What is romantic love without possession?

thoughts on attraction, attachment, and love from a non-heterosexual perspective

Ever since my first serious long-term relationship, I knew monogamy would never be for me. When I was with a woman, I craved a man, and when I was with a man, I craved a woman. I felt as though I could not embody the fullness of my sexual identity while involved with just one gender. Some people call this greed, others call it liberation. The label doesn’t concern me as much as living the most expansive and fulfilling human existence possible during this brief and fatal time on earth. 

When my (queer + male) partner and I got together, we agreed that our partnership would always remain flexible based on our needs and whims. As two non-heterosexual people, we understood that the other would never completely fulfill our desires, which became the foundational principle of our relationship. There was (and is) no chance that I, as a 22 year old queer woman of color, would fall into the illusory trap of a traditional marriage/partnership based on the patriarchal ideology of Christianity. I felt confident that this man would be my life partner, but in no way, shape, or form would I let him or anyone else stifle the freedoms that my ancestors could only dream of their female descendants having.  

He has encouraged me to get a girlfriend for the majority of our relationship. I don’t have the energy, I don’t have the time, I don’t even want one, I said. I knew I didn’t want a girlfriend in the traditional sense, but deep down I craved the type of intimacy that, in my experience, can only be found between two women who understand what it means to desire one another and act upon that desire accordingly. 

It wasn’t until I read Pleasure Activism by adrienne maree brown this past October did I start to examine this longing more deeply. I realized that I still had quite a bit of work to do on repairing my relationship with sex, pleasure, and desire as a whole... and I knew being physically involved with a woman would be an integral part of that healing process. I talked to my partner about exploring nonmonogamy more seriously, making it more of a priority than we had in the past. We had fallen into the stagnant and unfulfilling routine of cosplaying as heterosexual, and I was exhausted by it. 

Before I brought this conversation topic to the table, I had to take a minute to examine my beliefs around nonmonogamy. Of course, in theory it was always an option for us, but what did it mean to put that theory into action? What ideals had taken hold in my youth that I needed to deconstruct and replace with new, more aligned ones? How would I combat society’s insistence that non-monogamy equaled cheating, greed, and heartbreak? Was all of this even worth it? Was embodying my identity as a queer woman worth it? 

Of course, I wasn’t the only party involved in this decision. Another reason I wanted to explore the opening our relationship more fully was because I wanted my partner to embody the fullness of his sexual desires with women who weren’t me. I couldn’t work on my relationship with pleasure while independently shouldering the responsibilities of someone else’s sexual needs and wants. I needed to have sex when I wanted, and not have sex when I didn’t want it, even if that meant going weeks on end with no physical intimacy. When you’re in a long-term partnership and cohabitate together, going weeks without sex can cause unintentional tension that I knew would eat me alive and do more harm than good. So I thought, “Would it be so bad if my partner slept with other women? How do I feel about him getting his needs and desires met by someone, more specifically a woman, who isn’t me? Would that lessen his affection or commitment to me?”

There was, unfortunately, a little voice in the back of my head that presented this scenario from the perspective of an invisible, societal third party. “You mean to say that you let your boyfriend fuck other women just because he’s hornier than you?” is the question that gnawed away at me for days. But when I really thought about it, yes, that’s actually absolutely fine with me. We had built enough trust that I had confidence we could explore this and become even stronger as a couple. And if we didn’t… better to find out sooner rather than later, because our individual desires weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

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[definition of romantic: conducive to or characterized by the expression of love]

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Throughout this most recent exploration of nonmonogamy, my definitions and parameters of all things concerning romance, intimacy, and friendship have shifted. I’d already been questioning why we as a society elevate romantic love to the point where platonic love seems so much less significant. So many women express that their romantic relationships [with men] could never compare to their intimate, ever-evolving friendships with other women. I myself have experienced a closeness to my friends that I know for a fact is different than a relationship with a man could ever be. So why aren’t we taking our friends on dates just like we would our romantic partners? Why aren’t we buying them flowers and writing them love letters? What really is the line between romantic and platonic love?

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[definition of platonic: (of love or friendship) intimate and affectionate but not sexual]

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I’ve come to the conclusion that the answer is possession. In today’s society, dating means getting to know a person until both of you desire to own each other. To be in control of each other’s actions, energy, time – or at the very least feel entitled to it. We’ve been sold the idea that love is a finite resource and we must compete for it from the person we want to be with forever. But does it really have to be that way?

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[definition of love: an intense feeling of deep affection]

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Now that I have both a long-term male partner and a woman with whom I’m sleeping and building a friendship with, I’m realizing that queer love, attraction, and attachment is not and never has been as straightforward as heterosexual norms make it out to be. Even the 8 different types of love, coined by the Greeks, don’t exactly take into account the possibility of two (or more) categories overlapping, which can often happen between queer people. The love between two women specifically has always been demonized in modern society, because what happens when we realize that we don’t need men to feel emotionally and sexually fulfilled? When we experience the depth of intimacy that comes with removing the platonic barriers of female friendship and just let ourselves be? 

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“Part of this need to misname and ignore Black lesbians comes from a very real fear that openly women-identified Black women who are no longer dependent upon men for their self-definition may well reorder our whole concept of social relationships.” - Audre Lorde, Sister Outsider

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I surprised myself with how much I desire this woman. Yes, I want to kiss her and fuck her and have her hands everywhere, all at once. But there’s something about the in-between feeling of my nails grazing her back and the way her voice sounds before the sun comes up. We’ve labeled our relationship as friends with benefits, but I feel as though that doesn’t even fully encompass what we’re doing. I’ve never experienced the openness and freedom and intimacy that comes along with a queer female friendship that doesn’t abide by platonic or romantic norms. We’re kinda making this shit up as we go, and as a Cap Sun/Virgo Moon, it feels kinda terrifying. But I’m also loving every second of it.

And although I feel all of these romantic-adjacent emotions and desires, there is no bone in my body that wants to possess her. I don’t feel the expected rise of jealousy at the thought of her sleeping with another woman. Of course I want to spend time with her, but in no world do I feel entitled to her time and energy more than I do with friends with whom I’m not spending the night with. We have extensive conversations and frequent check-ins about boundaries and preferences that I’ve realized should be had with all relationships, platonic or romantic. Why aren’t we asking our friends how they prefer to receive affection or have their emotional needs met? Why is this type of healthy and very necessary communication reserved for romantic partners and not the standard for all intimate social relationships?

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[definition of intimacy: close familiarity or friendship; closeness]

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From the very first ‘morning after’ we spent together, I knew that I had no interest in living my life without an intimate relationship with another woman ever again. This was something I needed from the deepest, most primal, most spiritual part of my being. I’ve been attempting to figure out my queer identity since I left organized religion, going through the exhausting process of labeling and unlabeling and relabeling just so I’d have a word that could communicate who I prefer to fuck and who I prefer to cohabitate with. And while that one word remains elusive to me, I’ve certainly been able to identify the feeling(s) that describes my sexuality, and I’d like to continue seeking out experiences that embody those feelings. Isn’t that good enough?

So at that point, I ask myself: What is the difference between a friendship and a romantic relationship when there’s physical affection and sexual intimacy? Does a romantic friendship differ from a relationship? Are all of these different words just holding us back from loving each other in the fullest, most authentic, most pleasurable expression possible?

Now, just because I have the desire for this sexual and emotional freedom does not mean the reality of acting upon it is easy, especially when partnered with a man. I blame society’s lack of representation and education on how people, both queer and heterosexual, can successfully and ethically be in nonmonogamous relationships. We have no blueprint for how this works - in fact, the media landscape is filled only with examples of unethical nonmonogamy. Or we have shows like Sister Wives, showcasing the drama that comes along with straight men wanting multiple women at a time, as if there’s no other version of this dynamic that might actually be healthy and mutually beneficial. 

My partner and I have gone through multiple mini contractions and expansions during this process. He admitted that he didn’t realize I would want more than just physical intimacy here and there with the woman I chose to do this with. I had to admit to myself that sex is not and never will be “casual” for me - I need some form of emotional intimacy in order to feel comfortable expressing my needs, desires, and boundaries. In fact, it was the abundance of deep conversation and straightforward communication that even opened up the possibility in my mind of sleeping with this woman.

I knew I was attracted to her from the first night we met, but I’m a woman who loves women, so this didn’t really surprise me. I’m used to stifling my attraction to my female friends, or at least compartmentalizing it to keep things platonic. But as time went on (and my attraction to her got stronger and stronger), I found myself being radically honest with her about everything except how much I did not want our friendship to be platonic. I began to feel uneasy over the fact that I hadn’t communicated this to her.

If this situation has taught me anything, it’s that radical honesty is hot as fuck. Yes, there’s a certain thrill that comes from keeping your feelings a secret, but nothing compares to the feeling of expressing your most vulnerable desires and having them met with validation and acceptance. I didn’t realize how much I craved and needed this safe space as a foundation for conveying my sexual wants. And maybe that’s a part of my attraction to women - the ease in which this safe space is created.

I would be remiss if I discussed women-loving-women relationships without highlighting the work of our foremother Audre Lorde. Although she is infamously known for her radical take on self-care as a Black Lesbian woman, she also has extensive writing that explores the nuances of lesbian relationships, both politically and interpersonally. Coincidentally enough, I read her collection of essays and speeches, Sister Outsider, just days after I finished Pleasure Activism. If PA wasn’t enough to affirm my desire to explore intimate relationships outside of my partnership, then SO certainly was. brown gave me the framework and language to assess and be confident in my desire, but hearing Lorde speak of her reverence and awe of other Black, queer women alchemized something indescribable in me. Something inside me changed after reading this collection - and just days later I found myself experiencing what Lorde had described with a woman of my own. 

So my question is: Would more women identify as queer if we took possession out of the romance equation? Would women feel more confident in cohabitating with and loving on and raising children with and fucking other women if they weren’t expected to also desire ownership over them like men do with us? What if women decided to completely redefine what it means to love? 

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