All Married Up

Recently, my primary partner - my beau - and I got married.

There, I said it.

Between meeting each other two years ago and holding hands in front of a notary public last month, we found (sometimes fumbled) our way down a path of mutual admiration, then friendship, love, trust, desire, and then an unfolding of a whole new road stretched out in front of us.

The decision to get married, for us, was at once both very simple and very complicated. It was simple in that it was a logical step to make - it makes tons of things easier, and affords us certain legal rights that are handy. We love each other, we live together, we took enough time establishing our relationship that by the time we brought up the possibility there was no doubt in either of our minds that this was something we were going to do.

It was complicated because our commitment to each other doesn't look like a lot of peoples' marriages.

My beau and I are nonmonogamous. I am bisexual. Both of us are anarchists, and until we started considering it for ourselves, our feelings on marriage were ambivalent at best. The act of getting married was technically actually quite easy (and comparatively cheap!), but it was full of moral grey areas and ethical questions for us. Could we do it while shirking patriarchal traditions? Could we resist the exclusion of same sex couples from the institution of marriage while simulatneously participating in that institution? Are rights and privileges, tax breaks and hospital visits, really worth such a hassle?

The answer, on all three questions, turned out to be yes. (And, as we know from experience, tax breaks and hospital visits don't mean a lot until you need them - and then they mean everything. Neither of us wanted to wait for an emergency to actually happen before we prepared for one.)

Our wedding took place in the arts-collective-and-free-skool where we met. Our wedding party consisted of three close friends, and like the collectivists we are we didn't designate heirarchal positions like "maid of honour" and "best man". My dress was black, with a crinoline skirt and a hot pink pattern, and nobody gave anyone away. We included art supplies, comics, and a vibrating cock ring on our Amazon wedding registry. (Which is here, by the way - not that I'm hinting or anything.)

As we left the building with our friends afterwards to go out for sushi and beer, we felt giddy and excited, almost like we'd stolen or vandalized something and not been caught. We held hands and laughed. Our friends pelted us with handfulls of rice (which kind of sting when they hit you hard enough, it turns out).

"You're married now," our friends kept saying, eyes wide, alternatingly full of awe and full of amusement. But they didn't have to tell us.

It felt good.


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