Not all of them are capital-R-relationship related. There’s “I will not interact with people who disrespect my personal space,” “I will not knowingly allow criminal activity in my home,” or intrapersonal stuff like “I will limit myself to two cigarettes a day.” (I’m bad at that last one.)

Some of the boundaries are drawn behind me to prevent me from going back into my comfort zone — “I will tell the Captain when I feel like hurting myself” — even though it’s easier to hide and deny, I *will* cross the boundary of non-forthcomingness, and, having once passed it, will not go back.

Some of them are based on ethical lines. “I will not practice dishonesty.” Or legal lines. “I will not sensually engage with someone who is under the legal age of consent.”

The relationship ones are complicated, though. I have trust issues. “I am absolutely fucking paranoid about THE SAME SHIT happening AGAIN but I’m theoretically poly but people, by and large, suck; but the Geisha has been fine but you can never ever trust strangers and *everyone*’s a stranger no matter how well the Captain thinks he knows them” … shorthand for I don’t always trust the Captain’s judgement when it comes to other partners. And while he’s absolutely *fabulously* good at respecting our relationship and not letting others disrespect it either, the Paranoid Brain wants to prevent that situation from ever occurring in the first place. And boundaries that really shouldn’t be there are and aren’t really helpful and are basically just a buffer against insecurity start getting thrown up.

The Paranoid Brain is the one that jumps at any chance to quash potential friendships/relationships/metamors/sharers because what if we get screwed again? The Robot Brain says the Paranoid Brain is a fear-based system and that there are ways and ways to control a situation without needing to prevent it from happening. The part of my brain that really listens to Loki says “Shit is going to happen, it’s not all going to be under your control, get the hell over yourself. Ride the wave of chaos, don’t mind the sharks.” And Me? Me is on input overload from the brains and just screaming into the pillow at this point. Me is the one who goes out for a smoke break every chance he gets, just to turn off the brains, and talks to The-Pappa-In-My-Head about life and work and Manly Topics.

The Paranoid Brain says “You’ll never top again. You’re an abusive sadist who didn’t use safewords and didn’t know what you were doing and didn’t care how he felt and harmed him and broke him and loved every fucking minute of it. That uncertainty you feel when you had Xemnas’s gorgeous red hair in your fist? THAT MEANS YOU WANT TO BREAK HER TOO.” The Paranoid Brain is glad we missed that party, glad she’s married now, glad that her husband is stationed in Europe and glad that we’ll never get explicit approval from him because that means we’ll never ever be able to hurt her too. The Paranoid Brain worries incessantly about whether we serve and bottom because we feel like we deserve what we get, whether our deep dark desire to have control taken completely away is actually deep dark self-harming guilt.

The Paranoid Brain is skeeved out by other transpeople, because we’ve never met one we got along with long-term (they’ve all pinged some form of unhealthy instability) and we are not not NOT playing therapist for others right now. The Robot Brain says this is coincidence, and surely there are many transpeople out there whom we’ve never met and who are perfectly happy, well-adjusted, functional individuals; and let’s not be prejudiced about our own. The Loki Brain is disappointed in our inability to connect with other non-gender-conforming people, but understands that we can’t lower our standards just because someone happens to be trans*. (We have struggled with this in recent months, but no details just now. That particular wave is still rolling.) The rest of me wonders if I’m just too solitary and omituinen to *have* “friends.”

The Paranoid Brain FLIPS SHIT when someone is just too helpful — the last time we let someone like that near us, she broke up the Captain and Quietone, lied about having cancer, accused me of stealing from her, broke my French Press (on a school day!), spit in my face (YES. LITERALLY.) and went crying to the Captain when I snapped at her, STILL owes Crusader a few hundred dollars, ran screaming into the night “for no reason” after the Captain made peace with Quietone, and then went through five or six people in the local TNG group in the space of a few months before finding another poor sap to whose wallet she could engage herself. *PTHOOEY!*

The Paranoid Brain wants to run criminal background checks on potential partners and metamors. Because the last time we took someone’s word for it, she talked me out of pulling over to help at an accident where she would have been recognized by cops and arrested and wouldn’t have been at our apartment the night of the fire and I would have been safe in the Captain’s bed; come to find out she was skipping parole, *still* engaging in sex work, lying to partners about it, refusing to get tested, and claiming to be a legitimate massage therapist while deriding “massage therapists who give happy endings;” FUCK all the “help” she gave me afterwards because the first thing she did was try to get rid of Loki when this was my kick in the pants from him; because she wasn’t even PRESENT for her fire, WENT THROUGH disaster response training, and still FUCKING FROZE WHEN I RAN OUT OF MY ROOM WITH MY BEST LOVED BOOK AFLAME IN MY ARMS.

The Robot Brain says I did everything I could. The Loki Brain wants all this aired in public as loudly, vehemently, clearly, and often as possible. Because people don’t know and they should know and I shouldn’t have to hide a part of me that isn’t part of me anymore; because we do sometimes get better and we’re not permanently damaged and really we don’t want to harm you. Because people lie cheat steal and I DON’T FUCKING DEAL WELL WITH THAT.

But now any un-asked-for help puts us on Red Alert, and anyone could be running a con, and anyone could be crazy, and anyone could be so broken they can’t handle our family. I could be too broken to handle another person. So I build walls around not only myself but also the Captain, one brick of bad experiences at a time, mortared with uncertainty and sealed with a desperate and wasted bid for control over everything.

This is why I have trust issues.

(The Robot Brain says “We’re only here because of the fire. Except for Loki. You’re letting temporary issues interfere with your mental health. Stop that.” Sometimes I listen. Today is not one of those times, apparently.)

Fauvism/Demoiselles D’Avignon/Braque/I fucking love that blue enamel!

MOAR TO COME! Because I seem to have been painting a lot more recently.

I also:

-went to the doctor
-found a therapist
-dealt with some bullshit
-did grown up stuff

January 6: Driving up to Crusader’s house for D&D (by myself, since I was coming from work and everyone else was already there). Thought process while driving up/past:
1. Oh shit, that’s a lot of fire engines.
2. Damn those people standing outside look cold. They haven’t got coats on.
3. Fuck, that’s flames coming out of the chimney.
4. Well, looks like it’s fairly contained and under control. No need to stop.
5. (hyperventilate sob hyperventilate sob hyperventilate sob)
6. Huh. Panic attacks make it hard to drive. I really ought to pull over.
7. *Calls the Captain* “Hi honey. I’m having a panic attack. Can you talk me down?”

January 19: Driving to work on 100E.
1. That giant plume of smoke up ahead could be a fire, accident, or idiot semi.
2. “I will not fear. Fear is the mind killer…”
3. Flickers of flame on the ground. Upright beams, charred and still burning. Chimney. Fire truck. No people. Ground is black.
4. Nothing more to be done and the FD is already there. No need to stop.
5. (hyperventilate sob)
6. No. I’m not going to be late to work.
7. “I will not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will let it pass over me and through me. When the fear is gone, there is only me.” * Rinse and repeat.
8. OK, my voice is steady again. Just keep driving.

I do the same thing going over the Bay Bridge, actually (usually it’s just whiteknuckles on the steering wheel but the Bay Bridge is HORRIBLE and it’s the quickest way to Storyteller’s house). Depending on who’s with me. I’ve found that if Crusader is sitting in my car (January 2nd) I can actually carry on a conversation with him. He and I ended up talking a lot about fear and religion (and relationships, kind of) on the way back one time and we’re a lot more alike than our political views would suggest.

Things I learned: It doesn’t matter where the prayer comes from or whether it’s made up or cribbed from a movie/book or copied directly from [holy text of your choice]. What matters is that it does what you need it to.
…Also, the consequences of getting bindrunes tattooed on you may happen unexpectedly quickly. (The consequences themselves are not unexpected. This is WHY the spider.)

* Having now looked it up, yes: Your foaming at the mouth is justified. This is inaccurate as far as the novel is concerned. It is, however, accurate to my memory of it at the time. Having both read the novel and seen the movie at least a year and a half ago, I paraphrased. It worked anyway, so there you go. The complete and accurate litany against fear.

I lit a candle.

I went to pray.

The next thing I remember is my altar burning.

(It’ll probably help if I describe it: It’s a slotted shelf sat on top of a bookshelf, with green linen over it. The top level has candles, personal effects, and an incense holder; the lower level has my ancient copy of Norse Gods and Giants, my calligraphy set atop a carefully folded Marimekko scarf; the tiny space underneath holds more candles, lighters, incense, etc.)

The new book the Captain had bought me was singeing. I tossed it on the bed.

I picked up the altar book and carried it into the bathroom and tossed it in the tub. I could feel my fingers burning. The Captain turned the shower on.

I got a cup of water (a basin would take too long to fill) and tossed it at the bookshelf. The Captain did the same. The fire hissed in reply and leapt higher; melted wax splashed against the already blackened wall.

We left.

I grabbed boots and a jacket, and extra shoes when I saw the Geisha leaving barefoot. The Captain closed the door to my room. Pennylady had the presence of mind to grab her purse. The Captain called the fire department, pulled the hall alarm, and we rousted out the neighbors.

I had a meltdown–crying and blaming myself, calling on Balder’s mercy and wondering why why why why isn’t the Captain furious with me. I chainsmoked half a pack of Pennylady’s cigarettes right in front of him and he didn’t say a word.

Within minutes the FD was there. The fire was put out. I got an ice pack for my fingers. We were allowed back in.

There was no more altar. The bookshelf under it was in pieces on my bed; there was a pile of ash and char where it had been and the firemen were tossing burned books into a bin to throw out through the broken window. I got the book the Captain had given me, some clothes and toiletries, and we went to his parents’ house for the night. No one slept.

The next morning we went back and since they wouldn’t let us in until 9, I went around back and picked through what had been tossed out the window.

My inks were melted and had exploded. I found two nibs and no pen. Most of the books were only charred on the outside. My collar (There’s a picture of it on Fetlife and Twitter) was half-melted and twisted; the plating was gone.

When we were able to get inside I threw everything from my dresser (soaked through) into a plastic bag and forgot about them. I found a pile of quarters in the charred remains of my bookshelf. I wiped them off because we would need them to do laundry at the hotel. I found my wallet, my phone and charger, my work clothes, my immigration papers and US passport, my loan papers… essentials.

I broke down bawling when I found the frames and broken glass from two of my grandfather’s tiny paintings. I kept the cardboard backing, which on the back still reads “God Jul ått [legal name].” In the weeks after, while we were trying to clean the place out and pack, I went through the pile every time I was there, hoping I would find even a scrap. Nothing.

(That part still plays over in my head: The last time I saw them the flames were just beginning to lick up the wall, why why why didn’t I tear them down as well? Everything else is painful, but replaceable. My grandfather died when I was in high school and the two miniature watercolors of Turku in winter are gone.)

We lived in a hotel from October 3rd through October 29th. I got up at four, went to the Macy’s, had lunch, went to the other job, came home at eight, had a beer or three and went to sleep. We moved into a house just south of Baltimore on the 29th-31st and gave out candy on Halloween.

For a few weeks afterward I was having shock reactions: I kept thinking I smelled smoke at the Macy’s. Pennylady called me on one of those days and talked me through it and she has my eternal gratitude for being the one person I could listen to through sheer panic. I had trouble sleeping because every time I closed my eyes I saw waking up to the fire, so I worked myself to exhaustion and drank myself to sleep. As recently as two weeks ago one of Bosslady’s other employees had overheated some beeswax on a hotplate and the smell of burning wax brought panic into the back of my mind. The first reaction was “Smoke? Wax room. Turn down hot plate. Open window. Clean hot plate and bottom of leveling pan.” Sane. Rational. Levelheaded. I do not have PTSD.

There have been good moments: One day the Geisha and I both went to the liquor store and brought home Mike’s Hard Cranberry, without knowing the other was doing so as well. I cut and tooled a leather mask, which I ended up giving to my sister for Christmas. I developed a taste for pro wrestling and we watched a few SVU marathons.

There have been bad moments: Driving without glasses for a week. Finding out the rental insurance only covered the Captain. Almost freaking out when touring the house before renting because there was a lit candle. Having a meltdown at my parents’ house — they haven’t seen me cry since I broke up with Caboose, which was in 2007, and rarely before that.

The second week we were at the hotel, I told the Captain that I had been smoking behind his back after telling him I’d quit this past June. I had finished the pack I had left over that morning and swore there would be no more. I had one while at Packhead’s party and one randomly when I found part of a pack in the Captain’s backpack and my self-control slipped. I *really* wanted one this past night when I knew I would be at my parents’ house for a few days, but I held it off until the Captain came home because I knew I wouldn’t do it if there was a chance he would see me. Which makes it about one a month since stopping cold turkey.

Eventually (mid-November) my sleep deprivation and crankiness and drinking habit got annoying and the Captain beat it out of me, then told me that he owned me and I had no other choice, and that I was going to quit the Macy’s job and get my life together. I agreed. Sanity began to return.

A month or so ago I started reconditioning myself to having fire around, one candle at a time. One night I had six of them lit on the kitchen table, no lights on, and the Captain came down to get me. I had just closed my computer and turned off the lights and began having a Loki moment, needling the Captain about how familiar the fire looked and didn’t this bother him and *why* did it bother him so much, I bet he couldn’t tell me… and the Captain beat it out of me again. For all the things I have to thank Loki for (and yes, the fire is one of them. We were stagnating and we are, really, in a much better situation now, despite the initial trauma) he is an asshole. I’m not supposed to let my deal with him involve the Geisha and the Captain.

We haven’t really been doing a lot of active D/S except for my usual work around the house and the need for a little something special has begun to eat away at me. I need something to focus a service meditation on to get back in the headspace where I was for the few weeks after the Captain took possession.

I can make jokes about fire now, and candles. It only took two months. Fireplay is on the edge of my radar again. We’re hopefully firing up the woodstove this week.

I had to stop and start at writing (October 8 through today) this because it still was a little difficult, some parts more than others. So, there you go. Where your favorite tranny has been since 3:40 AM on October 2nd, 2010.

The week prior, Burninator had taught me to make leather masks. WOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

*ahem.*

So I spent most of the week painting (and sewing the Captain’s costume too, but mostly painting). Somebody had the bright idea to dress up as Loki, and put himself in a mask. Pics to come. Prior to leaving the house, I set my altar book (D’Aulaires’ Norse Gods and Giants. I fucking love picture books.) to the story of the rebuilding of the wall. In which, dear reader, Loki changes into a mare to seduce away a Jotun’s workhorse.

Apparently Friday night was the friendliest I’ve ever been. I talked to new people, danced, and was generally loud and boisterous. Some with the mask on my face, some with it on my head (wearing glasses over it was a pain in the ass) and some with the mask nowhere near me.

EDIT: And post about it a month later.

A preface: For a long time I’ve had a bit of a fear of guns. (The Captain takes advantage of this in his own special way.) I’m not exactly sure where it comes from originally; recently it’s been because thinking about shooting myself had become a coping mechanism (yes, I got help.)

Couple of weekends ago I went shooting with the Captain, the Geisha, and the Crusader. The Crusader went over safety first.

1: The gun is always loaded.
2: Even when it’s not loaded, the gun is loaded.
3: Never point at something you’re not going to shoot.
4: If you’re not shooting, the gun is pointing at the ground. Not at your feet, not in the air.

Then he taught the Geisha and me to use the .22 long rifle. It was actually not that difficult once I got the loading action down. I stuck with that one most of the evening, although they also had me try a shotgun, a handgun, and a gigantic scary Lee-Enfield rifle, which left a bruise on my shoulder.

Afterward, we cleaned everything we’d used and hung out with the Crusader’s dad and brothers for a bit. I kept the spent shells so I can make a necklace, although I might need more of the tiny .22′s for spacers.

This makes two irrational fears the Captain has helped me get over. I don’t have to like guns to know how to use them, though.

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POSTSCRIPT

There was also an ancient revolver that came with us, but didn’t get used because it was rusted to shit. The Captain says it’s probably from the early 1900′s, and it’s been sitting unused at his parents’ house for freaking ever. He cleaned it while we were at the Crusader’s house. Last week he heard it whispering and decided it needed to hide somewhere.

I’m going to kind of condense the past couple of days into one. I’ve started learning to walk in heels. They’re only three inches, but it’s more than I ever walked in before (wearing them to bed once or twice doesn’t *really* count).

I have good posture when in flats, men’s shoes, boots, platforms, flip-flops, barefoot, you name it. Ten years of martial arts will do that to you. Apparently, three inches of sexy sexy heel with adorable peeptoes can make me slouch. Maybe I’m just not used to being this tall? I’m none too fond of being taller than the Captain. The Geisha and I were walking around the mall the other day and she had to keep jabbing me in the back — “Back straight! Tits out! Stick ‘em out! Like machine guns!”

My feet aren’t developing *horrible* blisters, so these probably fit well enough that the only issue is that I don’t know how to walk in them. My feet were in pain by the end of the first day, but my calves felt like they had gotten a good workout. I wish they made heels that worked out your upper thighs.

I wore them around the house yesterday for about five hours. By the end of it my feet didn’t hurt, exactly, but they sure were numb. I think it helped to wear a long skirt instead of pants, because it’s easier to let my hips swing when they feel less constrained.

Today I only wore them for a little bit, because I spent most of the day sitting on the Captain’s bed filling out job applications. After having them on for half an hour my toes were going numb, so I figured I would take a break and maybe resume practicing on Monday.

Once I’m good enough with three inches (and have a job, so I can afford to buy more shoes) I’ll hop up on the stripper pole at the next play party *grin*.

I love cloudy weather. It means I can look for a silver lining.

WHAT I HAVE LEARNED
I don’t read tone, inflection, or generally body language.
I generally take people literally and at their word.
When I am being serious, I speak literally, and expect to be taken literally.
People lie and people cheat. People do unkind things to one another, people take sides, people build walls to whisper behind.
I can’t trust actions or words.
When two people say two different things, I cannot pick one to believe, unless I see physical evidence. No matter the circumstances.
If I don’t know what’s true and what isn’t, I can’t do anything.
The only thing I know I can act on is my gut instinct, because nothing is going to change it anyway so I might as well follow.
I can no longer take actions that aren’t congruent with what I believe to be the truth.

WHAT I HAVE REMEMBERED
I stopped being petty and cruel, stopped entertaining myself at others’ emotional expense, for a lot of very good reasons — one of them being that I didn’t want to hate myself any more.
There is a place for everyone on this earth, and there is something worthwhile in every living breathing one of us.

If I really want to believe in the inherent goodness of people I need to be willing to look for it. Something good has come of the last year(ish), something good has come from this past weekend, benefits will continue to be found in the coming weeks. Even if they are in the form of lessons to be learned, or warnings taken to heart. Any insight taken away, even from the ugliest situation, is a good thing.

One more thing I have been forgetting for a while: There is hope. There is always, always hope.

Our arrangement is that everyone has to meet a new partner before they get taken on, and then people are equal except for length of partnership. Your arrangement may be different, so some of this may not apply.

General poly stuff like schedule fu and living arrangements is not covered here. Also, I’m assuming everyone is following their particular rules of engagement, and not engaging in less-than-loving actions.

BEFORE A RELATIONSHIP IS ESTABLISHED
-RESPECT.
-Get to know the person. Maybe your first instinct is mistaken. Maybe it isn’t. Either way, you should make sure.
-Talk to your partner about it. Your partner is probably already approaching you with “So, what do you think of me and X dating?”
–Find out how much your partner is willing to sacrifice their desired-partners in favor of your right-to-choose-friends. Find a balance.
–Find out how much time you and said potential metamour would be spending in the same space.
–If the red flag is something definite (habits, personality quirks, e.g. “X does Y and that annoys me”) explain it to your partner, and see if they a. don’t see it; b. see it differently; or c. see it and aren’t bothered by it. Discuss. You and your partner are not the same person; you’re going to have different taste in romantic involvements. Questions like “Why does that bother you?” here are best left to the professionals, especially if it involves your mother or something she used to do.
-Talk to the metamour about it, probably with your soon-to-be-shared partner in tow (Who didn’t do this part? This guy…). This is something you can do with anyone you spend a lot of time with, but be careful not to set a precedent of “My partner will be on my side, and X will be the outsider.” See if you can figure out something that works for all of you.
-Remain open to the idea of letting new people into your relationship. You’re poly because you believe it works. Commit to making it work, whether that’s by opening your comfort zone to allow a new partner in or by enforcing your getting-along-with boundaries.

AFTER A RELATIONSHIP IS ESTABLISHED
-RESPECT.
-Problems don’t magically solve themselves after they’re defined. No one should expect the work to do itself, or expect that it’ll happen quickly.
-Know where your lines are, and stick to them. Doing something you’re not comfortable with, just to avoid a scene, is not always a good idea. Especially if it involves sex, moving in together, sharing financial commitments, having kids, that sort of thing. When you decide, after the fact, “I shouldn’t have done that then, it’s going to be a problem now,” nobody will be happy no matter how valid your feelings are. Your partner and your metamour will feel deceived and you will feel steamrollered.
-Don’t make scenes. Productive, rational conversation just works better.
-The shared partner, like it or not, is in the middle. Zie knows you and X better than you know each other. Zie should be open to being called on to mediate, and zie should be fair and favorable to both of you. Fair: sometimes a compromise is called for, sometimes one of you is right and the other is wrong. Favorable: determining whose needs take precedent at that moment, and who will get their needs specially catered to at a later date. (Example: You live with your partner. You need to vacuum. No, X cannot come over to drink and party tonight. Zie can come over and stay quiet and out of your way, or they can go out to a bar together.)

With Said Metamour:
-RESPECT. Failing that, basic civility will do in the short term.
-Let them know how you feel. Honestly. Making fake-nice in the beginning will be shooting yourself in the foot for any future problem solving. They may not realize there’s a problem, and most people jump to “OMG he haets meh!” when you do things like snap at them, avoid them, ignore them, and are generally passive-aggressive. (Check, check, check, and check.)
-Identify what it is you dislike about them. Ask them if they can just try to rein that in while around you. If you need to, set up a cue that will let them know they’re bothering you without making a big fuss about it.
-Make sure they know damn well that you acknowledge the issue and want to make it better, and that you have the smooth running of the entire household and the happiness of all its members first and foremost in your thoughts. They should be doing the same.

With The Shared Partner:
-RESPECT. This can take the form of honesty.
-Keep them informed of what you’re doing regarding getting along with the metamour. Give updates on progress, whether things are getting better or worse.
-Make sure they know damn well that you acknowledge the issue and want to make it better, and that you have the smooth running of the entire household and the happiness of all its members first and foremost in your thoughts. They should be doing the same.

IF YOU’RE THE METAMOUR
-RESPECT. Fall back on civility when absolutely necessary.
-Not everyone has to like you. If you need everyone to love you or you’ll be bitterly unhappy (and this is your entire reason for being poly), you have mental problems. Go get help.
-You’re new, even if it’s not a primary/secondary arrangement. Try not to step on any toes.
-If someone dislikes you, it’s usually not either something about you or something about them; it’s most likely both. Taking everything as a personal affront, or as evidence that someone is just an asshole, is not constructive at all.
-Compromise will be required. If you are not willing to compromise when getting involved with someone who already has a partner (or two), that’s a problem. A big, huge, glaring, distended sphincter of a problem.
-Expecting the shared partner to side with you all the time in the interest of a growing relationship is silly. Hasn’t zie got an existing one to take care of? Shouldn’t zie be fair to both of you?
-If the existing partner shows little interest in associating with you, don’t push the issue. They get to pick their own friends at their own speed. However, feel free to talk to the shared partner about it. Perhaps your metamour is simply having a bad day, and you can’t tell because you don’t know hir very well yet.
–If your metamour appears to be passive-aggressive, confronting them about it will only make them defensive. Talk to the shared partner about it. Zie probably knows your metamour better than you do. See above re: red flags.
–If you ask what you’re doing wrong and your metamour can’t be honest about it, or claims nothing is wrong, calling them on bullshit will make them defensive, especially if something actually is bullshit. Most people are just not comfortable saying outright “You piss me off almost daily by doing A, B, and sometimes C. When you do D, it reminds me of my mother, and I want to kick your teeth through the back of your skull.” Talk to the shared partner. Zie can probably tell something’s wrong, and might be able to talk sense into your metamour.
–Do not make scenes. It will diminish the effect when someone actually wrongs you. If you’re always in trouble and constantly need your partner’s support to deal with the big bad mean metamour, you might want to take a look at whether you’re doing something that particularly triggers those actions, especially if you’ve run into the same issue in other poly situations.

Reading back over, it sounds like I’m blaming the new person a lot. That’s not my intention at all, although my bias is that I haven’t been the new person in a while, and the most recent new person… yeah. Had a bunch of these problems. I’m more trying to figure out what everyone has control over on their own end.

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I would like to leave you with a quaint saying: Manners are like bandaids, respect is like not getting cut up in the first place.

FWIW: It still even has the orange safety tip.

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It’s not the uncertainty that turns me on — quite the opposite. If there was any uncertainty, I wouldn’t play like that with the Captain. Is it loaded? Is it empty? Irrelevant — I trust him to not shoot me. The fear is just a visceral, visual reaction to the gun-shaped piece of metal and plastic.

It’s the balance between absolute trust and irrational terror, standing perfectly balanced on the ledge between two precipices, that makes it arousing. Trust by itself is nice, fear by itself is unpleasant; it’s their combination that turns me on.

#

I didn’t know whether he had just emptied the clip or filled it, but the loaded/not questions didn’t even enter my mind. I was just doing, just reacting. I don’t know if I can put into words what I was thinking, but I know I liked it and I want to do it again.

There may or may not be strings here to form v. content and/or romantic-grotesque. I’m tempted to expand into theory but… I think I need more practice first :3