The Trick to Managing Jealousy as a Fake Poly Monogamist

With thanks to @–Bunny—for letting me satirise her post

Monogamy is extinct, so we might as well kick the last stragglers off Fetlife alongside those nasty heterosexuals. Monogamists will now have to pretend to be poly or fuck off to OKCupid.

The number one question I’m asked as TheFerrett of fake poly monogamy is, “How do you manage jealousy?”

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Never fear. Coping with poly jealousy as a fraudulent monogamist is easy: Overthink everything and focus on these simple truths with laser-like precision:

  • Your partner really does think her bewbs are better than yours.
  • Your partner thus deserves to have all his Oreo fillings switched with toothpaste.

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Dominance Creates the Submissive

I wanted to move the earth for Dom A, so every day was an adventure. My limits dropped like dominoes and I never quite knew where the day might take me. He always respected my “no”, but my refusals rarely lasted longer than a few days. His suggestion would roll around in my head becoming more and more tempting with each passing sigh.

I went into the next relationship thinking I knew my identity in the kink landscape. Surely the fact that I’d been so malleable with Dom A meant that was just the type of sub I was? I began my relationship with Dom B behaving as though he was everything my previous partner had been. It was a grave mistake. This was not a man willing to protect my safety—this was a sadist who cared more about his pride and pleasure than his skill.

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The first time a scene got out of control, I put it down to a beginner’s error, but eventually, those mistakes turned into complete chaos. He didn’t pick up any of the pieces he was chipping off me with his unwillingness to take care with my body. Suddenly, I was failing royally as a sub, and he reminded me of it often. I felt like a fraud.

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Proof That Dominants Are Zombies

-1) Zombies can’t chase for shit. Dominants can’t chase for shit. The only way they’re getting their hands on the sub who just “accidentally” seasoned their single malt whiskey bottle with a cup of cinnamon is if said sub “accidentally” trips over their bacon.

-2) Zombies basically have no brains. They will walk right in front of a moving train if there’s a meal in it for them. 165 dominants a day commit hara-kiri in exactly the same way when chasing plates of bacon.

-3) Zombies look like bacon. Dominants are obsessed with bacon. Therefor dominants are bacon—I mean zombies – I mean bacon. Uh.

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What the Forests Were Like

I want to tell what the forests were like. I will have to speak in a forgotten language.” W.S. Merwin

That was the quotation one of my publishers sent me a few days before he died. His life had been plunged in magic and steeped in romance, and he wanted us to know it. His was the kind of smile that could tell epics without the help of language, so in this way, he did tell us what the forests were like. He did speak in a forgotten language.

In those days, I never imagined I would eventually find as much magic in this world, but I did.

One of the biggest reasons I write is that I want to tell a younger me what the forests are like. I want to tell her that there are forests; that horror is not forever, even when it’s haunted so much of your history. The part of me that didn’t know that died many years ago, so I satisfy myself with telling it to you—there is magic. There is joy. I swear it.

Many of the people who were with me during the blackest part of my life couldn’t see a way out for me. I was so royally stuck that even those who had hope to spare couldn’t scrounge up enough of it for my life. I don’t blame them. It seemed the only rational way of looking at the situation.

They were all wrong. I was, too.

I see hope for people who are as stuck in their trauma as I was in the universality of tenacity, which I believe is available to all who want it. Strength is nothing more than having the stupidity to get up after you fall, and then doing it over and over: There is no need for mysticism or super powers. You just have to get up.

So that’s what you do. You do the next productive thing. Rinse. Repeat.

One day you open your eyes and find yourself in The Forests. You’re speaking a forgotten language. It sounds like freedom.

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Photograph by Vincent Guth

Judgement for the Rapist

You don’t get to practice the aftermath of rape. Nobody offers classes called “How to Survive Victim Blamers” or “When to Lay a Charge” but society will judge you as though you were taught how to deal with it to doctorate level. Your normal response to an abnormal event is picked apart like an infinite series of failings.

Those who didn’t blame me associated me with my victimhood. I became “That Woman Who Was Raped”. The rest of my identity was irrelevant. Every aspect of my trauma was held to the light and found wanting. Each one left a brand new crack when I was already about to shatter. Now that the trauma is gone, I’m seen for who I am rather than where I’ve been. That’s the kind of ‘luck’ you get when life is easy and you have your health, but I didn’t know it was a privilege until I lost it.

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Society allows survivors our trauma as long as it only lasts [insert random number of months] and is under some arbitrarily chosen level of severity. What it rarely gives us permission for is our reaction to fear. Men tell us how to respond to strangers who follow us in the streets. Women tell us how harsh we’re allowed to be when we feel threatened. We’re to be polite, safety be damned. We must preserve others’ feelings before our own.

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The “Inferior” Submissive

I’m not one of those subs who feels unfulfilled without a dominant, nor do I have a permanently ignited slave heart that submits the second it finds a partner. In my day to day life, I’m the opposite of submissive: stubborn, self-supporting, and even (gasp) dominant. I’ve been unmarried for decades, so my options were independence or bust. I chose the former, mainly because I’m not stupid.

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There is no hole in my damned soul, Master Twue. Submission is not a means of spiritual fulfilment for me. I’m fulfilled without kink’s help. Does D/s feel like a spiritual experience? Oh, yes. Many times over, yes. That doesn’t make it some kind of highfalutin cult. It makes sex intense enough to feel like a new plane of existence. Like any self-respecting sceptic, I put that down to hormones, which, in the right quantities, can top any religion.

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What Are Subs?

Subs are the only truly shining example of natural selection in the history of the world. They evolved so flawlessly that no other species has ever been able to compete with their awesomeness, not even dinosaurs or Snow White. Subs are wickedly smart, so they spend their days dominating their dominants into giving them chocolate and spankings while pretending to be submissive. This is sometimes known as “bratting”, a word that dominants invented so that they could keep thinking they were the ones deciding which orders to give to whom even when they woke up with “whore” written on their asses and tinsel tied around their cocks.

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Unlike dominants, subs have millions and millions of talents, including, but not limited to:

  • being spectacularly sexy in every possible way, even when wearing flannelettes.
  • Pretending to be obedient.
  • Orgasms.
  • Multiple orgasms.
  • Buzzy toy orgasms.
  • Bribing dominants with bacon.
  • Blowjobs.
  • G spot orgasms.

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