David Davis 46, part 2

Read the introduction to this series here.

When I began using gay hookup apps a few years ago, I traveled almost exclusively. Deciding that the greater risk was in a strange man knowing my address, I rarely invited hookups my place, where I live alone. “I don’t want them in my apartment!” I told a trans friend. He’d been using the apps longer than I, and assured me, laughing, that I would soon change my mind.

My friend was right. As I gradually began to entertain gentlemen callers, I noticed that many arrived with the telltale signs of nerves. Even the biggest, strongest, butchest guys could exhibit a caution that verged on rudeness. You know how men are; I’m sure some envisioned themselves CoD heroes, scanning the perimeter for insurgents. To me, they recalled flop-eared pedigrees, suspiciously sniffing every piss-stained angle of an urban tree.

But that’s not quite fair. Though there were other reasons for my hookups to be nervous—my gender among them—I recognized their anxiety because I feel it myself every time I darken a new date’s doorway1. Rejoining MSM culture, this time as a transsexual, was a reminder that cis men could be vulnerable too, no matter how disadvantaged I felt myself to be in comparison.

This anecdote is about (more or less) vanilla sex, but I think it illustrates a phenomenon that a lot of us overlook in SM contexts: just because someone has more power doesn’t mean they have all of it. Whether the differential is “real” (that is, based on material conditions like physical strength, or the less tangible, but no less substantial, pressures of our social organization) or negotiated, trust must be earned on both sides—not just on the part of the bottom.

So, my first piece of advice for this series on vetting? Safer sadists, dominants, and tops don’t trust you right away.

Read more