Secret Confessions of a Smart Girl

***Warning: I wrote this post while wearing my ranty pants, and it is coming off somewhat more intolerant than I really intend***

Lately I seem to be surrounded by an epidemic* of heterosexual people who have decided they want to try being bisexual. In other words, although they are not particularly romantically attracted to individuals of the same sex, they think they might enjoy having sex with them. As it turns out, many of them do enjoy it enormously, but they’re still not particularly interested in same-sex romance… just same-sex nookie.

Although I’m fine with a little same-sex experimentation, and am all in favor of people trying to address any latent homophobia and expand their sexual boundaries, the truth is that this drives me a bit crazy. Why?

1. Because they think that’s what bisexuality is. People who are living bi-design tend to think that those of us who are actually bisexual are doing the same thing. They don’t understand that we want to, can, and do form romantic, emotional partnerships with people of either sex. They assume that we’re just like them and are primarily interested in romantic relationships with one gender but enjoy putting out with both.
2. Because they don’t say that’s what they’re doing. If you don’t think other bisexual people are interested in deeper emotional relationships, then there’s no reason to be explicitly clear that you’re bi-sexual but not particularly bi-romantic or bi-relationship oriented. Thus these people, quite often, do not make it clear to the people they’re interacting with - once, twice, or repeatedly - that they’re not really interested in anything other than friendship and/or sex. This can lead to fundamental miscommunications and fucked up expectations.
3. Because they’re giving bisexuals a bad name. The women who use other women as holdovers between men are one big reason why I have such a hard time finding lesbians who are actually willing to consider a relationship with someone who identifies as bisexual - i.e. me. I assume them men who do this cause similar problems for bi-boys, but there I cannot speak from experience.
4. Because it encourages people to think of sexual orientation as a choice, when for most of us it’s simply not. You just choose how to act on it.

I know a lot of lesbians who occasionally enjoy sex with men and don’t identify as bisexual because they’d never have a relationship with one - men aren’t what they want as partners. On the other hand, most of the (wo)men who I’d consider to be straight, but occaisionally enjoy sex with (wo)men, call themselves bi**.

What’s the divide? I suspect it’s that murmers of bisexuality could hamper your chances of getting laid among the lesbians but enhance it around the heterosexual crowd. Or possibly it’s that lesbians understand that many queer people think of avowed sexual orientation as also speaking to relationships, where heterosexuals - who have never needed to question how their relationships fit into society - think it’s primarily about who you like to fuck.

The problem is that, by and large, discussing these topics leads to varying levels of communication fail, because the labels we use are useless***. We assume that the meaning we ascribe to the words we use to describe our relationships and sexuality is the same as the meaning assigned by the person we are discussing them with… and we are very often wrong****.
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_{*This has come up at least three times in the last month with different people, so if you think I’m talking about you… you’re wrong. Or, possibly, you’re right, but I’m not only talking about you.}

_{**I don’t actually know any gay men who occaisionally like to fuck women, but I assume they’re out there somewhere.}

_{***There isn’t one sexuality spectrum. At least three easily come to mind.}

1. Interest in sex - from asexual to hypersexual
2. Gender of who you like to have sex with - from heterosexual to homosexual (and I suspect there are branches off of this for people who are attracted to something that is not primarily gender based.)
3. Gender of who you like to have relationships with - also from heterosexual to homosexual with a possible orthogonal spectrum looking at innate relationship structure orientation from monogamous to polyamorous.

_{****To provide a BDSM-related example, the other night I was talking to someone about scene negotiations and he kept saying that the women he plays with won’t admit they want to do power exchange, but that they want all the elements and he finds that aggravating. Since we had negotiated a scene a while back and he was putting the same statement on me - when I had negotiated what I considered to be a very power-exchange-y scene with him, and never denied that aspect of it - we finally figured out is that we were talking about two different things. When we were thinking of power-exchange, I was talking about the emotional content of the scenes that I liked and wanted and he was talking about very specific language he wanted used. For him, it’s not power-exchange without that language. For me, power-exchange is about the dynamic and the things that go on during the scene. We had both thought that we were being perfect clear when, in truth, we were having completely different conversations. It was… enlightening.}

Sometimes the human body baffles me.

Given a choice between intensely painful and intensely pleasurable stimuli, I have a significantly easier time processing the first. Purely on the basis of my ability to handle sensation, I am far more likely to safeword on sexual touch than on pain. My pain threshold is pretty high, and I often get off on taking pain to points that I should probably consider “a bit too much” precisely because it is a bit too much. Plus, I frequently contextually transform intense pain into sensual or sexual pleasure. I am, after all, a masochist. Intensity is good.

On the other hand, I find that often explicitly sexual touch goes very quickly from pleasurable to overwhelming. I’m not entirely certain how much of that is biological and how much of it is psychological, but it feels so strange to me that I find it easier to enjoy pain than arousal. You would think it would go the other way, and yet I had a conversation with someone (who likes to do a lot of forced orgasm play) a few months ago that suggests my response is not all that uncommon. Still, it’s somewhat bizarre from a conceptual standpoint, if not from a biological one. It makes sense, intellectually, that the body would have better systems for dealing with excesses of painful stimuli than pleasurable ones.

The nervous system is a strange little machine. Mine needs a nap so that it will survive its date tonight.

Sex research is fascinating. One of the things I love about teaching my sexuality course is getting to read all of the new research that gets published each year. For example, the study that found that 65% of men have a style of masturbation that contains types of stimulation impossible to recreate during partner sex.

Now, that statistic isn’t, in and of itself, all that interesting. What is interesting is the recommendation it leads to - for both men and women. Specifically this : if you want to have more orgasms during partner sex, then bring yourself to orgasm in ways that are achievable during partner sex. For example, women who cross their legs tightly when masturbating can’t replicate that same sort of sensation during partner sex and this can inhibit their ability to orgasm with a partner.

This advice is both completely obvious and something that never would have occurred to me. It may also both explain some things about my sex life.

You know, I hate that I come from a culture that made me think being able to, basically, orgasm by thinking about sex was a bad thing that I had to train myself out of. Still, what can be done can theoretically be undone, and, if nothing else, the retraining should be enjoyable in and of itself.

I don’t have a problem with prostitution. In my ideal world it would be legalized, or at least regulated, so that public health concerns could be addressed with some level of sanity and the women and men who sell their services could have some protection from dangerous nutcases, but I don’t have a problem with it even in the current East Coast political climate. Which is not to say that I don’t think Eliot Spitzer was a hypocritical ass. You can’t have it both ways. If you take a moral, or even a political, stance against something then you don’t get to participate in it. Not if you want to keep your job. Not if you want to keep your self respect*.

But I couldn’t wrap my mind around the thought of paying for sex. It was not, in the least, a moral thing. Instead, other than the purely practical financial concerns, it came down to three issues.

1. I may want to have a lot of sex with people, but there aren’t a lot of people I want to have sex with.
   I can enjoy getting beaten by random strangers, but even most of the people I’m physically attracted to I don’t actually want to sleep with. I can’t quite explain what the difference is between “Gosh, you’re pretty and shiny and smart and I like playing with you and looking at you and find you hot” and “I want to rip your clothes off every time I’m near you.” but there clearly is a difference. There are just some people who inspire jumping and some who do not. **
2. When it comes to sex, I kink hard on doing what my partner wants.
   Although I do have certain fantasies and predilections it seems like it would be difficult to hire someone for something and say “but pleasing you is what turns me on.” I feel like if you’re going to hire someone to perform a service for you, you should be able to express in clear terms what you want to be buying. Which is why I feel like it would be easier to pay someone for a scene than for sex, and why when I initially wrote about this (in someone else’s blog), that was the exception to the rule. I kink on expertise, and I could totally see paying someone to experience something that I would not be able to experience safely or sanely in another context. Like flesh hooks. Maybe. One day. Or not.
3. I’m insecure enough about my attractiveness that I’d hate to feel that someone was sleeping with me when they didn’t want to. Even if I were paying them. I don’t mind being a job, but I don’t want to think that they’re going home and writing in their blog about the horrible person they just needed to do.

Still, over the past few weeks I’ve been thinking more about the whole concept of paying for sex, and I have begun to see its appeal. Given the presence of sex workers who I actually wanted to sleep with and enough excess cash that I didn’t feel like I was giving up something I love (like circus classes) to get something I could conceivably get for free with some compromises and work, it would be really nice to be able to get demand-free sex-on-demand. The concept of sex*** , when I wanted it, with no worries about whether I’m just using someone for their body, if it’s going to be rude if I kick them out afterwards to work, or that one of us wants something from the other that the other doesn’t… is really kind of awesome.

I suspect this is just one of the many ways I am not a “typical girl” (although I don’t think this view is at all atypical among my circle of friends.) I was out at an audition the other day, and I was arguing about TV shows and bitching about how dull network Sex in the City is with all the sex removed. The woman I was arguing about said “Oh, so you’re thinking about it like a man,” and I said, “No, I’m thinking like a horny woman in her 30s who really likes sex and who will take it on the TV if she can’t get it into her bedroom. Women like sex too, many of them like it A LOT, some of my friends like it more then their male partners, they’ve just been trained by society not to admit it.” She gaped at me like a fish for a few minutes. I was amused. Because, really****, fuck that, I say. I admit it. I like sex. I’d like more of it. And, although in the real world I can’t actually see it working for me, I totally understand why some people use prostitution to get it.

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*I think politicians can have self respect, it’s just harder for them than ordinary mortals. After all, when you’re spending all your time trying to sell yourself to both the highest bidder and the lowest common denominator it’s very difficult to stick to your guns. In that it’s not unlike acting, or prostitution, or any other profession where day in and day out you have to market yourself to survive. Still, I know plenty of actors and sex workers with self respect, so it shouldn’t be that much harder for politicians…

**Although, as I’ve mentioned before, this difference is more profound in men. Women, as a group, are just a hell of a lot more fuckable.

***Preferably violent kinky sex, but if I’m paying for it I can presumably ask for that, yes?

**** I use this word way too often. Really, I do.

I had a discussion the other day where we decided that cookies, cock-sucking, and a catnap would be a good recipe for an enjoyable afternoon… not necessarily in that order.

I’ve been working a lot lately on finding my inner slut and figuring out how I can have more sex with less stress. There was a time in the not so distant past when I was utterly incapable of doing the sex-without-a-relationship thing. Over the past year or so, however, I have gotten substantially sluttier*, to my great satisfaction.

I really like sex when I’m not emotionally or mentally conflicted about it. I think that the recipe for said lack of conflict is as follows.

1. Being seriously attracted to the person I’m going to be having sex with. Not just mildly attracted, I have to really want to fling myself at them and rip their clothes off.
2. Deciding, in concert, that sex may occur before we’re in a place together where sex could occur.
3. Having a comfortable and competent discussion about STD testing and sexual history well in advance of the actual sex. If the conversation isn’t comfortable than I’m not going to feel comfortable sleeping with them. If the conversation doesn’t occur in advance then I haven’t really made an informed decision and I’m going to end up beating myself up.**
4. Not feeling like I’m talking my partner into sex. Sometimes begging can be fun, but I don’t like feeling that they wouldn’t have wanted to have sex with me if I hadn’t been so pushy.
5. Not feeling like I’m being talked into sex. If my instinct isn’t to give an enthusiastic yes then my answer should be no.

I really need the first four, and the fifth has never even been an issue for me except in retrospect***. When I’ve compromised on one or more points in the past I’ve ended up feeling bad about the decisions I’ve made (even if the sex was great). When I haven’t compromised, I’ve ended up all purry and wanting to jump people more often. Jumping people is fun.

I think part of what has confused me in the past is that what attracts me to people for play is very different than what attracts me to people for sex, and I’ve felt that shouldn’t be the case. Realistically, however, there are lots of people who I really enjoy playing with who I’m not even remotely sexually attracted to. I’m far more rarely sexually attracted to someone who I don’t think I’d like playing with, but it does happen****. Attraction aside, the thing that’s most essential in making me happy about sex is practicing what I preach.

I was a sex educator before I ever started having sex, and I am still one to this day. It may have warped me a little bit, but I choose to think that warping was for the good. Mostly, I just like to avoid being a hypocrite. If I can’t do something myself, I shouldn’t be telling anyone else that they need to do it. So when I follow all my rules when trying to lure someone into sweaty naked time, I end up feeling pleased on multiple fronts.

Speaking of pleased on multiple fronts… I spent way too much time this weekend talking about boobs. By the end of the weekend I’d spent so much time talking about boobs that I was having meta-conversations about talking about boobs. Oh god. Now I’m blogging about my meta-conversations. Does that mean I’m meta-once-removed? I need to remove myself from this blog at once. Good night, and good riddance (to my consciousness)!
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*Which on the grand scale of sluttiness still isn’t very. I can no longer count the number of people I’ve slept with on one hand, but I’ve still got a finger or two to go on the other.
** It’s much more fun if someone else does that. Seriously. It’s an enormous turn on when someone is turned on by hurting me.
*** Still, I’d rather regret sex I didn’t have than sex I did have.
****Names withheld to protect the not even remotely innocent… and my ego.

Hands on my wrists, weight working against mine, I like to be able to struggle and know there’s no way I’ll be able to move.

Bondage doesn’t always work for me, for various reasons . Among other things, it can get really uncomfortable, really suddenly, and then all that work is for nothing if I need to be out and need to be out now. Being held down, however, is nothing but good. First and foremost, it’s touch. Bare hand on bare skin is always something I crave. I like the connection, and the feeling that someone is there. Add that to the fact that I am being overpowered, something that is always quite hot for me, and being held down makes me very happy indeed. Plus, it’s just so personal.

This came up for me this weekend during the piercing scene, and, although I mentioned it in the original post, I wanted to discuss it in slightly more detail. I find that sometimes when I’m having trouble processing sensation that it helps to hold onto something. I want to do something with my hands - claw, grab, struggle, anything to physicalize the tension in a productive way (this isn’t just how I process pain, it happens during sex too or any other form of sensory overload. I want to grab and bite and struggle.) The issue during the piercing scene was that my flailing my arms indiscriminately was decidedly not safe when there was a woman sitting on my hips holding sharp pointy things, and since she is _not_ a masochist, and I didn’t want to muck up her aim, grabbing her thighs was not an acceptable plan either. I also kept inadvertently flailing in a “get your hands away from me” manner, which was not my goal, but I had rather lost control of my body at that point.

So I asked the beautiful woman standing next to the bed if she’d be willing to hold my arms down*. She agreed, and all of a sudden it was a lot easier to focus. Instead of fighting against the sensations, I could simply enjoy them and let all the fight and tension go out through my arms. I don’t really understand what process of sensory alchemy lets that happen, how being held down transforms the body’s desire to say “stop! stop! stop! too much!” into “oh yes, thank you, more,” but it works and it works well. I think it may be the neurochemical equivalent of “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

I got held down again later that night by the man who was scratching me, and I found that quite enjoyable as well. Being held down is a big component of most of my sexual fantasy scenarios. I think that perhaps I’m just wired to find being pinned down with my wrists above my head and someone’s weight on top of me incredibly erotic. Especially when pain is being inflicted. Somehow I suspect this is Not Unusual. It’s nice, I think, to be given permission to struggle without any risk that you’re going to get free.

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*I admit it. I like women. I like them A LOT. Getting pierced by a beautiful woman is a glorious thing. However, getting held down by a second beautiful woman while the first beautiful woman is piercing you… is nothing to complain about either. I could have asked the man who was also watching, and I actually knew him slightly better, but the woman in question was Shiny! And a girl! And had boobies! (Lest you think I am entirely superficial, I must say that she also turns out to be quite a fabulous person who is fun and interesting and likes monkeys, but at the time all I could tell was that she was nice, had lovely friendly energy, and was gorgeous )

In a previous post I made an oblique reference to “inexplicable reasons why I won’t fuck people I’m madly attracted to.”

Although there are such inexplicable reasons, mostly dealing with the weird and wonderful world of emotional comfort, there’s also a very explicable reason that I tend not to talk about because I feel like it’s going to come across as judgmental.

I don’t want to have sex with people who are having sex (and I include oral sex in this definition) with more than a few other, stable, people at the same time.

I don’t judge people for going to sex parties, or having sex with strangers, or even engaging in prostitution, I’m just really incredibly uncomfortable having sex with people who are having sex with moderate to large numbers of other people who are having sex with moderate to large numbers of other people.

A lot of this is because in my other job I’m an STD expert. Now, that means I know how effective condoms are at preventing most, but not all, STDs, but it also means that I know a great deal about how many of my friends in the poly/kink community, or their partners, or their partners partners, have been diagnosed with what, and when. People have been seeking my advice about their STD diagnoses for more than 10 years… and to be perfectly frank it does not make me want to sleep with them. No matter how often I’d rather be having sex, I tend to think in terms of risk/benefit ratios and sleeping with people in vast, open sexual networks makes me really unhappy. The one time I’ve done it I felt so bad about myself afterwards that I pretty much decided against ever doing it again. I don’t disagree with the advice I give out, that herpes and HPV are extremely common and, generally, not that big a deal… but it doesn’t mean I want to get either one of them if I can avoid it. I may like sex, but I don’t need to have it all the time, particularly not if it’s going to stress me out. And, right or wrong, sex with people in open sexual networks is hugely stressful for me.

This is actually a big part of why I look for relationships outside of the poly-kinky community. My area of the poly-kinky community tends to have a lot of sex with a lot of people. My profound dislike of being part of an open sexual network has, to an extent, spelled the death of most of my previous sexual relationships. I try to get past it, but it bugs me enough that I can’t. Since I would never ask my partners to change who they are or how they love for me, it always seems easier to just leave. I often don’t even admit, to myself or them, that that’s why I’m going. *sigh* I’d love to be more open and free about sex, but I’m not. Given a choice between having really great sex that stresses me out and having no sex I choose no sex… no matter how much I want it.

I don’t know why when I woke up this morning I felt such a need to say this, but I did. It’s a really hard thing for me to tell people “I like you. I’m attracted to you. I’m happy to play with you, but I’m not going to have sex with you because you’re having sex with more people than I feel comfortable having sex with once removed.” I need to learn to admit to people that there are things I fantasize about that I’m never going to do. I like to think that “maybe one day I’ll be comfortable with it,” but it’s probably never going to happen, and I have to be okay with that. More importantly, I have to be honest about that.

Realistically speaking, it’s just another form of limit. I don’t judge myself for being unwilling to date smokers. I don’t judge myself for not wanting to do certain kinds of play. Why do I feel like not being willing to have sex with people makes me a worse person? I suspect it’s because it sounds judgmental. It’s not though. To a really great extent I envy people who are comfortable having sex with whomever they want whenever they want. I just don’t want to have sex with them.

And yet… saying this makes me feel like a bad person. Saying this makes me feel unlovable, undateable, and unfuckable. Saying this makes me feel weak, and vulnerable, and somewhat depressed. Saying this makes me feel like I’m guaranteed to spend the rest of my days single.

You know, the ironic thing is that in the parts of the world I don’t live in this would probably be the standard world view… just for entirely different reasons. It’s not jealousy. It’s just my perverted version of common sense.

Gah. I’m running an hour behind schedule. So, against my better judgment, I’m going to hit publish and run out the door.

So this post over at Sexual Spiritualist got me thinking about the origins of my sexual issues, and how the scene helped save me from a life of complete and utter sexual neurosis (leaving me with only a slightly larger than reasonable share*, because I’ve noticed that still, here I am, a person with a pretty high sex drive who hardly ever actually has any sex.)

I don’t know when I became so afraid of interactive sexuality. I know it must have started young, because I remember blowing off one of my first dates in high school because I was so scared I thought I was going to throw up. I do know I was always highly arousable. I remember frantically masturbating to the romance novels I would borrow from camp counselors, or to the Clan of the Cave Bear, from approximately the age of around 11. Still younger, in third or fourth grade, I remember playing very sexual bondage games with two Filipino girls, and being turned on by playing doctor with my then best friend (although I didn’t understand what the sensations were at the time.)

So when did it change? It was before what I think was my first date, when after I got home he called a friend of mine to ask her out and called me a “frigid bitch,” because I was too nervous to kiss him at the door (This date, for the record, is why I hate the film Broadcast News.) Although that certainly didn’t help, I was clearly already nervous at the time. Maybe it was the stress of junior high school. Maybe it was early onset sex education. Who knows. What it meant was that I didn’t really date much until graduate school, because I was so damn nervous that I might a) have to have sex and b) be expected to know what the hell I was doing in a manner that wasn’t purely theoretical. I remained highly sexual, thinking about sex far more than I thought a girl should and masturbating on a daily basis, I just didn’t touch anyone else - or let them touch me. And then I discovered the scene…

The thing about public masochism that appealed to me was that it seemed so safe. So easy. People would touch me, as I longed for, fleetingly or with great intensity, but only in strictly circumscribed ways and if I said “stop” they would. The best part was that with BDSM I wasn’t expected to know anything. It was okay to be new at things and to be inexperienced. I wouldn’t have to worry about sex, or being laughed at. I wouldn’t have to be concerned about STDs or pregnancy or skill; I could just enjoy sharing time and space with someone. They’d touch me, they’d hurt me, and we’d both enjoy it, and I’d learn things and it would all be fine.

And I got good at it. I was a pretty good bottom, and I could bottom to novice tops and help them, and people actually wanted to play with me, and I developed enough self confidence that my boundaries slowly shifted further and further towards a comfort with sexuality. The scene also gave me the opportunity to learn that there are people to whom I could say things like “I’m nervous about my sexual skills, I really want you to instruct me in these things,” and for whom doing so would be a turn on. But here’s the thing…

I don’t know if I could have gotten there if I’d started off in an area where sex was on the table at scene events. I don’t know if I would have gone to public play spaces, and played with lots of people, and become comfortable with my body if going to those spaces would have meant that I had to actively think about dealing with sex. I don’t know if I would be who I am, sexually and kinkily, if I had “come out” on the west coast.

I know I would still be a masochist. I know I would still be a bottom. I know I would still be queer, but I don’t know how much of it I would be acting on. I know I would still have a vivid fantasy life, but I don’t know how much of it would ever have become reality. It’s possible that had I matured on the west coast, I’d have even fewer issues because I would have been forced to include sex as part of my kink from the beginning. On the other hand it’s also possible that I’d spend even more time alone in my room with my vibrator and my knives. Or that, at this point, I’d identify solely as a lesbian rather than as bisexual.

I don’t know. I know a lot of people who grew up in the West Coat scene, a lot of the people I love grew up out there, but I’m glad I started out where I did. I think that, as Adam says, they both have things to recommend them. But I’m glad I came of age where I did, as late as it might have been. And I’m very thankful for the Baltimore/Washington scene for being as welcoming as it was, and giving me not only some wonderful experiences, but some wonderful friends.

It’s hard to write this stuff, particularly as I get to know more and more of the people who are reading this blog (it was much easier when I was talking to an empty universe full of unknown readers). On the other hand, I think it’s useful. Both for me, as an exercise in vulnerability and thinking things out, and for other people for whom sexuality may not be that easy. Because I know that for a long time, I thought that I was alone in that, and a freak in a bad way, for having so many worries and issues about sex. These days, I know I’m not, and while I would like to be a little more open to the possibility of sexual experiences with a larger number of people, I’m also really happy about a number of things. I’ve never had really bad sex. I lost my virginity pretty late, but did so in two absolutely amazing experiences (both bisexual threesomes, the first of which included just about everything except intercourse, mostly things I had never done before). Most importantly, perhaps, I only have one sexual experience that I even have slight qualms over my choices in. So, while my issues have given me problems they’ve also given me gifts. I choose to remember that. And, maybe, in the new year, I’ll get to be both smarter and have sex more often… You never know

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*Which is why, in the rare case I find someone who I’m actually comfortable having sex with and enjoy having sex with, I kind of want to jump them all the damn time. I need to figure out how to acquire more people like this. Preferably ones who don’t come with Complications and who regularly want to jump me too

I like submission because it makes me strong.

When I first started out in the scene I identified purely as a smart ass masochist.

That’s a lie. It wasn’t when I first started out in the scene. When I first started out in the scene I had fantasies about masochism and control, but I didn’t know I was a masochist. I started bottoming, at least in part, because I was afraid of pain.

Although it seems somewhat counterintuitive to seek out the things you are afraid of, I thought that doing so would make me stronger, and I was right. Seeking out pain helped me discover I am a masochist. I still don’t like falling on the sidewalk and skinning open my knee, or having a terrible IBS attack, but pain itself isn’t scary. Not anymore. It’s something that is telling me something. If I’m injured, it’s giving me a message about what needs to be fixed. If I’m playing… well its meanings are more diverse.

The fact that, at some point, a switch gets thrown and pain becomes intensely pleasurable was, at the beginning, largely irrelevant to how I played. It was more about proving that I could move through pain and be okay, embrace it and thrive. It was about taking control over something that seemed inherently uncontrollable and subverting it to my will. It put me in charge. While I was still new in the scene, I read a book that commented “no one is so much in control of a sexual situation as a bottom in an S&M scene.” There is a lot of truth to that. Although it’s certainly not an absolute, if you’re playing with anyone remotely responsible you are very clear on the fact that things can be stopped at any time. Not to mention that if you’re a skilled negotiator you can get exactly what you want and nothing else. It makes it a very safe way to explore the things that frighten you.

As I mentioned in my last post, fear can be incredibly hot when you’re confident that you’re safe. That took me a while to figure out, but I got a line, very early, on the fact that fear can be much easier to counter when you engage in the things that frighten you while still remaining somewhat in control. And, as a control freak, what could be scarier than giving it up?

There is often a small frisson of fear running through me when I am submitting. Having agreed to consent, I know my pride will make certain that I do. It may be pretty integral to my nature to want to do things to make my partners happy, but giving up control is not. I was the girl who, given a group assignment, would prefer to volunteer to do the whole thing than risk that the consensus would come up with something that did not fit my extremely high expectations. When I first entered the scene, submission was not a possibility that even crossed my radar. I was a smart ass masochist, a bottom, maybe a bi-poly-switch, but not a submissive. Hell no. I liked being in charge, and getting exactly what I wanted. And then, one day, someone slapped me across the face, and a whole new world opened, a world where what I wanted really didn’t mean all that much to me… and it was great.

I was choosing to let my choices be out of my control. Choosing to trust someone else to look out for me instead of doing it myself. Choosing to offer up the things I considered most valuable on a platter, my brain and my time, and hope. It was empowering. It was freeing. It made me afraid, and helped me to embrace fear. It reminded me that I can do things even when they’re hard, even when I hate them, and that doing them anyway, and doing them well, gives me a profound sense of accomplishment. It made it easier to cope when daily life spun out of control.

In other words, in short form… it made me strong.

I’m going to start with a generalization. It’s a nice generalization, because like with all generalizations of its kind (There are two kinds of people, those who DO and those who DON’T) there is a least a kernel of truth in it. Here we go…

There are two kinds of submissives, or bottoms, in this world: those for whom an action is hotter if they are doing something they don’t want to do, and those for whom doing something they don’t want to do adds no special zing. (This is paralleled by the reflexive two kinds of dominants or sadists, but I’m mostly going to address the issue from the side with which I am most familiar… the bottom)

I am the second kind of submissive (and bottom). Doing something I don’t want to do doesn’t excite me simply because it’s something I don’t want to do. I will do such things, if I am asked, and find some level of enjoyment in them out of the fact that they are making my partner happy, but I don’t get any “oh! it’s so hot to be forced to do something I don’t want to!” rush.

I do know people who claim to be the other sort of submissive. One or two of them probably really are that sort of submissive (and I know at least one sadist who really does get off on doing things his partners hate because they hate them… he’s the only friend with whom I regularly negotiate things in instead of out.) However, I suspect that a large number of the others are failing to make a distinction between things they don’t want to admit they want (possibly even to themselves) and things they actually don’t want.

Now, I will be the first to admit that being forced to admit to desires I find embarrassing or shameful is incredibly hot, as is being made to act on them. However, these are not things I don’t want. They are, perhaps, things I don’t want to admit to, or things I could never ask for, but that is most decidedly not the same thing. They are often things that I would not have the nerve to do without someone giving me the emotional support of telling me to do them, but if I had to be brutally honest with myself and my partner they would be things I fantasized about. Perhaps things I fantasized about finding humiliating, but apparently I like a little humiliation so… not the same thing.

The pleasure I get in doing something I actually do not want to do is solely the pleasure of being able to give my partner something that he or she wants. There may be in it a bit of pride, but being ordered, or expected, to give something I don’t want to is no more exciting than being ordered, or expected, to give something I am thrilled to provide.