I’d always assumed that cheating on my partner was an impossibility. Back when we were monogamous, the boundaries of what constituted cheating were crystal clear: no sleeping with other people. Flirting and porn were both acceptable, but that was it. Now, however, we had ventured into uncharted territory. Not only had we opened up our relationship, but we had also developed long-term sexual and emotional connections with others. And we shared every detail with each other. We had worked diligently to create a flexible arrangement that prioritized fun, love, and mutual fulfillment, a far cry from the constraints of our previous monogamous relationship. In the past, sex had occasionally been a source of tension. As a result, we made it a top priority to feel free to express ourselves sexually and to explore our desires without restraint. Betrayal, by definition, was out of the question. So how did we find ourselves in our bedroom after a night of clubbing, my partner gazing at me with tears in his eyes, accusing me of cheating? Because, in a way, I had. And I had been somewhat aware of it. Not cheating in the traditional sense, perhaps, but a form of emotional betrayal nonetheless. I hadn’t necessarily taken pleasure in it, but perhaps just as damning, I hadn’t considered my partner’s feelings at all. I had simply gotten caught up in the moment with someone I was attracted to. In our open relationship, we had one unbreakable rule: no sleeping with someone else in our bed. We had experimented with it once in the beginning. The scent of another person’s cologne on my pillow had triggered an unexpected wave of sadness that lingered for weeks. And so we had ceased that practice, a decision my partner had made without hesitation. Four years and countless lovers later, I broke that rule. “This was your rule!” my partner exclaimed when I confessed my transgression. Perhaps I had been too casual, too offhand in my disclosure. In my defense, we had recently discussed the possibility of altering our bedroom rule. A word of caution to those contemplating an open relationship: finding a place to engage in sexual activity is just one of many obstacles; scheduling conflicts pose an even greater challenge. It all amounts to a significant amount of administrative work. However, we found ourselves in the midst of a full-blown crisis—a far more dramatic response than when I had casually mentioned developing feelings for someone else. My partner explained that just because we had floated the idea of a change, it didn’t give me the right to act on it. He wasn’t truly angry or upset that I had slept with someone else, or even that it had occurred in our bed. As we delved deeper into the issue, it became clear that his distress stemmed from the fact that I had taken away his agency over a choice that ultimately protected both of us. In a monogamous relationship, the protective measure is to refrain from sleeping with anyone else. Our sole protection, our one rule, was to not engage in sexual activity with others in our bed. It was the outermost boundary of our trust, a small but essential foundation, an acknowledgment that amid all the freedom we enjoyed, there was one sacred space. He expressed that he felt I had prioritized my own desires over his feelings. And he was right. I apologized profusely. I admitted to feeling guilty, though that didn’t seem to alleviate the situation. I told him I understood, but I was surprised that he had used the term “cheating.” After the confrontation subsided, I couldn’t help but wonder what had transformed this incident into an act of cheating rather than simply breaking a rule. And I believe the answer is the same regardless of the type of relationship—monogamous, open, or anything in between. Cheating occurs when we deprive someone of something—choice, agency, or knowledge. We deny them the opportunity to express their feelings, desires, or needs, or we prevent them from taking steps to address a situation. We fail to make them feel cared for and protected in the ways we have mutually agreed upon. Truthfully, I knew that my partner and I would weather this storm. I don’t expect moral or ethical perfection from him, and he doesn’t expect it from me. In fact, in my experience with open and non-monogamous relationships, it’s often the most difficult situations that lead to growth and a reassessment of boundaries. In our case, our bedroom remains a sacred space—or perhaps it’s the agreement itself that holds that sacredness, whatever form it may take.
The Unexpected Pain of Cheating in an Open Relationship
