I worked with another of Max‘s students this week, and as always, in the process I learned something myself.

All my life I’ve been inclined to be helpful. Being helpful has its purpose and place, certainly−people frequently need help. But there are two big pitfalls to being a helpful person.

One: losing balance.

Two: being a know-it-all.

I am too familiar with both these pits. “Losing balance” is the one where I fail to attend to my own needs and desires, always putting everyone else first. This depletes me and weakens my real ability to be a helpful person. And for me, it has meant a long-time inattention to my body, ignoring and neglecting it.

“Know-it-all” is the one where I habitually anticipate what’s-next, predicting what someone will need or want. This is a great behavior when I am working in the role of someone’s assistant, but it is a lousy trait to bring into relationships; Who am I to believe I know what is good or best or right for someone else?

Some very many years ago I began to see the error of my ways, and began revamping my tendencies. It hasn’t been easy−it’s meant a real change to the identity I had built. I still struggle to be appropriately helpful to other people, without being destructive to myself, or my relationships.

My adventures into kinky realms where submission and service are a norm have certainly stirred up my old ways. And it’s not as clear a realm as it might appear on the surface.

First let me just say that I am a novice in this territory. There’s a lot that I don’t understand, and even more that I don’t even know.

Secondly, I am not ready to wear labels. I know I am−by many viewpoints−kinky. But I don’t feel right acquiring the label “masochist” just because I’m not a “sadist”, nor calling myself “submissive” just because I don’t feel an urge to be “dominant”.

Handily−because most of the kinky stuff I do involves rope−I can comfortably label myself a “bottom”–common parlance for the person who is being tied up (the label “top” going to the person wielding the ropes).

Okay, so working with Max’s students, I am bottoming. I am providing my body for people to practice their rope skills. Whatever happens during these sessions is up to Max and the student with whom he is working; I don’t have to make decisions, I don’t have to ensure anything. Really, my sole responsibility is to speak up if my body is unhappy, if I’ve reached my limits. And when that happens, Max and his student turn their attention to making things better−for me.

What interesting circumstances for a girl such as me−to be serving someone, to be helpful, and yet my only real job is to take care of myself.

During this most recent session with Max, his student was very attentive to things such as the silhouette of my body and the lay of the ropes−there was a high aesthetic to his practice. I found this intriguing and pleasant. He and Max concocted a partial suspension that involved a harness around my chest and hips and several up-lines running from me to the ceiling. It was simple, yet with all the angles and all the ropes, when it came time to unravel the bondage there was rope everywhere. I was sitting on the floor surrounded by all the hemp, and still wearing the chest harness.

And this is when I decided to be helpful … and I stood up−to make it easier to have my harness removed.

I’d like to say that I saw my blunder right away. I did not. But I see it now.

It wasn’t my job to make it easier for my top to do his work. It’s his role to let me know what he wants.

This is very different territory than I am used to. I have so much to learn.

I am not officially dating. In fact, I am officially not dating. That being said, I am trying to get back in touch with what dating is–here in the 21st century and all. One of these days, I will be dating, and–oh dear–I am not ready for this.

Gawd I sound like a fuddy duddy when I say that.

But here’s what happened. I think I accidentally had a date the other night. Accidentally, because I thought it was going to be an easy evening of dinner with an acquaintance I have known for several years, but haven’t gotten to know well yet. I’d anticipated we would spend some time sharing a meal and having some getting-to-know-each-other conversation. So even though I haven’t felt ready to start dating, I accepted his invitation to come over for dinner.

And then, not too long after we finished our meal, his cock got involved.

Oh yeah. I know, I know. With rare exception, any time you are dealing with a male there will be cock involved. And I actually quite enjoy that.

But what I do not enjoy is having to repeat myself, after once or twice expressing some version of, “Look, I love cock, but making yours happy tonight is not my responsibility, dear.”

You know, I just believe that that is a very fair position to take. But he continued to push–in those quietly ever-more-insistent ways. First a few fingers traced along my cheek. Then a few fingers traced along my skin at the hem of my skirt. Then a repositioning that reduces the physical gap between us on the couch. Then a kiss on the neck. Innocuous gestures.

But the essence of the gestures escalates, right. And the fingers along my skin become a hand, and the hand begins moving aside the hem of my dress, raising it up my leg. And then the hand slips to the soft inside of my thigh.

So I repeat my “No, thank you” non-verbally by shifting my entire body out from under the hand, because I meant what I said earlier in the evening, “I am not ready for sex.”

However, I am a thoughtful girl, and I do take delight in getting men all hot & bothered–but not leaving them completely high & dry. And I have grown to learn that masturbation–solo or mutual–can be a swell activity when folks are not–for whatever reason–willing and/or able to fuck. And I am not willing.

So, when it became obvious that my acquaintance was very keen on deepening our acquaintance, I schemed to evoke some fantasy material for him that he could indulge in after I went home. I mean, I was game for that, perhaps in part because I have a special interest right now in learning the more secret things that men like, in the belief that it will make me a better lover. So I started asking him about how he likes to masturbate–his technique and what he likes to think about while he is stroking himself.

And he started telling me.

All the while I am assuming that I had made it clear that I wasn’t going to stick around for the results, I was just going to help heat things up.

And this is where I feel lost about this dating stuff. When did it become the expectation that I would even be interested in sexually “pleasing” a man on our first date? And when did it become common practice to have sex anywhere near the “first date”? (And yes, this wasn’t supposed to be a “date” but the evening had taken on those kind of attributes.)

So I will jump ahead now past all the details and get to the part of the evening where he is half naked and we are in the bedroom. And I will assure you that I was still fully dressed (okay, my shoes were off). And I will confirm that there was no fucking there that night.

But I will confess that I failed. I failed to remember that where there is a man involved there is a cock involved, and that cocks–well, cocks are deaf, really. After all these years, how could I forget that?

I am frustrated with myself for forgetting all that. And I am pissed off that for three hours I had to keep asserting my boundaries.

I am grateful however, for the ultimately gentle reminder of how this stuff tends to go. Because I will start dating again someday, and I would like it to involve fun, and fucking. When I feel ready.

Photo: fingers of a climber by Roger Karlsson

I am not sure why he was asking really, maybe just getting his bearings. But my answer was, “Maybe.” A wary and uncommitted, “Maybe.”

And as I told him, I left the poly world in good part because I was tired of never being a primary.

This morning I came upon a post by Cunning Minx which elaborates on this better than I was able to last night. I am posting it in full here, because I can’t find a direct link to her post. She begins by referencing a post by Mollena:

The Perverted Negress » Less is More. »

From Mollena’s post:

I’ve been around a while, and I am not a shrinking violet when it comes to hopping around the country chilling with my Leather and Kinky and Sex Positive and Freaky Peeps. And due to this, many assume I play all the time, everywhere.

This is not the case.

I don’t have people banging down my door. This is just the fact. Why? Lots of reasons I suppose. But since I’m in a bit of a gutwrenching funk, I’ll focus on the one thing I can think about without it becoming a festival of self-deprecation.

This morning, on Twitter (which is often my source for thoughtful mental snacks) @sexisfuncoochie asked me to expand on “thoughts re: poly & single people prioritization.” And that was in response to my previous Tweet where I said “when everyone’s poly, single girls don’t get prioritized.”

AMEN, sister! Thanks for ranting for me, so I don’t have to. Personally, I’m really sick of not being a priority for anyone but myself. I’m sick of not being welcomed into homes and lives because the primary partner “isn’t ready yet.” I’m sick of never getting to scene because the other partners always come first.

But mostly, I’m really sick and tired of other poly folks not understanding what it’s like. When they drop jaws and say, “YOU, Minx, you can’t get a scene/partner/date?”

No, I can’t. Because you’re busy. Because your partner needs you. Because I always come last in the scheduling.

And I’m with Mollena—I’m not saying that’s wrong; of course you should consider your primary’s feelings, and of course you should be taking care of her first. I’m just asking that you put yourself in a single gal’s shoes for five minutes.

How do you think it makes us feel when, time after time, we have to meet at my place, not yours, because your partner isn’t comfortable yet? Any idea what it feels like to not be welcomed into the home of a person you’re dating, over and over again? Any idea what it feels like to know that the second that the couple hits a bump, you’re out on your ass? Any idea what it feels like, as a submissive, to get up the courage to ask for a scene, and then be blown off because you forgot you had to scene with your partner first? And to have scenes not happen/be blown off over and over again, multiple times at the same event? (I once set up five—count them, FIVE scenes at an event. Every. Single. Person. Bailed.)

And then, the cherry on top, to have people come up and say, “Oh, I’d love to scene with you sometime.” Or “I can’t imagine anyone blowing you off.” I know it’s supposed to be a compliment, but it does get very tiring to have years of compliments—and zero play.

So thanks, Mollena, for doing the rant for me. I hate being this frakkin’ negative, but the truth must out. Being a single submissive in a poly world sucks!

And thank you Minx, for compiling a great rant for me.