Not All Kink Mistakes Are Borne of Malice

I once loved a man who got his kink inspiration from his Fetlife inbox. BDSM was Christmas morning, and you could find a thousand play ideas under the tree. If you wanted kink, all you had to do was rip off the paper. My guy didn’t do classes. He didn’t even read educational posts. He dealt in easy sex with cheap and nasty tools. He seemed to believe my body was unbreakable, but if you want to know how that attitude plays out, ask the parent of any toddler at 20:00 on December 25. By the time the clock strikes “night,” everything's lying broken on the floor under a layer of tears and mucous.

I was the broken thing lying under that layer of tears, but somehow, they weren’t mine, but his. I found myself comforting him when it should have been the other way around. My guy was humiliated. His ego had melted all over the Lego, so my trauma didn’t matter. Only his discomfort did.

He thought I’d leave him after his first mistake, but I was better than that. I made room for beginners’ errors because he didn’t mean to cause harm. Wasn’t that all that mattered? It was an accident. Even if he had treated my body like an experiment, he was entitled to my forgiveness. In those days I thought the only thing that was worthy of judgement was malice.

In time, I found out that my guy wasn’t merely making beginners’ mistakes. He refused to do classes. He refused to learn at the many play parties we attended. He wasn’t “that serious” about BDSM, so he didn’t see the point in learning. He wanted the fun parts, not the investment, and only one of us paid for his indifference.

Me.

“I didn’t mean to harm you” is the last vestige of every unsafe player. They might not have malice, but they think their positive intentions are enough to prevent harm. Not all predators are evil serial rapists. Some of them are perfectly nice guys who are too selfish to guard your safety.

Do I sound bitter? That’s just because… well… I am. I’m bitter about every unmalicious top who’s put their partner through hell. Skill isn’t merely something you learn. It’s also a bright red sign that you respect your partner’s body.

I don’t make room for beginners anymore. Mistakes aren’t easy for a bottom. They come with their share of agony and doctor’s appointments. If you’re new, I expect you to put in the educational time that all responsible tops do. I won’t look at your intentions. They’re as useless as a shopping list that never makes it into the supermarket.

I expect you to actually buy the groceries, not merely wave a “to-do” list in my face as though it means something. It doesn’t. If you want to be respected as a gourmet chef, I require you to actually cook a meal. Otherwise, you’re just a regular dude pretending to be something he’s not.