BDSM Rules of Safety and Their Tradeoffs

by Terra Bloom

After four years of enjoying a “secret” BDSM life that no one knew about, just my husband and I making up our own rules as we went along, we joined our local kink community. It was a great decision for many reasons — the awesome people! — but it was quickly made clear we’d be following a new set of rules as we moved through the community. Rules such as no hugging or touching others without explicit consent seemed not only comforting but necessary to ensure my safety. Many BDSM activities are inherently risky, and physical or emotional harm is possible, with bottoms like me especially vulnerable to the aggressive attentions of overzealous Doms on the hunt. I very much want my person respected and my consent valued, so I was happy to adopt the rules handed to us at our required BDSM 101 class. I also understood that the emphasis on those rules was crucial to the presentation of BDSM as a “safe, sane and consensual” activity, as opposed to alarming pathological perversion. But, over time, I began to notice how the rules designed to protect me from others weren’t making me feel safer so much as they were making me feel isolated behind the walls of the requisite consent ritual. Worse, I started feeling increasingly anxious about my own tendency to run afoul of the rules.

Now, you wouldn’t think it’d be a big deal to ask permission before giving a hug, but as someone who has spent decades habitually throwing my arms around people I am happy to see, I never seem to remember that all-important ask. I’m also a lifelong arm-toucher when I speak to someone I like, a way of creating connection. Sometimes I impulsively kiss a cheek to express my affection as I hug someone goodbye. All these habits were never remarked upon in the vanilla world, except to garner me praise for being a “warm person.” Most of my friends in the BDSM world are quick to wave off my “consent violations,” but I have been scolded a few times, and often find myself feeling shame and offering apologies for my touchy-feely ways. As a result, my warm personality grows cool at BDSM events as I try to focus on keeping my hands to myself. I’ve even found myself relieved when someone happens to touch me without asking my consent, because at least I am not the only transgressor.

Some of the rules regarding play are also disorienting to me. The rule about not being allowed to change my mind about what I’d like to do during a scene, for example. As a bottom, once I negotiate my limits with whoever is playing top to me, that person is then required to ignore any change in my desires to go further or dispense with a limit. I am told that mid-scene I may be under the influence of my body’s natural, drug-like chemicals which could rob me of my ability to consent. Yet, I’ve found that my fears about trying something new or being unable to handle the pain are usually overblown. More often than not, when I am finally experiencing the rewards of play, I will want to go further, deeper. But the rule says my change of attitude mid-stream is untrustworthy. A rule meant to protect my consent ends up overriding my consent, along with my true desires.

Especially frustrating to me is another rule meant for my own good, the rule that decrees “no alcohol while playing.” I understand the reason behind the rule, I certainly don’t want an out-of-control drunk to be wielding a flogger on me. But I think it should be my choice to determine whether someone is too inebriated to play with or not. It should also be my choice as an adult whether to have a drink or two if I feel it helps me drop my inhibitions. As an abuse survivor, I developed self-protective walls that make it challenging for me to “let go” as I wish. A certain amount of alcohol thankfully makes it possible for me to mentally relax into BDSM play and makes all the difference for me between a successful scene that I enjoy and a scene that I tense up against and may even feel harmed by. As a result, when we are invited to a play party with a rule for no alcohol during play, my husband and I will either decline or decide to endure the shame and embarrassment of sneaking forbidden alcohol like rebellious kids.

Make no mistake, I love being a part of the BDSM community, it has helped me feel more positive about my kinky proclivities and feel more satisfied with my life as a whole. But, I find it ironic that a community that celebrates and defends a diversity of sexual desires has adopted a one-size-fits-all set of rules, with no allowances made for different experience or maturity levels or particular situations. (I imagine a play party where a lot of young singles might engage in pick up play would need stricter rules than a party consisting of older, well-established couples.) Meanwhile, a community that defends sexual choice often explains away the legitimacy of choice (“You’re in subspace so you can’t think for yourself”), or even outlaws it. (“You drank alcohol so you cannot play.”)

A negative outcome from the overzealous pushing of rules, no matter how well-intentioned, has been noted by many a psychologist and social scientist, such as the authors of an academic paper entitled, “The Dark Side of Morality: Prioritizing Sanctity Over Care,” published by the American Psychology Association in 2018. The paper examines the “roots of prejudice against sexual outgroups,” and discusses the tension between the moral value of “sanctity,” the strict adherence to a code of conduct, and the moral value of “care,” which leads to empathy and respect for individual differences. The authors note that “moral values bind communities together and foster cooperation, yet these same values can also lead to the derogation and marginalization” of community members in what they call the “sanctity/care trade off.” When sanctity to rules is emphasized over care, community members feel up-in-arms toward rulebreakers, skipping empathy and going straight to dehumanization and rejection, as we sometimes see with blacklists of people no longer welcome at BDSM events (something that happened to an overeager friend of mine who truly meant no harm).

I am not suggesting that rules are unnecessary; no community can operate without a mutually accepted code of conduct. And clearly, some rules do need to be understood as sacrosanct (No outing of others!). Still, it might behoove us to find a better balance between sanctity and care, and to consider whether the rules we hope will make community members feel safe and comfortable might instead be activating shame and making members less comfortable. Perhaps some rules should not be hard-and-fast rules at all, but common-sense guidelines. Perhaps we should be more flexible with such a diverse population, be willing to trust members to be adults who will, by-and-large, act appropriately for the situation. Yes, occasional bad actors will show up, as bad actors do in every space, and a blacklist may be the only recourse for a pattern of reprehensible behavior. But I don’t believe we serve the community by regulating to the level of the lowest common denominator. Safety is important, but none of us would be part of this community if safety was our utmost concern. I’d argue that freedom of choice is our most important moral value, and I believe we’d serve the community better by embracing the spirit of BDSM in all its alternative, norm-busting glory, and be a little more devoted to the sanctity of self-expression, and a little less devoted to the sanctity of the rules. Let freedom ring!