How To Come Out As Kinky

kinky

By Zoë Tersche

The first part of my body I wanted penetrated was my anus.

I had been feeling deep tingles in my butt from coming (clitorally) for a while, and credit my desire to put something in there with these sensations. It wasn’t quite an itch, but more of an ache to be filled. As my boyfriend and I began experimenting with fingering (one finger, two fingers, three fingers, four), the tingles became more prominent–particularly when he was all the way up there inside.   It seemed the more he stimulated me vaginally, the stronger my desire to be equally stimulated from the other end.

The shocker (index and middle finger inside vagina, pinky in anus) was our natural next step forward (with one moderation–thumb on clit). I was always pretty wet at this age (16), so no additional lubrication was needed. He started slow with the pinky–at first just the tip was enough. When he did insert it past its base, it went through so easily I didn’t notice it had been there until after he pulled it out.

We had never discussed full blown anal sex, so when I did straddle him that first time, it came as a bit of a surprise. We weren’t prepared (and by prepared I mean, have lube) or even think that we would need any. At the time, I imagined lube as a gross and slimy thing, not something I wanted to rub around my butt hole and/or genitals. When it became apparent after a few moments of pushing and prodding that I simply wasn’t wet enough, we turned to spit. I must have really wanted it in there, because a few dribbles of saliva was all it took.

And then I went to the bathroom and there was blood.

I have a history of minor exterior anal hemorrhaging, one that predates this experience. The first time my butt itched I told my mom, and she handed me Preparation H. So my mom at this point, was aware of my tendency to hemorrhage. What my mom was not aware of, was my tendency to put my boyfriend’s fingers and penis up my butt.

Let’s imagine for a moment that my parents were the groovy kind of folk I could talk about sex with (I’ll try not to get too caught up in the fantasy). If I was a boy who felt sexually attracted to other boys and wanted to put things in my butt, the logical thing to say here would be, “I’m gay.”

My groovy parents would then sit me down for the anal sex talk, which would inevitably cover the importance of (and correct way to apply) lubrication, infection control, and the risks of fluid exchange.

If I was a boy who felt sexually attracted to both genders and wanted to put things in my butt, the logical thing to say here would be, “I’m bi.”

My pretend groovy parents would of course understand, and then sit me down for the different-kinds-of-sex talk, which would cover the importance of lubrication, infection control, and the risk of fluid exchange, along with other stuff.

If I was anything else (such as a then straight identifying female) who wanted to put things in my butt, the logical thing to say here would be….

Nothing.

In reality, my parents were not very groovy at all when it came to sex, and if I told my mom (telling my dad wasn’t even a consideration) that I was having anal sex, or that I wanted to, she would likely have advised me to stop.

Stop what–wanting?

I couldn’t. Instead, I had a few bad experiences with anal sex due to my lack of education on the matter. And then I graduated to spanking. And then I started rope bottoming (he was an Eagle Scout). Then my boyfriend asked me to put a toy in his butt (and top him), and I didn’t want to cause harm, so I began to actually learn. (Thanks, internet.)

BDSM entered my vocabulary first. It was a convenient umbrella phrase. I could use it to describe to people (familiar with the terminology) what I liked. This came in handy when I started dating and sleeping around during and after college. With it, I could occasionally receive spankings (some satisfying, some not so much), get (safely) choked out, and even have anal sex. But telling people that I liked something carried the same weight as a favorite ice cream flavor: nice when you have it, but not detrimental to enjoying dessert.

Oh, but it was. When someone handed me a vanilla ice cream cone the first thing I’d think was, I wish this had sprinkles. Then I’d eat the cone anyway, trying to savor the ice cream that so many other people seemed to enjoy just fine without sprinkles. I’d get about half way through before running back into the ice cream parlor, asking for sprinkles. You only have one kind? That’s fine. Yes, I know there’s pretty much no ice cream left in the cone. Sure, just a few sprinkles will do. Whatever you have. Whatever you’re willing to offer.

I found it difficult to communicate my sexuality (not always intercourse related) in terms that weren’t preferences. Instead, I found alternative means to demonstrate the urgency of my desires: In the guiding of a hand to my mouth, throat, or both. In the rolling over and positioning of my ass. In the pillows I buried my face into, mimicking partner induced strangulation.

The term “kink” found me at an unassuming moment. I was dressed as a wood nymph on the set of a student film production. My partner (also an extra) for that scene was dressed as a viking. We were directed to “canoodle” on the couch. It was a long break between shots, so I got up to use the bathroom.

“Nobody told you to move.” The viking’s voice came calmly but sternly from the couch. I froze, then turned to face him. He looked right at me, gauging my reaction. I had been craving some good D/s play at the time–it had been a while, and the way his gaze held mine told me that he knew. I was surprised that my desires could radiate so fiercely.

“You know your place,” he told me. I did know my place, and in that moment, I knew that he too, knew my place. I returned to the couch.

We accepted each others’ requests on Facebook. We played Words With Friends.

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Sam* and I became friends, almost fuck buddies, and then friends again–most of the while, exploring through conversation (and on steamier days, pictures and videos) this thing he called “kink.”

I interpreted kink as an umbrella term similar to but bigger than BDSM. Under BDSM, fell: bondage, dominance, discipline, sadism, submission, and masochism. Under kink, fell: that, plus everything else that’s not missionary or the standard blowjob (i.e. feet, AB/DL, CD, age play, anal sex etc). When someone used the word “kinky,” I understood it as an adjective identifying a predilection for one or more of those things. But with time, the defining differences between “kink” and “BDSM” blurred. The borders between what I liked, what I did, and who I was, blurred.

Kinky. I started using it to describe situations, ideas, and desires. My friends began using it to describe me. I began using it to describe me. Others began using it to describe themselves.

I stopped acting. I graduated college. I started writing for kinky online publications. I launched a kinky events website. I met someone. He finds the kinky events website, he reads the articles. We go on a date.

“So, what’s your involvement with that stuff?” he asks.

I was sick of unsatisfying one-night stands, of compromising my desires for sex. Tired of assuming whoever I liked would like it too. Tired of cajoling, of handholding, of topping from the bottom. Fifty Shades of Grey was months away from being released in theaters. It wasn’t a good one, but it was a reference point. People know now, I remind myself. He’ll understand. He’s read my kink related writing, my interviews, my FAQs. Yet here he is, knowingly sitting across from the person responsible for them. The logical thing to say here, would be,

“I’m kinky.”

 

*Asterisk denotes name change.

Images: Morgan Rains

Zoë runs ThisWink.com, writes for MiKandi's Blog, Fetish.com, and sometimes other places. They are also working on a collection of true-to-life stories about ordinary people with alternative sexual identities.

1 Comment

  • Reply October 14, 2015

    Elena

    Really well written piece and goes with so much of how I’m feeling. I always liked to be captured and tortured a little, from as young as I can remember. My brother used to play soldiers with our neighbour and I was always the spy. I loved being kidnapped, tied up and interrogated.

    Like you, ‘vanilla’ doesn’t cut it for me. I had had a few relationships with different men who proclaimed to be kinky but alas, none of them hit the nail on the head. I met Levi in 2006 and we got together officially in 2008, married in 2013. Levi has changed me. I used to be quite masochistic but he taught me how to be open with myself, how to be patient, how to beg rather than demand, something he loves.

    My relationship to Levi (also not his name, and nor is mine Elena! ) started off like yours with Sam. We were fuck buddies. Every Thursday when his Dad was at work, I would visit and he would belt me, spank me, he’d make me do all kinds of naughty things. I didn’t feel degraded, I felt alive.

    It bugs me now that folk in the LGBT community can be ‘out’ but we kinky folk still remain silenced. It is something I am very passionate about. After Fifty Shades, countless people talked about wanting that kind of relationship. Nobody cared for those who were already in one, or had been in one.

    Keep up the great work!

    Elena x

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