Horrific Fiction

The power of fiction to touch me, in good and shuddering ways, often surprises me. I just finished Topping from Below (TFB) and it made my soul shudder. I have fears about falling into the dark side of wiitwd. Some fears are quite quotidian--becoming bitter and harsh, like some of the women I used to see when I went to munches and discussion groups. But there are other fears. When I went to the police because of the man who was essentially stalking me. When I see my own inability to place limits after I surrender. I don't want to have to have limits. But maybe that is exactly how abuse happens. When I saw how I allowed my ex to essentially turned our relationship into something I had to endure, rather than something that I found joy in.

TFB seemed to reinforce so many of the negatives. (Spoiler alert, but I'll assume that me hating a book isn't enough to make you run out and buy it--a couple of sexy pieces I enjoyed were Safe Word (especially the ending, which I loved), and the anthology Yes, Sir, which is quite sexy.) TFB follows the pretty sister investigating why her fat sister, with no self-esteem, got killed in a clearly S&M related death. Of course, the killer likes the pretty, confident one. He treats her differently and the pretty one loves the S&M as well. He falls in love with her, unlike the fat girl, where the S&M was just abuse. (Of course, for most of the book you don't know who the killer is and enjoy the sex scenes, so the fact that it is horrible feels worse than if some of it hadn't seduced me, against my better judgment.) I can't believe a bookstore recommended it as an S&M classic on par with Anne Rice.

But it brought up a couple of interesting things for me.

I seem to have both the girl who relishes surrender and the girl who feels it can border on abuse, all wrapped up in one neat package. The thing about my ex, he never went very far with the S&M stuff. I rarely had bad bruises. A few on my breasts usually--that was it. Few welts. Never any other kind of marks. It was the tone that was all wrong for me (although last week was a clear exception--last week was as lovely as it was with Steven). I could have actually handled more pain if he had mixed more sex in with it. He wanted me scared because it turned him on. If I were turned on, or felt like there was caring it in. That's the only way it is sexy to me. I'm so vanilla/fudge swirl. Not all chocolate.

And, depending on who is doing the viewing, I'm either a pretty girl you'd want to have enjoy it, or a plain girl you'd seen what she could endure. I think my ex has seen me switch in his view. I used to be the plain girl you'd amuse yourself with, and now I'm the cute one, you'd want to bring along for a great ride.

It also emphasized how wrong the traditional approach to BDSM is for me. I understand that if people are 'playing' casually, then being clear about what play should look like becomes necessary. And I certainly think life would be easier if I could go that way. But I just don't. I'm totally comfortable being upfront about sex at the very beginning--if we aren't compatible, there is little reason to waste time. But once we've established the we might be compatible, then I'd like sex to just disappear. It isn't about activities. It is about relationships. For me.

Long ago, there was a discussion on our local BDSM list about how a Dom had a right to cut off a sub's ear unless she has clearly specified that as a hard limit. What the fuck are These Idiots thinking? And They wonder why the women all leave? (Obviously if we are having this discussion, we must get the capitalization right!) Those checklists, those ads saying "Few if any limits"--that's all nonsense. This isn't a game of 'gotcha." There are 87 million things I won't do, and there is no way I can come up with them. "Oooh--you didn't specify you won't go to a malaria country without malaria meds--you aren't really a submissive." "Oh, you said I couldn't break bones, but you didn't specify ligaments." What the fuck are these Men talking about when they say a gal shouldn't have limits. And they wonder why there are so few women.

I still remember a conversation with "John." He was new to all this, and I said something like "If you're a reaction junkie--I'll give you reactions, but if you're looking for a workout, I can't." And he said "the thing is, I am kind of looking for a work out." And that's when I knew I couldn't be his partner. (Later, much later, he remembered this conversation differently, and said that wasn't what he meant, so I fell for him again.)

When did sex become about activities as opposed to relationships? When did silly little checklists take the place of watching body language? Oh, and honestly caring about your partner? Wanting to protect and cherish as well as torment and tease? When did a sexual relationship become only about sex? The number of men who are shocked that I'd want to know what we have in common before I'd consider fucking them.

I've worked very hard not to become bitter. There are women in the local "scene" who have lost their joy. You can tell they've given themselves away too many times and lost their resilience. I expect there was a time they were vulnerable, trusting. Probably naive. Now, they are jaded, closed, bitter, angry. Some of them become Dommes because they don't want to be alone, and the betrayal of a sub hurts them even more. Because they never really wanted to be a domme to begin with. They were willing to do even that to find love, and it wasn't enough. I never want to fall into that bitter jaded thing. But I've had more than enough done to me to become bitter. (The worst thing that was done to me, I won't talk about it because I don't want to give any men ideas about how to make a woman's life hell. It was a very creative way of destroying my resilience for months.) I'm not bitter. I have moments, but only moments. I'm still capable of forcing myself to open and become vulnerable and trusting. But I'm tired of forcing myself to do that. Maybe I need to let a guy I'm interesting teach me he is trustworthy.

I do have a fairly traditional sense that promiscuity is wrong (for me--not for others--just for me). I simply won't get involved with a man that doesn't do the intimate dance of conversation. It can be as simple as election talk, or profound as John's 700 e-mails revealing the depths of our seemingly simpatico souls. That seems to be my only protection. I expect it is enough for my physical safety, but whether it is enough for my bounciness remains to be seen.