The Christmas mornings of my childhood were like falling down a rabbit hole into a sparkly wonderland. I still remember the smell of a new doll, the feel of ribbon under my fingers, the glint of tinsel in the evening light. It was hypnotic. Since then, I’ve experienced a few different kinds of magic, and true love was among the best of them. Kink, though, is high on the list.
It’s brought me enough sparkles and celebrations to create its own special kind of Christmas morning. The beginnings of my forays into the community, with all its hundreds of different toys, experiences, and pain, created many of my favourite memories. Bruises and clamps and spankings and rope were magical enough to completely alter my view of the world.
Sex and kink are not everything, but they definitely come with enough sparkle to make life feel like a celebration. They aren’t always celebrations, though. Sadomasochism can also get too dark and sticky for me, just like those old Christmas tree balls we had that were starting to dull and feel tacky. I’ve known the worst side of sex for half my life. Rape will teach you that lesson well, but consensual kink can swallow you in a similar way. I’ve always been careful to keep my fetish world pure for that reason. I need it to be loving and intimate.
Being monogamous and sensitive to the emotional side of sex, I need to stay away from sadists who do this compulsively and addictively. I understand the draw to kink that feeds an inner monster or pathology. I’m even tempted by it in many ways, but I stay away. I need a sadist who can find intimacy at the end of his black, leather rainbow. Bring me a man with a wry smile and a hint of mischief in his eye. You can keep the one who does this to fill the cracks in his psyche. I’m not here for your Marquis de Sade. I’d prefer E. Edward Grey.
I’ve had open relationships in the past, but in Kinkville, I find safety in monogamy. I’ve stayed away from casual kink because if I’m to show you my rawest self, I need it to be met with love. Aftercare and check-ins are some of my favourite parts of BDSM. Just as paintings need their darks and lights, I need the contrasts of love and pain if I’m to feel comfortable.
Do I want to throw away my desire for love and keep enough play partners to fill the Googleplex? Yes. Sometimes. I know that’s not good for me, though. Just like that Barbie I got from my mother when I was 10, my kink life prefers gifts that come from connection.
I’ve been single long enough to write an encyclopaedia about desire, but that’s better than writing one about misery.
“Each cut, each scar, each burn, a different mood or time. I told him what the first one was. I told him where the second one came from. I remembered them all. And for the first time in my life, I felt beautiful. Finally part of the earth. I touched the soil, and he loved me back.” – The Secretary