My First Step Into Polyamory—and Learning the Wheel of Consent
TikTok video from 2022-02-24
This is one of the most significant things I learned during those early, awkward, holy-shit-what-am-I-doing days of exploring polyamory.
So picture this.
My husband was already a few cuddles deep with his girlfriend. They were in that happy, new-relationship bubble; finding their rhythm. And me?
I was just… floating. Watching from the sidelines. Supportive, yes. Curious, definitely. But also low-key terrified.
Because I hadn’t even dated anyone yet. I hadn’t kissed anyone else in over three decades. I was still sleeping in the same bed, sharing a life, paying bills - with the man I married in my twenties—and now I was supposed to suddenly open up and be this confident, sexually liberated version of myself with someone new?
It was like being told to bungee jump naked off a cliff with zero prep.
And here’s the realest part: I knew I wasn’t just looking for a sexy hookup. I needed someone who could hold space for the emotional tornado I might become the first time I got naked with them. Someone who could handle the fact that I might laugh, cry, disassociate, or break down completely—possibly all in the same ten minutes.
So when a friend mentioned that she was dating a sex therapist, I was intrigued. Actually, I was desperate. And when she said he might be open to talking with me, I practically threw myself at the opportunity.
He and I started chatting. Nothing physical. Just conversation. And I remember thinking, Okay, this is good. Slow is good. I can do slow.
My expectation, if I’m being honest, was that we’d probably end up naked pretty quickly. I thought that was the point. But what actually happened? We met three times—fully clothed, just getting to know each other. And not in the flirty “let’s-get-drinks-and-see-what-happens” kind of way.
No. This man was methodical. Gentle. Inquisitive. He asked about my needs, my fears, my intentions. And I said something like:
“I don’t know what I want in bed. I don’t even know what I like. I just know that I need to get used to the idea of being with someone who isn’t my husband… without completely unraveling.”
And he said, “Great. Let’s start with the Wheel of Consent.”
At first, I thought he meant a sex game. (I imagined an actual wheel, maybe glittery, definitely with lube nearby.)
Nope.
It’s a framework. A brilliant one, actually. Created by Betty Martin, it’s a tool to help people clarify consent, pleasure, and intention in any interaction—not just the sexy kind, though let’s be honest, that’s where it really hits home.
He broke it down for me like this.
There are four roles:
Giver: I touch you the way you want to be touched.
Receiver: You touch me the way I want to be touched.
Taker: I touch you the way I want to.
Allower: You touch me the way you want to, and I’m okay with that.
Simple, right?
But holy hell, the moment I started applying that to my real-life dynamics, something cracked wide open in me.
Because for most of my marriage—and honestly, most of my life—I’d only operated from two roles: giver and allower.
I was always the one saying “sure,” even if I wasn’t fully feeling it.
Always the one offering, tending, accommodating.
Rarely asking.
Never taking.
Definitely not receiving in the way that meant I got to name what I wanted and have someone delight in giving it to me.
So there I was, sitting across from this calm, kind man, and he said:
“Which role would you like to play?”
And I swear to you, I panicked.
Because I didn’t know.
If I wanted to be the receiver, I had to name something I wanted—and I genuinely didn’t know what that was.
If I wanted to be the taker, I had to ask to do something to him that gave me pleasure—and that felt wildly out of reach.
Being the giver or the allower? That I knew. That was familiar. Safe. Conditioned. Practiced.
But anything else? That felt… dangerous. Intimate. Exposing.
So we didn’t rush it.
He let me sit with the discomfort. And over the next hour, we played little scenarios using the wheel. Nothing sexual. Just noticing. Practicing.
And here’s the big, delicious, freeing truth I landed on:
I didn’t need to rush into sex to learn how to receive.
I didn’t need to perform pleasure to be worthy of it.
And I didn’t have to give anything in return.
The Wheel gave me language. It gave me choice. It gave me me.
So yeah, the Wheel of Consent changed my life. And not because it told me what to do—but because it finally gave me permission to ask why I was doing what I’d always done.
And now? I get to choose.
