My partner and I’s sex life has always been vanilla, so we decided to spice things up a bit. During some rigorous intercourse they began chiding me, calling me all sorts of awful, depraved things. It didn’t do much for me until they said I was an “annoying stax player” which, for whatever reason, gave me the best, mind melting orgasm of my life. While it sounds awesome, I’m having trouble, since now it is the only way I can get off.
You might be wondering why that’s a bad thing. Discovering something that gets you off like that should be great, especially when you’re with an open-minded, willing partner. You might be thinking that I should feel fortunate. Lucky even! As much as I wish that were true—like most things in life—it’s complicated.
The real issue here is that I am an annoying stax player. Confusing, right? While it is a complex issue the best way to describe it is that in order for a stax player to continue being a stax player we cannot accept that we are, in fact, annoying. That may seem strange, but people convince themselves of untruths every day. We’ve all met a parent claiming they don’t have a favorite kid, or a burn player who thinks they win with skill. It’s fairly common since these little white lies serve as a coping mechanism and help people focus positive energy. Path of least resistance and all that.
Us stax players have a certain responsibility to convince ourselves that our tactics and win-cons (if we have any) are clever and cheeky. That they’re engaging and fun for our playgroups. Part of maintaining that façade is brushing off comments to the contrary as playful banter. Deep down we know you’re being forthright, but accepting it means acknowledging we shouldn’t be doing what we’re doing. That we’re wrong. That kind of self-actualization would cause a cascading effect resulting in us piloting merfolk tribal or something instead. No thanks, I’d like to continue getting laid.
Though, perhaps that’s why my partner’s comment does it for me. Maybe that part of my subconscious is screaming out to be accepted and acknowledged. They finally took the wheel for the briefest of moments and rewarded me with Big Gulp’s worth of dopamine in exchange for a taste of freedom. And believe you me, I wanted more. But given the circumstances, how could I?
Could I let this part of me out of the box knowing the impact it could have on my commander career? Could I be both of these people simultaneously? Could I spend my life as a walking, talking contradiction? A stax player in denial whose alter ego’s sole purpose of existence was to taste color in the bedroom? Was it worth the risk? You bet your ass it was.
I had to accept this part of me and nurture it for the sake of my own mental health. I decided to stop being dismissive of other people’s feelings about my deck and its oppressive slant. Now instead of laughing it off, I take their hand in mine and say “You must be feeling angry right now. I know I would. It’s okay if you want to talk about it.” It seems to be working because they don’t say anything to me afterward.
I also accepted that my deck, while really fun for me, might not create the best play patterns for my group. Sure, I still haven’t dialed it back or changed decks, but accepting that I’m kind of a prick has lifted a weight off my chest. Now those dreary days seem a little brighter.
Besides, it’s set me down a path of self-discovery. Now, I’ve figured out how to “get there” when my partner isn’t around by chanting “they’re scooping because they value their time,” while I’m uh … bolting my bird.