During my last online dating binge, I met a wide array of different guys. I tried not to be judgey and gave them all a chance, even when their lifestyles didn’t exactly match up with my own. One of my suitors was a Polyamorist. Although I went out with him more out of curiosity than genuine interest in a relationship, I discovered that not even he was entirely on board with his relationship choices.

I met the Polyamorist on Tinder in early 2015. He was my first date of the year. A gentle soul from New Zeleand, he was a very tall, conventionally good-looking vegetarian. On the surface I knew this was someone I could hangout with for a while. Although I went in being fully aware of his open relationship, it wasn’t until half way through our first date over wine and tapas that I discovered he was actually married. But wait. They didn’t live together. She was a 26-year-old student living with a flatmate in one part of the city and he resided with other flatmates in another part.

She was holding down three other relationships (one of which was with a trans woman) and he was looking one more relationship on top of his marriage. They had initially married to help him stay in the country as he had no ancestry rights being a 9th generation Kiwi. From the little I knew of him, when it came to his wife it was evident he was in way over his head.

I agreed to see him again for a second date. He took me ice skating at one of London’s landmark buildings. It was everything a second date should be except now and then he would remind me that he was married. Not that I’d forgotten, but it seemed to be on his mind quite a bit. We didn’t go home together.

I can’t remember where and when, but we did start sleeping together. I will reiterate, he was a very good-looking guy. That said, the sex was weird and sometimes painful. I could sense his desperation. When he would go down on me he would gnaw. Like a dog and his chew toy. It was unpleasant at best. Another time we were getting ready for bed and I made a joke about why I didn’t like dating Asian guys. The joke goes, “European guys love their girlfriends but love their wives more. American guys love their wives but love their girlfriends more. Asian guys love their wives and girlfriends equally but love their mothers most,” to which he responded, “Yup, that’s right. I love my wife more,” TO HIS GIRLFRIEND. I started making excuses for why we couldn’t go home together after that.

By Valentine’s Day he went all out. He booked tickets to Sky Garden and we drank spiked hot chocolate as the sun set over London. It was THE perfect date. He posted a photo of the view on Instagram, to which his mother tucked safely away in New Zealand commented something to the effect of, “Hope you two are having a great night!” He pointed this out to me saying that his mother believed he was there with his wife. I ended it on the spot.