Sexual Boundaries are such a personal subject. There are no rules when it comes to determining your own boundaries. Whatever you choose should be respected at all times. In a perfect world, every partner would attempt to find out and then agree to follow any personal boundaries you may have involving your body and/or sexual preferences. Of course, we don’t live in a perfect world and this doesn’t always happen so it then becomes your responsibility to open your fucking mouth and tell them! It should also be mentioned that if you think you don’t have ANY personal boundaries, then you better take a closer look. Every single person on earth has their own personal boundaries whether you realize them or not.
With that said, I would make one pathetic porn star considering my top 3 sexual boundaries are:
1. No spitting in my face.
2. No slapping me in the face.
3. No ejaculating on my face.
As you may notice above, all of them somehow revolve around my face. I took way more than my fair share of psychology courses while in college, but I never did actually analyze my own sexual boundaries or exactly why I didn’t like certain sexual acts. As many people do, I just figured I didn’t like it and that was the end of it.
This particular analysis actually goes way back to when I was about 13 years old. It centers around one of the strongest boundaries I have: Don’t fuck with my brother. As I’ve mentioned before, I have a younger brother that I love to death. We get along great and I’ve always been somewhat protective of him. My father never spanked, hit or beat me. He was way more passive-aggressive emotionally abusive to me. He had a serious temper and it would generally come out with a vengeance and obviously scared the shit out of me when I was younger. He would routinely do things like get mad in the car and slam on the pedal to about 90mph. Needless to say, to a small child this is unbelievably scary.
Unlike me, my father did hit and beat my brother. He very rarely did it in front of me, though. I would generally get the bad news from my brother afterwards. The first time he laid a hand on my brother in front of me was after my parents got divorced and we were both eating dinner at his new house. All my brother did was spill a glass of milk. That’s it. Literally, just spilled milk. My father then flew into a rage and picked my brother up by the collar of his school shirt and slammed him into the wall while holding him up by his neck. I was scared and speechless at first, but then I got mad. Like really mad. I shot up, ran over to them and started screaming at my dad to put him down. Of course, he then yelled at me to stay out of it. The only thing I could think to do was run out of the house and hope he would follow me forcing him to run after me and leave my brother alone.
Well, it worked alright. I ran outside leaving the door wide open. He followed. I stopped once I made it to the sidewalk. He ran up behind me and didn’t touch me, but what he did do was put his face so close to my face that we were practically touching noses. He then proceeded to scream so fucking loud and aggressive at me that his spit was hitting me in the face while he yelled. It was unbelievably disgusting, but I knew better than to raise my hand and try to wipe it off or block the spit flying out of his mouth in a fit of rage. The only option I had was to stand there while staring him straight in the face. He, honestly, could have punched me in the face and it wouldn’t have hurt me as much as watching him hurt my brother. He screamed at me for a good 5 minutes straight about how I was never allowed to question him or his “parenting techniques.” I, cowardly, said nothing. There was nothing for me to say. All I wanted was for him to leave my brother alone and it worked. I had already accomplished my goal. I was so done at that point. Looking back, I’ve always found it interesting that I never once cried. I didn’t even shed a tear once he was finished. Taking numerous psychology courses in college would give me insight as to what my actions actually meant when it comes to being in “survival mode.”
As usual, once he finished screaming and spitting all over my face he then hugged me and told me he was sorry. So goes the typical story of almost all physical and/or emotional abusers. They’re ALWAYS sorry. They never understand why YOU made them mad? It never has anything to do with THEM. It is a constant cycle and “abusers” are, without a doubt, some of the world’s greatest experts at controlling others.
Personal boundaries originate for a whole variety of reasons. Some are purely surface-based such as “I just don’t like the way it makes me feel,” which is perfectly normal and may not have a deeper meaning other than you just simply don’t like something. But, some boundaries may very well come from deep within yourself and have more to do with your sub-conscience as well as past experiences. It’s obviously not necessary to assess any of them or may be hard sometimes, but analyzing the reasoning behind certain boundaries can be enlightening in some instances. The answers may surprise you.
I have to note this was actually harder to write then I thought it would be. I *might* have even cried just a little bit, but overall it was quite cathartic to write it out and actually kind of refreshing in some strange sort of way.
I think I’m going to go call my brother now and tell him how much I love him.