The more time passes and I float along the slipstream of my particular happily-ever-after, the more I am impressed with the fact that I was able to be monogamous with a vanilla man (and one with low libido, no less) for 8 years, no easy feat for an oversexed homoflexible kinkster who bonds easily with others.
I would never go back.
It’s not any one thing you sacrifice. It’s everything — it’s the possibility of anything, the myriad adventures (or sexploits) that become possible once you’re maneuvering off the beaten trails and the tyranny of the guided tour.
One day Skyspook was doing some work in our home that required a respirator. I was arrested by the image and sound of it. I watched him for a while, fascinated.
I must have been leering because he noticed.
“Look at you,” he said, taking off the respirator and beginning to pick up from the project.
“Are you turned on?”
“By this?” Gesturing to the mask.
I nodded. He smiled.
In the bedroom, I blurted out, “I want to blow you while you wear it.”
And instead of telling me it was stupid or wrong, he didn’t even hesitate. The experience was really fun (if a bit odd), like being used by Darth Vader while he ignored you and focused on more important duties.
Like many things, we’ve done it once (or maybe twice, I honestly can’t remember – too much sex, too many years).
And that’s it, really. For me, kink isn’t about any one experience I can’t live without (although I’ll always have a few things that will reliably turn me insta-feral, and for those fetish buttons I’m ever so glad). It’s about being able to try something new, being with someone who’s nearly always willing to give it a go (within semi-reasonable limits).
It’s about waking up every day with a shot at blowing Darth Vader.