An issue of Toronto Life magazine was devoted to The Secret Sex Lives of Torontonians. One of the articles was titled Sex Without Borders, and it described the marriage of a Toronto couple – Samantha and Stephane.

Samantha and Stephane are in their 30’s, and have been married for a few years. I had heard of Samantha a few weeks earlier because someone sent me a link to her blog, Not Your Mother’s Playground. Samantha is an expert in polyamory.

The Toronto Life article described their polyamorous relationship in detail. Samantha and Stephane do regular boring married things together like trips to Ikea. They also share lovers (Samantha is bi-sexual; Stephane is hetero), and have their own additional relationships too. They have wild, raucous parties in their downtown Junction semi that end with orgies on their living room futon.

I read all this with disgust.

I’m not disgusted with Samantha.

I’m disgusted with myself.

Samantha is clearly an intelligent and ambitious woman. She is almost finished writing a book on polyamory, draws hundreds of people to her workshops, has a very active blog, thousands of twitter followers, and is a relationship therapist with a roster of clients. If this wasn’t enough, she is in a loving relationship that works for her and her husband, where they are able to discuss sensitive topics (like jealousy) with warmth and honesty.

Samantha is making me look bad. I had to hide the issue of Toronto Life from my husband, John. How is she able to accomplish so much, and yet find time to satisfy not only her husband but other people too?  She did sheepishly confess in the article that she and Stephane have had their dry spells, like only having had sex twice during an 11 day trip to Mexico. Gimme a break.

Why am I such a hopeless time manager? Why is it enough of a challenge for me to make quality time with my husband given I do not have any additional demands of having to satisfy a lover too?

How does Samantha do it all, and make it look so effortless?

That is the real story.

Next: Appending the launch letter to my son

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