Playing on the Edge: Sadomasochism, Risk, and Intimacy (16 page)

We’d drawn an audience. About thirty people stood watching us, not close enough to distract us but close enough to see every action and reaction. I didn’t know most of them. I fixed my eyes on Trey and watched him as he threw his whip across the narrowest part of my waist, back and forth, cutting a horizontal line just above my belly button.

We played for three hours. When our scene ended, the dungeon was closing and many of the onlookers had gone to their rooms. The ones that remained approached us to compliment us. The next day, several others—complete strangers—sought me out to compliment me on the scene, and Trey confirmed that he’d received his share of accolades as well.

Within the SM community, the euphemism for play, “what it is that we do,” suggests that an adequate description of SM is elusive and complex. The community in Caeden can be understood more fully as “serious leisure” (Stebbins 1982): a devotion to the pursuit of an activity that requires spe- cialized skills and resources, and provides particular benefits. The under- standing of a recreational activity as serious leisure distinguishes it from “casual leisure,” which Robert Stebbins defines as “an immediately, intrin- sically rewarding, relatively short-lived pleasurable core activity, requiring little or no special training to enjoy it” (Stebbins 1992, 1997, cited in Stebbins 2008, 38).

Above all else, SM is a recreational activity in the Caeden community. The engagement in SM requires considerable skill and time, and the social circles of participants consist mainly of other participants. Community membership is a central part of the lives of participants, and engagement in SM is central to

notions of the self. Understanding SM as a serious leisure pursuit allows for a recognition of the complexity and social richness of SM interaction.
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Robert Stebbins’s serious-leisure model has undergone multiple adjustments over the past three decades. Several general principles, however, have remained fundamental to the consideration of an activity as serious leisure. In addition to the acquisition of particular skills necessary to participate successfully in the activity, Stebbins emphasizes personal, social, and psychological rewards and benefits provided by participation.
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The Making of a Player

Some people enter the scene with a broadly defined interest in SM or D/s. Oth- ers come to the community “knowing” their SM identification. It is common, though, for SM interests, and, by extension, identification labels, to change, sometimes multiple times. Often, this change emerges in part from learning to top or bottom; the acquisition of skills co-constructs the desire to practice them. Learning to play is an integral part of becoming a sadomasochist, shap- ing motivations and forming identities in the process.

For both bottoms and tops, participation in SM involves a substantial learn- ing curve. Even apart from participants’ general desires to avoid sustenance and infliction of unintended injury themselves, the community as a whole shares responsibility for recruitment, education, and supervision of SM play. SM is taught, supervised, policed, and regulated in multiple ways.

LEARNING TO TOP

Learning to top involves four distinct processes that each require specialized information sets and modes of practice. The acquisition of technical skills is the most pragmatic of these endeavors, and the one with which most people who top begin. Participants learn to use SM toys almost exclusively from other players. Other players demonstrate how to hold one’s arm when throwing a whip later- ally and how to tie a “predicament” knot that tightens when pulled. Participants serve as tools for practicing these skills, providing information about the effects of the top’s technique itself, as well as a sense of her strength, speed, and range. Learning to top safely also occurs informally; because playing safely is a desirable trait in Caeden, most people are eager to share their safety information, whether modeling a technique, shopping for toys, or casually commenting on a scene.

Tops must learn about safety in SM play as it relates to particular activi- ties but also on the broader level. This frequently occurs in formal settings; a

demonstration on the use of a flogger includes a discussion of where one can and cannot strike a person with a flogger without causing injury. Meetings designed for newer participants include basic first-aid information as well as more specialized knowledge such as sensitivity to changes in breathing pat- terns, the dilation of a bottom’s pupils, and how to handle emergencies.

One example, an educational demonstration and workshop, featured Enjo, a well-established veteran member of the scene, teaching community members how to play with fire. Enjo’s reputation as a safe, serious, and extreme player preceded her. I had the distinct sense that her presence at the front of the room was somehow more an act of charity than such presentations normally are. She began with a qualifier that there are many approaches to fire play, and that she was going to demonstrate her particular way. Her description of the materi- als needed for fire play included a fairly lengthy explanation of the differences between isopropyl and ethanol alcohols; apparently, the temperatures at which alcohols burn vary, and ones that burn hotter and faster are safer. She explained the difference between first-, second-, and third-degree burns, and provided an overview of home treatment options (in case of first-degree burns): aloe vera, antibacterial ointment, and bandages. She suggested keeping a spray bottle with water nearby, and said that she likes to keep one hand free in case she needs to extinguish a flame quickly. She also recommended applying Neutrogena lotion onto the skin as part of aftercare. Hair, she said, melts rather than burns, but fire play on clean-shaven skin is safer because hair burns the skin when it melts down. Alcohol on freshly shaven skin is stingy and can be painful, though; if this is not the objective, she said, it is best to wait a day after shaving.

Enjo’s “demo bottom” was a boi
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named CJ who stood, naked and hairless, with his hands clasped behind his back. Enjo informed us, sharply, that she did not take questions during the demonstration because she needed to devote her full attention to the scene. She lit a birthday candle and placed it into a metal cup. Holding that cup in her right hand, she picked up a second cup, which contained a blend of different alcohols. With her left hand, she dipped a chunk of cotton into the alcohol and wiped it in the shape of a large V from CJ’s navel to his shoulders.

In one quick move, Enjo dipped her fingers into the alcohol, swept them over the candle to ignite them, and then touched CJ’s navel. The flame blazed up his torso in an orange-blue V. It lasted approximately two seconds.

Though the safety precautions of a fire scene exceed those of a flogging scene, the commitment to safety is a part of public SM life in Caeden. Newer players, fresh from SM books or novice groups, often seem eager to demonstrate their

knowledge of SM safety to bystanders (“That flogger’s a little too close to her spine”), and veteran players generally avail themselves for impromptu lessons, demonstrations, and safety information.

The emphasis on safety is a source of pride and of status. Though occasion- ally a community member objects that the concern with safety intrudes on the fantasy, safety concerns are not whitewashed nor subsumed under a darker, rawer discourse. Safety is part of SM identity in Caeden, and to contribute to this discourse of safety is to make a statement that one belongs there. Many players—usually tops—carry alcohol wipes for toys, and several also carry rub- ber gloves and CPR masks. At the local club, safety is generally the domain of the owner, who prohibits blood play and advanced breath play.
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He also regu- larly makes rounds throughout the club or sends a trusted employee or associ- ate to do safety checks; I once overheard him tell a staff member to “Go make sure that scream was a good one.”

At private parties, or especially large events, hosts post “house safewords”— words that will end the scene at the hands of the hosts or “dungeon monitors,” regardless of the top’s response. Dungeon monitors take these assignments seri- ously, and have been known to interrupt scenes out of their own concern for safety, even in the absence of the utterance of a safeword.

The central role of safety in the scene also helps to preserve the perception of power imbalances between participants. Because so much of the responsibil- ity for safety in an SM scene ultimately lies in the hands of the top, the focus on safety is tantamount to a discourse of dependence. The bottom must be accountable for choosing wisely, but that choice is understood as the choice to depend, as entirely as possible, on the abilities and judgment of another.

The concern for safety operates on still another symbolic level. More than any of the other trappings, rituals, and discourses involved in SM play, the efforts devoted to safety keep SM from entirely resembling either role play or sex. The discursive attention to safety and the precautions themselves under- mine the view of SM as contrived, scripted, or otherwise “pretend.” Safety can be of concern only where the dangers are perceived as real.

Secondly, if heteronormative eroticism is culturally constructed as sponta- neous, raw, and passionate, the safety precautions and preparations in SM are decidedly anti-erotic. Rituals and discourses of safety underscore the methodi- cal character of SM play. Contrary to images of “rough sex,” a sense of genuine recklessness and chaos is normally undesirable in SM interactions.

Before the start of a meeting one night, I overheard Trey talking to someone about the sensation of a perforated eardrum, which he had apparently acquired

in a recent fight scene. In a strange coincidence (since this is not a common injury), I was experiencing similar symptoms, due to a slap that had landed across my ear the previous night. Suddenly concerned that my eardrum was perforated, I asked him to describe his symptoms further. He did, and highly recommended his physician.

After the meeting, Russ approached me and said that he had overheard my conversation with Trey. He was very concerned, and slightly annoyed, about the possibility that I might have been injured, and he wanted to know with whom I had played. Shortly thereafter, Shaun approached me with similar concerns. By the end of the evening, more than five people spoke with me privately, wanting to ensure that I was only playing safely, publicly, and with people who “knew what they were doing.”
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Evidence of this kind of concern among community members in several oth- er situations suggests that it emerged from a general emphasis on safety, rather than from my role as a researcher. I learned later that Trey’s story had elicited responses as well, though because he was a veteran player, top-identified, and a man, the responses were couched in disapproval rather than in concern. Adam, with whom I had played the previous night, deeply regretted the accident, and was worried about me. Aware that this reflected poorly on him, he was also embarrassed, and at least a bit offended, by the suspicion it had aroused in his abilities.

Although the ability to play safely is the most immediate goal in learning to top, it also involves less observable social-psychological processes. Direct com- munication threatens power performances and handicaps the accomplishment of “pushing limits,” a common objective of SM play. Tops must therefore learn to decode communication strategies in play and to recognize signals that the bottom may or may not intend to send. A general tendency among bottoms to safeword only as a last resort makes this an even more important skill. Tops must often decode ambiguous, conflicting, or barely visible signals in order to avoid causing real damage to play partners. This is most effectively learned through playing and discussing the scenes with play partners afterward, though participants offer insight and advice about these matters while watching other scenes or publicly reflecting on their own.

Similarly, tops learn to prepare themselves for potential emotional and psy- chological reactions of bottoms. One component of this occurs in the negotia- tion phase (specifically in regard to aftercare), but even more generally, learning about the effects SM play
could
have on
any given
player while bottoming is part of the education of a top.

These four learning processes—acquiring technical skills, ensuring safety, understanding modes of scene communication, and understanding and han- dling emotional and psychological impacts on the bottom—are necessary in order for tops to acquire, engage in, and secure (future) play. A final part of the learning process is less fixed, but nearly always part of the process nonethe- less. At some point—sometimes long before making the decision to top, some- times after one has gained enough topping experience, and sometimes after a particularly powerful scene—most people who top find themselves wrestling with their performances (and feelings) of sadism and/or dominance. Most tops grapple with feelings of guilt, shame, and fear at some point during their top- ping careers. This coming-to-terms is usually an informal process; demonstra- tions on the topic occur sometimes, but they are rare. More commonly, tops process these feelings with their friends in the scene, and turn to other tops for reassurance and support.

LEARNING TO BOTTOM

All SM participants must acquire specialized information and learn challeng- ing skills. For people who bottom, the processes are less obvious. Because tops are charged more fully with maintaining safety in scene, classes and demon- strations focus more frequently on learning how to top. Instructive classes for bottoms tend to focus on submission
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and service—examples include how to handle the tensions between submission and agency, how to reconcile (female) submission with feminism, and the challenges of submission as a characteristic of a relationship (outside of play). There are few classes specifically for bot- toms, though safety information directed at bottoms is a standard component of novice- and safety-oriented meetings.

Most often, learning to bottom involves learning to negotiate the tension between accountability for one’s own safety and satisfaction, on the one hand, and the maintenance and preservation of a power imbalance on the other. Thus sometimes bottoms (particularly those who identify as “submissives”) learn to give themselves “permission” to recognize and understand their likes, dislikes, and limits, as well as how to communicate those things in scene and out of scene. Further, bottoms learn how to evaluate their limits—“hard” limits that should be left alone, or “soft” limits that may be “pushed” by the top.