How do you relate to boundaries? Do you stay far away from them? Run up to them and stop just short? Dangle a toe over them? Sneak past them? Bound past them? Defy them?
For some, they’re sexy; for others, scary.
I spent much of my life in a dark closet. Much of my existence was on the wrong side of every boundary that one could imagine: I was a CPOS, an absent father, a derelict worker. I took no pleasure in this – not even subconscious pleasure, I believe. I felt myself in a prison, and desperately wanted out.
I remember a day in my twenties when I realized that you don’t have to drive between the lines on any given road, that they’re there to help, not to confine.
All of my instincts are to perceive boundaries – emotional boundaries, in particular – as electric fences, erected by some unseen other, touching of which can be fatal.
I don’t want to cross any more boundaries.
I recognize this is an ironic thing for a recovering sex addict, semi-polyamorous-monogamish-sometime-swinger. But the truth is, none of the joy I take in anything is a function of its transgressiveness. If anything, transgression is a damper on my joy.