I’ve been thinking about boundaries lately, scattered thoughts bouncing around in my head that haven’t quite gelled into a cohesive whole. But here’s some of the preliminary thinking:

Act 1:

– At Burning Man 2014, I participated in the Human Carcass Wash. I could write a huge blog post just on this one topic, but the short version is that it’s an activity where a bunch of volunteer Burners wash a bunch of other Burners. During the orientation, our guide made the point, “Every time a new person steps up to your station, when you help them into the basin you must ask, ‘What are your boundaries?’ Some people will say ‘I have no boundaries, wash everywhere.’ Others may say, ‘I have a bruise on my shin, please avoid that.’ Others might say, ‘Please avoid my pubic area. I’ll wash that.’ Any answer is fine, and those boundaries must be honored. Any person being bathed has the full right to change their answer at any time. ‘You know, I thought I was okay with having my bottom washed, but… umm, no. I’ll get that area.’ And that has to be okay too.”

The most powerful thing the guide said (for me), was the following. “Please remember that your boundaries matter too! Just because someone says, ‘I have no boundaries, wash me everywhere’, that doesn’t mean you’re obligated. If you’re not comfortable touching them ‘there’, then don’t!”

Powerful stuff!

Act 2:

I’ve been ramping up my massage practice, doing several massages a week for the past few months. I’ve been greatly enjoying it, but as the frequency increases I have to be mindful about not zoning out and going through the motions. Massage is not a time for auto-pilot. There have been a couple of occasions when I’ve been just starting a massage and catch myself really leaning into it. “Slow down, this person on your table isn’t ‘Cheer’. Ease into it and then find out how much pressure she wants. You can’t just start at 9 and escalate from there.”

When you have someone on the table, you have to meet them where they are, and work with however much or little they are willing to present to you. I’ve had a client who asked for deep glute work and who left their underwear on. I had another guy on the table for a full massage who wore his jeans on the table! It’s all good. If that’s where their comfort level is, I can work with that.

Act 3:

As I’ve blogged about recently, I have a new partner who is open to some fairly intense sensations and activities. The previous time I saw her, we spent extensive time at the massage table, starting at an intensity of 8 and swiftly escalating from there. I used every bit of my anatomy knowledge, my size, and my muscle to do things that I knew would have her writhing in that fascinating blend of pleasure and pain that she craves so desperately. We spent about ninety minutes doing that, and it was an unqualified success.

We saw each other again last night, and I orchestrated a suite of activities that were completely different from the previous meeting. We started by focusing on her pleasure – what things pushed her buttons, what made her purr, and what things were an inhibiting distraction. As things progressed, I escalated and began pushing her boundaries (or at least tried to). Not with pain this time, or at least not overtly. Instead, I worked on providing pleasure, increasing amounts, from various sources, and with growing vigor. I started with a luxurious spell of cunnilingus, savoring her smell, her taste, the musky flavor that comes with full arousal. I seem to recall her asking for something and responding with a “Hush. This part isn’t for you; it’s for me.” I took my sweet time lapping at her vulva, sucking her lips into my mouth and gently pulling, and lifting her legs while I plunged my tongue into her as deeply as I could reach. Once I had sated my own hunger (for a while at least), I started working on hers.

I gradually eased a finger into her, sliding in and out while I flicked my tongue beside her clit hood. That got a very enthusiastic response and I held there for some minutes, letting her pleasure rise and plateau before I continued. Eventually my finger curled and started stroking her G-spot, which was met with energetic and rhythmic clenching of her hips. Holding tight for the ride and continuing to lick and stroke, I slid my free hand up her torso and found her nipple, which obviously needed rather firm pinching and stroking. I let her energy build and swell over several minutes, until her wailing reached an urgent pitch and her bucking got too frenzied to ride.

In a big rush intended to add to her disorientation, I withdrew, roughly rolled her onto her belly and sank my thumb deep inside her. Just sliding in and out at first, roughly, quickly. Before she could relax into that I changed angles so that the pad of my thumb was stroking over her G-spot with each push. With each stroke, she cried gutturally into the mattress, and finally her hips contracted and her ass rose off the bed to meet my hand hungrily, greedily. I put my free hand on the small of her back and crushed her to the bed pinning her in place while I put my knee between her thighs to keep her open and exposed. Finally, I changed the motion of my thumb completely, leaving it deep inside her pussy and pulsing up and down, tapping, drumming on her G-spot. Her crying became constant and incoherent and it was a struggle to keep her pinned to the bed. I increased the speed and force of my drumming, far beyond what I would even consider with most partners. Finally, with every muscle of her body tensed, rigid, and straining, she rewarded my efforts with a long keening cry and a splashing surge of fluid.

So there’s another kind of boundary, not of pain, but of pleasure, of giving in and submitting, and of taking more than you knew was possible.

Act 4:

That same evening, after a necessary break for recovery, fluids, and laughter, we decided to return downstairs one more time to play with some floggers I’d made. I bound her with some padded wrist cuffs, which I don’t think she was expecting, and started working on her upper back and bottom. I began with a medium-weight flogger and eventually moved up to a heavier one, letting her feel the thudding, percussive weight of each stroke. I alternated targets, working on her back for a bit, then shifting to her ass with no warning. I played with speed, giving her a slow deliberate rhythm, then pausing and letting her dread the next blow. I practiced some crossing strokes, raining down in a fast persistent pattern. She sagged against the cuffs once or twice, only to leap to attention again in response to a carefully placed lash on her bottom. Periodically I would pause the flogging to whisper deep and low into her ear and to glide my fingertips ever so gently across her burning cheeks and shoulder blades. The feathery touch made her writhe even more than the flogging.

With considerable reluctance, I called a stop to the action. She seemed to be in a good space, watching her writhe was so very compelling, and I really wanted to continue, but… that sort of space takes a great deal of thoughtfulness, deep attention to detail, real care and caution. I often think of it as a high wire act. And I was too exhausted (very happily so) from all of the previous activities to be as “on my game” as that kind of play requires. I just didn’t want to gamble with being sloppy or careless when she was in a position so vulnerable and trusting.

Which is to say, I hadn’t hit her boundary, but I very much hit mine.

Act 5:

I’m an enthusiastic bicyclist. (A hell of a segue, I know. Bear with me.) There’s this interesting phenomenon when riding with another person. If you’re riding side-by-side, you can each go at your own pace. At any given moment, one person might be feeling more energetic and surge ahead, while the other person might drop back a bit and catch their breath. Over a long ride, this sort of ebb and flow balance out (assuming roughly equivalent riders) and you both end at the same place at the same time.

However, if you’re riding single file, the person in back is restricted by the top speed of the person ahead. If the follower is feeling bouncy and energetic and the person ahead isn’t… the follower has to wait. They might try to hold a little energy in reserve to accelerate ahead when the leader decides to push, but they basically inherit the limitations of the leader’s pace.

In sex, there’s no one ahead and no one following, but it’s still a group ride. The boundaries of the “slowest” person necessarily set the pace. You might find yourself in a time and place when you wish your companion was going faster so you could really give it your all, no holding back, working towards furious and glorious exhaustion. It’s an amazing, dizzying feeling! And if you ever find such a *ahem* “riding partner”, you’ll soon realize that now you’re the slower one, putting your boundaries on them.

And that’s okay too. Your own limits are just as real and just as valid as your partner’s limits. You might enjoy playing right at the edge of those limits, you might enjoy pushing them a bit, but ignoring them is a really bad idea.