My Safe Word Is “Therapy”
You joke that we are so well adjusted for two people who panic at loud noises and make eye contact like it might bite
Pull out the rope, the cuffs, the pretty black collar
grin at me over your shoulder in the soft yellow of the bedroom light
I feel that familiar spark run straight through my spine
body already two steps ahead, ready to play in the dark
Then my brain flashes old scenes I did not consent to
old hands, old words
and suddenly this whole thing feels less like kink and more like a mark.
You say “tell me what you need, tell me what you want
” and your voice is low, no pressure in it
just a simple open door, I swallow
laugh a little too loud, try to outrun the ghosts
then taste metal in my mouth and feel my feet leave the floor
You reach for my wrists and the air goes thin
the room tilts sideways
and my skin remembers things you never did, I say “wait
wait, wait, ” and you freeze mid-reach
hands up like I pulled a weapon instead of just saying “I am not that solid
kid.”
This is the part nobody sees in the hot clips
the magazines
the slow-motion shots in music videos where everyone looks fine
The part where somebody’s past walks into the room uninvited
sits on the edge of the bed
and draws a bright red line
Where kink and old hurt start to blur
and the safest move is to stop and say “this is not sexy
this is my mind.”
My safe word is therapy
which means we put the toys away and talk about why my chest just slammed shut
We grab water, put on pants, sit back against the wall
and unpack what just crawled out of my gut
You do not lose points for turning the mood down
I do not lose edge for saying this is bigger than a butt
My safe word is therapy, and when I call it
we pick my heart over whatever fantasy we were about to cut.
I tell you about that night in a stranger’s car
about the time somebody older called it love and never once asked if I was in
About the way my body learned to go silent and still while my head floated near the ceiling just to survive my own skin
You listen without flinching, no arousal in your eyes
just a slow
solid fury at ghosts you never got to punch
Then you set the collar down like it is made of glass
say “we can keep that for later or never
” I care more about this hunch.
We make a list of what feels good for real and what feels like acting out a script I never wrote
What makes my pulse jump in the right way and what makes my stomach sink like a stone in a coat
You promise to check in mid-scene, not as mood killer
just as part of the vote.
My safe word is therapy
which means we put the toys away and talk about why my chest just slammed shut
We grab water, put on pants, sit back against the wall
and unpack what just crawled out of my gut
You do not lose points for turning the mood down
I do not lose edge for saying this is bigger than a butt
My safe word is therapy, and when I call it
we pick my heart over whatever fantasy we were about to cut.
One day we might tie those knots again with new rules
new trust, new space between then and now
Might turn the old triggers into something softer
something chosen, with safeties loaded in every vow
Till then my safe word is therapy
and you treat it like a blessing not a curse
Proof that I trust you enough to let you see the worst. When I say that word with shaking teeth and wild eyes
you do not pout or roll out, You sit down, take my hand
say “alright, we will deal with this
” that is what love looks like when it is not just about clout.