I’m someone who doesn’t get bent about the sexual activities of others assuming it involves consenting adults. However, whenever, whatever works for me as long as it doesn’t impact my own little portion of the world. It’s very egocentric.
At one time, I was very active in ‘the scene’ of BDSM clubs, activities, play parties, secret email invitations, and the like. It didn’t matter if I was single or dating someone or in a flat out monogamous relationship, I liked to go to those places to be around people that were openly accepting of alternative lifestyles. I liked not being the freak in the room.
Except, as it turns out, I was still the freak in the room.
Unwritten dress code of latex, leather and fetish heels aside, it simply became something of an exhibition, a cold war, if you will, between levels of kink, or levels of awe the activity could inspire. If you drew a crowd that could watch you hog tie your latest play date, or inject saline into the balls of some unsuspecting male sub (sarcasm intended here), then you knew yourself to be some sort of hit. It became a race for toys and the biggest tool kit you could drag behind you without the use of a hotel valet. It ties in what RG was suggesting in her piece, that in the competition to be the most free, the most accepting of alternative lifestyles, the most open-minded, we lost something else.
And when I realized this, the question of authenticity began. Of course, excluding my time overseas (which shall remain a classified matter), all of these places had no blood, no bodily fluid, no sex rules. I honestly thought, in my naiveté, that this had something to do with law, Texas is in the Bible belt after all, into which the stiff ruling hand of conservative (read Christian) leadership is heavily represented. And yes, here in this great state, that is something that would not fly so well with the police were it to hit the radar.
But why, at the private houses was this still in place? These rules were printed in the waivers you signed at the door to the club, but in a private house, they seemed to carry over. I was confused. In the effort to be so outwardly kink friendly, they had in fact shut the door very firmly on some things that I personally, found very arousing. Blood. Pain. Sex.
Don’t mistake me here. I’m not suggesting you can’t have pain without blood resulting, but my particular brand of sadism is rooted in those little red drops, and even in their absence, is rooted in the possibility, the THREAT of blood. It’s one of those things that gets my dick hard.
You like that little rabbit fur paddle, I like steel razors… to each their own? No. That’s not how it works, I’m afraid.
A little clarification before anyone starts on a rant
I’m speaking in generalizations and my experience which is not your own. My observations, my views gathered, and yes, from a male (and dominant) perspective, which I’m sure doesn’t represent the views of a submissive housewife in Des Moines, IA – or 99% of the population as a whole, because I like to fuck women with blood on them. Let’s face it, that’s pretty fucking kinky.
And I’d like to also add that I’m very aware of STD’s and any number of blood borne pathogens, diseases and such that result from bodily fluid exchange – however, we are ALL adults here and if you don’t know your partner’s sexual history, don’t use protection and generally play roulette with your life, then a drop of blood that splashes onto the velvet sofa at a play party that you sit on a week later, isn’t going to be the catalyst to your STD infection.
Now onto my own little rant, excuse the gratuitous metaphors and similes…
The disempowerment we’ve allowed
I’ve been giving this some thought, honestly, after speaking with RG and reading what Tutivillus wrote on the topic – we’ve all sort of taken our own route on this, but in my view, it’s simply a chain we’ve wrapped around our own freedoms as adults.
Was it an effort to distinguish ourselves from swingers? I’d bet that has something to do with it. BDSM people don’t like the label of being swingers, because unlike ‘those’ people, we like to keep our lust in check. Puritan much? It’s as if BDSM became the marijuana of kink, a tolerable and (somewhat) socially acceptable method of getting a high without getting dirty.
Well I played with mud and dirt as a child, and I didn’t grow up as a mutant… just uber kinky. And fucking, well, if you’re doing it right, you’re going to sweat and if I come inside you, it’s going to make a puddle on the bed that one of us will have to sleep in.
There is more. Men can be clueless. Women can be clueless. Sometimes, we just can’t read the signs correctly. We can’t pick up on the subtle details that a shrug can mean fuck off, or someone walking away mid-sentence doesn’t mean they want you to follow them.
It doesn’t mean we need some generic rule to cover the fact that the object of your desire can’t work up the nerve to say, ‘Look, I’m not interested.’ Don’t we owe this to each other? When did our ability to defend our rights, our bodies, our interests, become so ineffective that we had to settle a rule in place to cover the ‘extreme’ eventuality that somehow, in this world, a connection might be made – one strong enough to say, ‘you know, I’d like to fuck you,’ or ‘you make me want to vomit, I wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire.’
For my part, I simply withdrew from the public scene. I was always the rebel anyway – sniffing alcohol swabs as if they were cocaine.
And finally, he draws breath….
Ultimately, for my part, and the way I am wired, I just can’t see why, after making a mess of someone, and breaking them down to the quivering emotional and hopefully bloody mess, I wouldn’t want to fuck them. I don’t see how in a world where kink is supposedly celebrated, if someone wants to publically share that with an appropriate audience, how you or anyone else has the right to say, put that shit away. When did we lose the ability to walk away? When did we start needing our lives spoon fed to our eyes?
And when will we stop accepting less than what we deserve? When did we allow ourselves to become so damn disempowered that we need a rule to speak for us?