade, it quietly counts millions of participants. Public discourse and private behavior often travel on parallel tracks — and rarely meet.
In other words: the people living this reality are not rare. They are simply discreet.

The Dogma of Exclusivity

So why the discomfort?
Sociology has described heterosexual monogamy as a “compulsory” cultural prescription. We are taught that sex is the glue of a relationship — and that if exclusivity dissolves, love itself must collapse.
Within that framework, anyone who steps outside the boundary becomes suspect. Deviant. Immature. Addicted. Sick.
I’ve heard the labels.
But here is the uncomfortable truth: freedom is not pathology.
Desire is not dysfunction.
And consent changes everything.
My sexuality has never been about chaos. It has been about conscious choice. Communication. Transparency. Negotiation. Rules. Trust.
In a culture that still subtly frames women as possessions — or as passive objects of male desire — I claim something different: the right to experience desire actively. To choose it. To own it. And yes, at times, to be desired by more than one man — with the full knowledge and complicity of the person I love.
Some will call that liberation.
Some will call that something else.
I sleep perfectly fine either way.

Rethinking Power

The most radical shift does not happen in the bedroom. It happens in power dynamics.
Historically, monogamy guaranteed certainty — paternity, inheritance, control. It structured male authority. That is not an insult to monogamy; it is simply history.
In my relationship, that script does not apply.
My partner is not a jealous owner. He is a conscious participant. He does not measure our bond through possession, but through honesty and satisfaction — mine included.
Yes, as a woman, access in this world is often easier. But access is not the real challenge. The real challenge is psychological: unlearning guilt. Unlearning shame. Unlearning the idea that pleasure must be rationed to be respectable.
That part takes work.

Not a Phase. Not a Crisis. A Choice.

Some people smile politely and assume this will eventually collapse under its own weight.
Sixteen years suggest otherwise.
If anything, radical transparency has forced us to grow faster, communicate better, and confront jealousy rather than pretend it does not exist.
I do not criticize those who choose monogamy. Stability, exclusivity, devotion — these are valid choices.
But so is mine.
And for those who feel suffocated by the weight of other people’s judgment, I offer this: ask yourself whether the discomfort you feel comes from your own heart — or from someone else’s expectations.

Radical Honesty

Swinging is not an escape from reality. It is, for us, a laboratory of radical honesty.
It separates love from ownership.
It distinguishes jealousy from insecurity.
It demands clarity instead of silent assumptions.
Normality is not a universal law. It is a collective agreement.
For us, normality means freedom — together, and sometimes with others.
And if someone wants to reduce that to a label whispered with a smirk?
Well.
I’ve been called worse.
And I’m still here.