Maybe I’m egocentric? Or perhaps I’m unavailable to other people’s feelings when they’re based on significant others and compromises of exclusivity and the possession of my faithful sexuality to a single person?
I believe I’m made by nature to rebel against the norm, of the eager commodity of humans who remain in the center of what the world has ever known: Familiarity.
I believe it’s exceptionally selfish to ask a person to be monogamous period. To be able to make a conscious choice out of your philosophy, out of your environment is asking for rousing chaos. It appears monogamy has much to do with sexuality and not of the love that unites two people. What does love have to do with sex? Or sex has to do with love?
I would like to know if anyone can offer me a good answer as to why a person shouldn’t be allowed to share themselves freely with another person in more ways than just an emotional or spiritual response. Why wouldn’t I connect with someone unreservedly on sexual conditions just because my partner wouldn’t grant me permission? My body is my will and so is my mind when I make a decision.
I’ve come to recognize there are lots of reasons as to why I don’t feel a closed relationship would work for me (until further notice). I knew from the start I wasn’t some downright scandalous cheater but a person who felt caged and was practically dying to be unleashed into absolute liberty.
I’d wonder why I could be with a partner and decide at a whim of madness the desires I knew that weren’t going to be met by they. Maybe what seemed to be hopeless was an expectation of a matter? Something deeper I presently fail time and time again to put my finger on.
Perhaps I sit premeditating a cycle that becomes unbearable if I yearn for the obviousness of me wielding the power of a man’s shaft in my hands with a mind and mouth of a dangerous whore searching for the collection of sperm through wishes of instant gratification which takes place from her tangible performance.
Or perhaps I’m with a friend or two lounging with an array of smoke and alcohol and the heat of lust takes over me when I’m aware my partner and I rarely throw ourselves into the throes of passion where tongues collide first in a ritual of softness and saliva sparks the breath of required aspiration. Of a person savoring my body with their glorious hands and taking into account that tomorrow is never promised.
There isn’t a hiding place for greed, eventually it will catch up to you. There isn’t a safe place for expectation to rest its head. There isn’t a means to destroy the need for instantaneous connection. Is there a point to living life without the utter abundance of life itself when there isn’t any time like the present?