I’m hosting a group of international grad students this week; a great pleasure.
They are in the late 20s, verging on 30. As our fireside chats unfolded, glasses filled, the dreaded question arrived: “What do you think of ‘poly,’ Mrs. Bright?”
Actually, they don’t call me Mrs. Bright.
But I am trying to convey, they treat me as an éminence grise— a boomer receptacle of mid-century sexual liberation.
What do I think of poly.
At first I spit out my punch. And then . . . It’s time for the reckoning.
The truth is much older and ruder than the sex-positive self-help books imply.
