I’m at a swingers party, having just been the demo bunny for a rope workshop. I am being flogged. A woman to my right is whispering ‘relax’ and the Whore is holding a wand to my clit while 2 men hang back watching.
How did I get here?
The thought permeates what capacity I have for rationale thought while I stare at a cutout of what I suppose is meant to be the turret of a castle. I’m wet. I know I am, I’m totally enthralled in what is happening.
But I used to be normal. I swear.
I was just like you. I watched documentaries about extreme bdsm and thought it was super fucking weird and a bit creepy, to be totally frank. I used to think working girls were involved in some alternate reality which existed alongside mine but hidden somehow. I guess this is what some would call ‘a fall from grace’.
It happened slowly at first, finding out that handcuffs and tickle torture porn would leave me wide eyed and breathless. Enjoying taking my clothes off at every opportunity. Finding being face fucked would mean a change in underwear. Loving every customer at work who wanted me to beat them or stand on them. It definitely started slowly.
Fetishism friends were always trying to get me involved ‘come on Alice, come to this event, it’s totally you. You’ll love it.’
I will. But I didn’t get round to it for a LONG time. Meanwhile I stayed in largely monogamous vanilla relationships with occasional handcuffs and light spanking – only watching bdsm porn with the sound down when I was in the bedroom alone. I really didn’t think much of it in general. Just a sort of extra curricular interest.
Partners figured it out fairly quickly and it would be something that we didn’t really talk about. An ex once gave me a bondage kit we’d bought and never used, saying dryly, “This is more your thing.”
Finally, a close friend of mine starred attending events and said to me, “C’mon Alice, you can have a couple drinks, chat to people and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”
By the end of the night I was stood topless wearing a chest harness made of red rope, enjoying the line of eyes watching me from a viewing area. Life is funny like that.
At the next event, I met the Whore, a professional dominatrix and the rest, as they say, is history.
Kink was not something that was done to me. There was no big event that led me down that path. I always liked sex and I always liked kink, I just didn’t know where to get it. I bought my first handcuffs and collar at 16 but didn’t really use it, not being sure what I actually wanted to do with them. I would get turned on by scenes in vanilla TV shows that involved people being hypnotised or like the scene in Bruce Almighty where Jennifer Aniston is commanded to cum in the bathroom. This isn’t some damage or illness, it’s just part of who I am.
The definition of a mental illness is often described by professionals as ‘something which negatively impacts the subject’s day to day life’. Well BDSM doesn’t and it doesn’t hurt anyone, at least not anyone who isn’t under full consent.