protocol

Protocol Diaries: To-Do, Ta-Da!

Kate Sloan

It started – as many of our protocols do – with a more unofficial version, before either of us could acknowledge with confidence that we wanted something more.

Throughout the early months of our D/s dynamic, I would sometimes text my Sir a frazzled list of my various tasks for the day: finish dayjob work, write blog post, take photos, wash dishes, do laundry, and so on. I did this because I wanted him to press me to actually do those things, which, fortunately, he did. There are few things more disappointing, as a submissive, than hinting that you want some measure of discipline and receiving, instead, an oblivious nothing.

As time progressed, I took to copy-and-pasting my to-do list from my Notes app directly into a text to him – not every day, but sometimes. And then its frequency crept closer to daily. He said he enjoyed knowing what I was up to, on a granular level, at any given day – that it made him feel closer to me, even though we’re long-distance.

One day in September, after weeks of this, I tentatively texted him: “I wonder if my daily to-do list should be a shared note with you. Or is that too hardcore DD/lg for us?” We already had several shared notes – most notably, one that lays out our rules, protocols, and relationship boundaries, like a D/s contract for the digital age – but I was concerned that this one would be placing too much responsibility on him. Having everyday access to my to-do list would implicitly come with the duty to keep an eye on my tasks and my status, and to reward or perhaps punish me accordingly.

It took him fifteen minutes to get back to me, because he was swamped at work, but those minutes felt interminable because I was so worried he would say no. Instead, when he did respond, he said, “Oh my god. How did you read my mind? I thought about that all day yesterday.”

As we discussed it more, it came out that both of us had been wanting this for a while but had felt guilty about wanting it. This has been a recurring theme in our ever-evolving D/s negotiations. I’ve learned to trust, at this point, that if I want something, or have thought about it, odds are good that he wants it or has thought about it too. Some would say we’re in sync because we’re profoundly in love and an uncommonly good match; I would add that we’re also both total pervs, in many of the same peculiar little ways.

We’ve gone several weeks now with me making a to-do list almost every day (every weekday, some weekends), and we talk often about how much we both love it. He loves it because it makes him feel more closely entangled in my daily life, it gives him a sense of how much is on my plate on any given day so he knows whether he can safely assign me additional tasks, it supplies information he needs to support and encourage me properly as a dom, and it’s an incredibly intimate window into my brain (always a selling point for a hypnokinkster). I love it because it feels like a deep sign of mutual trust, it helps me feel more accomplished when I get things done, and it makes me likelier to actually do the things I need to do.

I felt guilty about this at first, and spiralled into self-doubting thoughts. Why is it easier for me to stay on top of my tasks when a man is supervising my progress? Shouldn’t I be self-sufficient, driven, and motivated all on my own? Isn’t it unfeminist, unevolved, or psychologically lazy of me to rely on someone else to fuel my motivation?

But in thinking about it more, I’ve arrived at the conclusion that there’s nothing inherently wrong with pursuing externally-imposed structure and validation. We all do it, to some extent. It’s part of why we post things on Facebook, dress to impress when we go out, and curate our life’s aesthetic to be more Instagram-friendly. My friend Bex once told me that he sometimes goes on wild adventures just so he’ll be able to say he did on social media, and that if it takes an external force to get him to do something fun (like pose for kinky pictures with Santa), so what? He still did the fun thing, so everyone wins. In this case, I usually complete every task on my to-do list and I deepen and intensify my connection with my partner, so… what’s really the problem here?

I think our culture is over-invested in the myth of total self-sufficiency, of “independence,” when what we should really be focusing on is interdependence and how we can support each other and lift each other up. No man is an island, as the saying goes. D/s just makes those connections more explicit in how they function and what’s expected of them – and makes them hotter, in the process, to those involved.

My partner has told me that he wants me to eventually become more self-sustaining – and I’ve already seen that happen in some of our other protocols. Sometimes, for example, I take my iron pill and forget to text him about it, because the daily habit of texting him about it has also instilled the daily habit of taking the pill. Maybe one day I’ll feel as fired up about plowing through my to-do list solo as I do when I know my dom has his eye on it. This is yet another way kink makes me a stronger, better, more fulfilled person.

Protocol Diaries: An Iron-Clad Commitment

Kate Sloan

It’s not an exaggeration to say that kink has improved my life substantially. Not just because I’m having sex that better suits my tastes, but also because the structure (optionally) imposed by D/s can be transformative. (Just look at the #BetterLivingThroughKink hashtag on Twitter if you don’t believe me.)

I’ve had partners before who seemed unenthused about implementing and enforcing protocol – and I don’t blame them: it’s gotta be exhausting to be in control of not only your own life but also significant portions of someone else’s. This gets easier, so I’m told, if you have the type of brain that relishes that level of control rather than shying away from it – and my current partner is, indeed, that type of dom.

When we discussed protocol in the early days of our relationship, we discussed not only things that would be fun and hot, but also things that would be practical. I’m mildly anaemic and thus have to take an iron supplement every day, but I struggle with remembering to do it. Unlike something like a birth control pill, which you can set a daily timer for, my iron pill has to be taken with food – and, as a work-from-home freelancer, my meal schedule fluctuates wildly depending on what I’m up to that day. So, before meeting my Sir, I would often forget to take my iron for days at a time, resulting in dreaded dizziness and lethargy – not good!

During our early protocol negotiations, my Sir asked me what reward I thought would motivate me to take my iron daily. I contemplated the question, and then felt almost embarrassed to answer: selfies from him. It sounds fairly basic, but when you’re long-distance, you never get to see as much of your partner’s face as you wish you could. We were already in the habit of sending each other occasional selfies for no particular reason, but I still wanted more of his gorgeous face, and suspected it could keep me on-track with my iron regimen.

We implemented this protocol, and I immediately loved it. The exchange is simple – once a day, at mealtime, I take my pill, text him “Took my iron,” and he sends back a selfie as soon as he has a spare moment to take one – but it achieves exactly what we wanted it to: it makes me actually want to take my pill.

Not only do I want to see his face, I also want to connect with him throughout the day. As a person who sometimes has anxiety about seeming too “needy” or “bugging” my partners when they’re busy, I like having an excuse to reach out to my love in the middle of the workday, even if it’s just for this small two-component exchange. This anxiety still persists sometimes – I’ve occasionally gotten in trouble for taking my pill but not telling him, because he was busy and I didn’t want to “bother” him! – but it makes it easier overall, and that’s nice.

This protocol is so important to my Sir that he even sticks to it when we’re together in person. He’ll watch me take my pill while we’re having lunch or dinner together, and then pull out his phone, snap a cute selfie, and text it to me. It makes me giggle, because it’s, in some ways, “unnecessary,” but I also appreciate his dedication to this agreement we’ve made. And I like looking back at the selfies later!

One thing we were deliberate about, in creating this protocol, is setting it up so that there’s a reward when I Do The Thing, but there’s no punishment when I don’t. The adverse health effects I suffer when I skip my pill for a few days, though fairly mild, are their own punishment of sorts, as is my Sir’s gentle disappointment when he asks if I took my pill and I say no. Some say positive reinforcement works better than negative, and I’ve definitely found that to be true for me: I thrive on praise and treats when I do well, while admonishment and punishment just makes me recede into myself and feel sad and panicked. I’m glad we were able to set up this protocol in a way that feels good for both of us.

What protocols could you create in a D/s dynamic to make yourself healthier, happier, and/or more productive? Which have you already found work well for you?

Long-Time Listener, First-Time Collar

Kate Sloan

I didn’t want to buy my own collar. I was a single submissive, unowned, unneeded, and unmoored. As much as I might want a band of evocative leather around my throat, buying one seemed as gauche as buying one’s own engagement ring before even meeting a person one would like to marry. But I wanted one nonetheless. (A collar, that is; not an engagement ring. Although, for some kinksters, that’s a distinction without a difference.)

My best friend Bex bought me my first collar. They presented it to me on my 24th birthday, in the front seat of their car, while we zoomed from Pennsylvania to Wisconsin on the middle leg of a road trip. It was exactly perfect: the Aslan Leather Nicki collar, made of berry-pink leather banded with black.

I gasped. I cried. “I can be my own daddy,” I mused, clutching the leather to my chest.

“Exactly,” Bex said, and I knew they understood me more deeply than any best friend I’d ever had.

Later that day, somewhere in Cleveland, we pulled over on a side street and got out to go scavenge for lunch. “Do I have to take my collar off because we’re going to be around vanilla people?” I asked, tugging self-consciously on the metal ring at my throat.

“No,” Bex said.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive, little one.”

We strolled along that sunny side street and our glamorous friend C. added, “If anybody catcalls you or says anything about your collar, I’ll hit them with my parasol.” Thankfully, they didn’t have to.

Sometimes you don’t know how badly you want something until you almost-but-don’t-quite get it.

My first daddy dom told me five days after we met that he was available to be the primary partner I wanted, then told me weeks later, by which time he was juggling three partners, “I don’t remember saying that, and I don’t think I would have said that.” He promised to turn an old telephone table into a spanking bench painted my favorite colors, but only got as far as sanding before giving up on the project and on me. His idea of love and care was “I thought about bringing you chocolate, but I ran out of time.” “I almost texted you, but then I got distracted.” “Really? Did I say that? That doesn’t sound like something I would say.”

So I shouldn’t have been surprised when he promised to make me a collar and that never happened either.

I was so excited when he made this offhand vow. I went home and started Googling collar pictures: collars with chainmail, collars with filigree, collars with hearts. I wanted one with a heart, I knew. There was never any question in my mind.

There was never any question, either, about whether he was the right person to put my first capital-C Collar on me, the first person to have that degree of power over me. “Fuuuck,” I wrote in my journal. “How have I known this person less than two weeks and already I want him to own me?” He wasn’t even “boyfriend” yet and already I wanted him to be Daddy, Sir, owner. How like me, to give my heart away with the force and velocity of a six-year-old playing a game of Hot Potato.

One hot July night, he cancelled our plans to go to Tell Me Something Good together at the last minute, playing the “tired” card – another broken promise – so I went with a gaggle of pals instead. I got up and told the crowd a story about a spanking gone awry, and garnered scores high enough to win a prize at the end of the night. My eyes swept across the prize table, trying to select my reward, when I saw it: a silver heart-shaped padlock, glittering with rhinestones. I seized it in my eager paws, daydreaming already of the chain he would thread it onto, the words he would say as he clasped it around my neck.

The next time I saw him, I intoned modestly, “I’ve got something to show you,” and produced the lock from a drawer. I thought he’d know immediately what it was for, but instead he just looked at me quizzically. “It’s pretty,” I think he said, unsure what I was getting at.

“I thought you could use it when you make my collar!” I finally explained – and even then, his eyes did not light up. I wonder now if he’d changed his mind about wanting to own me; if perhaps I had already lost my lustre, the way shiny new possessions inevitably, eventually do.

He ended our relationship two weeks later. For months, I couldn’t look at that heart-shaped lock without comparing it to my own heart: given unreservedly but unwanted; relegated to a sad, dusty drawer.

In December of that year, I met a boy in New York. Nine days later, I was calling him “Sir” and asking him which collar I should wear to the theatre. What can I say; when I fall, I fall fast. It’s a character flaw. Or maybe a superpower.

I texted him a selfie from my seat in the Young Centre, my hair tumbling over the turquoise suede he’d told me to wear. “Hiding your collar!” he replied immediately, to which I retorted – drunk on one beer and new-relationship adrenaline – “It’s there, I promise. Reminding me of whose I am.”

Alarm bells sounded in my head even as I typed the words. Too fast too soon too much. Remember last time? But I wanted the risk, the rush. I wanted to believe.

“Fuckkkk. That ownership language makes me feel very fucking special,” he thumbed back in a blur, and I felt the internal stirring and whirring of a hope blossoming into a wish.

He asked me to wear the turquoise choker again the following day. I did, to a nearby café, pulling nervously at it the whole block-long walk. “Maybe next time I see you in person, we should go buy a collar together,” I suggested. A test. A dare. I didn’t want us to keep using collars I already owned as symbols of our burgeoning power dynamic; they made me feel dirty with past associations, like going on a first date wearing an ex’s sweater that still smells of heartbreak.

“What makes you think I won’t have one in my hand?” he replied. I nearly dropped my phone on the icy sidewalk. Too fast too soon too much, I thought again. And also: I want more.

Sex nerds, kink nerds, and psychology nerds all like to talk about their intentions and motivations. Both of us are all three. We talked a lot.

“What does a collar mean to you?” one of us asked the other, and we each threw out phrase after phrase, “yes” after “yes,” ascending a tower of assent. It’s an intensifier. A motivator. Ownership. Affection. Pride. A solidification, a sign of safety, of commitment. (We weren’t even ready to call each other “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” – and yet. Love is absurd.)

I listened to him over the phone while he made the purchase: a royal blue suede collar we’d chosen together. We giggled resolutely, and then I heard nervousness creep into his voice. “I want to make explicit,” he began, wavering, “that I don’t want you to wear it with anyone else.”

It had never occurred to me to wear it with anyone else. It was his collar. His gift to me, and mine to him. His symbolic hand wrapped around my throat. I’m staunchly non-monogamous, so there are times when my lips and my cunt and my submission are for other people. But that collar was not for other people. Only for him.

We wrote the rules of the collar together, in our shared note of protocols entitled “Sir and little one.” There are only a few rules, but each is important.

  1. Whenever Sir and little one are together, he will collar her. She will not use their collar with anyone else, put it on without being ordered to by Sir, or allow anyone else to touch it.
  2. When ordered to wear her collar, little one must continue wearing it until she completes any assigned tasks or work and receives permission to remove it.
  3. Little one may temporarily remove her collar without permission if necessary to protect herself or the collar.

I swooned as he drafted the phrasing for each decree. The care and love he poured into this exercise – even before we were calling this thing between us “love” – was so evident, so huge. No romantic symbol can really mean anything unless you’re certain it means the same thing to both of you – and I knew that this one did. It was as clear as the words in our respective Notes apps, black text on a backlit screen.

He put it around my neck on a February night – the same night he kissed me in the lineup outside Brooklyn Steel, and danced with me to my favorite band, and told me he loved me for the first time. Every time he looked at me, all night, his eyes dipped to the collar around my neck, then narrowed as his expression hardened into what I can only call “the dom face.” Every dom has one. His makes me shiver and bite my lip.

He would get distracted and trail off mid-sentence when his eyes caught on the collar. “Sorry, it just… looks really good on you,” he attempted to explain each time. He meant, I knew, not so much that the collar looked good on me but that submission did. Being small and compliant looked good on me. Being his looked good on me.

We’ve talked a lot about our collar since before we even picked it out, and we still talk about it. What it means. When I should and shouldn’t wear it. What we would do if I dropped it down a subway grate by accident. What we would do if we broke up.

There’s a lot in this world of which I’m uncertain, and a lot that frightens me in its uncertainty. But this collar – for all the time I spent hoping for it and wishing for it – feels certain to me, fixed, decided. I know what it means; my love and I swing this shared meaning between us like a tether.

If I can’t know anything else for sure in this world, at least I can know that I’m owned by someone who loves me; that he loves me enough to have put a piece of sacred suede around my neck; that he loves me enough to go all dark-eyed and dom-faced whenever he looks at the collar that means I’m his.

Prostate Play & Protocol: Recommending Men’s Sex Toys

Kate Sloan

I love nerding out about D/s with my boyfriend, and one way we do that is by experimenting with protocols together.

I’ve told you before about protocols: recurring action-based rules you can negotiate and establish in a kink dynamic. They’re usually structured as “When x, then y.” Some my partner and I have established in our relationship include: “When little one takes her daily iron supplement, she’ll text Sir and he’ll send her a selfie as a reward.” “When little one gets a drink other than water while she and Sir are out together, Sir gets the first taste.” “When ordered to wear her collar, little one must continue wearing it until she completes any assigned tasks or work and receives permission to remove it.”

A few months ago, while pondering the truism that protocol should ideally enhance and enrich both partners’ lives, my Sir had an idea for a new one. Seeking to harness my sex toy knowledge for his benefit, he assigned me the task of coming up with one toy recommendation for him each month. I’m allowed to gather intel by asking him questions (e.g. “What kinds of toys do you feel are missing from your collection?” “What’s the biggest toy you’ve taken anally, and did you like it?” “Can you have prostate orgasms without external stimulation?”) and then I have to write 500-700 words about the toy I’ve chosen that month, why I chose it, and how I foresee us using it together. He doesn’t have to buy the toy I recommend, but if I make a good case for it, he usually does.

This protocol helps my partner expand his sex toy collection and therefore his pleasure possibilities, and it also helps me feel useful. I’ve loved recommending men’s sex toys in past relationships, because it felt like I was serving my partner by concretely improving his life – so it feels good that this recommendation process is actually structured into my current relationship. I love being of use to my Sir!

So far, I’ve written four of these recs – always due on the 5th of the month, a date we chose together because it doesn’t typically conflict with other writing deadlines of mine. I’ve suggested two anal toys (one vibrating and one not), one stroker, and one vibrator for penises. His two favorites thus far have been the Njoy Pfun and the Hot Octopuss Pulse Solo III (both pictured). In fact, he loves the Pfun so much that he told me he thinks one should be issued for free to everyone who has a prostate!

One of my favorite things about this protocol is that I always submit my recommendation via Google Docs and my partner makes edits, notes, and suggestions using the interface’s built-in editing tools. I’ve always been a teacher’s pet, and I have definite kink feelings about receiving feedback and a grade on my writing (when I’ve consented to that type of scrutiny!). For example, it made me feel smart and accomplished when he complimented me for researching the width allowances of a particular Fleshlight on the /r/BigDickProblems subreddit to make sure it would fit my Sir’s cock. And when I recommended a butt plug because he’d mentioned to me that he didn’t own any, he commented, “I love how closely you listen and pay attention, little one.” Swoon.

Another fave thing about this protocol: getting to use the toys with him. I mean, duh. It’s always fun to use sex toys with someone you’re super into, but doubly so when you picked the toy yourself, for this specific person, for well-researched reasons, and they trusted you enough to buy it on your endorsement alone. Good D/s is all about trust, and I feel that even moreso than usual when I’m blowing my Sir while fucking him with a prostate toy I chose for his particular ass.

I have a lot of romantic feelings about the whole idea of making recommendations. I think, when done well, they’re a way to show your partner (or friend, or family member) you really know them. In the past, I’ve dated game developers who could sleuth out the perfect iPhone game for my particular tastes, music nerds who made me mix CDs of new-to-me gems I instantly loved, and comedy geeks who could say with full confidence, “You’d love this longform improv troupe,” and be right. Knowing someone that well is a talent, and being known that well is a gift. So I’m happy to have yet another way to demonstrate to my partner how much I adore him and want to make him happy!

What about you? Got any cool protocols you’ve been trying out lately? What’s the last sex toy you recommended to someone or had recommended to you? How did that go?

 

Heads up: this post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own!

3 D/s Protocols I’m Loving Lately

Kate Sloan
Suz at the Ritual Chamber, photographed by Taylor J Mace

There are many elements of my submission that only come out when a dominant brings them out of me. I only like calling people “Daddy” when there’s someone in my life who has earned that title, for example, and I only fantasize about kneeling to lick the boots of a select few. Dominance and submission are very context-dependent!

That’s why it took me so long to become interested in protocol, I think. I’m defining “protocol” here as a specific set of rules and routines agreed upon by a dominant and a submissive, usually with a particular trigger and outcome: “When [x] happens, you will [y].” I had read about protocol in Sinclair Sexsmith essays and elsewhere, but wasn’t sure it was for me. But when my current dominant partner started discussing it with me, I realized I felt very positively about it – with him, anyway!

Part of the difference, I think, is that we’re long-distance. Protocol is a way for us to feel closer to each other throughout our day-to-day, even though we only get to see each other in-person once every month or two. It’s a way for both of us to confirm to the other that we think about each other often, consider each other in our decision-making, and respect and value the relationship and D/s dynamic we have co-created. Isn’t kink romantic?!

We have several different protocols, all lovingly enumerated in a shared note called “Sir and little one” that syncs to all our various devices, because we’re nerds. Here are three I’m particularly loving lately.

Little one must prepare 3 “interview questions” to ask Sir for every pre-planned (i.e. 3+ hours’ notice) phone call.

This arose from the early days of our relationship, when we learned about each other with ravenous curiosity. He would sometimes teasingly call me out for asking probing follow-up questions aplenty during our conversations. What can I say – I’m a curious weirdo with a J-school education, and when faced with an interesting person, sometimes I go into “reporter mode”!

Asking him questions serves a number of different purposes that make both of us feel good. It makes me feel smart, incisive, and useful. It reinforces our DD/lg dynamic, by making him feel older/wiser and making me feel small/naive. I get to learn more about this person I love, and when he turns the question around on me (which he always does), he gets to learn more about me, too. It deepens our connection in a way that feels really satisfying, which is (IMO) exactly what protocol should do.

The questions are whatever I’m curious about: they’ve been anything from big philosophical queries to small specific ones to sexy ones. I keep an ongoing list of these questions stored up in a Google Doc and move them to an “already asked” list once they’ve been used. Here are some examples, so you can get a sense of what kinds of things I like to ask:

  • “What’s the last thing you did that was really out of character?”
  • “Which friend of yours is the most different from you, and how does that affect your friendship?”
  • “What do you think distinguishes a kinky person from a vanilla person?”
  • “Have you ever stolen anything?”
  • “What are some of your hidden talents?”
  • “Where and when do you get your best ideas?”
  • “What’s your favorite font?”

Sir gets the first taste of all little one’s drinks (excluding water) while they’re together.

My Sir is a cocktail nerd, so when we’re out together, he always chooses my drink and orders it for me. This protocol seemed like a natural extension of that. When he brought it up, he said he wanted to set this rule because a) he always wants to try my drinks anyway, to see what they’re like, and b) he wants to make sure the drinks are good enough for his little girl. Aww.

I like how deferential I feel when this protocol comes into play. Sliding my just-delivered cocktail across the table to Sir for his approval, before I even taste it myself, makes me feel small and powerless compared to him in a way I enjoy.

Protocols involving the control of food or drinks could be triggering for some folks who have struggled with eating disorders, alcoholism, etc. in the past or present, so tread carefully and communicate impeccably if you’re thinking about implementing a protocol in this category. I’m very into ours, though.

Little one must ask Sir permission to come if she’s thinking about or having sex with him, unless he’s going down on her.

Orgasm control is a big kink of my Sir’s, so from our very first sexting and phone-sex sessions, he always wanted me to ask permission before coming. When we wrote up our protocols, we made this rule official.

I was initially very hesitant about this one. My orgasms are sometimes elusive, so when one suddenly felt within reach, I didn’t want to derail it by taking a moment to ask, “May I come, please, Sir?” I worried that if I backed off for even that one moment, I’d screw up my orgasm trajectory and maybe miss out on one altogether. That seemed frustrating and pointless to me.

However, like anything, it’s gotten easier with practice. Now I’m usually able to squeak out my request without losing any headway on the path to orgasm – and I’ve developed enough trust with my Sir to know that he almost always grants me permission pretty quickly. In some ways, this protocol even lessens my preexisting anxieties about taking “too long” to come, because I know I’m not allowed to come without permission and that means my Sir wants to enjoy me wherever I am on the journey to orgasm.

We added the “unless he’s going down on her” caveat recently because my orgasms from oral sex are much more elusive and easily lost than ones I have through other means, so I’d rather focus completely on those without the distraction of having to ask first. There is something hot, too, about oral sex being a “loophole” through which I get to have “freebie” orgasms. It makes me feel even more motivated to relax into those sensations and get off that way.

Bonus: Here’s a protocol we tried that we ended up nixing because it wasn’t working for us:

Little one must show Sir any selfies that she plans to tweet before she tweets them. If she forgets, she must take another photo just for Sir that matches his specifications.

We thought this would be cute because it would make my Sir feel special to get a “preview” of my selfies before the whole internet saw them. I was a little wary, going into this one, that it might make me feel too owned – it felt uncomfortably close to how a monogamous ex of mine demanded I refrain from posting nudes online, even though I wanted to, because he considered that a violation of our monogamy. (That’s a totally fair boundary to set if you both feel great about it. I didn’t.)

However, as it turns out, the owned-ness of this protocol wasn’t what made it hard for me. I have a lot of anxiety about “bugging” my partners by texting them “too much” or at times when they might be busy (say, with another partner), so I found that sometimes, when I wanted to tweet a selfie, the thought of texting my Sir first was too challenging so I just… didn’t. And that meant I was posting fewer selfies and feeling kinda sad about that.

We implemented this protocol for a trial period of 10 days, at the end of which we talked about it to decide whether we wanted to keep it. I was willing to continue with it, but Sir didn’t like that it had become a deterrent to my selfie-posting, so we opted to eliminate it. It served as a good reminder for me (and maybe for you, too) that it’s okay to try protocols out, adapt and shift them as necessary, and sometimes get rid of them altogether. They are never set in stone, and that’s a good thing!

What are your favorite protocols you’ve tried, or wanted to try?

Additional resources on protocol (mostly Sinclair Sexsmith, ’cause I love them):