Being "Safe"

I never thought much of the courage of a lion tamer. Inside the cage he is at least safe from people.

George Bernard Shaw

As long as I have been involved with the BDSM lifestyle and the BDSM community, I have heard people insist that the criteria for what it is that we all do is that it be deemed "safe, sane, and consensual (SSC)."  As far as I can tell, the phrase was first authored by David Stein who used it in a "minutes-like" bit of writing that he did for GMSMA in August of 1983.  Spend just a little time around BDSM folk, and the dissent about the meaning, interpretation, and use of that nearly ubiquitous catch phrase becomes apparent.  In more recent years, there has come to be an adherence by some to another prescriptive BDSM acronym -- RACK (Risk Aware Consensual Kink).  Gather a group of us together, and assuming we are diverted from tying each other up, or tickling each other, or modelling our fetish gear, or pushing needles into one another, or perhaps, even (in some more old-fashioned circles), beating the tar out of one another, we might argue the relative merits of the one over the other. 

I do not intend to get involved in that controversy here.  Instead, I want to talk plainly about the issue of "safety" within the lifestyle, and particularly within His and my M/s dynamic.  It is sensitive territory, and as a community, we are often reluctant to address it clearly.  I imagine that reluctance stems from the complexity of defining what is and is not "safe" in some sort of universally applicable fashion, but I also believe that (unless I am more unique than I believe myself to be), for many of us who live this lifestyle, there may be actual instances in our own lives when we've been confronted with a personal absence of anything resembling "safety."  Since we all live in a society that is prone to view what we do as abusive even in its most benign manifestations, the mere implication that we sometimes relate to one another in ways that are NOT SAFE takes us into difficult conversational territory.

I once had a more experienced submissive tell me that what we do is NOT safe.  Period.  She advised me to forget about whether something was safe, and consider the level of risk that I was willing to accommodate.  I think that advice is probably appropriate for most play situations, especially between partners who know one another fairly well.  I also think that there are things that individuals can do as they move about in the community, to make themselves more safe.  There is good and sound thinking behind practices like meeting new people in public places, and arranging for safe calls and silent alarms and the like.  Prudence is just prudent. 

In my own life, however, there is only a very small percentage of the time that could be considered "play."  Our kind of SM play is a pretty well known quantity, and He is very experienced and technically skilled.  I am more than clear about what the risks are in that context, and while I may struggle to endure what He can dish out, it isn't anything that I'd consider to be "not safe."  I'm not meeting new, strange play partners anywhere, public or otherwise.  There's really no need for me to be setting up a friend to be my "safe call."  I am fully aware of what I'm about, and for that matter, what He's about.  I've consented as whole-heartedly as I know how.  As for the quality of my sanity, that is perhaps debatable, but it is what it is.

With all of that said, what we do is not safe.  What WE do -- is not safe.  WE.  He and I.  The intensity of our power dynamic creates a potential powder keg, and when we miss the signals with one another; when one or the other of us loses the sense of balance; when we get crosswise with one another -- it can get pretty wild.  Wild things are not predictable, not definable, not safe.

During this latest upheaval, there was a passage of minutes -- a very short time, when I believed with absolute certainty that I was not safe.  In fact, I am certain that I was an eyeblink from being dead, and I am convinced that He was ready, willing, and able to make that a reality.  The details of that particular event are private, and I will not share them.  Nor do I believe that the specifics really matter.  It happened.  I reacted.  He reacted.  We each made our choices about how we would go forward from there.  I am not remotely interested in assigning blame or getting even or discussing the ethics of it all.  I simply point out the fact so that when I discuss safety here, people will understand my perspective.

Ours is a total power exchange dynamic.  It has very few of the usual trappings -- He doesn't micromanage, and I have a fair amount of apparent leeway, but I am His, and there is no leeway in that at all.  It isn't always fair.  It is deliberately unequal.  He is a good and wise man, but He is human and He has limits and even His share of human failings.  Pushed too far, He is a dangerous man.  He loves me completely, but I am a handful, and if there is anyone on the planet that CAN push His buttons, I am probably that person.  Usually, it is all fine, and we balance the energy and power between us without a hitch.

But it is not safe. 

People often argue against the "truthfulness" of Master/slave relationships by positing that there must ultimately be limits.  The contention is that there are things that a Master could do that would "break the deal."  "Surely," these folks argue, "you wouldn't stay if He wanted to actually harm you, or maybe even KILL you?"  And if you would leave, in that event, then it must be that your dynamic is imaginary -- pretend, all a game. 

Except that sometimes, even when it does get to those extreme edges, the relationship endures.  I can't explain why that is true.  I can't discern the narrrow edge where I tread between "not safe" and "abusive."  I cannot find words to tell the story of how it is possible for me to believe that He intended to cause my death in one instant, and loved me entirely and desperately in that same instant.  There is no safety when one encounters the truly wild in oneself or in another.  That wild, primal, instinctive "other" is both beautiful and exciting. 

I'd sooner die living closely with His wildness than live a long, long life in some sort of cosseted and stultifying "safety." 

swan