Autostraddle
by Sinclair Sexsmith
The night Sarah and I met, we immediately fell into bed together — or that’s how it felt. Our first date became an all-nighter after she asked to go home with me. As soon as we got in the door I opened my mouth to offer tea, but she kissed me instead, and I pushed her against the wall and then led her into my bedroom. I felt magnetically drawn to her skin, to putting my hand up her skirt. One of the first things I asked her, sitting next to her on my bed, kissing her neck, was, “What’s your safeword?”
I meant it in a sexy way. In a I want to do dirty things to you but I don’t want to go too far so I can trust you to tell me to back off if I do, right? way. In a I know what I’m doing I can speak the BDSM lingo way.
She gave me this look, a combination of confusion and pity and a little bit of condescension. (It was a signature Sarah look. A look I would get to know very well.) The few inches between our bodies seemed to grow.
She twisted toward me, sitting cross-legged. “Are you going to stop if I say ‘stop’?”
I straightened too, feeling awkward and exposed since she had already unbuckled my belt and unzipped my jeans. “Um. Yes. Of course.”
She smiled, and I relaxed. “Are you going to slow down if I say ‘slow down’?” She wore a low-cut summery dress with big watercolor splotches of color on it, blue and purple and red. It wrapped around her with a belt made out of fabric, tied in a bow at her waist. I love those dresses, with the threat of opening and falling right off of her curvy body, and the tease of it entices me. I wanted to slip my fingers into the bow and tug.
“Sure, absolutely.”
“And if I say, ‘Hey wait, move, you’re on my hair,’ or something?”
“Yeah, I’ll move.”
“Then I don’t need a safeword. You’re not going to keep going even if I say stop, we’re not playing with consensual non-consent or some sort of force. I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Sarah took a breath, then looked back at me with smoky, lustful bedroom eyes. Her lips looked redder, her skin flushed. Her voice dropped quieter, lower. “I like playing with force. Love it, actually. But I don’t play risky games with tricks I just met.” She gave me a playful shove.
I shrugged a little, feeling like I was receiving a lecture. But she was right. “Yeah, I get it.”
“I mean, I think there are other scenarios where having a safeword is useful. For some folks, it’s easier to say ‘yellow’ than it is to say ‘please slow down’ or ‘I need to check in with you’ or ‘can we take a pause and switch to something else but please don’t stop touching me entirely.’” She moved closer again as the conversation about BDSM theory folded back into foreplay, and started to finger the buttons on my shirt. “I’m not saying the only time you should play with safewords is in consensual non-consent. But to me, it’s the only time they’re really necessary.”
“Right, I suppose not everyone is as articulate as you are. Or able to be articulate during sex.” I wasn’t distracted at all by her fingers on my buttons, the way her hair smelled. I was completely coherent. “You know, when you’re turned on, all the blood is flowing elsewhere, not necessarily in the… head region.” …