Falling off horses
Even bad holidays are holidays, and holidays end. So I stood on the road with my suitcase waiting for the country bus that would, eventually, take to the airport that would take me home. My uncle and aunt waited with me, not overwhelmed with grief that I was going. Samantha was there too, not grieving either, but giving me the full force of her disdain. She was good at disdain. She wished me a good trip, going home.
So I was sadder, though not much wiser. Still, I had two new pieces of knowledge.
The first was that girls didn’t pick guys for their niceness or their intelligence or whatever. It was something subtler, that Greg had and I didn’t. He was a shit, and he was sexy. I could whine about that, or I could try to work out ways of being sexy myself, while still being me.
“Thou wilt never come for pity;
Thou mayest come for pleasure.”
If I really liked girls, and it was clear that I did, then I’d have to be someone girls enjoyed hanging around with. I had no idea how to go about that, but at least the project was clear.
The other thing I learnt was even more depressing, because there seemed to be nothing much I could do about it. It was that there was no reason to think that even I met a a submissive girl, or woman, and we got on well, she’d want the same things as me.
Bdsm is a big tent, and it includes all sorts of tastes, desires and practices. They’re not always going to be compatible.
At the time that seemed like bad news.
Of course, as you know, you can almost always find common ground with a lover, and you can pervert them in your direction, and they can teach you a few of their own favourite things. I just didn’t know that yet.
So – and now I’m going back to something I said in those posts about running bdsm meetings, especially this one – the fact that bdsm is a big tent also means that it’s hard to draw lines about who is and who isn’t into bdsm. And that woman Ruby, who came to my bdsm meet’n’greet wearing a fishing net, and who got dissed for only being interested in getting spanked and fucked, is definitely inside the tent and under the umbrella.
If anyone wants to identify with us, it seems to me that (except for people who advocate non-consensual practices) we don’t need gatekeepers to keep them out.