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.

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.