Track 18: Clock It

Let’s be very clear.

If people feel the need to say, “Oh… they’re that couple that’s open,” then clearly it’s tea. If folks are whispering, screenshotting apps, passing commentary like it’s breaking news, then yes, whoopty doo, you found something to talk about.

And?

Clock it.

This is like the second or third time somebody has tried to “out” my marriage like it’s some big secret.

What about it?

Yes, we’re open.

Yes, we’re grown.

Yes, we mind our business and somehow still end up being yours.

You can’t threaten a man who’s already standing in his truth.

My husband and I are in an open marriage. Ethically non-monogamous. Intentionally. Honestly. Not secretly. Not recklessly. Not because anything is broken. So since the streets love tea, I’ll pour it myself. Neat. No filter.

And let me address this part too, because I already see where the whispers like to go next.

“Oh they be on Jack’d.”

Correct.

Those that need to know, know.

And those that don’t?

Weren’t invited into the conversation anyway.

Next thing they’ll try to say is I’m bi. Or pan. Or something else they think is supposed to rattle me.

And?

How does that affect anything you do?

How does my identity interrupt your marriage, your job, your bills, or your bedtime?

It doesn’t.

What people really struggle with is not labels. It’s autonomy. It’s the idea that someone is living honestly, visibly, and without asking permission. That’s the part that makes folks itch.

What most people don’t realize is that before we ever opened our marriage, we were the couple that said “never that.” Both of us had experiences with openness before, and we were clear it wasn’t an option. At the time, we weren’t married yet, but we were committed. Building something real. Looking back, we weren’t making that decision from wisdom. We were making it from trauma. From the belief that we had to be all each other needed. That love meant limitation. That safety meant control.

So we chose the safest answer we knew.

No.

Our relationship was never built on sex. We didn’t have much sex before marriage, and it didn’t bother us. We were learning each other. Building a friendship that didn’t depend on sex to survive. It felt steady. It felt peaceful. It felt real.

Then we got married. And sex still didn’t pick up.

I tried. I really did. But the truth was simple. Neither one of us was into bottoming. Not even for each other. And when you’ve spent years building something rooted in authenticity, you can feel when you’re forcing yourself into a role just to make the relationship look normal.

That’s not love. That’s performance.

And we didn’t build our relationship on performance.

We had just moved into our house and hadn’t even baptized it. A whole year. Not because the love was missing, but because the sexual compatibility wasn’t lining up the way people expect it to. So one day we sat down in the kitchen. Butterflies heavy in my stomach. The kind that feel like fear and truth holding hands. And I said it.

What if we tried being open?

What I didn’t say out loud was my biggest fear. I was scared he’d find something better. Scared he’d realize he made a mistake marrying me. I was still carrying the wound of being left, of people walking away. But I loved him enough to risk the truth because I didn’t want sex to ruin everything we had built. We had history. We had love. We had something worth protecting.

So we tried it.

That was March 2021.

And we haven’t turned back since.

And before anybody turns this into think-piece confusion, let me slow it down. Tops, bottoms, vers. That’s sexual preference, not gender roles. A top prefers to penetrate. A bottom prefers to receive. Vers means you enjoy both. It has nothing to do with who’s “the man” or who’s “the girl.” That question alone tells me you’re still trying to force gay relationships into a straight template.

Sexual chemistry is not just attraction. It’s compatibility. Rhythm. What works without force. You can love somebody deeply and still not be a perfect sexual match in every category. Straight folks live that truth every day, they just don’t have language for it.

We tried to make being vers work for four years and five months. And trying looked like me being a pleaser. Cleaning out. Taking forever. Running like a track star when we were doing our thing. Needing poppers to relax enough to even attempt it. I have sexual and mental trauma around bottoming, so it was never just physical. Therapy helped me understand that love without reciprocity becomes obligation. And obligation kills desire.

Once we chose honesty over performance, everything else changed. Opening our marriage forced a level of communication most people never touch. We tell each other everything. We are intentional about boundaries, feelings, and impact. We stopped living for optics and started living for what actually works for us.

But there’s another part of this I need to say out loud, because pretending it didn’t affect me would be dishonest.

Being open forced me to face insecurities I didn’t know I was still carrying. Living in Columbus, Shobe gets attention. He gets looked at. He gets approached. And there were moments where it felt like he was shining and thriving while I was standing right next to him trying not to feel small.

That will humble you if you let it.

It made me ask questions I couldn’t dodge. Am I enough? Am I desirable? Am I choosing myself or shrinking to stay comfortable? And instead of letting that turn into resentment, I had to do the work. Real work. Loving on myself without comparison. Learning that his light does not dim mine. Learning that my worth is not measured by who picks me first in a room.

That work wasn’t about competing with my husband. It was about standing next to him without disappearing. About celebrating his shine while honoring my own. And that lesson changed how I move in the world, not just in my marriage.

And yes, part of why I stayed quiet for so long had nothing to do with shame and everything to do with fear. I was already navigating the world as a gay Black man with dreams. I knew how unforgiving people could be. I worried that revealing I was open, or bi, or anything outside the narrow box people are comfortable with would be the thing that kept my music from ever really taking off.

Like I had already used up my quota of “different.”

Like honesty would cost me opportunity.

So I chose privacy. Not secrecy. Protection.

I focused on my art. My community work. My marriage. And I waited until I was strong enough to tell the truth without needing approval on the other side of it.

And that’s what people really can’t stand.

Not that we’re open.

Not that we’re on apps.

Not that we don’t fit neat boxes.

It’s that we’re honest.

Out loud.

On purpose.

So yes. Clock it.

Talk about it.

Whisper it.

Screenshot it.

Just know this.

This isn’t an apology.

This isn’t a confession.

This is two grown men doing grown love with grown communication.

As long as I’m moving how a man should, not touching kids, not harming anybody, not lying, not sneaking, not violating trust, this is my truth.

And I’m going to stand beside it.

You don’t have to agree.

But you will respect that we are loved, safe, and intentional.

And if you see yourself in this and feel less alone, I’m glad you’re here.

Whew… almost five years later, I’m finally saying it out loud.

Clock it.