Vol. 1, Post #15 Nope

Boundaries, motherfucker, BOUND-AH-RHEES. My ongoing sex tips for girls* (*girls who are holding on to mid-life by a thread). A dating odyssey for Young Olds, AKA, people with readers.

Last week, I wrote that I might go on a date. I met someone intriguing (IRL, no less) and I’m feeling ready, so looks like that’s a yes, albeit a slow-as-molasses yes. It’s been a couple of months since my breakup and for the most part it’s been fine, and most certainly the right decision. I’ve had a few weepy moments and I’m doing all the things I wrote about a few posts ago, along with absolutely no weirdo social media browsing on the Ex’s Instagram, et al. I know, I know…that’s a tempting trap for a lot of us – but for me, I like to stay in my lane.

My two cents? Sniffing around to see what your former Babe is up to is just a supersonic highway to some unnecessary pain and who the fuck needs that? Particularly because half of the time, you completely imagine what you think your aforementioned Ex is doing without you, when in fact, like you, they are just moping around (that link goes to one of my favorite Roz Chast cartoons, titled “The Party After You Left” which is the perfect illustration for this). But it’s beyond that, and it’s not even about being a Tough Guy; I don’t wish my Ex any more upset than he’s already managed to welcome into his life on his own (in that capacity, he’s done a bang-up job). It’s about setting…get ready…a boundary for myself. Telling myself Nope. Because what my Ex is doing is none of my business.

Boundary. Boundaries. Like “trigger,” boundary is such a tired term, but the older I get, the more I realize that I need and want boundaries the same way that I need and want to hold on to the railing when I’m clomping down my stairs in high heels: keeps me moving and injury-free.

I’ll fill you in on the date after it happens, so in the meantime, let’s go back to boundaries – if you don’t have ‘em, I’m hoping you get some, and soon. Like toddlers who need rules in order to not get an inflated sense of self and think the world is their juice box, boundaries remind everyone that they might not like what they hear, but it’s not up for discussion.

Ahead of this post, I wrote on my own social media that I’d love for anyone who follows me here to send me their boundary stories and PAY DIRT! No less than two dozen of you reached out and shared. Here are a few of the highlights:

One of my Dear Readers told me a great “no good deed goes unpunished” story about helping out an infirm friend, only to be “punished” later on when Said Friend took the care and concern that my Dear Reader offered as pity – in other words, the good deed turned sour when the recipient felt bad about needing help and lashed out instead of saying, “Boy, I sure wish I didn’t need your help because it makes me feel old and feeble. I’m grateful for you but also slightly embarrassed.” So now my Dear Reader is distancing themself from their friend to avoid any more conflict.

Another of my Dear Readers told me that they had to set a boundary with a hook up of theirs that had become more than a “Situationship” but less than an out-and-out relationship. In other words, the fucking was still great and the two people in question liked each other a lot, but in the end, my Dear Reader felt like they were doing most of the emotionally heavy lifting while their partner kept saying, “Can’t we just relax and not worry about where this is going?” After almost a year, Dear Reader knew where it was going: straight to Boundary City, so they cut their losses and are moving on, which is proving a little bit hard, as their former partner keeps reaching out. “Blocking their number seems aggressive and yet I need to protect myself, because I’m afraid I might cave if I don’t.” Honey, we’ve ALL BEEN THERE.

Recently, I set a boundary by way of just saying “No thanks” to someone on social media who, for some reason, thinks it’s ok to be provocative with me regarding sex. By that, I mean this person has sort of been mildly flirtatious with me for several years now, occasionally messaging me “would you like me to send you an erotic poem I think you’d enjoy?” or similar. I usually just ignore it, mostly because I’m fairly lazy about my DMs, but this week, I drew the line with an offer to receive a video from him, that, apparently, was something he filmed with his wife – and again, he wondered if I’d like to see it.

Before we even get into the discussion of DOES HIS WIFE KNOW HE’S ASKING ME IF I’D LIKE TO SEE A VIDEO OF THEM (and I’ve got a boundary story from another Dear Reader about that too – as well as a message to that Dear Reader’s husband – get a clue, Darling. Sex tapes you made with your estranged spouse are not yours to offer up to your new GF or anyone else, please and thank you and Jesus Fucking Christ), what I found sort of yuckily fascinating about this entire exchange is the fact that I’ve never given this person even tacit permission to approach me like this. I’ve never said, “Sure, send me that poem” or related. No, this person simply thinks that because I like sex, because I like to write about sex, because I enjoy erotic images in art, because don’t shy away from sexual politics, etc., somehow, I am available for him to shoot his proverbial load on my face. Well, I am not. So, I invoked a boundary and just replied, “no thanks” and went on my way. I doubt I’ll hear from him again.

We hear a lot about consent these days, don’t we? In the polyamorous community, consent is an ongoing conversation that you might have if you are newly involved with someone and you are gauging not only what they like, but what is “allowable” given the fact that they may have rules about what’s a green light vs. a red light with various partners (some people, as example, save particular components of sex for primary/main partners, and every responsible polyamorous person I know is VERY safe sex- and consent-focused so this convo comes up a lot). In the poly community, it’s not unusual for someone to ask, “Is this OK?” before touching a new lover in a certain way, sometimes ahead of sex or sometimes while in the act. While I’m not currently a member of the poly community, I loved that about the people I met there during my stint – permission/consent is huge, openly discussed, and nothing of which to be ashamed.

But it seems to me that boundaries are sometimes treated as the ugly stepchild to consent. How many times have you heard someone start a sentence by saying, “Sorry, but I don’t like it when….” Or “Sorry, I think I need to tell you that..” and then go on to express an opinion or preference that would be fine standing on its own, but one that gets watered down by the unnecessary “sorry” that preceded the boundary itself?

What’s wrong with just saying no?

A recent CNBC piece on people who are most resilient and secure, and the phrases they incorporate into their lives reports that “resilience is often confused with independence, like ‘let me shrink as much as I can to support others.’ But resilience should be more about prioritizing your needs.” Further, that “setting boundaries this way can be uncomfortable but down the line, you’ll thank yourself for saving your energy and putting your mental health and wellbeing first.”

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: one of the best parts of being middle-aged or a Young Old is just saying no. No to anything that you don’t want to do a first time or try again, regardless of who makes the request. I count myself as fortunate that I can give a resounding NO to one of my closest pals as easily as I can give it to a stranger on Instagram who wants me to see their homemade porn. GLORIOUS.

Scroll back up, where I wrote boundaries remind everyone that they might not like what they hear, but it’s not up for discussion. In my request for boundary stories this week, I sadly heard from more than a few (hetero) women who told me that, at this age, they felt they had to be somewhat flexible in their boundaries in order to go out on dates, that (hetero) men sometimes made requests of them that they went along with in order to be seen as “fun.” These requests ranged from going to a sporting event when sports were their least favorite thing, to wearing something that made them feel self-conscious, not sexy. To those Dear Readers, I’m wishing you the ability to find your No, without overly explaining it away. There is “flexible” and “easy going” and then there is “I don’t want to.” Welcome to your safe haven, the I Don’t Want To, So I Won’t Bar & Grill. There is always a seat for you here, in the No Apologies Necessary VIP seating area, which is adjacent to the No Explanations Necessary VIP seating area. And yes, we seat parties of one.

Before I sign off, I want to direct you to an IG account that I love, @the_girlabides. I think this may be her second account after those idiots at Meta suspended her first one for obscenity or whatever. Here are some of my favs:

Every now and then, in the middle of posts like those ^^^, she has to remind her audience that she expects them to “respect [her] autonomy, not just [her] anatomy.” Here’s the rest of what she recently wrote under the post that I’m using for my central art piece up above:

Friendly reminder that my content is never an invitation to send sexual messages, dick pics, or make demands. I’m a very real person and this is just a small part of who I am. My boundaries are in place for a reason, respect that.

Oh, and not that I should have to explain this, but yes I am a woman, no I’m not a man running this account. Wtf

Next week, I think we’re going to have a good old-fashioned post about fucking. It’s been awhile and with this week’s full moon (the Pink Moon), my plan is to go outside and howl at it, and maybe get inspired. Stay tuned.