Unsurprisingly, there is a back story to my reading this book. Recently, the Melbourne Comedy Festival has been on and I went to see two shows. The first was a kind of teaser, where a number of comedians did 12-minute stand ups. Of the five or six comedians, there were probably three that we felt were funny enough to want to see more of. One of them was a tall guy who had moved to Melbourne from Newcastle in the UK. There are two problems with comedy. And I class these around recall and recognition memory. After the show you might say to someone, ‘oh, there was a guy who did a very funny routine’. And someone might say to you, ‘oh, great, what was in it about?’ Well, this is a recall task – and you are likely to say something deeply enlightening like, ‘I don’t know, funny stuff about, you know, life and stuff.’
When he finished his set, he basically said, ‘come and see my hour-long show, I don’t repeat anything in that that I’ve said here.’ A lesson in life I never seem to learn is that when people say things like that, they might well believe themselves, but what they are saying is likely to be total rubbish. I had an English teacher at one time when I was doing night school who said that since we were mostly adults, and he spent most of his day with children, he expected us to do almost all of the talking. Needless to say, you couldn’t shut him up with a machine gun pointed to his head. When we got to the guy’s show a few days later he started with pretty much the entire 12-minutes he had done in the teaser show. You see, this is a recognition task, you always recognise when you’ve heard a joke before – even if you otherwise couldn’t recall it to save your life.
After we had heard many of the jokes he had done before, the show suddenly shifted to how he and his ex-partner had broken up. He started this section of the show by saying, ‘don’t worry, this won’t be a half-hour long trashing of my ex as a form of therapy…’ I wonder if you have already guessed what the next half hour of the show turned out to be?
Anyway, his ex-girlfriend was interested in starting (or had kinda already started) a polyamorous relationship and she didn’t so much want to leave her current partner (our hero telling the ‘jokes’) but would rather they could come to some sort of accommodation where they could have an open relationship while staying together. Best of all worlds. Now, to help him through this transition they both started going to therapy but also she recommended he read this book. In part, I’ve read this because I was keen to know how a book might make it easier to accept your partner is about to go off having sex with other men and somehow this book was going to make that not only easier to accept, but perhaps even something you might look forward to. A big ask of any book, I’d have thought.
Now, I want to start by saying a lot of this book is seriously quite damn good. I don’t normally read self-help books, not since my marriage breakup a million years ago when people suggested I read some god-awful things (I remember one was called ‘Pulling Your Own Strings’, which, bizarrely, wasn’t even about masturbation). The advice was always couched in ‘this will change your life’ hyperbole followed by a series of key points that were as mindless and they were fundamentally unhelpful. As you can see, I’m not really a fan of self-help books. So, my saying this one was good is really as high praise as I’m likely to give. The premise of the book is that sex is a deeply problematical thing in our society. That it is too often associated with rubbing genitals together until there is a mess. That it should only be done with someone you ‘own’, in the sense of being in an exclusive relationship with them. That sex and love are pretty much the same things and each involves one other person. That introducing anyone else into this equation automatically cancels the equation to zero. That we are so fundamentally jealous that loving relationships, either involving sex or not, will provide so much destructive force to any relationship, that it simply will not survive.
Now, look. There really is a lot to all of this. I do worry that most of our notions of relationships are based on essentially ‘property’ relationships, where the man is the owner and the woman is the owned. And, in fact, neither role is as appealing as people might think, even though being the owner is almost certainly preferrable. And I think a hell of a lot of extra-marital sex is about as close to meaningless as it is possible to get. We are driven by hormones and smells (smells especially – I think we totally underestimate our noses as sex organs) and a couple of drinks and a quick kiss can end in said rubbing of genitals together until there is a wet mess. Should that be the end of these two’s ‘primary relationships’? Probably not. I’ve often felt that if one of my partners got themselves into this situation, I would much rather never know. ‘You might want to be an ethical slut by telling me about your infidelity, but it feels to me like your ethics is my nose being rubbed in the mess left by the rubbing of genitals… not my mess, but definitely my nose.’
So, this book shifted that idea a bit for me. A relationship needs to be based on trust, and trust can hardly be based on telling lies. Although, in the version of this story I’ve just told, I think I would still prefer not to know. The problem starts when your partner doesn’t just want sex. And this is where the authors have a new kind of definition of sex, again, one I sort of agree with. That sex should probably be defined as any deeply intimate connection we have with another person. I’ve had relationships where I’ve exposed more of myself to the other person than I ever have with some people I’ve been naked with. And this is true of both sexes, even though I consider myself a boringly heterosexual man. And I think this is the bit where I would be incapable of ever becoming an ethical slut. I’m simply too insecure to play these games. As the comedian ultimately proved to be too, try as he might. As I said to someone after the show, if my partner came and kissed me on the head and said, ‘I’m just off to make love to Jack, back at 11’ – that would be me fucked for the rest of the night. Not because I would be missing out on sex, that is hardly a novel experience, but because my insecurities involve a belief that my partner would inevitably find the other person more interesting and more attractive and more fun than I could ever be. The sense that this serious, loving relationship she would be having with another man would just be something I could either shrug off or accept as part of life’s rich tapestry, where the world would become a better place with the explosion of multiple loving relationships, ‘love, love, love…all you need is love’, I know is beyond my powers. Part of me really wishes this wasn’t true. I see all of the logic of the authors’ point, but the very idea leaves me feeling a little queasy.
The other advice in the book is well worth reading. I loved their stuff on ‘outer-course’ – the whole sense that sex is about ejaculation has increasingly become odd to me. The thing I love more than anything in the world is to watch my partner orgasm. I’ve rarely enjoyed an orgasm of my own nearly as much. But I’ve found women (a couple of my previous partners) are just as likely to say, ‘no, that’s not right/fair – it’s your turn’, as if there is a great accountant in the sky counting pleasures and these are always measured in coming. I’ve come without ejaculating many, many times. I’ve been in relationships where I’ve spent a long time ejaculating without ever orgasming. Sex is a complicated thing, and as this book says, no less fun for not being like a porn scene. Something I think only people who have been denied closeness for an extended period of their lives can fully comprehend. But then, who is that? Even those of us in long term, loving relationships, have experienced long periods without true closeness.
A lot of this book, and a lot of the reason I enjoyed it, despite not really expecting to, and despite not coming away being totally convinced by it either, is based less on ethics as such – although, you know, a word doesn’t get into the title if the authors didn’t think it was important – but rather about care. The world really could do with more care in it. And more acceptance that we can’t be everything to someone else. Even when, for quite some time, it can feel like they are the only thing we can think about or who we want to be with. Nothing is simple, nothing stays the same, but sometimes love finds ways.
I couldn’t do this lifestyle. I would give up many things for a loving relationship, but this would ask me to give up my mental health, and that’s simply too much to ask. That said, I really do understand the power of desire and the need to be with someone else – christ, that’s how my first marriage broke up and as the breaker-up-er-er, I totally get this – and so, I also understand that being presented with a range of options, beyond ‘in or out’, might actually work for some people. As Ani Di Franco says in a song, “She was numb with the terror of losing her best friend, but she never sees things changing, she only sees them ending…”
I’m sixty. If I’ve learned anything it is that a truly deep connection between people is infinitely more rare than people who say shit like, ‘there are millions of fish in the sea’ seem to really have ever comprehended. But also, none of this is easy. I didn’t come away from the show particularly liking the comedian, I didn’t want to sit down and have a beer with him, say – but maybe I’m more like him than I prefer to think.