Years ago, I wrote a post, cheekily titled “Masturbaticon I“, wherein I reflected on how I began my sexual journey and learned about my own body and my sexuality. I never did follow up on that post the way I’d intended, but I’ve recently found myself thinking a lot about my childhood influences on my emergent kinkiness.
This was in part sparked by an interesting experience I had while behind the counter at Wicked Grounds a few days prior. A rather disorganized college student walked up to the register and requested an interview for a school project he was doing on bondage and bdsm. It was slow enough that I agreed. I could devote a separate post on the interview alone, but for now, the question he asked that prodded me towards childhood reflection was in regard to how kink develops in people. Were people who had been abused or sexually assaulted more likely to be kinky?
Yes, well. My answer was much longer than anything he wrote down, and I get the feeling he was only half-listening, but as far as my personal experience goes, I was certainly never victim to either of those things. If anything, I was raised more sheltered than most, in a relatively conservative white town.
Regardless of whether I was able to disabuse him of the misconception that kink is a product of childhood trauma, the question of how kink develops in people is an interesting one. I know people arrive at kink from many paths; not everyone can pinpoint specific memories from their youth as kink precursors. And this was a question I also heard while in Australia, from my college friends.
Personally, the more I explore and experiment my kinky side, the more I am reminded of events, thoughts, and fantasies from when I was quite young that were definitely not straight-laced. And I think a significant chunk of those kink precursors can be found in what I was reading and watching as a kid. Besides the normal diet of age-appropriate books like The Chronicles of Narnia and Redwall, I was also inhaling my library’s supply of science-fiction and fantasy books. And between the highly designed book covers depicting scantily clad heroes and heroines (often wearing leather boots!) and frequently erotic undertones of these two genres, I was undoubtedly creating some highly charged erotic connections to alternative sexualities, rituals, protocols, and power exchange.
Still, it didn’t have to be sex-related or fantastical for me to take interest. There was definitely already a predisposition for kink in me. I remember reading the Nancy Drew books, for instance, and feeling a mixture of excitement and fear whenever the protagonist was in trouble – say, caught and bound by the bad guy, awaiting her fate, or being threatened with a weapon after making a climactic discovery. This was also true for many cartoons I watched that centered around the hero-villain battle. I was fascinated, utterly fascinated, by villains. The more devious and vicious the antagonist, the more thrilled and mesmerized I was by the show – especially if there was any kind of personal history between the characters.
The trend grew with me, and in high school, I met Iago in my sophomore English class. This villain enthralled me, and I’ve probably inflated his character in my memory since reading Othello, but I still love the dark, sinister imagery that appears in my head when I think of him. Darkly charismatic, devious, completely consumed with vengeance yet cool as ice…
I never actually wanted to either emulate or meet an Iago in person, of course. It was the darkness that attracted me – me, the good girl, the quiet one, the nice one. Villains were my outlet, my connection to a darker, more primal side I never dared to explore myself… Villains always sought power and took it by force if they had to (often enjoyed taking it by force anyway), and that above all hit a nerve in me.
I’ve held all these feelings tightly in check for years. But, little by little, and partner by partner, I’m not only getting to reveal some of these desires, but also fulfill quite a few of them.
And there are many more layers waiting for me to explore in the years to come.
For as long as I have been sexually active, I’ve held a particular fascination for the male genitalia. Even before I ever touched a penis, I would watch (bad, pixellated) clips of porn and wonder what it felt like for the guy to have sex. I found it difficult to translate the stroking of a hand, penetration, or lips and tongue around the shaft, to what I felt while masturbating. Did it feel the same? Or similarly? I would wonder. Do guys feel the same surges and sensitivity that I feel when I touch my clit, expanded over a larger surface area?
And once I did start having sex with a male partner, my curiosity just continued to grow. I love hearing those sounds that lips, hands, and cunt can elicit from men. I’m fascinated that I can make another person feel that way. And I’ve always maintained a strong association between erection and power. That admission probably makes me a very bad feminist, but I do find the erect penis to be an extremely powerful symbol. I like the idea of being able to physically grasp at arousal – to feel it pulsing and hard and hot in my hand. When I’m aroused, I’ve often wished I could grip onto my lust and desire as a physical object.
Despite all of this, I don’t own any strap-ons or even any realistic dildos. I’ve certainly thought about it, but it doesn’t have quite the same appeal. So for now I just deal with having, from time to time, a little penis envy.
As is always the case this time of month, regardless of anything else that might be going on in my life, my animal brain has taken control, with its usual tinge of urgency and need. It’s nothing I haven’t written about repeatedly before – it seems that, if nothing else, my menstrual cycle provokes an incessant need to write.
So tonight I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise in anticipation of a hungry mouth – of sharp teeth barely brushing against my nape. I want to growl, to hiss, to scream, to grunt: to feel my voicebox thrumming with pleasure and with anguish, in equal measure.
Instead, instead, I am turning in early tonight in anticipation of early morning yoga. I can only hope I will dream of running wild and naked under a cold, white moon, dry soft pine needles cushioning the soles of my feet. Because that is the current, pit-of-my-stomach yearning of this animal brain; of this unbridled, chaotic heart.
October had been a busy busy month indeed, and there are still 10 more days left! I’m really excited to celebrate Halloween in San Francisco, although I still have no clue what my costume will be. And, to be honest, I am neither much of a party-er nor a trick-or-treater. But I love the holiday nonetheless. It will be weird to celebrate it in an area where the change in seasons is not as distinct, and there is none of the bite of upcoming frost in the wind, nor the crisp, spicy scent of apple, cinnamon, and pumpkin.
I guess I am just a little nostalgic. In any case, I’ve had quite a month: battling the flu for a week, having my car broken into (and, once I got the car cleaned up, I discovered the GPS cord hadn’t been taken at all, just flung into the backseat), starting to work morning shifts at Wicked Grounds, attending a Tom Petty cover band concert, spending the weekend with T, shoe-shopping, and attending the monthly rope peer workshop at Edges. I seem to be spending very little time at home.
I’m not complaining. It makes the time I do spend at home all the more valuable and appreciable.
So, let’s see. I think the real highlight was spending this past weekend in San José with T and 3 of his other lady friends and sometimes play partners. I went as his pet again, complete with the same collar I wore for our IKEA outing. It was quite fun! I met T after my work shift at the café, and we drove to Edges for a kinky yard sale/swap. I found a couple of old books for free, including one dictionary and atlas from 1939. T bought a ball gag from the table across from us, complete with alternate gags and attachments, which he insisted I try out.
Afterward we met up with the others for dinner and the concert. I thoroughly enjoyed the company I was with, as well as the concert, though by the time it finished at 1am, I was pretty well spent. I think even T was pretty tired, because after we’d dropped everyone else off and gone home, we went to bed after I gave him a brief foot rub. I luckily got to sleep on the guest bed, albeit with my ankle chained to it. It’s a very curious feeling and did wake me up a few times throughout the night, as I would move my foot and cause the chain to rustle around and sometimes slide against my other leg.
Sunday…ah, Sunday. The morning was rather a delirious blur of orgasm after orgasm. I was fucked into a mindless puddle with a metal dildo that has a large rounded ball at one end. It was painful going in, but my God did I want to keep it in. It got to the point where he was more or less forcing orgasms out of me with the dildo and his fingers. Complete sensory overload.
And then we showered and it was time to go help a friend of his unload a truckload of furniture and belongings into a storage unit.
Then Monday I drove down again to go shoe-shopping with a mutual friend of T’s – I’m going to call her Jewel – and we managed to spend 3 hours in two stores trying on shoes. I finally decided on two pairs of fairly tall high heels, which is a little ambitious given my inexperience with heels. But after the post-Folsom dinner I attended with Max – in a restaurant with business casual dress code, and where I wore a more formal dress but only had my black Teva flip flops to wear with it – I decided I really did need at least one pair of decent heels for the occasional formal event. Considering I never went to any formal events at college (I was more or less a social recluse), I’d never previously felt the need to own nice shoes.
Then Tuesday was the monthly rope peer workshop at Edges, which is always a good time. I got to tie a couple people up, and everyone had fun doing microbondage with twine, yarn, string, and crochet hooks. I also wore one of the shoes I’d bought the day before. By the end of the night my feet were definitely throbbing, but it was fun clopping around in them for the evening. And I even got treated to a foot rub by T when we went back to his place! More rope play ensued, and some foot play as well.
Needless to say, I went to work this morning with lots of rope blisters. But considering my current place of employment also sells bondage rope, I was not quite as worried about the marks showing.
And then there’s this upcoming weekend. Jewel invited a bunch of people to a comedian’s show this Friday and has planned afterward to have a big slumber party at T’s place. Yes, I have actually regressed 15 years at the thought. I am thoroughly enjoying this mental picture I have of a bunch of giggling girls surrounding one hapless guy (yeah right). Who doesn’t love a sleepover?
Sometimes, sometimes, I sit back a little, review these events and relationships I have become a part of, and wonder: Is this really my life? How did a person like me end up so…happy?