Exploring the Kink Scene Was Healthy for Me — and Boy, Did I Ever Resent That

an assortment of cans of frosting. Eight are pictured in their entirety. You can see partial bits of 3 more that are clipped by the photo's scope.
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Over a decade ago, I plunged onto the kink scene. Once I make up my mind to pursue something, I let go exuberantly, some might say recklessly.

I tend to be rather cautious when I’m considering doing something new. I’m known to research and interview people and to spend quite a while thinking over the issues in question before pursuing it.

But eventually, I reach a point where I reach diminishing returns on research and contemplation. And at that point, I jump in.

The Kink Scene Represented a Chance at Indulgence After a Monastic Existence

The kink scene had a hedonistic tinge to it. Everything I’d witnessed on my first visit to a dungeon space struck me as indulgent. I found it terribly attractive.

At that point, I’d been living a very monastic existence in my own head for quite some time. I’d had a wild youth, to be sure, one that had nearly killed me. “Nearly” was big here, however. The brush with death turned me around, set me on a path where I worked very diligently to become responsible and build a stable life. I worked very hard, forced myself to be more temperate about my habits, and learned to keep myself level and healthy (a grueling turnaround but one I eventually made good progress on).

As part of this, I’d met someone who made me laugh, and we’d settled down together. Were we ideal for one another? No. But we liked things about one another, and there wasn’t all that much to choose from where we were in rural Maine, so we took what we could get. Made the most of it. I didn’t mind that I had settled, since I was just happy to be alive after what I’d been through.

He, however, came to vocally regret his decision more. He’d tell me he’d settled down too soon in marrying me, before he got a “chance to taste all the flavors.”

I’d wince at this, hating the analogy. But minded my own business, more or less, until one day polyamory found us.

It came in the form of a pair of friends who managed to be discreetly polyamorous for a few years without any of us knowing. That was of course until the day that I began to suspect that an affair was taking place, based on subtleties I’d noticed. It was at that point, my friend came clean, let me know that her husband was seeing someone else but with her blessing.

At first I was skeptical but tried to keep an open mind, and within a few months, my own marriage was open. My husband was ecstatic at the opportunity. We dated my friend together for a time, until she found that she didn’t have as much natural chemistry with me as she did with my husband. I bowed out and encouraged them to date without me.

I Found the Kink Scene and Kinksters By Accident

And then I set out on my own, mostly making friends and occasionally chatting up new people on online dating. Not exactly actively seeking but not completely opposed to it. My half-ass attempts led me to find folks on the kink scene. I’ll be honest — the first few kinksters I chatted up annoyed me. This wasn’t the fault of kink but owed to their personalities. Still, it made it so I wasn’t exactly eager to explore kink.

I did, however, note that while not all polyamorous people were kinky (nor are all kinky people polyamorous), I kept running into polyamorous people who were also kinky. There was a lot of overlap.

And I eventually started dating a woman that I clicked with, finding out later that not only was she herself kinky but that she also had a play partner who was involved in his local kink scene across the country.

Again, I kept that open mind. One thing led to another, and I was eventually visiting my first dungeon play party.

I Unexpectedly Fell in Love with Kink the First Time I Visited a Dungeon During a Play Party

Shocking me, I loved it. I loved the experience of watching people exchange energy through what seemed either like elaborate ritual or sporting matches, depending on the individuals and how they played and moved.

It was like a form of magic.

I knew then that I wanted to pursue kink. It felt wildly self-indulgent, gluttonous even, like eating an entire can of frosting using your index finger.

Polyamory hadn’t been the hotbed of sexual (or sensual) depravity that my non-polyamorous friends and acquaintances seemed to think it was (either out of envy or in disgust/opposition). It had been more muted, more responsible.

More staid and bureaucratic.

But kink! That could be different, for sure.

Looking to Eat an Entire Can of Frosting with My Index Finger

Truth was that while I had cleaned up my act and had been playing the role of incredibly responsible citizen for many years of recovery, parts of me craved recklessness that I’d given up. I came onto the scene a self-destructive little pixie, craving the junk food of kink. Oblivion.

I wanted to play close to the edge. I wanted to do things that were bad for me. Really bad for me.

Stuff that could potentially damage me and maybe even destroy me. Because what the hey, right?

Might as well have something terrible happen than nothing at all. That’s how I felt anyway.

I was tired of this new self I was becoming. Tired of doing the right thing. Of being a conscientious person.

I decided then that I’d rather ran away from home and join the sex circus and never come back.

So I glommed onto the first available Dom, someone I’d been dating anyway. I urged him to play darkly with me, to push me to the edge.

The Distracted Dom

And then… well, he kinda did. For a second. Like a child that tires quickly of his toys, he’d often set up elaborate orders or scenes that were supposed to stretch over long time periods and then cancel them because he got busy or distracted. And not in a sexy way either. Not as a form of loaded bait and switch, the way that Lucy pulls the football away from Charlie Brown at the last second, landing him on his bum.

More in a CTRL-Z, “never mind” kind of way. The way a person calls out sick from work using an automated system.

The way he played was flighty and anticlimactic. There was nothing rich and decadent about it either. It was less like eating an entire can of frosting and more like having a plate of alfalfa sprouts placed before me for a few moments until the waiter took them away from me because they were delivered in error.

A Dom Who Was Consistent and Reliable — But Good for Me

After that relationship broke up, I was playing with another person, but we were switching. Basically, we spent about six months fighting for dominance. Wrestling and sparring. Trading energy.

It was so vigorous and refreshing. A bit like downing a series of energy drinks — except without any jittery crash after the fact. Or any trouble sleeping.

In fact, I was finding I slept better in those months than I had in years.

After six months, however, he eventually won. And I had a Dom again.

He was completely different than my first experience. Steady and reliable. Our scenes were hot, and I adored him.

As time went on, I wanted the arrangement to become more serious, and so it did.

I had noted, however, that he didn’t engage in a lot of junk food play. He was always concerned with how things hit me mentally and emotionally. He’d insist on aftercare and went to great lengths to make sure I was doing well.

As our D/s relationship became more serious, he started to issue orders that were targeted towards my improving my mental health. He insisted I go to therapy and deal with things I’d been putting off. And he ordered me to go back to school and finish my degree.

And so many other little things that generally improved my life for the better.

Exploring Alternative Sexuality Was Healthy for Me, and Boy, Did I Ever Resent That

I sit here now, a better healthier, happier version of myself. And boy, did I ever resent that. I went down kicking and screaming.

Seriously.

There were many times when I felt shortchanged, cheated by my circumstances. As I wrote in an earlier piece:

It’s not what I fantasized about when I first dipped my toe into BDSM. And for the first two years, I’d actually whine (brat-style) about how other subs got to do fun stuff, and “Me, I’m stuck with a vitamin shake Dom.” He was good for me, I told him, but honestly? Sometimes his orders weren’t any fun. Other people were drinking chocolate milk, and here I was choking down orders that tasted like wheatgerm.

The darkness within me didn’t get the meals it was demanding. No one tried to destroy me. I’m still here. In fact, I’m more here than I ever was. More myself.

Exploring alternative sexuality turned out in the end to be quite healthy for me — healthier than I ever planned it to be.

So much for self-destruction.

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Books by Page Turner:

Dealing with Difficult Metamours

A Geek’s Guide to Unicorn Ranching

Poly Land: My Brutally Honest Adventures in Polyamory 

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