Marquis Coffee Shop by Galt Museum & Archives on The Commons
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Coming Out As Kinky
In this Savage Love Letter of the Day, Dan Savage argues that BDSM is something a person of any sexual orientation can do; it is a sexual activity, not a sexual orientation. Therefore, it isn't anyone's business. The diversity consultants at my workplace say something similar: Talking about your sexual activities is inappropriate, but you can discuss who you get sexy with.
I tend to agree with this regarding acquaintances, but just about everyone I'm close to knows I'm kinky. I feel like I'm hiding something if I don't discuss my membership in the community. If I don't, I seriously feel like I did when I exclusively dated women and someone assumed I was straight. I have a hard time putting words to why this activity requires disclosure, while my other activities like wildlife rehabilitation and photography do not. I guess it's sexual activity and part of my core all rolled up in one.
Worrying about the future is the root of anxiety, and I shouldn't be doing it. However, when I find myself thinking about a future relationship, I might worry that I'll fall for some dude who isn't kinky and has no interest in exploring. That I'll be rejected for it. In reality, I'd have to reject him, but in my worries I'm always the victim.
As much as it is important to me, as much as I want it to be a part of my life until I go to sleep for the last time, I don't see BDSM as my orientation. (I'll give this more thought.) But there are people who do. In the same column, Dan Savage posted an interesting and very long letter from a young man who sees BDSM as his orientation. The letter writer describes it this way:
We are all different, coming to BDSM in our own ways. The when and why of disclosure and the question of orientation will be on my mind for a while.
I tend to agree with this regarding acquaintances, but just about everyone I'm close to knows I'm kinky. I feel like I'm hiding something if I don't discuss my membership in the community. If I don't, I seriously feel like I did when I exclusively dated women and someone assumed I was straight. I have a hard time putting words to why this activity requires disclosure, while my other activities like wildlife rehabilitation and photography do not. I guess it's sexual activity and part of my core all rolled up in one.
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| Slap Me Baby. Hard. |
Worrying about the future is the root of anxiety, and I shouldn't be doing it. However, when I find myself thinking about a future relationship, I might worry that I'll fall for some dude who isn't kinky and has no interest in exploring. That I'll be rejected for it. In reality, I'd have to reject him, but in my worries I'm always the victim.
As much as it is important to me, as much as I want it to be a part of my life until I go to sleep for the last time, I don't see BDSM as my orientation. (I'll give this more thought.) But there are people who do. In the same column, Dan Savage posted an interesting and very long letter from a young man who sees BDSM as his orientation. The letter writer describes it this way:
We live in a culture where those of us who are weird enough to have similar experiences have absolutely nowhere to go, which is why I want it in the public consciousness. Which is why I'm "out," why I intend on staying that way, and why I think being "out" is so important for those interested in BDSM. I belong to the local kink group, go to munches, etc., and we get a lot of people in their 50s who have been having sex for years and are just now getting interested in kink. I've been interested in kink since I was three and am only now—at age 24—getting interested in more vanilla-type sex. I prefer feminine-but-androgynous partners, but I'm bi and have played with members of both genders (if you believe in a binary, and many genders if you don't), and I'd much rather whip someone I was unattracted to than have just plain old sex with someone I was. And there are other people like me, regardless of how rare. My playmate between ages four and seven. My current partner. And there have to be others.
I don't care what you call what I am (although I'd be very curious about what you'd call me if not "BDSM-oriented"), but I'd like it to be known that people like me exist. Eventually I'd love to see it inserted in the public dialog, hopefully so the next generation has it a little easier. It's no fun being trapped in your own head, unable to talk to anyone and convinced that what turns you on, something you totally didn't ask for, is destined to eventually turn you into a predator and a monster.
We are all different, coming to BDSM in our own ways. The when and why of disclosure and the question of orientation will be on my mind for a while.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
The Queen of Crushes on the Act of Confesssion
During our most recent session, my therapist called me the Queen of Crushes. She's never had a client with more crushes, she said. I crush on everyone. It's ridiculous. Male, female, young, old, teacher, friend, coworker, Budget Manager (yum), acquaintance, dog walker. If I had super high self-esteem, I'd probably crush on myself. We discussed why I get them, how they have very little to do with the people they involve, and how it's about me and how I react to certain situations.
One thing I've learned over the last year is that one must shine a light into the corners so one can see what's going on. Confession is an industrial-strength flashlight. Whether I confess in person, by accident, or confess to the empty internet, the result is the same: I'm able to let it go. Effortlessly.
The same thing happened at work. A coworker stormed into the office one morning, frazzled and tired, ranting about how her husband abuses her and the children. I've heard this before from her and called social services, because child abuse will not go unreported on my watch. Anyway, I got harsh with her and said that by staying she was letting her children be abused. I just wouldn't let it go, saying it over and over. Your letting your children be abused. Of course this was pushing personal buttons because my mom stayed allowing my father to verbally abuse all of us. Finally I busted out with, "My mom allowed us to be abused and I'm still angry at her for it."
Over the next week or so, I was able to let that anger go. I'd been working on that for years, but saying it out loud in that way changed something. It still hurts, but I'm not angry anymore. I'm glad to be able to say that and mean it.
There is something about the act of confession.
Even though I have many problems with organized religion, I think the Catholics were on to something with Confession. (Of course if one has ever watched the Borgias, one may be forgiven for assuming confession served as a place for secret communication, a place to organize illicit liaisons, and a way to gather information on the failings and weaknesses of your enemies. But I digress.) So in its holy and pure form, untainted by mendacity, confession could be a life saver. Secrets can keep you stuck. The act of speaking your truth can be liberating.
One thing I've learned over the last year is that one must shine a light into the corners so one can see what's going on. Confession is an industrial-strength flashlight. Whether I confess in person, by accident, or confess to the empty internet, the result is the same: I'm able to let it go. Effortlessly.
 |
| Orange Crush soda by Olivander, on Flickr |
Over the next week or so, I was able to let that anger go. I'd been working on that for years, but saying it out loud in that way changed something. It still hurts, but I'm not angry anymore. I'm glad to be able to say that and mean it.
There is something about the act of confession.
Even though I have many problems with organized religion, I think the Catholics were on to something with Confession. (Of course if one has ever watched the Borgias, one may be forgiven for assuming confession served as a place for secret communication, a place to organize illicit liaisons, and a way to gather information on the failings and weaknesses of your enemies. But I digress.) So in its holy and pure form, untainted by mendacity, confession could be a life saver. Secrets can keep you stuck. The act of speaking your truth can be liberating.
Look Alikes: Hillary Clinton and Big Edie Beale
Today, after several postponements due to a stomach virus, fainting and blood clots, Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton testified before a Senate committee about the attack on American state department personnel in Benghazi, Libya. She looked as well as ever and gave impassioned testimony. This photo was on the front page of the Washington Post website this afternoon:
When I saw the wide-rimmed glasses, the long wavy hair and the slight magnification of her eyes, my first thought was Big Edie Beale! The look isn't identical, but the essence of the image is.
I love both of these women. Hillary Rodham Clinton is an icon to me, and while no one is perfect, she is someone I admire. Big Edie is the matriarch of Grey Gardens, a run-down estate in East Hampton, and mother of Little Edie, one of the most quotable ladies of 1975. You understand.
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| The Washington Post |
When I saw the wide-rimmed glasses, the long wavy hair and the slight magnification of her eyes, my first thought was Big Edie Beale! The look isn't identical, but the essence of the image is.
 |
| www.raycaspio.com |
I love both of these women. Hillary Rodham Clinton is an icon to me, and while no one is perfect, she is someone I admire. Big Edie is the matriarch of Grey Gardens, a run-down estate in East Hampton, and mother of Little Edie, one of the most quotable ladies of 1975. You understand.
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