When Spicy and Vanilla Clash: Finding Common Ground on Uncomfortable Subjects

When I came out as an atheist, I was expecting some blowback. Frankly, I expected to lose a few friends and sadly, some family as well. I had already been an exotic dancer for a decade at that point, so I was at least prepared to defend myself from the stigmas and stereotypes that come with non-belief. Some were terribly silly, like I must worship Satan, hate God, or the silliest of all, eat babies. (With ketchup perhaps, if only because I despise mustard.) And some much more serious – I must not have any morals or ethics, or simply just want to sin. The former is almost too ridiculous to address, but the latter requires communication and understanding. Which is where humanism came to the rescue.

Morals and ethics without God sound scary or impossible to those who come from a place where the two are conflated from birth, then reinforced by the idea of an afterlife based on the judgment of an all-knowing deity. While I didn’t grow up to be particularly religious, I do understand that perspective. That understanding allowed me to have gentle and respectful conversations about the principals of humanism with my friends and family who had genuine questions. It’s not hard to find common ground with a religious person or believer whose faith is based on empathy and compassion for other human beings, the earth we live on and the other creatures we share it with. I don’t need everyone in my life to be an atheist, secular humanist or non-believer, but I do need to know that they aren’t worried I’m going to stab them to death because I don’t believe in any gods.

The stereotypes of being in the adult-entertainment industry were similar to overcome, and in some respects might have been easier. Some of the stereotypes were also silly and based on, for the most part, nonsense. If I’m a stripper, then I must want to take someone’s husband or boyfriend. Like thinking an atheist must worship Satan, it’s a fundamental misunderstanding of the concept itself. An exotic dancer is not in the business of selling sex or even giving it away for that matter; they’re simply a spicy entertainer. My favorite of the misconceptions about my being an exotic dancer was the assumption that all dancers are addicted to hard drugs. That made for one of the most awkward conversations with someone I’ve ever had that didn’t directly involve sex. (I am, for the record, sober as I type this.)

Ultimately, it’s just a job. Like every other form of employment, I traded my time, energy and skills for money. Just with less clothing. I wasn’t anymore exploited than the average worker. In fact, I would make a strong case for being less exploited as a stripper than an average worker, as I had much more control over my hours and income than someone traditionally employed. But again, there is common ground there, no matter how far apart two people might be on the job spectrum. I faced rude customers, controlling managers and difficult coworkers – the same as everyone else. I can bond with someone over a glass of chardonnay and gripe about our jobs with the best of them.

Like religion, the objections I faced as a stripper were also rooted in the way most of us were brought up. Sex and open sexuality are subjects that often freak people out, and hang-ups about sex don’t have to come from religion. Secular purity culture is just as judgmental and fearful as its religious counterpart. From body image issues to slut shaming, I ran the gambit of misunderstandings to insults to simply wrong and weird ideas about what I did. But again, those who were willing to listen, learn and challenge their conclusions are still in my life. Like atheism or secular humanism, I don’t need everyone in my life to be a stripper. I’d actually prefer it that way, as much as I like some of my former coworkers.

The Ethics in Ethical Non-Monogamy

As an atheist ex-stripper, who still has… wait for it… friends, I thought I was done losing people for who I am, what I believe, or my choice of profession. What else could possibly ruin otherwise normal relationships?

(Politics of course, but I’ll leave that to the writers who are educated in that field.)

Like stripping and atheism, ethical non-monogamy appears to be a deal-breaker for some people. It also has its own ridiculous misconceptions, stereotypes and societal baggage that come from ignorance, fear and shame.

Ignorance at its best is an opportunity. A chance to learn, to connect, to gain a better understanding of our shared reality as humans. Learning, especially when it challenges deeply held beliefs and conclusions, can be scary. Like Freddy Krueger and his knife glove scary. But confronting ignorance and taking the time to learn about things that make us uncomfortable is where we find common ground and connection with those who are different than we are.

When my husband and I became ethically non-monogamous a few years ago, we kept it a secret for the most part. Which is, or was, part of the fun of it. Something taboo to share a devious smile over. As we socialized less with our vanilla friends and more with our spicy ones, our new hobby eventually came up in conversations. We knew of course that some eyebrows would raise and foreheads would crinkle. Not so much with my former coworkers, partly because they tend to be more accepting of sexual taboos, and partly because of all the Botox. But our vanilla friends had some questions.

In any relationship, whether platonic, physical or romantic, boundaries are required. That is true in both monogamous and non-monogamous relationships. A healthy set of ethics is imperative. For many if not most of us, being with only one person is the only acceptable option. That’s the ideal played out in Rom-Coms and fairytales ad nauseum. And challenging that norm scares the bejesus out of people.

Unlike the caricatures often presented in media outside of ethical non-monogamy spaces, there are rules and etiquette that govern it – all of which exist in traditional relationships. It seems, even here we can find common ground, as long as someone is willing to listen, learn and overcome preconceived and ill-informed conceptions.

If you delve into polyamorous or swinger spaces, what you’ll find is a strong set of rules and norms. Ethics, if you will. It is considered rude or offensive in most cases to send a private message to someone without permission. Mutual consent and respect are imperative, and even the whiff of a lack of either is considered an enormous red flag. People are upfront about what they are looking for, transparency and honesty are highly valued virtues. Singles or couples are polite and respectful when seeking other partners. Boundaries are extremely important, but maybe even more so in these spaces precisely because they are considered taboo.

Recently, we had friends tell us that we could no longer hang out because we are in what is called the ‘lifestyle.’ I laughed at first. We’ve known these people for decades. We sat for each other’s kids, cried with them at weddings and funerals, and shared holidays and milestones. Not once in all those years have we tried to or even hinted at any kind of sexual relationship with them. Such a thing never crossed our minds. Trying to convert vanilla couples is creepy at best and at worst predatory. And because I had a spicy job when I met them, I was surprised that this came as such a shock to them at all. I laughed because I thought it was silly. As silly as an atheistic shrine to Beelzebub.

But then it made me sad. Sad that I couldn’t overcome the assumption that our personal relationship styles somehow affect our friendship. That because we aren’t monogamous, we might be trying to lure everyone we know into our sordid affairs. The explanation that our hobby, if you will, exists within a certain set of social parameters, fell flat. That we were unable to assuage concerns that this somehow changed our friendship, or even affected in any way at all, was hurtful. Like coming out as a nonbeliever, or an exotic dancer, this aspect of my life does not change who I am as a person. I am still the same person I was before this information was revealed. There wasn’t the chance to explain the boundaries and norms and etiquette. Nor was there any effort to understand our perspective. It was simply a dealbreaker for them. And even the promise to not discuss it again was not enough to save two decades of friendship.

I wish we could have had the chance to explain how ethical non-monogamy makes us happy and closer as a couple. I am aware how odd that sounds to someone who is happy in a monogamous relationship. My husband and I were monogamous for the majority of our marriage. Fiercely and happily so. But our journey has been filled with enlightenment and growth. That journey is not for everyone. But I think it is at least worth setting aside personal fears and judgments to understand why it is for some people.

I’ll never like mustard. Not ever. Not in a million years. But I understand why some people do, and I am happy that it brings those people joy. On the other side of the room. I had hoped that our friends would be able to be happy that we found such joy. That joy was where I had hoped to find common ground and understanding.

Coming from the perspective of my former job, sex, nudity and sexuality are not uncomfortable subjects for me. I do understand that is not the case for everyone. Again, I don’t want everyone to be an atheist-stripper-swinger, but it would be nice for people to warm up to the idea that our bodies and desires aren’t something to be ashamed of. These are topics that don’t need to be avoided or whispered about. I think that the more we open ourselves up to the way other people express themselves or their love or their art or maybe just being who they are, the easier it will be to remove the shame that we get saddled with around sex.

This life and the moments that make it up are the one thing we can be sure of. There’s not likely to be anything after it. Our humanity and how we connect with each other in ways that make us happy make each moment worth living. It’s a tragedy that sex and sexuality is something that can be so divisive when it is such a fundamental part of being human. I have no hope or expectation that there is an afterlife. But I do hope that someday, whether it’s thanks to ethical non-monogamy or mustard, we can all find a little joy in the happiness of others.