I used to think people into kink were scary and had something wrong with them psychologically. Guys dressed up in leather, flogging, submission?

Then I tried it. And it only took one experience to change my mind.

I was cruising on Grindr one day and started chatting up a guy in his 20s. He seemed like just the kind of guy I wanted to date. He was cute, he was doing his master’s degree in the same field I did my undergrad in, he was religious (yes, I am too), he was committed to social justice and he was a bottom.

So we went on a few coffee dates to get to know each other better. I became quite entranced with this guy. I’ll call him Mike.

One day, as we were texting back and forth, he decided to confess something to me: he was into submission. Not just as an occasional sexual practice but as a complete lifestyle, and he was looking for a partner that he could submit to full time.

Now I have to admit, my knowledge of what that meant was lower than even basic. I pretty much knew nothing of what that meant. But I really liked this guy so I was willing to explore this a bit further.

I started reading up online about what this entailed as a lifestyle. The more I read, the more intrigued I became. There was a whole world out there that I was beginning to discover, and I wasn’t turning away in revulsion.

And so it began with Mike.

Mike was quite shy and very devoutly religious, so we weren’t rushing into sex. But our dynamic became sexual very quickly.

We started off simple: I gave him an order by text message each day. I asked him what he had to read for class and wrote it down. I would then tell him what I expected him to read by the end of the day, and if he didn’t complete this task, I would issue a punishment.

Sometimes I’d let him know what the punishment for non-completion was ahead of time, and other times I’d keep it a secret. Again, these were relatively simple. If by the deadline he hadn’t completed a task, I’d tell him to do something like lick the floor and take a photo of it to prove he had punished himself. Or I’d make him piss himself and take a pic.

Other times, my orders were sexual. Some of my orders included taking a pic of his butt hole in the washroom at school, wearing lingerie and coming on it, or wearing a butt plug to class.

With every text, I became rock hard. The sexual arousal I got out of controlling someone was more than I’d ever experienced.

My god what had happened to me?

From an early age, I had always prized a relationship built on equality. I remember attending a wedding when I was 16, where the groom (who was the first man in Canada to earn a degree in women’s studies) and the bride pledged their equality in their vows. But what was going on with Mike was at the opposite end of the spectrum: I was in control over this man and he was submitting to me.

One day, we finally decided to take it to the next level. He was going to come over and serve me in person. I told him that he was going to cook me dinner, with nothing but a bow around his cock, and serve it to me. He was then going to pleasure my cock any way I asked. I was giddy with anticipation.

Friday rolled around and he said he was looking forward to the evening and he would arrive at 6pm sharp — no earlier, no later, or he’d get punished. Six o’clock hit and he hadn’t arrived. I texted him to see where he was. No reply. Time went on and still no reply. I was angry. I was hurt. And then my phone rang.

He was crying on the other end and said he couldn’t go through with it. He was curled up in bed with a ringing in his ear that wouldn’t stop.

I probed more, as this made no sense. He then revealed he was having some sort of episode and our plans had brought up his childhood. His childhood of being repeatedly raped for years by a family member.

Things started to race through my mind. I reminded him of his rapist.

I considered his extreme level of submissive behaviour, not just with me but how he approached his church. His lack of close relationships. His irrational terror of dogs. The unexplained ringing in his ears. Was he suffering from some form of post-traumatic stress disorder?

I curled up in a ball on my sofa and cried uncontrollably. What had I become? Was I no better than a rapist?

I had unleashed something in my brain. Something sick. Something scary. I was aroused by controlling another human being’s life. I enjoyed tormenting him. I enjoyed humiliating him.

After a day and a half of feeling like the spawn of Satan, I started processing what had happened. The fact that these things repulsed me reassured me that I wasn’t a sick psychopath.

I combed through my brain and carefully considered what I felt was wrong and what I felt was okay. I applied my values and ethics to the situation.

While I got aroused controlling someone, I didn’t want to actually control someone’s entire life, I realized. In fact, it left me rather exhausted each day. I didn’t want to own anyone full-time as a lifestyle.

Sex was a different matter. I was okay with spending a few hours with someone, taking control on a temporary basis, and playing a role to get us both aroused.

As I sorted through what I found acceptable to me and what I did not, I not only felt better, I felt fantastic. I had, what I later discovered is common in the kink world, explored my limits. What I enjoyed and what lines I didn’t enjoy crossing. I was also fortunate to have a psychologist at the time to help me think these things through.

My relationship with Mike eventually petered out. But the experience opened a new world that I continue to explore.

In a relatively short time, I immersed myself in the kink community. I started wearing leather, trying new kinks out with guys and flying all over North America to go to fetish events.

It’s an ongoing exploration. If a guy asks me now if I’m into something, and I haven’t tried it, my response is usually: “not yet but I’m willing to try it three times to figure that out!”

As for the kink community? It turned out to be the exact opposite of scary.

 

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