Things That Make Me Feel Unsafe
I do not walk into this blind. These are things that break trust, the fractures that turn ecstasy into risk.
- Bottoms dulled by drink, smoke, or any fog that steals presence.
- Crowds that blur kink with party, where intoxication drowns awareness.
- Those who hide their body’s truths—medical conditions unspoken until harm reveals them.
- Those who lie about intentions, masking shadow behind a smile.
- Spaces too crowded, too mundane, where kink is spectacle instead of sacred.
- Players who haven’t honored their own commitments at home before seeking mine.
- Liars. Mess-makers. Those who turn play into theater of ego.
- Bottoms who come to compete, not surrender.
- Those who wield identity as weapon, twisting community into shield for harm.
- Those strange, reckless white folx who move without study, without respect.
- Uninformed daredevils who crave danger but reject discipline.
- Bottoms carrying raw, unintegrated trauma that explodes instead of releases.
- Bottoms whose violence is not ritual, but uncontrolled.
My rope does not belong to any of this.
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