Why Monogamy By Dr Sarah Palmer

Why Monogamy

by Dr. Sarah Palmer

An excerpt from the novel

The Aristippus, Chapter 4:

"Dr. Palmer is a professor of Sociology at Cal State Fullerton," Nina announced. "She has a Master of Theology as well as a Ph.D. in Sociology, and I think you'll find her discussion on how and why humans developed into a culture of monogamy - even though biologically we should not have, very informative. Her lectures are always well received, and she adds an interesting twist on the topic, as she is also an ordained minister."

Dr. Palmer was a middle-aged woman of normal stature and nice looks. Her hair was blond, probably bleached, but still attractive with a center part and cut to hang just below the shoulders. Her lecture was very interesting, touching on various cultures around the world and how monogamy became the universally accepted human norm. Despite the fact that almost all other animals, from which we evolved, are not. She also dealt with many of the unintended consequences that have resulted from forcing humans into a single-partner society. Examples included stories from the bible, Victorian England, modern society, and of course, some of the brutal extremes as practiced in the Muslim world even today.

One other interesting aspect of Dr. Palmer's lecture was that she included some insight into her personal life. She has never married, even though she admits to several extended relationships - with both men and women. She didn't actually call them long-term - just extended. But currently, she lives in what she calls a Polyamorous relationship with six other people. A total of four women and three men, all connected with Cal State Fullerton, in one way or another. They all live in their own homes but socialize and travel exclusively with each other. In other words, in a heterosexual context, they all sleep with each other, but they do not consider themselves to be swingers. They generally only engage each other sexually as couples. And according to Dr. Palmer, this arrangement has lasted for years, and they are all very happy.

"Isn't there ever any jealousy?" Vicky asked.

"No, not really," Dr. Palmer replied. "Oh, when we're traveling together, there might be nights when I wanted to sleep with one of the men, and he ends up going to another woman's room. But I'll get him the next night, so in a way, it makes things a little more interesting."

"Since there is an extra woman, don't you ever sleep with her?" Angie asked.

Dr. Palmer paused before thoughtfully responding, "Well, I experimented with women when I was younger. And for a while, I considered myself to be Bisexual. But after some time, I came to realize that even though men might be assholes to live with, between the sheets, I really need a dick."

* * *

I want to thank Nina for that warm introduction. We have known each other since we were grad students at UC Irvine. And this is my eighth year to speak at the Aristippus Resort. But let me give you a little more background on my sexual journey and how I ended up in a polyamorous relationship with six other people.

I am originally from San Diego and grew up in a fairly conservative household. Now, I don't mean puritan or even evangelical, just mainstream conservative. My father was a Presbyterian preacher, and we had to maintain a certain public image. And inside our home, it was pretty much the same as our public face.

My parents were very prim and proper, with absolutely no display of affection ever. However, I did have an older brother and a younger sister. So, at some point, they must have had sex. They did sleep in the same bed, so I guess the opportunity did exist. It was just that they always kept their door closed and slept in full nightwear. So, if you had told me that the three of us had been conceived by immaculate conception, I probably would not have argued with you.

When it became time for me to go to college, the only school I applied to was San Diego State University, the fighting

Aztecs

. As the campus was only seven miles from the house I grew up in, I lived at home and commuted the entire time I was there. I was a good student and probably could have gone almost anywhere I wanted. However, SDSU was so close to home, and I was still very much a homebody; it was just an easy choice. I think, to be honest, I was afraid to leave home, and my parents just made it easy to stay.

The downside was that I delayed the whole college experience of living on my own. At age twenty-one, when I graduated with a B.A. in Psychology, I was still a virgin. It wasn't my appearance. I felt that I was pretty normal looking for a college co-ed. I stood five-foot-six, with dirty blonde hair that I wore well past my shoulders, and I sported a respectable B-cup figure. It was just that I had a rather low libido and little interest in dating.

Upon graduation, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I had lots of options--just no clue. As my dad was a minister, I drifted in that direction and enrolled at the Claremont School of Theology in Los Angeles. Now, Claremont was a hundred-thirty miles from San Diego, so I couldn't live at home anymore. And it was time for me to become an adult anyway. I rented a tiny studio apartment near Claremont, and assuming the weather was nice, which is almost always the case in Los Angeles, I could walk to class.

Shortly after enrolling, I met Stan. He was a year ahead of me, but he was intelligent, funny, cute, and I was smitten. He was the first guy I ever had any genuine interest in, and the fact that he showed interest in me as well was all it took.

About a month into my first semester, Stan invited me to a Sunday service of the United Church of Christ. Now, for those of you not familiar with the UCC, they are the liberal spinoff of the traditional Church of Christ, and they are, by mainstream standards, quite liberal. They are all-inclusive; they welcome all of God's children. It doesn't matter if you are black, brown, female, LBGQT+, or even a convicted felon. And I found this approach to Christianity very refreshing. As my father also said, "Hate the sin but love the sinner." The only problem was that his stodgy congregation didn't believe it. But this UCC fellowship actually did.

The following week, Stan took me back to the same church. Only instead of taking me back home after the service, he took me to the Getty Museum. For those unfamiliar with the Getty, it is the art collection of J. Paul Getty. His will stipulated that his art collection was to be made available to the public in perpetuity at no cost to those who wished to see it. And what an amazing collection it is. As we walked through the halls of this spectacular museum, Stan held my hand as if we were on a date. And I guess we were. It was a second date, in fact, as he bought me lunch after church on both occasions.

Losing my virginity [First Time]

For our third date, I invited Stan to my apartment for dinner. Now, keep in mind that my apartment is nothing but a California efficiency. In a space of 360 square feet, I had my bedroom, my dining room, a kitchen and, of course, my bathroom. This is smaller than a two-car garage. But normally, it was just me. So, how much space did I need?

I will say that at least I had a double bed, and that took up about thirty square feet. So, all I needed now was someone to share it with. And it was time. I was twenty-one years old and still a virgin. Now, in my defense, I lived at home the entire time I was in college. And my dad was a Presbyterian minister, so it was a rather conservative household. But to be honest, I just had very little interest in meeting or dating boys. I don't think I was a prude, and it's not like I was saving myself for anything or anyone. I just needed a push, a nudge to get me started, and living on my own for the first time in my life seemed to be that nudge.

I had either read, or someone had told me that if you've not had sex with the guy by your third date, you're wasting your time. In other words, dump him and start over. Well, I liked Stan, and I didn't want to keep looking. He may have been the first guy I had ever had a serious interest in. But he was smart, funny, handsome--what else was there?

Wednesday, I waited for him in the cafeteria. I knew he would stop by after his nine o'clock tutorial for a coffee. "Stan," I called out upon seeing him walk in. "Hey, what are you doing Friday night?"

"Well, it sounds like I'm doing something with you," he joked.

"Well--yes, you are," I teased back. "You're having dinner at my place."

"And why is that?" he said with a big smile.

"Because," I said. I wanted to touch his hand, but still too nervous to do it. "You have taken me out twice now, and it's my turn. Besides, I can't afford to take you out to a restaurant, so I'm going to cook for you." I was holding my books to my chest and swinging my hips back and forth like I had just asked him to our first school dance.

He could barely conceal his laughter, but he did manage to ask, "So, what are we having?"

"Fish," I said affirmatively, not even asking if he liked fish.

He could no longer contain his amusement. "Well, what else would we have on a Friday?"

That fish was the traditional meal on a Friday had totally escaped me. I wasn't raised Catholic, and I doubted Stan had been either. But it was funny that I had planned on that particular protein. My mom was a fabulous cook, and my sister and I rarely had to lift a finger in the kitchen growing up. But I did have a recipe for parmesan-crusted tilapia that was pretty good, and it was one of the few things I actually felt comfortable preparing. And besides, tilapia is inexpensive, and I didn't have much money.

With me not offering any verbal response, only a sweet and hopeful smile, he added, "So, what can I bring?"

I know I should have said

condoms

, but luckily, the next words out of my mouth were, "How about wine?"

"Okay," he affirmed. "As we're having fish, I assume a white wine. Do you like Chardonnay?"

I didn't know Chardonnay from Mogen David. But it sounded like Stan did, so I nodded enthusiastically, and the date was set.

We agreed at seven o'clock on Friday evening, and I confirmed my address with him. For the rest of that day and all day Thursday, all I could think about was him. How do I let him know that I was ready to become a woman? I didn't have a class on Friday, so I spent the entire day getting ready. I cleaned my entire apartment and prepared everything for dinner, other than actually putting the fish in the oven. At seven on the dot, there was a knock at the door, and my stomach did a flip.

"Good evening," Stan said with a smile as I opened the door. "I hope this is the right place," he added as he stepped in and greeted me with a quick peck on the lips. He had a bottle of wine in his hands, and as he surveyed my tiny abode, he asked, "How long before dinner?"

"Twelve minutes," I said. "All I have to do is to pop the fish in the oven."

"Perfect, then we have time for a glass of wine," Stan replied.

Once he handed me the wine, I realized it had a cork, and I knew I didn't have a corkscrew. Jeez, what an idiot I am. Looking at the bottle and then back up at him, he instantly realized my dilemma.

"No corkscrew?" he asked. "Don't worry." And with that, he pulled one from his back pocket and quickly opened the bottle. I was so amazed that I forgot to put the fish in the oven. But as soon as he poured the wine and we clinked glasses, I remembered, and we were back on schedule.

For dinner, I prepared the parmesan-crusted tilapia, buttered new potatoes, and tossed green salad. I wasn't sure what he liked in his salad, so I kept it at red-tip lettuce, cherry tomatoes, and sliced avocado. I assumed Stan was a native Californian, and what native of the Golden State wouldn't like that? And apparently, I was right, as he ate every bit. Happy plates, as my parents would have said when we were kids.

And I was happy as well. Stan helped me with the dishes, and after starting my tiny apartment-style dishwasher, I turned to face him. We were only standing four or five feet from my bed. We didn't need to go to another room. But as he stared into my eyes, I realized I needed to make the first move. So, standing on tiptoes, I threw my arms around his neck and gently planted my lips squarely on his.

This did seem to get the ball rolling, as he soon wrapped his arms around me and passionately returned my kiss. All I needed to do now was to get him undressed. Breaking our kiss, I stepped back and started unbuttoning his shirt. Now that he was clear on my intentions, he quickly followed suit and began on mine. I was wearing a linen skirt and a satin blouse, which he quickly had successfully opened, exposing my bra. I had also completed opening his shirt, and as I began running my hands across his hairy chest, he was doing the same to my breasts.

I gently nudged his shirt from his shoulders, and again Stan followed my lead by reaching behind me to unsnap my bra. It took him several tries, but soon, we were both completely topless and ready for the next step. I stepped around to the side of the bed and threw the covers back, exposing the clean sheets I had just put on this morning in preparation for tonight's activity. I then unsnapped the waistband of my skirt and let it fall to the floor. Stan just as quickly unbuckled his belt before sitting on the bed to remove his pants, shoes and socks.

Then, walking around the room and turning off the lights, I returned to find him lying on his back, wearing nothing but his boxers. The only light still on was my bedside lamp, and in the dim light, I stopped, smiled at my lover, and pushed my white cotton panties to the floor, revealing my feminine triangle to another's eyes for the first time in my life. Stan gazed at my naked form for a moment but soon pushed his only remaining garment down and off, pitching them to the floor.

Now, both of us, as naked as the day we were born, slipped into bed and covered us with the sheet. Stan rolled toward me, and soon we were locked in a passionate embrace. As my hands explored his neck, shoulders and back, Stan started on my back but soon moved at least one hand to my breasts. He cupped one, then the other, as he manually massaged them and tweaked my nipples. Soon, he rolled me to my back and began a trail of sloppy wet kisses across my cheeks, down my neck, and ultimately sucking each nipple until my body vibrated with sexual energy.

I was the passive partner in this voyage of discovery. But Stan seemed to know his way around. Soon, he gently spread my legs and moved his hand to my fuzzy triangle. It wasn't long before his nimble fingers were exploring my lower lips and tenderly checking my willingness to proceed. I offered no resistance, and in fact, my moans of pleasure and the involuntary wiggling of my body gave him every assurance of my willingness.

I'm sure I was wetter than I had ever been in my life. In fact, I don't ever remember being as wet as I was at that moment. I was literally leaking as Stan inserted first one finger and then another. I loved his digital exploration, but I needed more. A whole lot more, and I could feel his erection rubbing up against my leg. "Stan," I whispered. "Please, I'm ready."

I didn't need to say it twice. Stan pulled his fingers from me, rolled between my legs and slowly guided the object of my desire to the promised land. And to my surprise, it didn't hurt. I have been using tampons for years, and I have had several pelvic exams since coming of age. So, if there was anything left of my hymen, Stan had successfully navigated it. I felt a new fullness I had never known before and a newfound pressure. But was it uncomfortable? No, it was the most pleasurable sensation I had ever known.

Stan's fulfillment arrived after only a few minutes, and as his body shook with his release, I wrapped my arms and legs as tightly around him as I could get them. Eventually, I released my grip, allowing him to roll to my side. And then, after moving to avoid the wet spot, we both drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I was the first to rise. I walked to the bathroom fully nude, which was probably a first for me. Even as a child, I always slept in full pajamas or a long nightgown. I did close the door, but I think it was more out of courtesy to Stan than teenage modesty. After showering, I walked back into the single living area without a stitch on, not even wrapped in a towel. And it felt good. For the first time in my life, I felt like an adult woman, and if my lover saw me naked, so what? Stan got up several minutes later, and after stumbling into the bathroom, he didn't even bother to close the door. I heard him pee and flush the toilet. And as I heard him start the shower, I walked in to get him a fresh towel. "Stan," I called out, "I've left you a towel on the sink."

"Thank you," he said from behind the shower curtain. I realized we probably could have showered together, but maybe that's for another time. I honestly had not thought of it until that moment.

Stan and I did not immediately move in together. My lease ran to the end of the school year, and Stan lived with a roommate. But we slept together almost every weekend, and I got very comfortable with him in bed.

Stan graduated with a Master of Theology that May and was fortunate enough to get a job as a Chaplin at the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. I still had another year of school but managed to get a part-time job as a youth minister at the church we attended. I didn't have any kids, but I still loved them, and it was a great job. With Stan's new salary and my part-time earnings, we could now afford a small one-bedroom apartment, and we moved in together. The apartment was in Stan's name, as he was the only one with a full-time job. But at the time, I saw nothing wrong with it, as he did pay two-thirds of the rent.

The following year, I earned my master's and went full-time at our church. I was ordained into the UCC and was hired as an Assistant Pastor. I was still only making about half what Stan was earning. But at least for now, we were both happy with our career choices and our living arrangements.

However, over the next five years, the bloom slowly wore off the rose. As the cost of living in California increased annually, our salaries did not. More accurately, my salary did not. So, money was often tight. But that was only part of the problem. Stan worked long and irregular hours. I say worked. I don't actually know how hard he worked. I know that there are very stressful moments. Dealing with people in grief is never easy. But he never had to prepare a sermon or deal with a family crisis where he actually knew the family.

I never knew his schedule, and he was not very good at letting me know if and when he was coming home. Over time, I learned to cook for myself, and if he was hungry when he got home, I'd prepare him something. I could live with that. However, what I struggled with was his constant need for sex. He might walk in at eleven or midnight, and the first thing he wanted was to fuck me. And I don't mean make love to me, for that might have been okay. He just wanted the fuck me like I was some sort of piece of meat. Which I was not.

His sex drive was insatiable, and his lack of consideration for my needs and desires was wearing very thin on me, both physically and emotionally. Besides that, he had all but quit going to church with me. He worked Sundays at the hospital, and I'll never know whether that was deliberate or not.

Shortly before our fifth anniversary of living together, we had still never married.