Doobie Doo
Veteran
My Two Boyfriends and the Polyandry Question
Funlayo E. Wood-Menzies
Aug 14 · 10 min read
Polygamy is almost always spoken of in term of multiple wives — what about multiple husbands?
Part two of a series on poly lifestyles in Black America. See part one "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">here.
A friend recently reminded me that I was “way ahead of [my] time” (her words) in high school.
Aside from the fact that I wrote my final paper about "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">BDSM in our 10th grade psychology class at "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">Hunter College High School, I was also the first person she knew with multiple concurrent partners who knew one another and were cool with sharing — and she loved it. She couldn’t get enough of my stories about them, and she even gave me two books in their honor — one to suit each relationship — that year for my birthday.
Specifically, I had two boyfriends: let’s call them L and M. Two hot black boyfriends, each who I loved in his own way.
M absolutely adored me, and I thought he was the sweetest thing ever. He was brown-skinned, ever so slightly shorter than I, kept his hair in short box braids (think Larenz Tate in Menace to Society), and had an athletic body that could often be found bouncing off the walls and monkey bars around Washington Square Park.
M looked a bit like O-Dog. Thankfully he didn’t act like him. Photo courtesy New Line Cinema.
He didn’t smoke pot, but was cool with me smoking and would even buy it for me sometimes. If you’re a fellow "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">90s kid who knows about the whole vampires and wolves trend, he was a vampire, like me. Tender, open with his feelings, lived with his dad in Harlem (our shared home) and spoke like he thought we’d be together forever.
And then… there was L. He was taller, a bit rounder, and had locs like mine which he liked to toss back and run his fingers through. At the time, I thought this was the hottest thing ever.
The androgynous fashion of the grunge era we both rocked, replete with work shirts and over-sized jeans, meant we were often dressed almost alike. Add our similar body size, complexion, and hair, and the result was people often making us out to be siblings… until we started making out.
Picture M’Baku a little lighter, a little more chubby than muscular with locs and you’ve got L. Photo courtesy Walt Disney Studios.
L, M, and I were all cool with each other, and L and M knew I was seeing them both. They weren’t exactly friends, but they were cordial. Importantly, they respected each other and each would back off and give the other his time and space with me as needed. If L entered a space and I was already there with M, he’d come say hi, then go do his thing, and vice versa. I can’t speak for how they felt inside, but their behavior was super mature and on point, especially considering our tender ages.
Although not entirely intentional, the three of us would frequently end up sharing the same space. The larger mega crew of “Park kids” to which our smaller crews (often based around school or residency) belonged would conglomerate after school and hang in Washington Square Park until cops or curfews sent us home. When it was too cold to be outside, we would sneak into the NYU student union or huddle in Taco Bell around a few divided bean burritos. Much like those burritos, I divided my time between the two boys, ensuring each got his due and neither felt slighted.
If I’m being honest, though, I liked L a little more.
He lived way out on Long Island so he often had to leave our gatherings early, which always left me wanting more. He was a wolf — my vampire clan’s sworn enemies — so there was also the excitement of the taboo. Where M was syrupy sweet and expressive, L was a bit more aloof, a tad wittier, a little sharper with the tongue. Alright, I’ll admit it: he was a bit of a "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">Dylan McKay, to use a reference from the day, and I was smitten.
But I truly did care for M too, and the times we shared felt so warm and comfortable. We were from the same hood and I knew my mama would like him more. I really didn’t want to choose between them.
And thankfully, I didn’t have to.
Polyandry is the practice of a woman having legitimate sexual access to more than one man, whether said legitimacy be via marriage or other social agreement.
The very mention of it is enough to make many heterosexual men — especially black men — throw out an immediate “hell nah!” Sistas, on the other hand, often respond with a deep nod and a, “Mm hmm! They’re always talking about multiple wives. If he can do it why can’t I do it too!?”
If he can do it why can’t I do it too!?
Multiple men sharing a woman seems to be the biggest no-no in the world of sexual relations. Indeed, even among those men who purport to be polyamorous, it’s not uncommon to find they have "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">OPP — a one penis policy — whereby they are alright with their female partners having other female partners but theirs is to be the only pole in the hole.
So, what gives? What is it that makes men — and many women too — cringe at the thought of polyandry? And why is it so much less often discussed than polygyny (one man with multiple female partners/wives)?
Well, first, let’s be clear that our attitudes about polyandry are deeply tied to our attitudes about women’s sexuality, and this is especially the case when we’re talking about black women.
The cover of A Taste for Brown Sugar, a must read.
In her (excellent, must read) book "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">A Taste for Brown Sugar: Black Women in Pornography, Mireille Miller-Young notes the American “discourse of black female hypersexuality” which inaccurately presumes black women to be “oversexed hoes.” This discourse, she says, coupled with a healthy dose of American Protestant puritanism has caused many black women to err on the side of hyper-respectability whereby any type of sexual behavior not deemed legitimate by the larger community is shunned.
The American “discourse of black female hypersexuality”…inaccurately presumes black women women to be “oversexed hoes.”
Typically the only sex considered legit in black American society — and American society at large — was heterosexual sex within the confines of marriage or, at the very least, love and commitment of some sort. While sexual mores have loosened over time, black Americans are still — at least publicly — more sexually conservative than white Americans. This conservatism is particularly present as pertains to women’s sexuality. For instance, "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">one study shows that young black women consistently report having fewer sexual partners and less sex, even while in relationships, than their white counterparts. Whether true or whether the women in question were under-reporting their number of partners or the amount of sex they were having, this pattern of reporting underscores black women’s sexual conservatism and adherence to the the oft-heard refrain that less — partners and sex itself — is more.
Another reason polyandry is less often discussed is, simply, that it is less common than polygyny. Way less. And always has been. While we now know "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">it’s not as rare as we once thought it was, it is still typically found in communities in which fertile women, land, or genetic diversity— sometimes all three— are scarce.
Despite the fact that only 53 societies have been recorded as practicing polyandry (and, to be fair, this may be due to the bias of those doing the reporting), according to "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">this article — the most comprehensive and global in scope I’ve found on the topic — there are six types of polyandry.
Wanna hear it? Here it go:
Funlayo E. Wood-Menzies
Aug 14 · 10 min read
Polygamy is almost always spoken of in term of multiple wives — what about multiple husbands?
Part two of a series on poly lifestyles in Black America. See part one "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">here.
A friend recently reminded me that I was “way ahead of [my] time” (her words) in high school.
Aside from the fact that I wrote my final paper about "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">BDSM in our 10th grade psychology class at "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">Hunter College High School, I was also the first person she knew with multiple concurrent partners who knew one another and were cool with sharing — and she loved it. She couldn’t get enough of my stories about them, and she even gave me two books in their honor — one to suit each relationship — that year for my birthday.
Specifically, I had two boyfriends: let’s call them L and M. Two hot black boyfriends, each who I loved in his own way.
M absolutely adored me, and I thought he was the sweetest thing ever. He was brown-skinned, ever so slightly shorter than I, kept his hair in short box braids (think Larenz Tate in Menace to Society), and had an athletic body that could often be found bouncing off the walls and monkey bars around Washington Square Park.
M looked a bit like O-Dog. Thankfully he didn’t act like him. Photo courtesy New Line Cinema.
He didn’t smoke pot, but was cool with me smoking and would even buy it for me sometimes. If you’re a fellow "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">90s kid who knows about the whole vampires and wolves trend, he was a vampire, like me. Tender, open with his feelings, lived with his dad in Harlem (our shared home) and spoke like he thought we’d be together forever.
And then… there was L. He was taller, a bit rounder, and had locs like mine which he liked to toss back and run his fingers through. At the time, I thought this was the hottest thing ever.
The androgynous fashion of the grunge era we both rocked, replete with work shirts and over-sized jeans, meant we were often dressed almost alike. Add our similar body size, complexion, and hair, and the result was people often making us out to be siblings… until we started making out.
Picture M’Baku a little lighter, a little more chubby than muscular with locs and you’ve got L. Photo courtesy Walt Disney Studios.
L, M, and I were all cool with each other, and L and M knew I was seeing them both. They weren’t exactly friends, but they were cordial. Importantly, they respected each other and each would back off and give the other his time and space with me as needed. If L entered a space and I was already there with M, he’d come say hi, then go do his thing, and vice versa. I can’t speak for how they felt inside, but their behavior was super mature and on point, especially considering our tender ages.
Although not entirely intentional, the three of us would frequently end up sharing the same space. The larger mega crew of “Park kids” to which our smaller crews (often based around school or residency) belonged would conglomerate after school and hang in Washington Square Park until cops or curfews sent us home. When it was too cold to be outside, we would sneak into the NYU student union or huddle in Taco Bell around a few divided bean burritos. Much like those burritos, I divided my time between the two boys, ensuring each got his due and neither felt slighted.
If I’m being honest, though, I liked L a little more.
He lived way out on Long Island so he often had to leave our gatherings early, which always left me wanting more. He was a wolf — my vampire clan’s sworn enemies — so there was also the excitement of the taboo. Where M was syrupy sweet and expressive, L was a bit more aloof, a tad wittier, a little sharper with the tongue. Alright, I’ll admit it: he was a bit of a "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">Dylan McKay, to use a reference from the day, and I was smitten.
But I truly did care for M too, and the times we shared felt so warm and comfortable. We were from the same hood and I knew my mama would like him more. I really didn’t want to choose between them.
And thankfully, I didn’t have to.
Polyandry is the practice of a woman having legitimate sexual access to more than one man, whether said legitimacy be via marriage or other social agreement.
The very mention of it is enough to make many heterosexual men — especially black men — throw out an immediate “hell nah!” Sistas, on the other hand, often respond with a deep nod and a, “Mm hmm! They’re always talking about multiple wives. If he can do it why can’t I do it too!?”
If he can do it why can’t I do it too!?
Multiple men sharing a woman seems to be the biggest no-no in the world of sexual relations. Indeed, even among those men who purport to be polyamorous, it’s not uncommon to find they have "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">OPP — a one penis policy — whereby they are alright with their female partners having other female partners but theirs is to be the only pole in the hole.
So, what gives? What is it that makes men — and many women too — cringe at the thought of polyandry? And why is it so much less often discussed than polygyny (one man with multiple female partners/wives)?
Well, first, let’s be clear that our attitudes about polyandry are deeply tied to our attitudes about women’s sexuality, and this is especially the case when we’re talking about black women.
The cover of A Taste for Brown Sugar, a must read.
In her (excellent, must read) book "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">A Taste for Brown Sugar: Black Women in Pornography, Mireille Miller-Young notes the American “discourse of black female hypersexuality” which inaccurately presumes black women to be “oversexed hoes.” This discourse, she says, coupled with a healthy dose of American Protestant puritanism has caused many black women to err on the side of hyper-respectability whereby any type of sexual behavior not deemed legitimate by the larger community is shunned.
The American “discourse of black female hypersexuality”…inaccurately presumes black women women to be “oversexed hoes.”
Typically the only sex considered legit in black American society — and American society at large — was heterosexual sex within the confines of marriage or, at the very least, love and commitment of some sort. While sexual mores have loosened over time, black Americans are still — at least publicly — more sexually conservative than white Americans. This conservatism is particularly present as pertains to women’s sexuality. For instance, "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">one study shows that young black women consistently report having fewer sexual partners and less sex, even while in relationships, than their white counterparts. Whether true or whether the women in question were under-reporting their number of partners or the amount of sex they were having, this pattern of reporting underscores black women’s sexual conservatism and adherence to the the oft-heard refrain that less — partners and sex itself — is more.
Another reason polyandry is less often discussed is, simply, that it is less common than polygyny. Way less. And always has been. While we now know "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">it’s not as rare as we once thought it was, it is still typically found in communities in which fertile women, land, or genetic diversity— sometimes all three— are scarce.
Despite the fact that only 53 societies have been recorded as practicing polyandry (and, to be fair, this may be due to the bias of those doing the reporting), according to "); background-size: 1px 1px; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px);">this article — the most comprehensive and global in scope I’ve found on the topic — there are six types of polyandry.
Wanna hear it? Here it go:
