Last time on Pixie Rants: Commoditization of sex, specifically the idea that women are the “gatekeepers” of sex, sucks ass for lady-types because we have to be able to say “yes” or “no” based entirely on our partners’ behavior, rather than our own desires.

Today on Pixie Rants: Let’s look at the other side of that coin.

Like most of us, I began my adventures in dating with opposite-sex normalcy. Well, relative normalcy. As normal as it could be to be kissed for the first time when 20. Whatever.

Anyway, it wasn’t until later in life that I finally came to grips with the fact that I like boobs, and it wasn’t until even later that I finally got up the courage to do something about it and spent some time on the other side of the dating pool. And you know what I found out?

Asking girls out is hard!

All the lady-lovers ever: “No fucking shit, Pixie.”

Hey, cut me some slack, it was a revelation to me.

The script that a lot of ladies had in their heads ran something like this:

Man: “Wanna go out?”

Woman: “No.”

Man: “How about I sweeten the deal?”

Woman: “Wellllll…”

Man: “What if I continue to pester and offer more things?”

Woman: “OK, fine.”

Like I said last time, this is the way many women are taught to be. They’re told that unless they play hard to get and do this little song-and-dance to wheedle what they want out of a guy before giving in to sex, they’ll never be treated well in their relationships. Because clearly you can control the actions of an asshole with your own.

But much as it sucks ass to be on the gatekeeper side of this script, it also sucks to be on the pursuer side. Suddenly, I found myself having to screw my courage to the sticking point and do all the asking. And if I didn’t, well, then no pussy for me.

But you know what was the worst? The ladies expected me to push regardless of her answer. The all-powerful script declares that a woman is supposed to play hard to get and say no regardless of what she actually feels in order to elicit further favors, so the guy (or, in my case, lover-of-boobs) is supposed to continue to pursue her after she’s said no. If he doesn’t, he’s a weakling who doesn’t deserve to “get” sex anyway.

But if he does… he’s totally violating consent at that point. She’s said no, that she’s not interested, and he’s pestering her further.

It’s a fucking catch-22. If he doesn’t, he’s a wuss, if he does, he’s an asshole.

In what twisted world does this make any fucking sense? This broken system fucks over the women, and it’s fucking over the men too, teaching them that only assholes get rewarded with sex. And that sex is a thing you can get as a reward. What the fucking actual fuck?! It’s no wonder our sex lives are shit if we have no fucking clue how to think about sex. God fucking damn it.

Tea. More tea. I need tea.

Next time: Pixie takes on virginity culture while trying to stay a little calmer. 

 

Written By Pixie Pele

I’ll be real honest. It’s been a few years since I’ve been seriously in the dating pool. The Sir and I are open, but for us, that means that we have secondary partners who we do the sexytimes with, but who we aren’t romantically attached to. This system respects the Sir’s natural monogamy while allowing us to have other people to experiment with or satisfy unique needs/desires. (The Sir is all kinds of fuzzy wonderfulness, but he is not a woman that I can spank.)

That said, I have distinct memories of trying to get a guy’s attention, and still fall prey to this nonsensical behavior pattern from time to time. If there is someone I like, I moon around them for weeks, hinting, flirting, hanging on their every word. I go through ridiculous preening routines if I think a guy I like is going to see me.

 

 

“But, Pixie,” you say, “why don’t you just tell the guy you like him instead of going to idiotic hinting rituals?”

Ah, reader, if only I had that wisdom. But here is the point; women are told that they absolutely must do this weird song-and-dance, that being up front and honest is terriblebadthing, and “good” girls trick men into making the first move. This is the One Twue Way to have a good relationship.

 

 

Sometimes I think the more we repeat stupid things, the more we make those stupid things become true.

Now, last I checked, enjoying sex was actually an evolutionary advantage. That dopamine release during orgasm encouraged our ancestors to have more sex, thus increasing their procreative ability. In today’s overcrowded Earth, we don’t really need to make more people, but the dopamine release acts as the single best natural mood enhancer, not to mention sex is the only form of exercise that’s actually enjoyable. No, Crossfit people, shush it. I don’t believe you. No one can possibly actually enjoy being covered in sweat and wheezing like a broken squeak toy.

 

And yet we have this script that says women have to be reluctant to have sex. That women have to make a man “work for it” or else he’ll “think you’re ‘easy’” (where “easy” = “enjoys having sex,” because fuck evolution). That women have to be pursued, cajoled, or pressured into “giving it up.”

Beyond the obvious problems of consent in that system, I can say from personal experience that being forced to play that role sucks. Ass.

I like sex. I want to have sex. But nooooooo, I have to be a “gatekeeper.” Sex is supposed to be traded for emotional support or financial stability. Sex is the currency of relationships, and I am the banker.

And only a bad banker would dip into the funds.

In order to be the gatekeeper, to control the flow of her half of the exchange, a woman has to be able to deny her own desires, her own natural sex drives just in order to be “respectable.” She has to be able to say “yes” or “no” entirely based on her partner’s behavior, not on how horny she is at the moment. Is it any wonder, then, that women don’t masturbate or enjoy sex as much as men? In this asinine script, sex is something to be given to a man, not something to be enjoyed by both parties.

Fuck. That. Shit.

 

 

I deserve to be healthy. I deserve a healthy sex life. I deserve relationships where healthy sex is a given, not a bonus in the case of a man who happens to be talented. Ladies, if you’re worried that a certain guy will think less of you because you’re not some sexless alien, fuck the wanker and find someone who actually prefers dating humans.

Treating sex as currency fucks up relationships and fucks over women. This rant is the first of a series about different stages of relationships that get fucked over by this absolutely fucking ridiculous script that we’ve fucking allowed to stay in our fucking culture and makes me fucking furious. So stay fucking tuned.

Fuck!

I need tea.

 

Written By Pixie Pele

Recap: This series is NOT trying to prescribe a set of definitions or even a method of exploration. I believe that we kinksters have to choose our definitions for ourselves, and I hope that the description of another person’s floundering might prove useful in your own exploration. If it doesn’t, take a lesson from the noble cat: take the fish and leave the bones. 

Last time, I talked about how I had personal definitions of the terms that predisposed me to favor the term “slave.” But that was only half my task. I also had to consider what kind of relationship I wanted and what kinds of things got me all hot and bothered.

For this, I did a lot of reading. So. Much. Reading. Anything that described the inner thoughts and feelings of anyone that identified as either submissive or slave. (As a side note, if you’re interested at all in either having control over your partner or giving up control, I highly recommend Paradigms of Power Exchange by Raven Kaldera. It’s a curated collection of essays written by people who do various styles of power exchange, describing how their relationship works.) I was looking for something that hit me in the gut, something that reached out and grabbed me. I held onto the ones I resonated with and started to get a picture of the kinds of things I liked.

Finally, once I had a good idea of the kinds of things I liked, I started thinking about labels again, and found a system of definitions that just suited me perfectly. I’m stealing wholesale here from one Master Stephen, who also goes by Mar or Marduk. I’d reference his writings, except that they’re all on Fetlife, and as yet he has no personal website. Maybe someday he’ll get around to making one (take a hint, Mar!) and I’ll edit this post.

 

This system saw Master/slave (M/s) and Dom/sub (D/s) relationship styles as X-Y axes on a Cartesian plane. (Mar is a nerd. Go figure. <3 ) The horizontal (D/s), in this system, expresses a person’s sexual preferences. What they like in the bedroom. What gets them hot. The vertical axis (M/s) expresses how the person lives their daily life – how much structure is a good thing, whether they express/receive love through the form of service, etc.

 

 

A person might naturally land at any point on either axis, or may even have a range within which they are comfortable. For example, you may have a lady who is high in both the X and Y axes. She’ll land here.

 

 

She’ll get a deep sense of satisfaction from setting a structure for her slave and seeing them grow and prosper under her guidance. She’ll also love to do mean things to them during sexytimes.

Another example.

 

 

This woman is really far down the vertical but a 0 on the horizontal. She will derive great personal satisfaction from giving service and feeling useful, but will get nothing out of sexy power games. This type of person is often described as a “service slave,” indicating that they derive all pleasure from giving service and don’t need/desire other forms of play.

But back to me. Because I’m important. In this system, I sit something like this.

 

 

I have always described myself as a “right-hand-man type”; not in the spotlight, but giving vital support to the one who is. When I believe in a person or a cause, I will express that through service to the person or cause; I willingly donate massive amounts of time to organizations I get involved with and happily show up to help people move or do chores. At parties, I’m the one in the kitchen doing the dishes. This doesn’t make me wet, but it makes me feel happy and fulfilled. As for what does make me wet… I have this sadist side that dearly loves to see a partner crawl and cry, as well as a submissive side that loves to be taken over and given no choice but to take whatever’s given.

I suppose that makes me a slave-switch? Meh. Good enough.

Like I said, ultimately, you’ll choose a definition that works for you. This is the beauty of the kink world; infinite personalization options. I hope reading this has been helpful, in some small way.

Happy kinking!

 

Written By Pixie Pele

 

It was soon after my entry into the kink world. I was at a kink 101 class at a local dungeon in a smallish town. There were fewer than 50 people in a dimly lit pole barn, sprinkled among a shabby collection of chairs and tables.

It was a Friday night, and people were tired from a long work week and just wanted to get to the playtime that would happen once the droning lecture was done. A yawn was passed among the crowd members. Then the speaker came to the distinction between Dominant and Master, and suddenly the crowd came alive. Two or three people were on their feet, debating the definitions.

 

 

Raised voices, wild gestures, the works. Several rounds later, they agreed to disagree, and went through the appropriate apologies and affirmations of respect. The speaker got control of the room again. And the room went back to dozing, as if the energetic debate had never happened.  

I had stumbled on what is perhaps the easiest way to start a fight among kinsters – defining the difference between Dom/sub and Master/slave.

The beauty of the kink world is the infinite personalization. Sex is no longer just penis, vagina, hump hump, splut, done. You get to fantasize about what you want – anything at all. Tools, toys, sensations, role play, costumes, fetishes, power exchange, number of people, etc etc etc. You can explore relationship styles and structures that mainstream culture really doesn’t make room for, decide how extreme you want those styles to be for yourself, and mix and match and tweak to your heart’s content. But that very variety can be daunting to the beginner. I know it was for me. Add the intensity of argument surrounding the definitions of some of these labels, and the temptation to nope out becomes strong.

But never fear, beginner, for I have seen a messy conversation and am jumping in the ring! Because I’m smart like that.

 

 

In all seriousness, though, this series is NOT trying to prescribe a set of definitions or even a method of exploration. I believe that we kinksters have to choose our definitions for ourselves, and I hope that the description of another person’s floundering might prove useful in your own exploration. If it doesn’t, take a lesson from the noble cat: take the fish and leave the bones.

So. My story. Step one was to come to grips with the fact that I had s-type tendencies (read about that here). That was bad enough. Next was the daunting task of labeling myself. For this, I was fortunate enough to have some wise counsel from experienced kinksters. It was simply this.

Forget the labels.

No, seriously. Forget the labels. Focus on yourself. Address personal biases, preferences, and hard limits. Then describe or discover the kinds of things you want in the bedroom and what kind of relationship style or structure you enjoy or need. Once you have a picture in your head of the kinds of things you like, then, and only then, think about labels again.

So. Part one. Personal bias.

For me, I realized that the most important bias I held in this situation related to the terms themselves; I have a good deal of personal history with both the terms “submissive” and “slave” that absolutely colors my opinion of them. As I’ve mentioned before, I was raised in a church that used religion to justify its misogyny. My parents tried to alleviate the sexism, insisting that I get a good education. I’ll be forever grateful to them for that, but my version of teenage rebellion was to criticize them for their lack of conformity and follow the church’s teachings more closely instead. I think I failed at the whole “rebellion” thing…. Anyway, some of those teachings have made the term “submit” indelibly linked to the disgusting way women were treated in that church, all justified by “Wives, submit yourselves unto your husbands as unto the Lord.” It makes my stomach turn. “Submit” is, for me, a poisoned well.

Similarly, “slave” has had specific uses in my life. Generally, it was associated less with the historical human rights violations, and more with overblown statements of devotion or duty. “I love you, I am your slave.” “I am a slave to sin.” “I am enslaved by laundry.” I’m not sure how I managed to avoid that part of history class, but there you go. The human rights violations were a thing of ancient history, and the term “slave” was almost a cute way to be over-dramatic. I knew, of course, that the illegal slave trade is still alive and well, but somehow that institution was so dark and evil in my mind that it needed a more hideous word than “slave trade.”

What are your personal biases?

What ways have you heard terms used that influences how you think of them? I fully realize that the average person will not have these associations. But I am telling my story, not the average person’s.

I’m going to have to pause here and make the part where I explore my personal preferences into a sequel. Because apparently, I’m long-winded as fuuuuuuuck.

 

Written By Pixie Pele 

 

 

Recently, a lady from the church I grew up in was updating me about church gossip. Long story short, an old man took his wife out of the hospital against the advice of the doctor because he wanted her home to run the house. As a result, her condition became far worse. The lady accurately labelled this behavior as abusive, and I was impressed that she made it a point not to blame the victim in the situation. Until I heard her reasoning. “She’s obeying her husband, so in God’s eyes, she is blameless.”

Wait… WHAT?!

A woman is considered righteous as long as she’s obeying her husband, even when he’s being an abusive ass?!? So she would be wrong to stand up for herself?!!!! In what fucking world is that even –

And then I remembered.

This is the church that took “Wives, submit yourselves unto your husbands as unto the Lord” very seriously. They held serious discussions as to whether a woman should even bother going to college, because “she’s just going to be a wife and mother, right?” Women weren’t allowed to preach in mixed groups; they could teach women and children, but not men. The man was like God. Women were to be obedient to husbands, submissive to all men, diminutive, ladylike…. I was lucky enough to have highly educated parents who made sure I went to college, but most of the girls I grew up with have degrees from unaccredited Bible schools, if they have a degree at all. If their husbands die or, worse, turn out to be abusive, they will have very few ways to support or even protect themselves.

This is why I need feminism.

I escaped. I got multiple college degrees and started thinking for myself. I wear leather and studs, swear like a sailor, live with my boyfriend, support gay marriage, claim feminism like a badge of honor, and am a kinky fucking freak. Take THAT, backwards upbringing!

But it took years to get here.

Years spent unravelling the lies I’d been trained to believe, particularly about my sexuality. I struggled to take possession of what was already mine, to accept it and be proud of it. It took time, but I began to feel some sense of agency for the first time in my life.

Imagine, then, my frustration when I discover that I have a submissive streak (or “s-type,” to include both the term “submissive” and “slave”; these terms are slightly different, but that’s another post). I’d just gotten away from abuse disguised as religion. And here I was walking myself right back into it, or something like it? Was I just irreparably broken? Could I never get away from it?

Unlike dealing with my sadist side, though (post pending), this question was actually well addressed by talking to other kinky people, particularly straight male Masters who were hardline feminists.

“She wears a leash and kneels at my feet because we think it’s hot,” one of them said. “If we happened to think it was hot for me to wear the leash, I’d be on the floor.”

The key there was that a) they were both consenting adults and fully enjoying themselves, and b) they didn’t think power roles were automatically assigned by genitalia. But beyond consent, there was still the nagging question in the back of my mind – what if I’d been brainwashed? “Wives, submit yourselves unto your husbands.” How could I be sure that this was really me? How did I know that this desire wasn’t some leftover fragment of the bullshit I’d been raised with? What if I’d so internalized my own oppression that I now eroticized it?

The conclusion I came to probably won’t satisfy everyone, but I have found it very empowering. It’s simply this.

So what?

What does it matter where your kink or fetish comes from? There’s no solid, scientific way to prove the origin of sexual preference, for all Freud’s efforts, so there’s no way to say without a shadow of a doubt that my s-type side came from my history. But even if it did, why does that matter? This is what I enjoy, here and now. This makes me wet. This makes me cum harder than anything else.

Some members of the kink community who are survivors of sexual abuse have found rape play to be therapeutic and empowering. For some, it forces them to build trust that is so hard to find in the aftermath of abuse. For others, it gives them the chance to endure a difficult situation, knowing they can safeword out if needed, but proving their own strength (to themselves, if no one else) by choosing to remain. Perhaps eroticizing the thing that disempowered you is not meekly submitting to the system, but is instead a way for a person to reclaim control.

Ultimately, the goal of feminism is not to make goddesses of women, but to allow women to be what they want to be.

If a woman wants to be a housewife, she should be able to be a housewife without censure. If she wants to be a CEO, she should be able to do that without hitting a glass ceiling. If a woman feels most loved in her romantic partnerships when the other person kneels and worships at her feet, she should be allowed to make herself happy. If a woman feels that the deepest, most true way for her to express love is through giving the gift of herself, her time, her service, and her effort to the person who has earned her trust, love, and respect, she should be allowed to make herself whole.

I still can’t quite bring myself to claim the term submissive. I’ll elaborate more in a later post, but it is, simply put, a poisoned well for me. It harkens back too much to the past that I tried so hard to escape. But I can claim the other “s” title. I am slave, and proud of it.

 

Written By Pixie Pele

 

 

So many people with much better minds have written about this that I’m just going to make this post a list of my personal favorites. I’m sure I’ll come back and edit this post later, as I find more really good discussions.

 

Laci Green:

 

 

Laci has been fighting the good fight for years. Her work is top-notch and well done. Love her.

 

Tea:

 

This script/video has gotten a lot of attention. And for a good reason. It’s funny, succinct, and totally on point.

 

Story of how-to:

http://disruptingdinnerparties.com/2013/09/26/modeling-consent/

 

This is a full-length blog post talking about what a culture of consent might look like. It’s less sound-byte than the Tea video, but well worth the read.

OK, maybe I should back up a bit.

 

Ladies, you know how good it feels to know you look good from the skin out? I know I do. I’ll spend an hour cleansing, shaving, moisturizing, grooming, scenting. Maybe even a bit of makeup. Next comes my underwear – a bra that makes my boobs look round and perky, panties that complement my butt just so, and the two match. Trifecta. I’m sure you have your own routine, but whatever it is, you get to walk around with the sexiest secret ever under your clothes, and that makes you feel fierce.

                Now, I know that this appreciation of our appearance can go/has gone too far. Trust me, I have a whole series of posts on the commoditization of sex and the female body simmering on the back burner. I’m not talking about valuing a person’s body more than other aspects of their personality, I’m talking about that extra little confidence boost when you can say, “I’m an intelligent, valuable human being, I improve the world and people’s lives around me, and to top it all off, I look damn good today.”

 

 

                Now for the downer. What if I told you that guys (straight guys, at least) don’t get to feel like that? They don’t get to walk around with a sexy secret. If a guy comes up to his guy friends and announces that he feels good because he knows his “butt looks good in these jeans,” he’s not going to get the round of agreement and applause that I would get from my lady friends. He’s going to get weird looks and awkward silence.

 

                The significant other and I had been dating about a year when I realized that for every four times he called me the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, I might compliment him once. I’m a bad girlfriend. So I set about fixing that ratio, and was surprised when he was visibly uncomfortable with taking compliments about his body. He had a whole slew of body image issues – didn’t like this, that was the wrong shape, etc etc etc.

 

                Being the sensitive, empathetic person I am, I decided that what worked to make me feel better must make someone else feel better. Both boxers and whitey-tighties are pretty hideous, after all. So I started looking for sexy underwear for him. You know what I found? The stores with actual sexy underwear for men seemed to be designed for gay men (judging from the easy-access assless undies) and featured undies that propped up and puffed out the junk so much that they looked… uncomfortable. The ones for straight men (judging from the presence of women in some of the pictures) were almost entirely silly. Like, the garment is shaped like an elephant head and the trunk is the penis sleeve. That kind of silly.

 

 

                Now, don’t get me wrong, a good sense of humor and not taking oneself too seriously is dead sexy. But I kept getting the idea that men’s sexiness is kind of a joke. That a penis is a punchline, not something arousing. That my man couldn’t be sexy.

 

If you are a lover of masculine bodies, this should be tragic to you. Thank heaven for the oiled-up goodness that is the Magic Mike series, but for the most part, our guys are being told that they don’t get to be physically attractive – that that’s reserved for ladies.

 

                There are probably lots of reasons for this (hello, commoditization of female form), but one of them is that men are socialized to be the initiators of romantic/sexual contact. In a hetero pairing, the man is expected to ask the woman out, initiate the first kiss, pursue her for sex, propose marriage, etc. Any deviation means lack of manly-man-ness. Part of this process of pursuing is that the man must be more forward with complimenting his partner, training the ladies through compliments to pay attention to their appearances, while the ladies feel no obligation to return the favor.

 

Do this more!

 

I could speculate that this principle applies to gay men as well – that, since gay men are still men, they are still socialized to make their partners feel physically attractive, so the partners of gay men are trained to pay attention to their looks. But I’m not a gay man, so this is guesswork at best. Any gay guys out there want to school me on this?

 

                But back to my own problem. I’m going to have to find another way to make my man feel sexy, because not only does his straightness apparently relegate him to balloon-boxers and elephant-trunk penis jokes, after I actually talked to him about the issue, I found he felt too uncomfortable to even try out some of the options I’d pulled up for him. I’ve started a compliment campaign to see if I can loosen his self-consciousness a little, but in the meantime, I’m left appalled at this shocking gap in the clothing industry.

 

What do we want? Sexy man-underwear! When do we want it? Now!

Post Written By Pixie Pele 

For some reason, we Westerners have this weird fascination with anal. Maybe it’s the love of butts, maybe it’s the fact that it’s kind of taboo, but it’s a classic thing ladies offer as a bribe.

Frankly, I don’t really get it. You have a huge number of nerves in and around your butthole. (I mean, it has to tell the difference between a fart and a poop.) Lots of nerves = good place to stimulate for sexy times. And you know the very best thing about anal? Everyone has a butt! So everyone can do it! And penis-havers get an even better deal than vagina-havers, because penis-havers have the prostate, which is basically the be-penis-ed version of a g-spot.

 

 

But then again, I FUCKING LOVE ANAL. Seriously, I cum faster and harder from anal sex than just about anything else. I don’t expect everyone’s bodies to be like mine, but all things considered, I have a good deal of experience taking it up the ass.

So here are some tips for anal from a card-carrying anal whore. 

 

1. Shit happens. If you or your partner is absolutely unable to deal with the possibility of poop, anal might not be for you two.
2. Start by yourself. If you’re someone who finds masturbation enjoyable, definitely start your anal adventure solo. Do you need to be really aroused to get in? Do you like being touched just around the outside (rimming)? Is there a good spot on the inside? Is it better when you’re also stimulating other sensitive parts (clit, penis, g-spot, etc)?
3. There’s really no such thing as too much. Feel free to experiment with drier insertions (some people enjoy that burny feeling), but for the most part, slick is better.
4. Start small. Like, pinky finger small. If the first thing in your butt is penis-sized, you’re doing it wrong.
5. Respect the vagina. If you have a vagina, make sure that nothing, NOTHING that even touches your asshole touches your vagina. I repeat. Pussy-to-ass: fine. Ass-to-pussy: FUCK NO. There are bacteria in the back door that will fuck over your pussy’s PH. Also UTIs are not a thing you want. If it’s a major fantasy of your partner’s to bounce back and forth between holes and you’d like to fulfill that fantasy, you might consider using an in- or female-condom.
6. The muscles in your sphincter are actually always clenched, and you need them to relax. Try clenching as hard as you possibly can while breathing in deeply, then releasing the tension while you breathe out. Repeat as needed.
7. Give it a minute. It might not feel great the first few seconds. Make sure you have plenty of lube, go slow, and hold on a minute or two. Personally, I find I have to keep steady stimulation on clit/pussy at this stage.
8. Clean up. If you’re worried about your sheets, feel free to put a towel down. Other than that, be sure to shower/cleanse afterwards. Even if no accidents happened, you should wash the lube/fluids off, since they might run to unwelcome places. (Like a vagina.) Use the shower time for post-sex cuddles. Or more sex.
9. So you just had anal sex for the first time. Yay!!! Enjoy the afterglow! Once you’re out of it, there’s something you should know. Whether it’s because the muscles are taking their sweet time going back to normal or because you got cum in the bum, you might poop weird for the next 24 hours. Don’t worry, it’s normal. As long as there isn’t blood or evidence of tearing (and if you took it slow and used lots of lube like I told you, there shouldn’t be), you’re fine.
10. If you know you’re going to start experimenting with anal or think anal might be more common in your bag of sexy sex tricks, be sure to get your fiber. Supplements, salads, whatever. You want your bowel movements healthy and firm.

That’s all for now, folks. Happy sexing! – Pixie Pele

 

You know how everyone says that porn is nothing like real sex? Well, that’s true in the kink world too.

 

I think sometimes people get this idea that we kinksters exist in this world of black leather and red velvet, clad in rubber bodysuits and leather gimp masks.

And I understand where they would get this image. We have all this erotica that’s extreme and wild – people being hunted down and fucked until they cum so hard they pass out, people being wooed by enigmatically dominant people, even people being sold into sexy slavery. (Please note: None of us are so stupid as to think that non-consensual rape or sexual slavery in real life is sexy. We may enjoy the role-play, but not the reality.)

If you go to a party, you’ll actually see people with full fetish gear, with beatings in every corner, the s-types in cages or on leashes or chained to something. If you read the erotic versions of “high protocol” that float around the internet, you would think that every s-type must spend half their time on their knees, asking permission to do anything.

 

And, I mean, yeah, sometimes we do those things.

 

But we also grow old and have bad knees that make it hard to kneel. We have busy lives that make it impossible to afford the luxury of several open hours to spend chained to a toilet. We have houses to clean and family to visit and kids to raise and jobs to go to.

 

We’re people.

 

Sure, we’d love to spend every day in harnesses and chains, just like you’d like to spend every day lounging on a bed of roses having someone sexy feed you grapes. But we can’t because real life.

So when you start into your kinky exploration, set your expectations a little lower. Sure, there will kinky fuckery where your darkest fantasy itches get scratched, but there will also be lazy nights cuddling and watching Netflix because you’re both too tired to do anything else.

 

Love the ordinary moments. They are what make this lifestyle real.