Disclaimer: In Real Life is a platform for everyday people to share their experiences and voices. All articles are personal stories and do not necessarily echo In Real Life’s sentiments.
This story is an anonymous submission by a M’sian man who regrets his decision to be polyamorous — having multiple partners in a relationship — after his girlfriend slept with another man.
Before I met my girlfriend, I thought polyamory was some kind of real-life video game cheat. Sex without jealousy? Freedom without guilt? Sign me up. Turns out, I wasn’t as enlightened as I thought.
I met my girlfriend, Lily, four years ago on Tinder. At the time, I had been single for almost a decade, and like most guys on the app, I was looking to hook up.
In her pictures, Lily was modestly dressed, covered down to her wrists and ankles. Her profile was wholesome—special needs teacher, loved kids, quirky—like someone who’d scold you for swearing. Not the go-back-with-you-on-the-first-date type.
Still, Lily was hot, and I was horny. I’d also been on Tinder long enough to know that sometimes, you just get lucky, so I figured, why not?
Also, I had just bought a pack of 25 Super Likes, and like all terrible investments, I needed to justify it.
So I swiped up. Surprisingly, we matched.
It turns out, I was right.
Well, kind of. We didn’t sleep together on our first meet. Lily had a rule—no sleeping with guys on the first date. It was her way of vetting through red-flag matches. Instead, we talked—a lot.
I learned that Lily didn’t mind hooking up, but she didn’t want to match with anyone who knew her in real life. So, she made an innocent profile and would go on dates. If she liked the guy, home run. If not, she’d unmatch them.
But once Lily was comfortable, she liked getting intimate with me. At the time, she already had a FWB and was actively meeting guys on Tinder. Her sleeping around wasn’t a problem for me—most people on Tinder were like that, and there was a charm about Lily that made me feel comfortable with her.
I hit a home run on our second date. Lily ranks in my top five hottest hookups (although Lily would later tell me it was just meh for her), and I became Lily’s second FWB.
We got together a few months later.
We had been steadily getting closer. She’d come over, but unlike other hookups, she didn’t leave right after. And I, surprisingly, didn’t mind her staying. At some point, she also stopped seeing her other FWB.
Then, one day, Lily seemed moody—she hung around all day but didn’t speak to me. Something was on her mind. Later that night, while we were in bed, Lily popped the question she had been mulling over all day, “How do you feel about an open relationship?”
I answered that I was totally for it.
I knew Lily was slowly falling for me. It wasn’t unwelcome. I liked Lily’s company, but the idea of being committed to a single woman felt like having only a single game on your Steam library. What if the gameplay sucks? What if there was a game-breaking bug? What if I get bored of playing this game?
Someone tried to make the worst game on steam. Ironically, it’s gotten mixed reviews. Source: Steam
See, at the time, I believed I was polyamorous. I thought I was some kind of enlightened intellectual liberated from Malaysia’s restrictive, oppressed sex culture. I liked sex, and I was the only one ballsy enough to admit that, and I was going to live my truth.
But it’s easy to believe in polyamory when you’re the one with all the options and none of the attachments or responsibility.
What I didn’t realize at the time was that my being polyamorous was just me having an avoidant attachment style from a previous trauma.
Before Lily, I had two serious relationships. The last one ended when my ex-girlfriend cheated on me with some mat salleh dude at a party. That infidelity was the straw that broke the camel’s back, but frankly, we were already miserable even before. She was a toxic taker, and I was a toxic giver, and the three years together before the cheating were some of the worst years of my life.
That breakup left me with an allergy to commitment. Relationships felt like a trap—like taking out a loan for a crappy car that you never really wanted in the first place. It’s nice at first, but the shine wears out in the first year and you still have six years of commitment left.
So when Lily suggested we try an open relationship, it felt like the cheat code to Life. Like having an endless library of games you could choose from and play with depending on your mood. The possibilities were endless.
“We would have to set some ground rules though,” she said, with the seriousness of a contract lawyer.
Like what, I asked.
“Well, for starters, we have to be completely honest about who we’re meeting and where. And we’re not allowed to spend the night. It’s just sex.”
I said deal, and we shook hands. That’s how my first open relationship started. I wasn’t thinking about the consequences—it felt like I’d gotten the cheat patch to unlock all the games on Steam.
Spoiler alert: there’s no such thing.
At first, the open relationship didn’t turn out like how Lily expected.
Before I go on, let me share a truth bomb I’ve learned about sex—men and women process it differently.
For women, the biggest aphrodisiac isn’t a fat bank account or six-pack abs (though, let’s be honest, those don’t hurt). No, the main ingredient is emotional connection. If she likes you, the sex is 10x better.
Men, on the other hand, are pros when it comes to compartmentalizing. Sex? Great. Emotional connection? Optional. That’s why guys are much more open to hooking up with strangers—no emotional attachment means they can switch partners as often as they want and still have great sex each time.
I didn’t realize how this would affect my relationship with Lily. Initially, she was the one who suggested the arrangement because, well, sex with me was ‘fine.’ Not terrible—just average. But her other FWB was setting the bar higher, and she wasn’t ready to give that up.
Me looking at the bar Lily’s ex-FWB had set. Credit: Karabo Lengwadi
As the months progressed, however, Lily started getting more attached to me. And with the emotional connection, the sex improved. So much so that she decided she didn’t need anyone else and wanted to be monogamous.
The poly-mono relationship.
“I don’t want to meet anyone else,” she said. “You’re enough for me.”
But I still want to maintain the open part of our relationship, I replied, when Lily told me her decision.
“Of course,” she said. “It’s my decision, and it’s unfair for me to ask you to do the same.”
Thanks, I replied.
I felt bad but I wasn’t ready to give up what I had. Lily was great—but the sex was familiar. It wasn’t boring, but it wasn’t as exciting as being with someone new.
And so we continued, me hooking up with other women while Lily would wait for me at home. I observed all the ground rules we established—always telling her who it was and when and never staying over. But after a few months, it was clear that Lily was becoming increasingly not okay with it.
A week before a supposed hookup, Lily would turn into a shadow. Quiet. Distant. And when I tried to get her to open up, she’d ugly-cry. She’d cry so hard and so ugly-ly that she couldn’t even form words to tell me what’s wrong.
On one of the nights I was getting ready to go out, I remembered Lily sitting in bed, just staring at her phone. I got ready and headed out. As I took my car keys from the bowl, I heard a heavy thud on the walls; I went back to check on her—she was clutching her hand and crying. She had punched the wall hard enough to hurt herself.
And yet I still left.
We did try to talk about it. Lily would tell me how she felt each time it happened. “It makes me think I’m not enough,” she’d say through tears.
I’d comfort her—or at least I thought I was comforting her—by telling her all the BS talking points I’d read online. The whole, it’s not that you’re not enough but nobody owns anyone else, that nobody could fulfill all the needs of another person, blah blah blah.
I wanted to believe that Lily understood. That I wasn’t choosing other women over her; I was just choosing something different. That you could love nasi lemak—freaking adore it, even—but still occasionally crave a Ramly burger.
Of course, that didn’t change the fact that she was still hurt. The look in her eyes said otherwise, like I was the only one eating while she sat there starving.
This went on for almost two years.
There were times when I thought our relationship wouldn’t survive—our arguments had started becoming circular, constantly revolving around the same things and going through the same stages. Our talking points had become copy-paste. On some days, I got sick of talking about it. Lily realized it, too.
Finally, in one of our talks, I decided to try a new approach.
Hey, I said. I know you mentioned that you wanted to be monogamous—but you know I don’t hold you to it. You’re free to change your mind. Maybe the reason you’re hurt is because you’re always the one waiting on me. Maybe if you tried dating and seeing other people, you’d like it too.
She looked at me tearfully, unconvinced but said nothing.
Things did slowly change, though. She started to go out on dates (especially when I was busy and unavailable). It started tame, framed as a “Hey, I’m going out with a friend.” On one occasion, she even made out with someone else. I was only slightly jealous but overall, happy.
Cool, I thought. This was going great. We were going to be that poly couple that people openly criticized but secretly admired. We were both going to have all our needs and wants fulfilled in the best possible way. Sex buffet, here we come.
Of course, that’s when Life proved me wrong.
The party
“Hey, the girls are having a dinner party—can I go?”
I barely looked up from my phone. Of course, sweetie. Have fun, I said, like a seasoned boyfriend who’s totally chill and not at all the jealous type.
“Thank you! I won’t be long. It’ll just hang around for about three hours and then bail. Come pick me up later?”
Fast forward six hours, and I’m parked outside a swanky condo lobby I couldn’t afford even if I had applied for every loan I was eligible for and sought out every ah long I could find. I waited patiently inside my Axia which belonged in the fancy condo as much as chili sauce belonged in a steakhouse. That’s when I saw him—a pale white dude chatting with Lily’s friend.
These do NOT go together.
Wait… men? At this girls’ night?
Lily saw my car and waved enthusiastically. “Hi sayang!” she chirped as she slid into the passenger’s seat. She was animated the way she usually was when alcohol was involved. “I’m a little tipsy—we were having shots all night!”
Nice, I replied. Were there uhh… guys there? I asked, trying to play it cool.
“Oh yeah, that’s Tina’s friend’s boyfriend,” she replied quickly. Her spider-sense tingled. “Oh—they wanted to invite you, but I think they forgot to let me know.”
Right.
“Anyway, there was this hot white guy at the party I almost made out with!” she laughed. Okay, I replied with a smile, but feeling more like I had just been walrus-punched in the gut.
Again, her spider-sense tingled. She immediately sobered up and followed up with “Oh, but no lah, I don’t like white guys. You know, they’re uncircumcised. How was your day? What did you do?”
Right, uncircumcised. That’s the dealbreaker, I muttered. Meanwhile, my brain was still replaying the words ‘hot white guy’ like a scratched record.
I tried to stay calm, but my thoughts were spiraling: Why did it matter that she wanted to kiss him? Isn’t this what I wanted? Isn’t this progress? Instead of feeling enlightened and evolved, I was feeling jealous. Wtf? For someone who prided himself on being polyamorous, I was doing an excellent impression of a monogamous caveman.
Lily didn’t mention anything else about the party or the mat salleh dude for the next few days, and I figured that was the end of it. But this story wouldn’t be on this site if it was.
It started with an unusually quiet day. Lily hated texting, but she’d usually at least text me asking how my day was, if I’d eaten, what I was doing, etc. That day, however? Nothing.
Something was up.
Hey baby, how was your day? I typed, trying to sound casual but really, checking up on her.
“Hi sayang. Good, good, I’m out with a friend.”
Spider-sense.
Oh okay, I replied. Have fun.
“Is it okay if I come back late? I’m out having dinner with David—the guy from the party.”
Walrus-punch.
Pictured: My emotional health (left) and the consequence of my own actions (right). Credit: Franco Monsalvo
David. White, mat salleh David. Hot, white, mat salleh David.
Sure, but is it safe? I asked, as if being out at this time of night was suddenly the most risky move in the world. It was 10:30 PM.
“It is, it is, haha. No alcohol or nothing, just lepaking.”
Oh okay. Alright, have fun, I replied.
It’s cool. It’s just dinner. Friends have dinner. I have dinner with my best bro at 10:30 PM all the time, and we’re definitely not having sex. Nothing to worry about at all.
About three minutes later, she texts, “I wanna ask—is it okay if I have sex with him?”
I set my phone down as if it were a bomb. It felt as though I’d just been shot.
But I gathered myself. This was the test, right? This was the Malenia, Blade of Miquella of Polyamory. If I couldn’t handle this, then what the hell had I been doing for the last two years?
Be cool, be chill, I told myself. Even though it felt like this moment belonged in the Top 10 Anime Betrayals compilation, I was about to prove that I was the evolved, enlightened partner I claimed to be.
Okay, that’s fair, I typed. Yeah, as long as you stay safe.
The aftermath
I spent the night pretending like it was any other night. I did the dishes, hung the laundry, brushed my teeth, but I wasn’t present at all. I kept thinking about Lily. She’d hinted about having sex with this guy or that guy before, but it never seemed like she was serious. For David, though, she made things happen, and quickly too.
Logically, everything fits—I was the one who asked Lily to go out on dates, and she, finally, was acting on it. We were now equals in this relationship. So why did I feel like crap?
Lily came home around 2 AM. I was still playing video games when she entered the room. We both looked sad.
“Can I sit next to you?” she asked.
I said not right now—I needed some time by myself. She went to bed alone, and I stayed up playing video games until it was time to head to the office.
***
I won’t go into detail about what happened the following week. But basically, neither of us got much sleep. It was probably the most exhausting week of my life.
On her part, Lily broke down into tears the next few days. The sex was fun, she said, but she regretted it immediately after. Even though she had played it by the book, she couldn’t help but feel like she cheated on me, and she didn’t know what to do with the guilt, even though I told her it wasn’t her fault.
For me, all rationality and logic went out the window. I was furious for the next few days—irrationally mad at anyone I could blame. First, it was Lily’s bitch-friends who 100% planned this whole thing. Then it was Lily for intentionally deceiving me—wtf was that about not liking white guys and then sleeping with them anyway? Then, of course, it was about the mat sallehs and how 67 years since independence, we still put them on a frigging pedestal.
Screw Lily. Screw my ex. Screw mat sallehs.
Me, suddenly, for no reason at all. Credit: Photo by Solehuddin Din
Like I said—irrational.
Yet, through all this chaos, Lily and I didn’t shut each other out. We stayed up every night, dissecting our feelings and the situation like two over-caffeinated surgeons trying to save our relationship. We talked—raw, honest, painful conversations that stretched into the early hours.
I pointed out to Lily that she had done nothing wrong and that I had chosen for her to see other people. I was honest about the fact that I was upset, but it was mostly because of how similar this situation was to my previous relationship where my ex cheated on me. Essentially, I was reliving that unresolved trauma.
For Lily, she realized that she just isn’t polyamorous. The sex was good—but the guilt that she felt right after completely negated whatever dopamine and oxytocin rush she initially had. She said that she never wanted to feel that way again.
That’s when it hit me like a brick to the face.
For the first time, I empathized with Lily.
Up until that moment, I’d only sympathized with her. I felt bad for her, sure, but I couldn’t relate. Deep down, I wished she’d just get over it. I mean, it’s just sex. It’s not like I’m falling in love with someone else. What’s the big deal?
But now, I was standing on the other side of the jealousy fence, and it hurt. I wasn’t sleeping, couldn’t focus at work, and was always just one credit-card-salesperson-in-my-face away from going on a stabbing spree.
Was this what Lily had been dealing with for two whole years while I messed around, patting myself on the back for being so evolved?
I suddenly realized the price of my polyamory—I was hurting someone who was trying to love me. The truth hit hard. Lily had been sacrificing herself for me, crying, breaking down, yet still choosing to stay. It must’ve been like trying to give a bundle of razor blades a hug.
Yet, Lily still chose to stay and show up. Every. Single. Day.
I realized then how lucky I was to have her in my life, and just like that, I knew I wasn’t polyamorous.
Two reasons why I know now I’m not polyamorous:
The first reason is that now I have a better understanding of how polyamory works.
Polyamory isn’t a cheat code. After talking to a friend in a decade-long poly relationship with her boyfriend and husband, I learned something crucial: polyamory isn’t a free-for-all. They’re still relationships, and like any relationship, there’s always jealousy, compromise, and the emotional labor of constant communication. It’s boundaries and expectations, all hammered out through long, honest, difficult discussions. The only difference is polyamory multiplies that by the number of partners and then some.
And if I’m being honest, I just don’t have that kind of bandwidth. One exhausting week with Lily showed me that I only have enough space, focus, and energy for one person—and that’s okay. Some people can manage multiple partners. Great. I’m not one of them.
Ever been in a ‘There’s been some concerns about your performance’ meeting with HR? Polyamory is like that, except it’s every week, and everyone’s crying. Credit: Kaboompics.com
The second reason is because of something people don’t realize about polyamory: the risk of losing your partner is real.
See, polyamory isn’t a guarantee that your partner is going to be okay, forever, with all of your actions. When someone agrees to be in a polyamorous relationship with you, it’s not a blood contract set in stone. It’s a consensus. Everyone involved will still have to do all the hard work it takes to keep everyone in love with each other, only now it’s a billion times harder and more complicated.
And sometimes, when it’s too hard, people fall out of love and leave. That’s just the risk that polyamorous couples take. I mean, sure, that risk applies to traditional couples as well, but it’s a lot higher when there’s more people involved. It’s much easier to focus on each other and the relationship when it’s just the two of you.
I knew that if our relationship had continued as it did, Lily’s love for me isn’t guaranteed. No matter how much she reassured me, I knew there was a breaking point—one where she might wake up, say “screw this,” and walk away.
And that isn’t a gamble I’m willing to make.
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