I love Doctor Nerdlove. He’s a brilliant advice columnist whose responses often give me a new perspective on love and relationships. He is kind and patient, but willing to call someone on their bullshit when that is required. This response to a writer who is bitter about women was especially exceptional. I’m opening with a thorough arse-kissing because for the first time in ages I disagree with something he wrote. It’s a really old post, and normally I wouldn’t highlight those because who gives a fuck that I disagree with something that someone wrote ten years ago? I want to discuss it, though, because the emotional wail of anguish that sits at the heart of why I disagree has been on my mind a lot lately. I don’t want to do that without first telling you how much I love his work, though. Tl;dr – I’m using an old Doctor Nerdlove post as the springboard for a rant, but you should know I massively respect him and if he ever finds himself in London I will buy him a pint and a pasty by way of apology. Let’s talk about compromise in relationships, and why I never want anyone to ‘settle’ for me.

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I am monogamish. Monogamish like mostly monogamous. Monogamish like not polyamorous. Monogamish like ‘I’d love to have a boyfriend who loved and respected me enough that he was happy to share me around (and vice versa) while never making me feel like I’m second best.’ Monogamish: a manifesto. Let’s do this.

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One of the things I like to do of an evening is stick on a horny album and daydream for a while about my next set-piece fuck. By ‘set-piece’ fuck I mean something a little bit extra, not the standard ‘make out and bang’ that I’ll leap into on impulse. These might feature a new act I’ve not yet tried with this person (or at all), or something like special equipment, clothes or preparation. Sometimes it’s just a specific tone I want to play with: brattiness; begging; anticipation… you get the idea. I sit on the sofa getting high and listening to sexy music, daydreaming about a few recent hits from the bedroom, or mull over breadcrumbs that my partner might have casually dropped into conversation when hinting at what they might like, then see if I can come up with something that presses buttons for both of us. Now feels as good a time as any to talk about set-piece fucks, because I recently became single so I won’t be able to do them again for a really long time. Talking about the pleasure I get from doing this sort of thing gives me the chance to shoehorn in a topic I’ve wanted to discuss for a while: what monogamy means to me.

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I can’t tease you any longer, my friends. It was cruel of me to do so in the first place. The fun little trilogy that started with a dating challenge and moved on to me and a hot guy swapping sex stories is just that: a trilogy. It’s not the first chapter in a brand new erotic romance. Fuck it, though, he and I had a lot of fun, and personally I find it fitting (and deeply satisfying for my overall philosophy) that the guy who restored my faith in dating didn’t do so by being the perfect match, but by embarking on our dates with genuine emotional honesty. When I set out on the initial challenge (‘ask out the hot man who works in my shop’) it wasn’t about whether he said ‘yes’, only about whether I was brave enough to ask him in the first place. Likewise, the success of our dates didn’t come down to whether we kicked off a serious relationship, but whether we met as equals with a genuine desire to find out if we matched. The fact that we don’t match is no more than a footnote. The headline is that we found that answer swiftly, respectfully, and while having a fair bit of fun. Shop Man Part 3. Let’s do this.

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One of the things I miss about having a regular partner – notably a live-in one, who hangs around the house, teasing me sluttily by existing in possession of a dick – are those moments of casual horn that come when you’re in close quarters. The fact that another person in my space will necessarily be sexual sometimes, and either by design or pure, gold-plated luck they’re sometimes sexual with (or at) me.  I miss silly, everyday, random bursts of horn.

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