Is one lover ever enough?

At heart Aaron was a romantic – a romantic with a colourful sexual history, but a romantic nonetheless.

We were sitting in the coffee shop, talking about love.
“The more I think about it,” he says, “and I’ve thought about this a lot, the more I’m inclined to believe that the way we love is deeply, painfully wrong. We give away our love and our time too easily for fear of being alone.”
The waiter, a young, attractive lad of about twenty, brings our drinks, and overhearing the conversation, gives Aaron a pitying look. At twenty, the most important relationships you have are those with your friends. Within a few short years they start pairing off, getting married and having children. You begin by asking what’s wrong with them, but as more and more of them fall prey to domesticity you stop wondering why they want to do this and start wondering why it is that you don’t.
Me, I’ve never wanted to get married. I’ve thought about it, I even got engaged once, but I kept putting it off. The marriage gene seems to be missing from my DNA.
“I suppose that’s true a lot of the time,” I reply. “But then, I don’t mind being alone.”
Aaron raises his eyebrows. “Really?”
He doesn’t believe me and the evidence is on his side. Over the last five years, it’s true that I’ve jumped from one relationship to the next, often with barely a pause between acts. I don’t know why I did this though – I can’t even commit to a hairdresser.
“I’m tired of relationships,” I say. “Too much drama; too much trouble; the cause of too much human suffering and misery. Either we don’t have them and we want them, or we do and for the most part we end up disappointed, annoyed, hurt or bored.”
“I know what you mean,” says Aaron. “It seems so difficult establishing the right space with another person, so much work, so many potential pitfalls, a thousand what-ifs.”
He shakes his head. “When I consider what I’ve let pass as love in the past – possessiveness, jealousy, too many rules and conventions that normalise everything that you loved and is loved in you until it has become base, facile, predictable and unlovable.”
He’s in good form this evening. As a philosopher.
I have a tendency towards pessimism; I assume things won’t measure up to the ideal. Aaron’s different. Through countless sexual encounters, through years of hopping between beds and falling in and out of love, through all the disappointments, disasters, arguments and apologies, betrayals and reconciliations, he has somehow retained the faith that one day, someday, it would all make sense.
“Surely love can be as beautiful as a Pablo Neruda poem?” he asks.
“I’d like to think so,” I say. “Doesn’t generally work out that way. Does it?”
Aaron refuses to be swayed by my cynicism. “Love should be profoundly creative, dynamic, unique, not a selection between a handful of plot devices, narrative structures, archetypal stories. What do you think? Have I misconstrued and mystified simple biological drives? Or do you think love is capable of being these things and that people are capable of loving in this way, even, or especially, people like us?”
People like us? The problem, I suspect, may be within us. Heads full of poetry, hearts full of desires and restless bodies – we read too much, think too much, want too much. We are the people our parents warned us about – fools and dreamers, basically. Still, he’s got me thinking.
“I don’t really know,” I say. “I think the problem with love is that it appeals to the best and worst in us, our basic biological drives and our need to find some kind of truth and purpose beyond ensuring the continuation of the species.”
I take a sip of my tea. Now I’m feeling philosophical. “I suppose the problem isn’t love itself, it’s all the unrealistic expectations that go with it. We’re all guilty of it to some extent. We demand so much of one another – we want emotional support, entertainment, amusement, sexual excitement, a parent and a partner – but human beings are bound to disappoint. Monogamy sets us up either to fail or be failed in some way.”
“Yeah,” he replies. “I don’t know if I’m monogamous or not. I don’t know if I’ll ever know or if – deep down – anyone else is really. Fuck, sometimes I think polyamory is the optimal solution.”
Sometimes I think so too; other times it just sounds like far too much work.
“It’s hard enough finding one person to love,” I say, “let alone two or more. Besides, you’d never have any time for yourself, trying to keep everyone happy.”
Aaron nods his head. “I suppose so.”
“Maybe we just haven’t found the right people yet,” I say, trying to be cheerful. “You know, whenever I’ve been in love, monogamy has been relatively easy. I become totally focused on the other person. Although, to be honest I’m not sure it would be possible to sustain that level of sexual interest in just one person for a lifetime.”
I pause and think. “Actually that’s not true. In all my long-term relationships, I’ve been completely monogamous exactly once.”
He laughs and I wince.
Socrates said that the unexamined life is not worth living, but self-knowledge can be a bitch, especially when you realise you’ve been lying to yourself for years. I’m not one of nature’s monogamists – never have been, probably never will be, although for some reason I keep trying.
When I was younger I used to be honest about this and warn potential partners that fidelity was not something I was interested in, but as I’ve gotten older, the men I’ve slept with have gotten older too and more stringent in their demands. It dawns on me that for years I’ve been suffering some kind of mid-life naivety in thinking I can change the habits of a lifetime.
“It’s hard to admit that though. Monogamy is expected,” I say. “If you’re honest about not wanting it, most people write you off as some kind of sexual adolescent. But if you’re not, you end up being deceitful, and that’s worse.”
“Maybe it would be possible to be honest,” Aaron says, staring into his coffee. “I’m okay with all sorts of relationship scenarios, from polyamory to committed relationships with a single person. It doesn’t mean I’m some sort of Lothario or rampant man-whore, but it does mean I occasionally have to reflect a bit more than most people would, when I find myself attracted to more than one person at the same time.”
“Of course you’re a man-whore,” I say. “Why else would we be friends?”
“I’m not that bad!” he objects.
“Yes, you are,” I say. I shrug my shoulders and use my best New Jersey accent. “Eh, whaddya gonna do?”
We do the only thing we can. “Let’s have a drink,” he says. The night lies before us, its arms open…

Sextip

Clitoral Stimulation
Bearing in mind the fresh news emerging about female orgasm (see Sex O’Clock News), it’s worth remembering that clitoral stimulation is almost always crucial if you want to make a woman to come. Here are some ideas.
Never aim for the clitoris straight away. The vagina should be a bit lubricated or this can offer more pain then pleasure. Take time with other foreplay first, start around the area to begin with and if your partner often has difficulty getting wet, invest in a lube.
Clitoral stimulation is a key part of oral sex. Flick gently and use circular motions with your tongue, suck with your mouth and – if you’re not too embarrassed – try gently humming while holding the clit between your lips.
Try using an orgasm stimulation gel such as Durex’s Play O, which helps increase blood flow to the clitoris.
Use positions such as doggy-style or woman on top where you can keep stimulating the clit during sex.
Buy a vibrator to use on her clit. Alternatively consider a clit stimulator, such as the Wee-Vibe, which can be worn while you have sex.
Don’t focus solely on the clit and ignore the rest of her vagina or body. Some women don’t like men spending too much time on the clitoris. The area can get painful if she is very sensitive.
Ask her how she likes to be touched. If she’s not sure, or too embarrassed to say, experiment together. Try a variety of hand and mouth movements and ask her to score them out of five.
Whether you are using your hands, mouth or a vibrator, always start gently and work your way up to the pressure your partner most enjoys. If you can’t tell from her responses, ask. Have fun!