My Reign of Terror as a Safety Mechanism

So cuddling.  Cuddling is this weird thing that is, in theory, something that I really enjoy.  Yup!  It's physically nice, it's emotionally nice, and I sure do love me some cuddles.

In practice, cuddling oscillates between being the nice thing that it is in theory, and being a terrifying pit of terror and doom and angst.  And spiders.  And terror.

There seem to be two main forces that drive cuddling toward the terror end.  One is the very real phenomenon of cuddling transitioning from a non-sexual activity into a sexual one.  Except that I'm never on board with experiencing that transition (except for ISSP), which means that suddenly this nice thing that involves physical closeness has turned into this terrifying thing.  Worse, there's some period during which I am still physically entangled.  This leads to very trapped feelings on my part, and having experienced this enough has made me very jumpy about anything that might even look like it could maybe possibly turn into any sort of sexual interest of any variety.

The second driving force is my phenomenally jacked up sensory processing.  Types of touch that feel nice for most people- light, fingertippy contact- make me want to crawl out of my skin.  Unfortunately, many people often use this type of touch without being conscious of it.  It means that, depending on somebody's cuddle style, I may spend a fair bit of time taking their hand and firmly pressing the whole thing against my skin, while giving a verbal reminder, "Surface area.  Pressure."  'Cause even with a pre-game explanation that I need adequate surface area and pressure when people touch me, it's the kind of thing that can be challenging to remember.

Somewhere along the way, I started building up walls to head off the things about cuddling which terrify me.  I think that many people have some sort of read on those walls, and note that they are carefully guarded walls.  Which in turn puts others on guard- they don't entirely know what's going on, but there is clearly heightened vigilance.  I've had a couple of people tell me that they're afraid to share much physical contact with me, which I take to mean that my vigilance is translating clearly.

And... good?  At some point, without my conscious awareness, I learned that people who are afraid of touching me are less likely to.. well.. touch me.  And if I'm not being touched, it means that I'm not going to have any panic moments of, "OMG, teh sex is lurking!" and I'm not going to have any panic moments of, "Oh fuck, I can't handle this contact and I've already reminded them a couple of times and I know they're trying but this is really uncomfortable and maybe they'll change what they're doing soon and holy shit I can't handle this sensation any more."

So there it is.  I maintain what is perhaps the most awkward reign of terror conceivable over people who I care for, because it functions as a safety mechanism.  Are there healthier ways to navigate this?  Obviously.  But maintaining a Cuddle Reign of Terror does have a certain appeal to it.

Still Not Interested

So a funny thing has happened lately.  I've had a pretty sharp uptick in my libido.  I've got some theories as to why that might be, but that's neither here nor there.  The point is, I'm all, "Yeah, sex sounds awesome, let's do that!  Fuck yes, sex!"  And, as usual for me, all this enthusiasm has been directed at an exceptionally short list of people.

I decided to do a little thought experiment with myself, since sex has been seeming like such a great idea.  Delicately, tentatively, I sent a few little probes into my mind to see if maybe I might be a little interested in some of the people who it would really, really make sense for me to want to have sex with.  People who are attractive to me in many of the non-sexy ways.  People who I like and trust.  Was there any libido that might get kicked in a different direction..?

Nope.  Nope, definitely not.  Still not interested.

But it did make me realize that some part of me still thinks I'm broken.  That maybe, if I get fucked in just the right way, or do just the right little dance in my own head, or stumble upon some fantastic magical cure, suddenly it will click, and I'll relate to sex like a normal person (whatever the hell that's supposed to mean).  I'll be fixed.

Nope.  Nope, definitely not.  Still not interested.

And that's okay.

Not That Weird, After All

My husband and I haven't had sex in something like two and a half years.  Which, for those who are counting, is about a year longer than we've been married.  Stripping that, along with the romantic partnership, out of our relationship is what let us get to a healthy, stable place with one another.  We were pretty bad at finding mutually satisfying ways to be sexual or romantic.

But we're pretty fucking great at living together, and leaning on each other for the important things.  For all the ways in which we are not, and make a point to not be, primary partners, we are pretty bombass domestic partners.  The way that I characterize it is that if I get hit by a bus, I want my husband to be the one making decisions.  We can trust each other in that way, with that depth, without holding hands or getting each other off.

At first glance, this seems to throw many people.  Marriage gets taken for granted as a package deal.  Even for non-monogamous folks, who already tend to think outside the box when it comes to relationships, our approach is consistently met with surprise.

And then they think about it.  "Huh.  I guess that makes sense."  Sometimes folks without long-term partners even have a lightbulb moment of who fills that role in their own lives.  "Oh, like my friend Peter!  We've lived together on and off for the last ten years."  "Oh, like my friend Erica!  We just took a three week trip together, and she's been my best friend since college.  If I got hit by a bus, I think that she's the one I'd want making those types of decisions."

And then Reader's Digest, of all things, sealed the deal.  While waiting at the doctor's office with my husband ('cause we go to important appointments together!), he pointed out a copy with a cover story about traits of happy marriages.  "Hey, see if we're normal!" he suggested.  So I flipped it open to the article.  Most of the numbers and percentages were not particularly relevant or interesting to me, so I've since forgotten them.  But one jumped out.  According to Reader's Digest (super legit, I know), a solid 20% of the happiest couples are no longer attracted to one another.  Triumph!  "Looklooklooklook!  We're not weird!  See?!"

Well.  Maybe a little weird.

But at least not the only ones who figured out that you can do this without doing that.

Rivers of Snot

Over the past year, I have both cut out a considerable amount of my social involvement with my local kink community and acquired an in-state sex partner (we'll call him ISSP).  This has left me with less fodder for writing here, unless I were to turn my asexuality blog into a sex blog.  Which, for numerous reasons, I don't want to do.  An elaboration on that might be a post for another day, but not today.

Today I'm going to write about rivers of snot.

ISSP and I were talking the other day, and wandered onto the topic of crying.  Specifically, bawling like a three year old, rivers of snot-style crying.  He was using this as a description of unsexy crying.  I maintained that more context was required to determine whether it was sexy or unsexy crying.  He looked befuddled.

Don't get me wrong.  Uncontrollable sobbing, in and of itself, is not particularly sexy.  It's messy, it's graceless, it's profoundly awkward*.  No argument there.

So what's hot about it?  The rawness.  The vulnerability.   I really dig emotional intensity.  For me, I think that the emotions themselves end up being secondary to the intensity.  Delving into that sort of intensity in a reasonably controlled and safe setting is just fantastic.

To get that messy and graceless is to let some pretty substantial walls come down.  Forcing those walls to come down in an erotic context is absolutely hot- at least for me.

Even if it does involve rivers of snot.

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*Know what else tends to be messy, graceless, and profoundly awkward?  Fucking.  Seriously.

What We Say, What We Do

Different people have different skill sets.  Some folks are skilled with needles.  Some folks are skilled with rope bondage.  Some folks are skilled with psychological play.  And while we can all generally improve our skill sets, some of us are going to max out in a less adept place than others will.

And we only will be cognizant of that some of the time.  It's one of those things that's pretty tricky to to be meaningfully self-honest and self-aware about.  Hell, it's one of those things that's tricky to get solid, objective feedback on.  So very, very few people will think of themselves as a dumbass.  Or a predator.

And yet, "Don't be a dumbass" and "Don't be a predator" are often given as stand-alone safety/logic warnings.  Which would be would be perfectly great and sufficient were it not for that part where nobody self-identifies as such.  It will damn near always be read as a warning for somebody else.  You know, those other people over there.  The dumbasses, the predators.  Not me.

I have no qualms with people putting information/content/ideas out there that are not appropriate for all skill levels.  I support greater access to information and education, from introductory through advanced levels.  Breath play is a particular area where this has been in my awareness.  While many folks argue that breath play is simply too dangerous to teach, it's also the kind of play that many, many people- both in and out of the kink scene- practice at home.  With or without education.  Given this, I think that more information is the decidedly preferable option- questions of legal liability for the educator aside.  Recently, my thoughts on this trajectory have gotten complicated.

In addition to pictures of funny cats, the internet has brought us all sorts of photos of edge play.  Since most of my photo-perving time is devoted to rope bondage, that's what I'm most familiar with in this regard.  We have strappado suspensions, predicament ties with bottoms perched precariously on tall structures, and suspensions in which one of the primary load-bearing points is the throat.  All carry very real risks of injury requiring months to recover- or worse.  And I firmly believe that all of those are risks which people can assess and choose to accept.

In addition to Bondage101, kink education has brought us all sorts of techniques for edge play.  We have classes on gun play, abductions, and explicit limit-pushing.  It's the latter that has sparked a discussion that keeps popping up on my kinky internet feed.  The discussion started after a friend of mine attended a class on this topic by at a conference.  Based particularly on personal accounts from folks who have played with the presenter in question, the discussion does not seem to be about the presenter's ability to do these things in a way that is as safe as possible.  The focus seems to be instead on the danger of putting these tools and techniques in the hands of a mixed audience.

So what's the sweet spot?  How can information be made accessible to those who can use it well, without unwittingly encouraging people to make higher-risk decisions which they really are not equipped to make?

I know that I, for one, am interested in more information on things like breath play, higher-risk rope bondage, and limit-pushing.  Preferably all at once.  But only with highly trusted partners.  And my partners and I should be able to make those decision for ourselves.  Because we're not dumbasses or predators!

Oh, right.  That again.

I don't have an answer.  I'm extremely uncomfortable with the notion of censorship (whether external or self-imposed) in the name of keeping people from ideas and information that have been deemed unacceptably dangerous.  On the other hand, we are social creatures prone to imitation.  I know that I'm often inspired by play I see in the dungeons, classes, or represented online- I expect at least a few others are as well.  As subsets of the kink community race to one-up each other with the next edgy, dangerous thing, I expect that the baseline of perceived risk will shift.

I expect that this is a conversation which will continue to unfold both in my own mind and the broader kink community.  Hopefully it will unfold with minimal harm and maximum hotness.

Negotiating On The Fly

I kind of love pet play.  Not in a sexual way, not even in an erotic way.  But in the way that it totally shakes up communication and expectations between people.

Last year's kitty room at Shibaricon left me thinking about this trajectory, and it popped into my awareness again the other night after going to a local party with the MOST ADORABLE (human) PUPPY and her human friend.  They'd sat next to me for a bit in the dungeon as I was watching some hot ropey action.  The pup was on the floor between the chair that I was sitting in and the chair in which her human friend was sitting.  Since, as we've covered, I kind of love pet play, I leaned over and asked human friend if I could pet his puppy.  And he said yes!  And so I reached down and started scritching behind her ears.

In this case, the pup in question leaned right into the scritches.  I told her what a good girl she was and moved behind her other ear.  More happy leaning and nuzzling against my hand.  No words.  No traditional negotiation.  But clear communication.

And here is where I think some of the real beauty of pet play is.  I think that we all take for granted that non-human animals don't really need to bother with social niceties.  If they're into it, they'll tell you.  Clearly.  By leaning into it enthusiastically.  By play bowing, pouncing, by rolling around at your feet.  And if they're not into it, they'll tell you.  Clearly.  By growling, by hissing, by disengaging without any need to apologize or explain their reasons.  And it's totally okay either way.

And sure, in theory, humany humans can also growl, walk away, or otherwise disengage without any need to apologize or explain their reasons.  But I think that many of us, for any number of reasons, are uncomfortable giving such a blunt no.  Receiving such a blunt no isn't often a terribly comfortable experience, either.  I think there's quite a damn bit of room within our culture to get better with "no."

But within this little niche of kink, things seem to be moving along a-okay in that department.  I'm unsure how much of this is my own perception, or if others have picked up on the same thing.  I will say this though- hanging out in the kitty room at Shibaricon is a fantastic study in nonverbal interactions.  It's a room full of people navigating interactions with very, very few words.  Kitties negotiating play and belly rubs with humans, negotiating kitty schenanigans or brawls with one another.  On the fly.  Without a word.