“Three’s Company” (from l. to r. Nick Fauble, Michael James Schneider, Cesar Marquez)

First appeared in PQMonthly

You know the scene: Kirk and Spock face insurmountable odds against a supercomputer, or evil androids, or an alien with a twisted morality. Then Kirk, in his swaggering wisdom, asks the computer a question that shouldn’t have an answer, or commands his bridge crew to do an illogical performance that will confound the androids. The computer halts, the android freezes while doing “the robot”, and our noble crew takes advantage of the confusion to make their escape while they leave behind a flustered mess of smoking, charred circuitry.

This is the scene in my head after I asked him, “Hey, are we exclusive?” I expected him to say “nah, but maybe later” or “sure thing”, but instead he threw me a curveball. Rich looked at me with his baby blue eyes and said “Sure, for now. I’ll want to open it up later though.” What? Didn’t I cover this base when I read his dating profile? “Um, when does that happen exactly?” I asked tentatively. “When we have a strong enough emotional connection.” “Oh yeah. Sure. Of course”, I stammer as my brain literally starts melting from the seeming logic problem that it’s confronting.

Later that week, I’m alone in the bath with my thoughts, which is usually where my worst ideas begin (baths are the “peeing sitting down” of cleaning yourself). I’ve always wanted a monogamous relationship for as long as I remember. But was it learned, a dated relic of heteronormative behavior, or is it something instinctual?

The behavior of animals is where people usually look to explain the roots of human monogamy. In a some mammals, birds, and primates, it makes sense for a male to protect his female mate to prevent other males from mating with her, or for a female to choose a single male to protect her young for her. It’s well known that heterosexual men have more sexual partners than women, and it’s also generally accepted that it’s a byproduct of evolution: men do not carry young, and women have long gestational periods, so there are less biological consequences to men to widely disburse their genetic material. But do these models make sense applied to queer human relationships?

The answer seems complicated. While person to person, I and my friends acknowledge a degree of truth to the old stereotypes (gay men have a lot of sex, queer women move in together after the first date, and everyone we know is in an open relationship), we bristle when we hear someone outside our circle saying these things out of ignorance. What are we defending, though, and why are we defending it? What’s wrong with having a lot of sexual partners, as long as you do it safely and responsibly? “Correcting” these stereotypes seems like a form of slut-shaming, and a nod to hetero-pandering.

This attitude might surprise a lot of people who have followed my writing for a while. I’m proud of being old-fashioned. I’m stubbornly monogamous. I’m a hopeless romantic. Someone called me out recently and accused me of being sex-negative. Now, granted, I make constant references to my lumpy, misshapen body, and crying after sex, but I’m human and yeah, I enjoy sex a lot (sorry mom). I’m not made for random and anonymous, though, because I emotionally attach too easily through sex. And some guys won’t ever want relationships, all they’ll want is Instagram followers. Sociopath is the new narcissist.

So I’m no closer to an answer than I was before. Did I decide at some point to pursue monogamy, or did it choose me biologically? I think back to my earliest infatuations with boys when I was a kid. I kept a diary for years that chronicled the many crushes I had, and my romantic fantasies. At some point I came home to find the dresser drawer that I hid my journal in slightly ajar, so I went through and obsessively redacted all the “gay” stuff lest someone discover it (which left the crush-saturated pages almost solid black). Remember, I was a kid, and this was the 1840s, so paper was more valuable then. These fantasies were always monogamous ones: me and Andrew, floating away on a magic carpet ride to the tune of “A Whole New World” (Google it); Tom and I dancing on a stairway like Paula Abdul and MC Skat Kat (fucking Google it, kids); dreamy Eric pushing me down the grassy hill as I shout “As you wiiiissshhhh”. I always knew that I wanted to be with just one person, even in the shadow of my parents’ divorce. Maybe even because of that same shadow? Maybe.

Oh, back to Rich. Well, truth be told, we didn’t last long after that conversation. He’s found someone who can truly appreciate and complement his sexuality, and Rich and I make better friends than we did lovers.

Maybe there’s no cut and dry answer. None of it is simple, and our sexuality is wonderful and confusing and complex, and unique to each individual. A lot of people have evolved past the point where they even need labels. The only thing queer culture has to fear is people who don’t embrace their own sexuality, who don’t explore it, who don’t examine what makes themselves tick. Conversely, “prude-shaming’ hurts us, too. But if I wake up tomorrow and find that I don’t need monogamy in my life anymore, then so be it.

Monogamy is dead. Long live monogamy!

If you liked this, see how low I can truly stoop and check out my Fall Decorating Tips, my worst date ever, and my epic gay science fiction novel. Let’s be horrible people together.