In Tatters

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I knelt at His feet in the utter mess I’d made. My struggle to succeed was stark. No one had ever seen me so disheveled…in such embarrassing circumstances. As He cleaned me up for the second time two minutes, I looked up to meet His steady gaze and tried to gauge his reaction. Disgust at another disastrous, completely unimpressive act of service? Frustrated at my inability to get it together? Sadistically amused at another ridiculous unglamorous predicament I’d once again found myself in? I knew he was taking in every fucking minute detail of the wreck before Him and squirreling it away in the vault of His mind, but what did He feel? His stoic expression offered me no hint. Without comment He stood firm in front of me. Fuckin unwavering. He hadn’t walked away. He hadn’t stepped back. I swear He may have even leaned in. As soon as I’d semi-collected myself, I began my third attempt even as I tried in vain to push the remaining proof of my ineptitude out of view, hoping it would simply
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My Distaste for Crutches

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I guess it was inevitable.  On average I RSVP to a dozen local events every month.  Most of them are groups/events I've already attended in the past two years, but every now and then I try to check out something new.  In January, I RSVP to a more upscale social that I'd heard about a few different times.

The day of the event I was still debating.  Weather, tiredness, work deadlines...I was wavering on whether or not to take the side trip downtown that evening.  Checking my Fet inbox cinched my decision...no go.

I had two unsolicited emails from 30-ish males seeking someone to hold their hand.  One asked me to meet for drinks with him (REMINDER...a total stranger, not even a profile pic) prior and then go to the event with him.  The other spammy email from an essentially blank profile who also stated no seemingly personal interest in me but wanted to connect at the event.

The distaste in my mouth was immediate and strong.  I clicked "Not Going" in relief and annoyance.

I felt...part stalked, part objectified, part...I don't know...crutchy.

Why the fuck should I be ANYONE'S crutch for a damn near vanilla "classy" event?  No one held my hand as I walked into classes, munches, meetings.  I owed my shit with a fearless grip.  I WANTED to be a part of this lifestyle and to learn and grown, so I gathered up my courage and walked in on my own two feet with nothing in my hand but a few tingles of mild adrenaline.

Yet, once I took a few deep breaths, I looked again at my inbox and felt torn.  I've been in the local scene for a few years and in the lifestyle for almost a decade.  I'm in leadership roles for several other local groups.  I briefly argued with myself that I should be more welcoming and tolerant, right?

Nope...I stayed with my gut instinct.  Fuck, that shit.  Both dudes could have emailed the group lead to make a first connection.  Neither expressed any specific common interests other than the event.  Sorry, I don't reward lack of effort.

But I still can't quit identify the line.  Where is it...that line between welcoming and someone's crutch?  I can welcome a stranger as they walk through the door of an event I'm co-hosting, but I opt into that!  Ummmm...CONSENT.  I can always welcome and/or be a crutch for any friend, but again...that's well within my boundaries of a consensual friendship.  But a crutch for a stranger?  Ehhhhh...feels too fucking creepy for me and something I did NOT volunteer or consent to be.

AND...I firmly believe that in order to succeed in the world of kink as well as in life, you must OWN YOUR OWN SHIT.  You must see and accept the Truth in yourself and be brave enough to embrace and chase your Truth.

Grrrrrr...
~DominaKat

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