#polyam relationship

You and Qifrey both noticed when Olruggio started spending much more time alone in his room with the door locked. The Watchful Eye of the Atelier shutting himself away presented obvious problems, but beyond that, there was a deep concern for Olruggio's well-being.

Unknown to the two of you, the reason for Olruggio's self-isolation only got worse when you attempted to leave meals at his door. The untouched meals, paired with brief and curt conversations through the door made you and Qifrey decide it was time for an intervention.

You and Qifrey took turns knocking and sitting outside Olly's door while the other watched over the girls. Finally, during your late night "shift," the sadness in your voice as you pleaded for him to come out made Olruggio crack.

He opens the door just slightly, gaze fixed to the floor in shame as he mumbles a half-hearted "what d'yeh want"

Upon seeing the hurt in your eyes, Olruggio caves completely, opening the door wider to let you in and shutting it behind you. Olruggio trudges to his bed, not even bothering to use his Sylph shoes, collapsing into the mass of pillows and blankets and curling up on himself, his arms wrapped around his middle

Taking a seat beside him, you hesitantly reach out, running your fingers through Olly's hair. He sniffles, leaning into your touch and murmuring an "'m sorreh" into the blankets.

"What's wrong, Olly?" The simple question causes him to burst into tears, the dam holding back his flood of emotions finally breaking down. He tells you everything; the way he stares at himself in the mirror, glaring at every curve and roll, wishing it was gone, the way he felt so out of place in his body, how much he feared the idea that you would see him the same way he sees himself

The hand that was petting Olly's hair trailed down to his face, cupping his cheek gently, your other arm held up as a silent invitation for a hug. Olruggio takes it without question

As he lay in your arms, you trail your hands along his sides, whispering all the things you love about him, the reassurances floating around his head like stars, lighting up the dark thoughts that had been plaguing him for days

"Why don't you join Qifrey and I for a midnight snack? I'm sure the girls have gone to bed by now."

Just after you ask the question, Olly's stomach growls loudly, giving you your answer. You stand first, taking Olly's hand and helping him up, leading him down to the kitchen where you, him and Qifrey spend the next couple of hours talking, drinking and snacking

When the two of you finally go to bed, Olruggio falls asleep in your arms, face pressed to your neck

Bônus:

image description: four photos of Dr. Jenn M. Jackson, a genderqueer Black lesbian, and their husband over the years of their relationship, interspersed with excerpts from the essay.

the text reads:

I got married to my best friend on May 27th, 2006. We met on move-in day at the University of Southern California back in August 2002. We were both student residents on the Somerville Place floor at school, also known as the “Black Floor.” When we met, I was wearing a gray Ecko Unlimited jogging suit with gray Jordan’s. He was wearing khaki shorts (which I would learn was a part of his regular uniform as a Black boy from Orange County, CA) and And1 tennis shoes. I truly thought he was a square. But, over the course of a few days, I felt drawn to him. We sat together on the bus that weekend, heading out for bonding events. We found each other in every crowd. And, we kept getting asked, “did y’all know each other in high school or something?”

Over time, I identified as bisexual (from about age 16 to 28), then pansexual (from about 28 to 35), and then understanding myself as a lesbian after 35 years old. Daren came to identify as asexual around 2016 after we had been married for about 10 years. We both struggled through our new identities, finding alignment in the naming and community. And, as the romantic and sexual part of our relationship transitioned, we actually became closer. We have learned to build so many expansive forms of intimacy that do not involve sex and sexual pleasure. We shower together, take long baths (usually where we plan new episodes of our podcast), take regular walks, and spend time each day talking to each other as if we are long lost friends. He is my best friend. I love him.

Because I have never believed in the concept of a “soul mate” and have never internalized narratives around someone else “completing me", I am able to have a deeply loving and committed relationship with my best friend, coparent, and spouse even while maintaining loving and intimate relationships with women and gender expansive people. While I am no longer attracted to cisgender men and do not date or sleep with them, I have never felt compelled to leave or divorce my spouse. We have raised three incredible free Black children together, started a business, and written books. We play videogames and travel together as we have always done. When we are sick, we care for one another. When we are down, we hold one another.

I have never understood marriage to be about sex and attraction. I have always understood marriage as a formal contract with the state. “To have and to hold…” and all of that. I watched women in my family marry men they thought were sexy only to have those men abuse them and break their spirits. I have watched marriages of obligation grow boring, dull, and loveless. I have witnessed many people use someone else’s definition of love and marriage to build their own.

We rebuke that.

I am a lesbian married to an incredible, loving, beautiful Black man. A man who has nursed me through emergency open heart surgery and helped me learn to walk again both literally and metaphorically. I am married to man who has never needed me to be seen and not heard. Who has never challenged my intellect or diminished my accomplishments. I am married to a Black man who loves himself, his children, his life, and his future selves. I married well.

And, one day, when I meet the women or gender expansive people of my dreams, that man I married nearly twenty years ago will be standing there beside me, genuinely happy for me because he knows that no matter who or how I love, it will never change how I feel about him.

photo 1: a series of black and white photo strips of Jenn and Daren in college. they kiss, grin, and make silly faces

photo 2: Jenn and Daren in college, their faces pressed together, smiling widely

photo 3: a young Jenn with their arm around Daren

photo 4: Jenn in their late 30s, posed on their couch with their dog in their lap. Daren stands behind the couch, his arm around them. Jenn's book, Black Women Taught Us, is posed to the side.