Is it ok to mention anal over breakfast?

The one thing that never fails to shock me about sex, is how easily other people are shocked.

Thanks to a long story that I won't bother to explain here, I am in a position in my academic career right now, where I'm needing to do a lot of research on sexuality-related topics.  On the one hand, there's not a lot to learn that I'm not already personally familiar with.  But on the other hand, I am learning a hell of a lot about where other people sit - which is mostly on the other side of the planet from me.

An article I read today, was by a sex researcher doing an ethnographic study into sex politics, by "investigating" a swingers party and recording her personal reactions.  She seemed pretty honest and frank about it.  But what amazed me as I was reading it, was how new everything was to her - not the swinging scene, but the basic elements involved.  Things like being naked in front of strangers.  Having a conversation about genital piercing.  Telling someone your fantasies.  Being attracted to a member of the same sex.  Things I think of as pretty everyday experiences.  Are they really such a big deal to so many people?  Apparently.

So I was trying to think back today, to when I was a lot less experienced.  Way back to my teens.  I know there was a time when I didn't find it so easy to say I'm a bi-sub-slut.  The question I asked myself is, what did I used to think and feel back then, and was it anything like what this woman described?

The answer, of course, is hard to really know, since my memories must be influenced by what I've experienced since then.  But I remember a sense of frustration, at not being able to show what I wanted and what I was.  I knew darn well, for example, that I wanted to be gang banged by my male friends at age 16.  What annoyed me was that I couldn't say so - because other people (them included) would find it too shocking.  And I remember talking about fantasies with my boyfriend at age 17, and having to moderate them to avoid freaking him out.  Telling him I thought about other girls was perfectly OK, but mentioning bondage and torture turned out to be a bad move, as the look of alarm on his face told me.  Oops.

By the time I met Master, being silent about my desires "just in case" of what other people thought had been strongly instilled in me.  It took time for him to drag them out in the open, and there were many scoldings for trying to shy away.  Now it all seems so plain, so ordinary, that I often fail to keep track of where other people's "normal" marker lies.  I keep silent on sexual topics once again, no longer out of fear of judgement, but because I know that I have a great bias in my judgement.  I constantly expect people to be comfortable with far more than what they are.

Kinky Exposure

Yesterday was a rare day - a day when I had the guilty pleasure of being visible as a deviant.  I blogged just recently about the desire to be seen for what I am - and for a full day, I was, via a leather studded collar Master left on my neck for the day.

It was titillating, to have the work colleague who dropped by, and the conservative women at the library, and the checkout lady at the supermarket, all look me in the eye and know something of what I am.  Seeing the passers-by all meet my gaze felt transparent, as if my slavehood was advertised on my face.  Some, of course, would not have known the meaning of the collar exactly - but they would know it made me different from them in ways they most likely dared not think about.

Apart from making me incredibly wet from sheer exhibitionism, though.... the day's experience also made me think about exactly how different my existence would be if I could be seen as a slave every day.  Just to be looked at everywhere I went was daunting.  Seeing the concentrated way people looked only at my eyes, and were ultra-polite to me, was telling.  I felt dangerously proud - dangerous because I knew that for every twenty people who were afraid of me, there would also be one who might voice their disgust.

I read a blog recently in a psychology site, about introverts and their desires.  The author commented on how much introverted types hate to stand out, to dress up, or to let their inhibitions down.  Now I am very introverted: give me my own company over a crowd any time.  I have always preferred to be the silent one, taking in what is around me, and thinking on it.  My voice is small, and even smaller with a larger audience around.  So why, then, do I get off on standing out in public as a kinkster?  Why do I love to occasionally dress with my tits and ass hanging out like an avid slut?  Why do I love parties where I get to be whipped almost unconscious while a group looks on, or get to suck twenty cocks in a gangbang frenzy?  Such is not the typical role of the introvert.

The only conclusion I can draw, is that I love to be noticed only when it's for the "wrong" reasons.  I wanna be a bad girl - and to be seen as a bad girl.  My exhibitionism is not really about showing my tits - its about showing my wanton depravity.  I just want to say, "I am not the good girl you think I am."

Just thinking about it makes me wet!

Invisible slave

Look around you at the office, or the shop, or the restaurant.  Take a glance at your neighbours, scrutinise your family, and contemplate your friends.  Who among them knows the euphoria of being tied down and whipped?  Who knows what it is, to surrender totally to another person?  Who understands the passion and devotion of committing themselves to being a slave?  Or on the other side of the coin, of owning one?  It most likely won't be obvious, but the most innocent-looking gesture, or gaze, or word, can be an important clue.

Yesterday I found myself agitated, frustrated and basically envious of an outspoken lesbian woman at work.  She was making herself known, and people were joking with her and smiling to let it be known that they supported the office "gay".  The delight on her face at being the centre of attention, loved by all, was grating.  I imagined the response if I had made similar comments about my own relationship status: shocked silence, followed by awkward attempts to steer the conversation away from anything to do with sexuality.

In the same meeting, a demonstration of sorts used a piece of rope.  Naturally, its appearance was met by nervous giggles and joking references to who was "into" what.  Would that lesbian woman have sat in silence while people teased one another about being dykes?  Hell no.  But kink - that's allowed to be a joke.  It's far too scary to be taken seriously.

A girl who works the checkout at my local supermarket comes to work wearing a leather collar.  One day as she made polite chitchat to me, I gestured to my neck, and asked her, "fashion or lifestyle?"  She smiled, obviously pleased to have been asked.  "Oh, lifestyle!" she replied.  I smiled back, happy to have engaged with a fellow deviant... until she went on.... "I've always been into Goth, it's really important to me!"  Goth, huh?  Not really what I'd meant by "lifestyle".  Just as well she hadn't known any better.

I hope I'm not misunderstood - I don't actually take myself so seriously that I feel this way all the time.  I don't go around giving people evils for not "respecting kink".  I wouldn't want to be any part of a recognition movement called "kink pride".  I enjoy that D/s is fairly "underground" - it keeps it personal, and allows more freedom in some ways.  If kink were "out", there would be even more wannabes and fakers to find our way around, and no doubt the "rules" people try to promote as universal would be equally well known, and even more invasive than they already are.  I like it this way - when people are afraid to know, they mind their own business.

But sometimes, I want people to know what is important to me.  Sometimes I want to tell them that kink isn't just a new way of having sex.  And when people compliment me on that lovely necklace I have on, I wish I could tell them why I smile with pride.  Because it makes me happy, brings me excitement, and - yes, I'll admit it - makes me feel special.  But I can't be seen like the lesbian in the room can.

Next time you are in a group, and someone cracks a joke about kinky sex, have a look around.  Who there is not blushing or laughing?  Who looks a little more comfortable than the others with the subject matter?  Who looks a little bored, waiting for the nervous giggling to die down?  That's the person who knows something real about kink.