by Rachel Kramer Bussel

(Fair warning: At some point during the night, I began writing this post in my head, and I had a distinct direction for it.  This morning, my direction’s a little fuzzy.  So please excuse the rambliness.  Also, before it gets twisted, this is not meant to be aimed at my friend.  I’m discussing her opinion because it’s one held by many, not just her.)

I used to have this friend who was pretty active in her local community.  So much so that when there were demos, she would often be asked to be the guinea pig.  And because she was an exhibitionist and an attention whore, she’d always say yes, regardless of how she felt about the person running the demo.  It always made me chuckle when she came back from the event singing the person’s praises, even though she’d been ripping them to shreds in my IM box just hours before.

And not just their praises.  But her own praises as well. 

She would go on and on about how well she did, and how much she endured, and how good a submissive she was.  She’d parrot off each praising comment she received from the instructor and the audience at least a hundred times before she finally tired of me responding with, “You told me.”  I tried to ignore the “I’m better than you.” undertone that came with each telling of the story.  I knew that her self-esteem was based solely on what others thought of her, and I’d been there, so I pretended her bragging wasn’t always a dig at me and looked the other way.

I’m good at that.  Understanding, to an extent, where a person’s coming from, and looking the other way.  To my own detriment, sometimes.

I never did figure out why she thought her spending brief moments under the firm hand of a well-known kinkster from time to time was any better than my 24/7 slavery.  I certainly don’t think my being a 24/7 slave makes me better than her being… Whatever she identifies as on any given day.  But with each pointed question, and subsequent dismissal, it became apparent that she didn’t view me as a “true kinkster” because M and I are not involved in our local community.  Which is where the sarcastic comment about us not being kinksters in “You say ‘vanilla’ like it’s a bad thing.” came from.

And it didn’t even seem to be because we didn’t attend munches, but more because we didn’t attend events, or go to kink clubs, or get invited to play parties.  Because M hasn’t had the opportunity to let me get beat on stage by some stranger at a black and red event.  Because we’re mostly monogamous, these days, and aren’t really making much effort to be polyamorous.  Because… Well, you get the picture.

This is one of the reasons I made sure to point out in the vanilla post that I knew kinksters who thought their kinkiness made them better than non-kinky people.  Because I also know kinksters who think their involvement in their local community makes them better than those of us who choose not to for whatever reason.  Not all.  Probably not even most.  But some.

To them, a scene is something you do at a club or play party, not something you do in your own bedroom.  A kinkster’s wardrobe is full of leather and latex.  And if people aren’t watching, you’re doing it wrong.

But here’s the thing…

There are very few people M and I would feel comfortable playing in front of.  We’re pretty balls-to-the-wall during play sessions.  When the neighbors are out of town, and when M is able to put “She’s my wife!” out of his mind and focus only on “She’s my fucktoy!” without having to worry about repercussions, and with the very short list of limits M puts on Himself and our play, we toe the line of what would have most dungeon masters kicking us out and asking us not to come back.  And while less intense sessions do have their merit, and temporarily scratch an itch, we’re rarely satisfied by them.

And leather and latex freak me out.  Well… leather and latex clothing, anyway.  Well… not so much leather skirts or jackets or vests or caps.  But, like, body suits.  Latex just freaks me out period.  We have latex bondage tape, and the one time M used it I was okay, but that’s cause He only put it on my arms.  I think if we had enough for Him to wrap me head to toe, I’d be vomiting all over myself before he got halfway finished wrapping me.

Yes, I do realize I just fucked myself.  Again.  I’m good at that, too.

In any case, a lot of rambling just to say this:

Participation in munches, play parties and events is not a requirement to be a card-carrying kinkster, whatever that means.  Hell, I’m not sure there are any requirements.  Aside from, you know, calling yourself kinky.

<3