Notes From the Night Desk: Rule #4
Tonight I reached out to someone I considered a friend because I wanted company.
That’s it.
I wanted to ask how life was going. I wanted to talk about stupid shit, fanfiction, sleep schedules, whatever happened to wander into the conversation. I wanted that easy kind of late-night friendship where two people happen to be awake at the same time and keep each other company for a while.
Instead, within minutes, the conversation became sexual.
Again.
He is the third man this week to do this to me.
And tonight, something in me finally snapped.
Not because somebody found me attractive. Attraction is not an insult. Flirting is not inherently disrespectful. Sex is not dirty, and desire is not some moral failure.
The problem is being treated like my sexuality is the most important thing about me.
The problem is reaching for friendship and being handed sexual attention instead.
The problem is realizing that someone I thought wanted access to my thoughts, my stories, my humor, my weird little obsessions, my bad nights, my good news, my creativity, my friendship, apparently also thought my body was sitting somewhere in the terms and conditions.
It isn’t.
And being polyamorous does not change that.
I think some people hear polyamorous and translate it into available.
They hear that I have more than one relationship and assume there must not be any doors in my life, only revolving ones.
That is not how this works.
Polyamory is not consent.
It is not an open invitation.
It is not permission to ignore a boundary because you think my relationship structure means I probably won’t mind.
It does not mean I am interested in you.
It does not mean I want to sleep with you.
It does not mean I am willing to participate in whatever complicated situation you have going on in your own relationship.
And it certainly does not mean a boundary becomes negotiable because you ask enough times.
Tonight’s situation hurt more because the boundaries had already been discussed.
This wasn’t someone innocently misunderstanding me for the first time.
He knew.
And I am exhausted by having to repeatedly explain that I am a whole fucking person.
I am a writer.
I am a friend.
I am somebody who will enthusiastically explain fictional characters to you for three hours if you make the mistake of showing interest.
I have opinions and stories and fears and ridiculous ideas.
I make things.
I love people.
I get lonely.
Sometimes I message somebody because I genuinely just want to know how their life is going.
There are entire galaxies inside me that have absolutely nothing to do with sex.
And I am tired of people standing at the edge of all of that and asking if they can see me naked.
So tonight I made a new rule.
Night Desk Rule #4: Sexualize me and you lose access to me.
It sounds harsh.
Maybe it is.
But I have spent too much time softening boundaries so other people wouldn’t feel uncomfortable about crossing them.
I have explained.
I have redirected.
I have reminded.
I have laughed things off.
I have given second chances because I valued the friendship and hoped the other person valued it too.
At some point, continuing to explain the boundary becomes less about giving someone grace and more about teaching them that there will never actually be consequences for ignoring it.
I’m done teaching that lesson.
Tonight I blocked someone I once considered a friend.
I cried afterward.
Those two things can exist together.
A boundary can be necessary and still hurt.
Walking away from somebody does not mean you never cared about them. Sometimes it means you finally decided caring about them could no longer require abandoning yourself.
And maybe that is what I’m learning lately.
Access to me is not a right.
My friendship is not the waiting room for sex.
My kindness is not flirtation.
My openness is not availability.
My polyamory is not consent.
If you want to know me, then know me.
The whole person.
Otherwise, the door is closed.
