Imagine you’ve planned an adventure.
It goes wrong because of something beyond your control.
You have lots of choices.
Get angry and blame someone else.
Or treat the problem as a new challenge.
An analogy I always rely upon was an early caving expedition. One of our group panicked. I ended up having to navigate a tough squeeze on my back so that the panicking team member could use my feet as a kind of security blanket.
By the time we got to the end of the squeeze I felt like the toughest caver around. The question about whether I was calm because I was the greatest caver around, or the greatest caver around because I was calm, never entered my head.
When my adventure went wrong yesterday I didn’t imagine for one minute that we wouldn’t have fun.
I knew I had to improvise. That’s easy too. You simply avoid panicking.
Jem asked, perceptively, if I was calm because I am good at being a dom ,or vice versa.
I don’t know the answer. What I do know is that the two things are intimately connected, but I also know what I said to the person who made me feel like the greatest caver ever. If they hadn’t tried to be a caver, and if they hadn’t relied on me to get them through that squeeze, I’d never know how I would react in such a situation.
That curiosity, I’d suggest, is intrinsic to my understanding of BDSM. I’d suggest I’m not alone in it either. That’s all I know. I don’t claim to know what all BDSM practitioners do, or why, but I think Jem has pretty much nailed down the idea that I like the way BDSM challenges me to be calm and controlled. The way in which she ignores the courage she brings to the game, the way in which she makes it possible for me to be the best I can be, is BDSM’s dirty little secret.