Author: Harper Eliot

Looking back on it, I believe I may have been a teenager right at the tipping point of meme-culture. We absolutely were a generation living from reference to reference. Chuck Norris jokes were our sustenance – did you know, “Chuck Norris CAN believe it’s not butter?” or “Chuck Norris doesn’t sleep; he waits”  – and it didn’t take much to have us howling “CHAAAAAAAARLIEEEEE!” across our common room. (Seriously – do you remember Charlie the Unicorn? Because I can quote it word for word. “It’s a liopleurodon!”) In fact we even adopted semi-understood, retrospective references, the sources of which half…

2.24pm, Wednesday 22nd January Oh, I had forgotten what it felt like to have a crush. The daydreams, the wistfulness, the magic, the near-blindness of it. Wondering if he meant to brush his knee against mine, and in the corner of my eye, did I catch him looking at me for just a moment longer than usual? When I was twelve, maybe a little older, it was oh so fashionable to have a crush; to fancy someone. My friends and I would practically make lists, counting them off on our fingers as we waited for the bus. Several at once!…

Eighteen months ago I was a single twenty-nothing (or thereabouts) in London town, free as a bird and dating a string of wildly inappropriate men – including a guy who seemed to think he was living in the seventies, and a university professor who lived above a furniture store with his Dad, – leaving in my wake a series of semi-dissatisfying sexual experiences I hoped I might be able to transform into relationships of some kind. Funnily enough, although I was calling myself monogamous at the time, or at least single-and-dating, I think I slept with more people that year…

Last year at Eroticon 2013, in London, there was an excellent session called Polyamory 101. In amongst talk of personal schedule organisation and pieces of true storytelling from the presenters, a question was raised about how badly non-monogamy is represented in contemporary arts and culture. Well, ethical non-monogamy; there are plenty of doomed and destructive affairs in films and literature. So within the session we all contributed ideas of stories that do represent non-monogamy in a (more or less) ethical fashion, and examples of stories which we wish could be turned into less mono-normative narratives. I’ll digress for a moment…

A couple of weeks ago I wrote a post called The Polyamorous Mediator, in which I mentioned that D and his wife have a “don’t-ask, don’t-tell policy” when it comes to extra-marital partners, and I commented that this is a set-up I am content to honour for their sake. Reading this, a friend of mine messaged me and asked if I would answer a question for her. Now, I don’t want to misquote her, or misread her, but put in very simple terms she expressed to me that through her eyes when a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy is put…

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about the difficulties of being a third and a secondary partner; or more precisely I set out to write about it, and then entirely chickened out. What I ended up posting was a rather rose-tinted, perhaps even vapid picture of relationships that can actually be incredibly challenging – as all relationships can be. The reason I cowered and bowed out in the end was largely down to the fact that my partners often read what I write here, and writing with true honesty comes at a cost. It sparks sometime uncomfortable conversations, seeming…

Well here I am again, ready to stir up trouble where previously there was peace. Because no one wants to hear me bitch about how busy I am (again) and I think a column in which, week after week, I simply harp on about how awesome my partners are, would wear thin pretty fast. (Though for the record, my partners are pretty awesome.) In fact my partners are awesome and sweet and kind and kinky and smart and sexy as hell. But there is one rather big thing that they are not: my partners are not polyamorous. Okay, they’re not…

So I’m sick, of course. Last night was my final seminar at university, and as I left I could feel the coldy fog descending. Sometimes I really wish my body wasn’t quite so all-knowing. It can feel me relaxing, knows when I have time to be sick. Except that I never have time to be sick! I have too much to do, and I refuse to be ill at Christmas. Again. Anyway, due to the sniffing and sneezing and coughing, I am letting myself relax at work. I have been in the staff room all day drinking spiked tea (don’t…

Being a third is hard. Being a secondary partner is hard. I think that for the most part I have come to terms with this, and it’s certainly easier now, with a touch of experience, than it was nine months ago, sobbing through con-drop after Eroticon 2013 with my lovely friend Remittance Girl, who kindly sympathised and validated the fact that being a third is a very vulnerable position in which to be. Actually, before I really get into it, perhaps I should explain for any new readers what I mean by “third” and what I mean by “secondary”. I…

Well, what can I say: I’m really happy. It is Advent. It is the first of December. I have a bag full of Christmas decorations (on which I spent far too much money) downstairs. I have been truly, thoroughly fucked in the last 48 hours. I wisely gave the majority of this weekend to little me. I lay in bed this morning searching the internet for beautiful Christmas gifts to give to my family and loved ones. I survived a week of hell at work. And for the first time in a long time, I’m not worrying about how I’m…