When I met Zed, he was wearing a pirate costume, restraining my friend with his faded red rope while slyly smiling at her but also with her. The smiles exchanged were heart warming — playful yet stern.

I fell in love with him in a way I like to have sex: fast and hard.

I don’t particularly care for relationships. Around the one-year mark, I get bored — bored of knowing that my interactions with my partner are repetitive cycles, that our life mimics what society expects of us and that I can have sex with only one person, of one gender, for the foreseeable future. So after ending my last relationship, I promised myself I wouldn’t repeat this cycle again.

I had a couple of partners when I met him, but none of them were serious. Zed was different. At the beginning of our courtship, we discussed what we each would want from a relationship while affirming that we were both polyamorous — in multiple, consensual relationships simultaneously. We had no intention of being emotionally committed, but it quickly happened anyway.

When some explain what polyamory is about, they tell those who are unfamiliar with it that it is “legalized cheating.” The issue with this approach is that it situates the negative repercussions of cheating within what could potentially be healthy relationship dynamics. Previous boyfriends have cheated on me, and my issue wasn’t the physical component but that they didn’t communicate their needs with me. Of all those times of lying and sneaking around behind my back, what hurt the most was that none of it was necessary. The pain of betrayal could have been prevented by a conversation.

Throughout my dating life, I have always lacked the jealousy that seems to be normal in other monogamous relationships. My previous boyfriends have criticized my lack of attention when others flirted with them, but I didn’t particularly care. As far as I’m concerned, I shouldn’t have to manage my partners’ responsibility to me, and if they are no longer interested, they can leave.

One of my favorite parts of being polyamorous is that I don’t participate in that jealousy. Although we are dedicated to each other, we are also very relaxed about our affection toward others. He swipes through Tinder frequently, and I encourage him to openly discuss his experiences. I would rather know specifically what is happening than be in the dark, coming up with imaginary scenarios that never occurred. I have proven to be more lazy than he is, which has resulted in him being more active in his “sluttery,” as he jokingly refers to it. I occasionally contemplate sleeping with others, but ultimately, the search of another partner is too tolling (especially given my desire to hook up with queer folk, which is often trickier than finding heterosexual men).

My relationship with Zed forces us both to be completely open, continually analyze our relationship and redefine what is important to us over time. Emotional connections with others have proven to be more difficult than any sexual relationship. At the end of July, I briefly dated a guy with whom I had a lot in common: punk music, high-quality food and a critical attitude toward organized religion. We got emotionally intimate more quickly than expected, which ended up being challenging for Zed and me. We had to step back and renegotiate what would work well for us in our primary relationship. While he was OK with me continuing the relationship under the condition that I slowed down with the other guy, I decided that I didn’t have the time or energy to dedicate to two serious relationships and chose to bow out of the second.

But even though this specific relationship ended, it doesn’t mean I’ve had to cut off all emotional relationships with others. I’m in a queerplatonic relationship, defined by Urban Dictionary as a more intense and intimate (friendship) that doesn’t fit the traditional sexual-romantic couple model. This has worked out much more easily than the previous situation. Its circumstances are more manageable, and it happened in a period of time when the adaptation of the relationship was gradual enough to be comfortable for everyone.

At the end of the day, I believe, I will always go back to Zed. Being polyamorous can be fluid, just like other sexual preferences, and, in a way, allows me to be a complete individual while also loving intimately with others. And although my relationship with Zed is one demonstration of how polyamory can work, it should be based in whatever is comfortable for both partners. The effort we put into our relationship proves to me the dedication we have and that regardless of the ending, our time was well worth it.

Taylor Romine writes the Tuesday column on sex. Contact her at [email protected].