Archive for July 25th, 2019

The Unfathomable Existential Terror of Being Known (and its upsides!)

July 25, 2019

(This post has been brought to you by the efforts of my 113 fundamentally awesome Patrons! Visit my Patreon page to learn how to become one of them.)

It’s not always easy, being kinky.

Not that I have to tell you this; if you’re reading this, you’re probably kinky too and have a pretty good idea of all the tough parts already. We know about keeping secrets, we know about enforcing consent, we know about finding communities… but there’s one part I don’t think we talk about a lot. We don’t really talk about the courage it takes to talk about our kink. Our own personal kink.

I’m not talking about erotica here; believe me, I know how much easier it is to hide behind the mask of fiction and pretend that you’re talking about what your characters want to do to each other. I’m not talking about discussions of technique or conversations about etiquette, either; if there’s one thing that you can always guarantee will start people talking at any kink gathering, it’s asking, “How do you (insert fetish here)?” People will sprint into the room from twenty miles away to explain to you how to do intricate knots, play safely with needles, fractionate a subject, or just about anything you care to name. That stuff is easy.

No, I’m talking about the hardest conversation anyone can have, top or bottom. The one that starts with, “What I really like is…” That’s the one that everyone struggles with, the one that never gets any easier. The talk you have when you’re finished establishing that you’re both kinky, the talk you have when you’ve confirmed that you both share the same general fetishes. The one where you admit what specific things turn you on. That is always a rough one, no matter how many times you have it with however many people you have it with.

Because it’s sharing a part of you. A personal, deeply intimate part that cuts right down to the core of who you are as a person, a part that we are taught almost from birth never to discuss with anyone. And if you’re kinky (and again, it’s probably a pretty safe bet that you are) then this part of you is at least a little bit peculiar. It’s not the sort of thing that appeals to everyone, and yet it’s so closely tied to your identity that being rejected over it hurts like nothing else imaginable. Hearing someone say they’re squicked out by your kink feels uniquely like they’re saying, “You are disgusting and I hate you.” Even when that’s the furthest thing from their mind.

And yet… the same drives that are so deeply personal are also so intensely felt that we almost have to say something. It’s almost impossible not to. Our kinks are everything to us, our daydreams and our fantasies, our constant companions whether we love them or hate them. A life without expressing our kink is doable, but there’s something incredibly sad about not getting to be the person you truly are that makes it worth the risk of saying, “This is who I am. This is what I love. This is what I want to do to you, if you’re interested.”

And that’s the magic of it all, once you’ve submitted yourself to the risk of being known for who you are. Every so often, you find that connection, that person who wants exactly what you want and loves the kink you love, and it’s deeper than anything you can possibly imagine. It’s that same intimacy, on the other side of the barrier of fear and through into total and heartfelt connection. When you find someone who shares your kink, you know them and they know you. And while that’s the scariest thing in the world… it’s also the most wonderful.

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Early Bird Sneak Peek: “That Song in My Head”!

July 25, 2019

Hi all! It’s time for another Early Bird Sneak Peek, where I share a glimpse at the story my lucky Early Bird patrons will be enjoying next Saturday thanks to their pledges at my Patreon page! Of course, if you’re not an Early Bird patron, you’ll still get a story next week–“Adaptation”, teased previously, has already been submitted to the EMCSA. But the Early Bird patrons will be getting “That Song in My Head” (MC MD MF FF)!

Inspector Fong Ming has returned to the Ballantyne Institute. Even though she’s officially concluded her investigation, even though she found no wrongdoing, she can’t quite seem to shake her suspicions about the place. It’s like a song that she can’t quite get out of her head. And speaking of… well, here’s a taste.

“I…” I start to tell her that I don’t want her to handle that for me at all. That I want her to cut the bullshit, stop stonewalling, and admit that they cultivated improper ties with government officials in order to forestall investigations into serious irregularities in their compliance with local laws. And failing that, I want her to shove her immaculately-manicured hand up her ass while I call a taxi myself and get the hell out of here and never come back. But then… I start to hear it in my head. The earworm that’s been haunting me for months now, drifting into my brain and driving me to distraction.

I can never quite place the tune. It’s maddeningly inchoate, a snatch of song so brief that I can’t connect it to any kind of memory. It loops inside my brain, so smooth and bland and devoid of character that I don’t even know when it starts and stops, but at the same time so infernally catchy that I can’t shake it no matter how hard I try. It seems to push everything else out of my head, smothering my thoughts one by one in its saccharine cheer, until I find myself unable to do anything but rummage through my mind to try to figure out where I heard it the first time.

As always, I try to put lyrics to it, gradually paying less and less attention to the woman from the Institute while I concentrate on the music in my head. But the infuriating tunelessness of the tune frustrates my every effort. The snatch of song seemingly has no beginning and no proper end, and so any verse can be stretched to fit any meter until it seems like every answer that pops into my head is the right answer. Once I set the words ‘shake the woman’s hand’ to the constantly repeating earworm, my mind seamlessly incorporates it until I can’t think anything else. ‘Shake the woman’s hand, shake the woman’s hand, shake the woman’s hand, shake the woman’s hand…’

“That’s all settled then,” the woman says, her voice a silky, condescending murmur as she clasps my hand in her own. I blink heavily, trying to pierce the fog of my brief lapse of attention, but the last few moments are gone. Thoroughly, surgically excised by my temporary distraction. Neatly clipped out of existence as if they happened to someone else instead of me. It’s totally normal, I tell myself, the kind of automatic action that happens all the time to all sorts of people, but… I can’t help wondering whether she reached for my hand, or I reached for hers. The same way I can’t help wondering exactly when I decided to come back to the Institute again.

Hope you enjoy it!