Thursday, March 11, 2010

The selfishness of the submissive? Active and Passive Receptivity

Both my hobby of video gaming and my serious work at school have relied on the same method of teaching: iterative direction. I'm given a task and a framework, and a relatively stress-free environment to experiment where failure doesn't have tremendous consequences. Within the confines of the system I'm free to figure out what works best for me, and successively adapt my skills and behavior to what's being asked of me. It's a system of read-and-react, where I rely on others to set the tone and the pace, but am free to adjust the parameters to my liking.

My relationships, up until this point, have not been very different. I found this post over at Sex Geek particularly enlightening in figuring all this out:

A friend brought this up with me a few weeks ago. She was playing with several different dominants and tops, and she noticed that some of them wanted her to be still while they did things to her, and others wanted her to be active. She wondered if there was a “right” way to receive sensation. The question about active versus passive physical receptivity is very similar to the question of how much a submissive is being asked to think for themselves (anticipatory service, observing the way things are done and fitting into that, etc.) versus how much they are going to be directed (i.e. do what I say, and only what I say, and exactly as I say it, and when you’re done, do nothing but wait for further instruction). They’re simply different takes on submission/bottoming/providing service and on dominance/topping/receiving service.

Of course, there are no right answers, but here we engage with questions of match. In play, if a dominant fully expects a submissive to react and the submissive’s past experience has been with dominants who want them to hold still, or if the submissive’s natural inclination is to hold still, then the two of them may need to clarify what’s going on. The dominant may feel like the submissive isn’t properly appreciating their efforts, while the submissive may feel that response would be rude or overstep the bounds of their role. In service, if a dominant expects that the submissive will catch on to what’s going on and make themselves useful with minimal direction, but the submissive spends a lot of time kneeling and waiting for orders with eyes downcast, the dominant may end up feeling frustrated and burdened while the submissive may end up feeling inadequate because they’re pissing off the dominant despite following protocol perfectly. The flip side of each situation is equally painful: a responsive bottom who gets told to be quiet and hold still might feel shut down and under-appreciated; a service submissive who takes pride in their intuitive ability to serve may feel rejected and useless if told to stay out of the way and wait for orders. Still, this doesn’t indicate that anyone’s doing things wrong. It just means they’re each sending out signals with the best of intentions but that aren’t quite lining up. As always, clear communication is essential—when we attribute meanings to each of these modes and their many related flavours that may not match up with the person’s intent, we risk hurt feelings and misunderstanding.

I have up until this point definitively fallen into the category of passively receptive. I'm not so much concerned with the method of receiving sensation (where I do nevertheless fall also into the passive category), as that seems like simply a matter of taste, and I don't have much interest in service dynamics. I'm speaking here of negotiating the dynamic of a relationship, of figuring out to what extent and in what manner power exchange will be executed between the two of us and how we'll be expected to behave both in the general public and amongst our kinky friends. As perhaps befit both my submissive orientation and inexperience, I was perfectly happy to allow my partners to set the pace and tone of these considerations, both wishing not to step on my dominant's prerogatives and eager to try out all of the permutations of power exchange the BDSM world has to offer. Ideally, even if it didn't quite work out in practice, I would have spoken up when something wasn't working or if there was something that I wanted or needed that I wasn't getting. I have to admit that this has met with some success: each of the dominants I've been with have had their own flavor and unique flair that they brought to the relationship, and I've cherished the diversity of experiences I've been allowed to have by letting my partner take a leading role.

Even so, I'm a few years and a few more relationships wiser now, and I'd hoped to have a bit more of an idea of what works and doesn't work for me than I've gotten at present. I've very recently been collared to a wonderful person, and I've been more flummoxed than I'd like in the process of talking with her about exactly what I want out of the relationship. Perhaps because of her history as a pro-domme, she's more used to the active style of receptivity than the passive one; I imagine most of her previous clients had pretty clear ideas of what they wanted and had no problems making their desires known. It seems like my passive role in prior relationships led to some complacency, and that I hadn't put quite as much thought into what was working and what wasn't as I should have, so I feel like I'm playing catch-up now.

All of which means, even if there isn't a single right way to do this sort of thing, I could use a bit of infusion of the active receptivity into my relationship style. It feels, and is, pretty selfish to expect my partner to supply all the thought and energy into shaping our dynamic if they're not inclined to do so. A dynamic only shaped by my partner is also unlikely to be quite as satisfying as one that I had helped to shape, as well.

I think that my primary form of negotiation will still be the passive receptivity, where I react to the suggestions of my partner; it's simply where I feel most comfortable. Still, versatility on this score can't hurt; finding a compatible partner is difficult enough without adding this to this list. And trying out this other form of negotiation, if only in the short term, can only lead to better self-awareness and communication skills.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

The Crisis

I'm going to grow old. And then I will die.

I've always known this fact, of course, and that it seems so much more pressing now than it seemed a year ago will seem odd to most people, as I'm in the height of my youth. I can only respond that, having to for the first time really take stock of my future, with graduation impending, all times after I leave school seem equidistant. Imagining myself at 40, 50, 70 is much easier than it once was, and all ages are equally easy.

I'm terrified, as, I suppose, we all are. First my looks will go, then my intelligence, then my strength of character, and eventually I will be left with none of the traits which I love myself for right now.

Actual death doesn't seem so bad, in comparison. Lucretius' argument makes some sense, at least. Non-existence was not so bad in the billions of years before I was born; I doubt it will be too bad in the billions of years hence. Fear of oblivion is irrational; there is no you anymore to fear any negative consequence.

Achilles' decision is looking more and more rational. A short glorious life may be kinder, if more cowardly, than having to face steady degeneration.

I know, of course, that such fears are uncharitable, and unloving. If I so desperately wish to remain young, I can't very well respect or love the old. If I fear that age will make me unlovable, I must already view the elderly people in my life with contempt. Humanae Vitae, nevermind its retrograde politics, begins to make a good deal more sense. If I am to love my 70-year old self, I must learn to appreciate the virtues of age.

More than anything else, this bit of wisdom I received from my mom has helped me: each age has its own joys. Certainly those of being 55 are different than those of being 21, but they are both worthwhile. I'll probably never bring as much enthusiasm to a television show as I did with Digimon when I was thirteen, and probably no sexual experience will ever match my first time when I was nineteen. Even so, I wouldn't trade the increased self-awareness and self-acceptance I've gained with age for the enthusiasm I had back then, nor would most middle aged people, from what I understand. It's difficult to accept that what is important to me right now won't always be so, and even more difficult to accept that I'm going to have to carve out new niches for myself to figure out how to do what is important to me at each new stage in my life. But there is hope that, as the joys I invest myself in so deeply right now become impossible, new ones will become possible.

There's only one wrinkle. I'm not exactly sure what the joys of being 30 will look like, but I have a difficult time imagining myself enjoying them. Us deviants can enjoy the shallow cares of youth, but we will soon find our hedonistic joys turn to ash in our mouth with the passing of time, as our more respectable peers enter the adult worlds of parenthood and career and we are left to compete with the new generation in a self-destructive cycle. So it seems to me in my darkest moments when I buy the culture's messaging about who I am.

I know that those things are irrational self-loathing, but even so I have to own that I feel adrift where it comes to my future. Even were those options available to me, I can't see myself following the respectable options of a white-collar career with a family, 2.5 kids, and a house in the suburbs.

What exactly life has to offer to me other than that, I don't know. It once seemed like a grand adventure, that I would have to forge my own path. Now on the cusp, it seems much more daunting a task.

Even so, I wouldn't trade the opportunity to try for the world.