A Week on Feeld with… a cuckquean finding pleasure in her partner’s connections

Welcome to a Week on Feeld with a 28-year-old woman in Montreal, who defines her sexuality under the lesbian/queer umbrella. Making connections on (and off) the Feeld app, our writer explores what it means to be a cuckquean, discovering pleasure in her partner’s intimacy with others.

Monday 

I’m starting the week with what might be one of the least sexy activities known to man—a 7-hour Megabus ride back home to Montreal, after a whirlwind 36 hours in Toronto. I was visiting friends and running a workshop (nothing too exciting; don’t get any ideas.) More than anything, I’m sad to leave all the Feeld hotties behind in the city I used to live in. Still, I make sure to stay connected for the next time I’m back in town.

When I finally get home, I open Feeld to see that a cute girl named S has messaged me back. We were chatting on and off about planning a date with my partner a few weeks ago, but she was away for the month. I told her to let us know when she was back in town, half-expecting that I was being let down easy, so I’m excited to see her name pop up in my messages again. 

Tuesday

After sleeping over at my partner K’s place, we have some much-needed quality time in the morning (we’d missed out while I was away). My parents are in town for the day, so Feeld is tucked away on my phone. They know I’m poly and open, but I don’t talk about it with them often. 

S and I are coordinating our schedules for a date next week. K and I will be taking her out for drinks—location TBD. S is what I would call my partner’s type, with a “wolf haircut” and a cherubic face. She has a distinctly Eastern European name, and K starts calling her Slavic Clairo because of her slight resemblance to the “Bags” singer.

I’m particularly excited because triad dates are my favorite, specifically when they involve me and my primary partner. K has a Feeld account as well, but she usually sits back and lets me do the admin. I suppose we could qualify as “unicorn hunters” but, because we’re both lesbians, I think we have an easier time escaping the (unjustified) stigma that usually exists around that term. Personally, I wear the title of “cuckquean” proudly: my biggest kink is watching my partner have fun with someone else. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a superpower: I share my very sexy partners with other people, and allow them their sexual freedom without feeling jealous. 

Back on Feeld, I connect with a new person named J, and she messages me. Her profile says she’s mainly interested in FFF. I message back… 

Before heading to grab sushi with my parents, I show my partner J’s profile and we both agree she’s our type. I usually like to clarify this before the conversation starts so I know how to approach the new person—it can get awkward quickly if everyone’s not on the same page! 

Wednesday

K and I make plans to go to the park with J this evening after work. I ask if she wants us to bring drinks, but I soon understand that she’s California sober. I’m meeting more and more people who don’t drink on Feeld, which takes me out of my bars-only comfort zone. 

A couple months ago, a rather lackadaisical threesome made K and I realize that—although we’re both very open and usually GGG (good, giving, and game)—we might be somewhere on the demisexual spectrum. One night stands just weren’t doing it for us—we need more tension buildup, more fleeting glances and knee brushes. So, before our date tonight with J, we make the advance decision not to take her home and to just spend the evening getting to know each other. 

We end up having a (non-alc) drink at the park and then walking to a nearby bar with live music and solid mocktails. The vibes start out pretty friendly—is it platonic?—but as the sun sets and the evening gets cooler, I feel the first hints of sexual tension in the air. I can tell J is into my partner, which obviously turns me on. I make a joke that she should pick her favorite to sit next to at the bar, and when she sits next to K, I’m excited instead of jealous or bitter. God, I love the way my brain works.

Thursday 

I woke up pretty proud of myself for taking it slowly with J last night. I’m trying to let go of the idea that I have to have physical contact on a first date for it to be “successful.” There’s always next time! And as I get older, I’m realizing that dating opportunities aren’t drying up anytime soon. 

Before our date with J, I’d chatted with a cute person named B. She just got out of a relationship and is looking for a solid finish to her hot girl summer. I’d asked her out for drinks with K tonight, and she said she’d let me know. I’m not usually a two-dates-in-a-row kind of girl, but K’s software engineering gig is in a summer lull, and I’m still in limbo waiting for my PhD program to start, so we have more time and energy than usual. K and I giggle at how far we’ve come since last year, when we first linked our profiles on Feeld. Initially, she worried that we’d take forever to find someone we both liked, who also liked us— but it took exactly 8 days for us to have our first hookup. I hold back my “I told you so.” 

I think I can pinpoint the beginning of my cuck kink to being cheated on in one of my earliest relationships, when I was 19. Looking back, it’s as though I took the pain from that experience and metabolized it into pleasure, by forcing myself to transform jealousy into compersion (aka, feeling joy when your partner is intimate with others). It’s not an uncommon theory (though some find it controversial) that kinks can grow out of trauma. I can’t speak for anyone else, but it feels true to me. 

However, it feels important to note that I do still experience jealousy! Usually though, it only arises when actual romantic feelings get involved. I don’t feel threatened by my partner’s purely sexual connections. I mean, we’re all just horny animals, right? 

B messages to tell me she got called into work and can’t make our date. She’s a flight attendant, so her Feeld location is already over 300 miles away. 

Internally, I’m relieved: I was craving a night alone splayed out on the couch, watching Perfect Match on Netflix. This season is a banger.

Friday

I wake up tired today, so I decide to take it slow. K and I have a club birthday party to attend later, and I need to gather my strength. 

After carb-loading on some gnocchi at home, K and I grab an Uber to our friend’s apartment a few neighborhoods away. He buzzes us up and immediately offers us jungle juice out of a beer keg, which sets the tone for the evening. The smell is somewhere between tropical punch and nail polish remover. There’s about a dozen of us going out tonight, and the crowd at the pre is a pretty interesting mix. 

The venue turns out to be an emptied-out swimming pool—tiled walls, steps leading down to the deep end, which now holds 2 floors of DJs, sexy muscle gays, and a harm-reduction table with Jolly Ranchers. My kind of event. K and I are in the deeper, darker rave room when, suddenly, the girls in the friend group we showed up with wordlessly pair off and start feverishly making out. I’m cackling uncontrollably as I grind up on my partner, shocked at how seamless that matchmaking was—is this real life? Out of the corner of my eye, 2 women break apart just long enough to look at us, grinning, like they’ve spotted co-conspirators.

Saturday 

I wake up to banana pancakes at K’s place. We don’t live together, even though we’ve been dating for 2 years: it makes separating our dating lives easier, and I still revel in being taken care of when I come over to hers. No U-Hauling here. 

I get a text from Slavic Clairo—I’d given her my number to coordinate our meeting next week. I only give my phone number to potential dates when I know I’m going to be interested in potentially meeting them multiple times. We plan to meet at a wine bar equidistant to both our neighborhoods. Very mindful, very demure. 

Sunday

I’m back on the road again today. My best friend from high school is marrying his gorgeous Swiss fiancé tomorrow in a small town outside of our metropolis. On a recent trip to Berlin, they asked me to be their officiant, so I’ve been working on perfecting a speech that represents them. It’s my first time attending a gay wedding, and definitely my first time taking part in the ceremony. I’m putting finishing touches on my script as the train rolls into the station. K is by my side and, as we leave the train car, the 35-degree heat hits us like a steam roller: that last heat wave of the summer is a scorcher, as my dad would say. 

I’m sweating absolute buckets all day and the heat shows no sign of relenting any time soon. It’s a metaphor, I think: the dog days of August are always burning up. Tomorrow, I marry 2 people. Next week, who knows? 

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