Do relationship structures allow room for pragmatism and fairness to each partner when physical autonomy is exercised?
“Sexual autonomy as a fundamental right means that every person has the inherent right to control their own body, sexuality, and intimate choices, free from coercion, violence, or unjust interference. At its core, it is about self-determination over one’s body and desires. Without sexual autonomy, other rights such as freedom, safety, and equality are compromised.”
A person retains sexual autonomy as a fundamental right even within a legal marriage. One partner cannot demand sex from the other, and that is exactly how it should be. Consent is required to be sought on an on-going basis, not granted once and assumed forever. The law states this clearly, and rightly so.
I do, you do, we do, (maybe)?
It is in relationship agreements that autonomy becomes far more interesting. When was the last time you attended a civil wedding in New Zealand and heard vows that explicitly stated, “I promise that under no circumstances, no matter what, for the rest of my life, I will never have any form of intimacy with another person”? Probably never. Civil marriage vows rarely, if ever, include an explicit promise of sexual exclusivity. The word ‘faithful’ may be used – but that is open to interpretation. Note: here we are NOT discussing religious marriages, they are outside the scope of this blog.
Yet exclusivity is assumed. It is not legally required. It is not contractually spelled out. It is simply inferred, implied through cultural expectation and taken as read. This is a surprising omission from such an important binding contract when the rate of affairs & divorces in NZ are so high because of breaking the exclusive assumption.
I think we agreed?
In the early stages of dating many couples will have had a conversation along the lines of “let’s agree to be exclusive”. That agreement may feel mutual, but it is worth pausing on what is actually happening in that moment. In agreeing to exclusivity, both parties are voluntarily limiting an aspect of their sexual autonomy. They do so freely in order to secure the ongoing relationship, often without daring to question the commitment for fear of being dumped.
This is where language matters. The word “monogamous” is often dropped into the conversation as if it settles everything, even legalises it, like being married. But monogamy itself is not a single, clear concept. In legal terms, monogamy simply means being married to one person at a time. That is it. The rest is personal interpretation, expectation and cultural norms.
We explore this in more depth in another post, “Is ENM Just a New Fashion?”, but the key point stands. Sexual exclusivity is not a legal requirement of marriage in New Zealand. It is simply a personal expectation backed-up by a social norm, both of which admittedly have a powerful influence.
No fault divorces
All divorces in New Zealand are no-fault. Adultery was removed as grounds for divorce in 1980. The state does not punish sexual non-exclusivity. It does not adjudicate on who slept with whom. The law recognises that relationships fail for complex reasons and that assigning sexual blame is neither useful nor just. In the progressive separation of State from Church in NZ over many decades we have thankfully reached a more enlightened place.
And yet, at a personal level, sexual exclusivity is treated as sacred and non-negotiable. Violating it is often seen as betrayal rather than a breach of an unspoken agreement that may no longer reflect the reality of the relationship. The betrayal is of trust, a trust that an implied line will not be crossed.
On the one hand, sexual autonomy is a fundamental human right and no means no by one partner. On the other is a partner who still wants to enjoy intimacy but now is trapped in a situation that does not meet these needs, though in all other regards the relationship may be satisfactory.
Is there another way forward?
What is rarely discussed, let alone agreed, is whether autonomy, once exercised, can lead to the other partner exploring the needs of their own autonomy elsewhere with permission. Can agreements made at one life stage can be renegotiated at another? Does love, commitment, and partnership always have to be tied to sexual exclusivity in order to be valid?
Ethical non-monogamy does not argue that anyone is entitled to sex. It does not override consent or disregard agreements. In fact, it places greater emphasis on consent, communication, and honesty than most default relationship models do. What it does challenge is the idea that physical autonomy must be permanently surrendered in order to love deeply, commit fully, or build a stable life with another person.
The real question is whether we are willing to acknowledge the real, full importance of autonomy, and whether our relationship structures allow room to be pragmatic and fair to each partner. Shutting down the conversation where one person has withdrawn sexual contact through their right to autonomy should not mean the other person loses the right to seek intimacy elsewhere.
Relationship counsellors will work hard to return a couple to where intimacy is shared again – it is the standard narrative response. However, doesn’t that require getting one partner to rescind the very autonomy which they may have genuine, non-negotiable reasons to have exercised? ENM offers a much easier path – the person who has exercised their right to autonomy simply has to give the other partner an ‘out’ to seek intimacy elsewhere. There can be any number of rules around it unique to the couple but, if done maturely, it enables each person to retain autonomy and possibly a more honest ongoing relationship.
Time and again over many decades we have seen this solution played out in relationships that result in lasting marriages that can thrive even without physical intimacy. It just takes a brave, honest conversation. A leap of faith into something new – which is much like what happened on the day a couple exchanged vows.