As long as I love, I don't want anyone else. But for how long?

At the end the previous article I honestly admitted: even in a relationship, I doubt I could give up casual “one-night stands.” And no—that doesn’t mean intimacy has stopped being important to me. On the contrary. It’s just that the more I think about love, the more often I ask myself: Does emotional fidelity automatically mean sexual monogamy?

A couple of weeks ago, I met a guy. And it happened in the most symbolic way possible: on an app that wasn’t actually designed for true love, but for sex. But instead of the usual “meet—sleep together—break up” scenario, something else happened.

That rare, almost childlike feeling of comfort when you’re with someone—when they seem to you not just beautiful or sexy, but somehow… like they belong to you. Like family. As if you’ve known them for a long time, even though you’ve actually just met them.

And that's when I noticed something strange. As long as this person was on my mind, everyone else suddenly started to lose their appeal.

In the past, a proposal to meet up for sex was generally viewed as "Yes, of course! I'll be right there!" And as I rush off, putting off less important tasks, something unexpected has now come up inside me “Is that really necessary?!”.

And this shift made me wonder:

At first glance, it sounds logical. When someone truly captures your attention, they temporarily take up all the space inside you—both emotionally and sexually. It’s as if the world shrinks down to that one person.

But the more I think about it, the less I believe that this is the “true nature of monogamy.” Because perhaps monogamy at the beginning of a relationship isn’t a choice or a moral principle. Perhaps it’s simply the effect of being in love. A hormonal cocktail that focuses your attention so intensely on one person that everyone else temporarily ceases to matter.

But what happens next?

Then the euphoria settles down. The butterflies in your stomach give way to affection. The “candy and flowers” phase comes to an end, and something more mature takes its place: love, partnership, trust, and everyday life.

And that's when, I think, sexual curiosity might return.

It’s not because you’ve fallen out of love, not because the relationship is bad, and not because your partner “isn’t the same anymore.” It’s simply because love and sexual variety may, in fact, fulfill different needs.

For me, cheating doesn't start with sex, but with the moment emotional involvement sets in. It's when someone else starts taking up the space in your boyfriend's mind that should belong to your relationship.

I don't consider sex in and of itself to be a betrayal—as long as it's discussed openly and doesn't damage the bond between partners.

Perhaps this is simply a way of acknowledging reality: it’s possible to sincerely love one person, build a life with them, and want to fall asleep and wake up next to them… And yet, at the same time, sometimes feel a purely physical attraction to others—without any emotional attachment, romance, or desire to replace them.

Simply because you're still a living person with your own libido, fantasies, and body.

Of course, this only works under one condition: when both people see the relationship the same way. Because it’s not about “I want to sleep with whoever I want, and you just have to put up with it.” No! It’s about mutual agreement. Rules. Honesty. Constant communication! Otherwise, a relationship like that is just a nicely packaged form of cheating.

But the main question for me right now isn't even that. It's something else:

If falling in love really does make us monogamous for a time…
Does that mean that desire for others doesn't replace love—but rather comes after love ceases to be a chemical frenzy and becomes something more serene?

And if that's the case—maybe, The pursuit of sexual freedom is not at odds with love. It simply begins where being in love ends.