I'm sitting here getting ready for a date in which I anticipate having some hot, rough, balls-to-the-wall fucking. So I'm wearing my sex clothes—light pink tights, floral shirt, button up white cardigan. I'm going to do some pastel makeup, pink blush, bright eyes. I imagine we'll hold hands and kiss and giggle at our own awkwardness.
And I'm wet as hell for it. For all of that.
In a world where we constantly hear that porn is getting darker, where violence is more acceptable than sex both in the theater and in the streets, where we're beginning to recognize the ways in which rape culture permeates our desires . . . wholesomeness seems to be on the way out. It may seem strange for a sexual deviant to be advocating for it as the new kinky.
But I don't know. I've been Goth and punk and weird for so much of my life. I'm so accustomed to being exoticised for my sex work history, othered for my fatness. Playacting at normalcy feels perverted in all the best ways, and in a city where latex chaps and leather vests are old hat, calling cards and blushing seems interesting and new.
I know I'm not the only one to feel this way, and I'm not the first. I began to realize I wasn't alone when I witnessed the Prim & Proper Tea Party at Folsom a few years ago. With a tag line like "modesty is the new kink," I began to think about what got me all hot and bothered. And I came back to—service. Victorian etiquette. Suits. 50s dress silhouettes. Gloves. "Please" and "thank you."
Basically? Wholesomeness. I'm finding after years of feeling bored with the "anything you can do, I can do better" behavior in the BDSM community, I'm really enjoying the Brad and Janet-ness of being . . . sweet. Wearing pastels. Baking, even. I kind of like looking like a boring straight couple and knowing that when we get back home it's going to be biting and spitting and face slapping and pegging.
I've had some incredibly hot fucking where we've had to be really quiet—which, when you're used to performative sex, being loud for the camera or the audience, it's extra hot to have to be as quiet as you can be. Hands over mouths. Being shushed because someone might hear. Fumbling hands sliding into jeans and under tights so no one will notice you're doing more than making out on a bench.
Though it's not just about the sex—it's also about the enjoyment of playing Scrabble naked, having picnics, of doing things that feel a bit like some romantic comedy montage. It's a strange new world for me, but I'm enjoying feeling like . . . well, like a girlfriend, and not a girlfriend experience.
I think perhaps having both identified as a slut and also being publicly a sex worker made me feel like I had to live up to a certain type of dress and behavior. There's a sense that you need to play a persona, to be kinky and sexual all the time, and that's tiring—as well as just dull. I had a lot of experiences with people not taking my feelings seriously, dating me only to break my heart because while they were attracted to my experience, they were eventually scared off of it. Other people will say to my lovers how they think I'm super hot, but then those people never approach me because I'm intimidating. It kinda sucks.
I used to not trust romance, or hand holding, and I'm still a bit squeamish about snuggles, but I'm finally beginning to settle into it all now. There's trust, and that's good. I don't feel like I have to prove anything, and maybe that's what does it—the confidence I now have allows me to feel grounded, which is hot. I know it might sound strange, but I'm really enjoying doing normal date stuff, like going to the pub, seeing a movie, having dinner together. There's something so . . . comfortable about it, and I'm finding that security sexy as hell. Never mind the sheer sexiness of unbuttoning that suburban drag to have some filthy filthy sex!
It cracks me up that after jerking off to erotic cannibalism, my current biggest perversion is missionary position sex, in a bed, for procreation (creampie porn is so my Thing). I guess it's true that if you keep going down any path you end up right where you started. Kinky sex doesn't have to be scary, or violent, bloody or painful. And sometimes the scariest places are the intimate places, where love and sex collide.
For me, fucking in bed with someone I care about is terrifying and beautiful and perverted and lovely. I don't feel the need to lean on kit anymore to get off, and I don't have to wear a collar or shibari to know I'm a pervert. It can be just as dirty to make out and be romantic and love each other.
But as I said to one of my lovers . . . "as long as we keep the lights on . . . I'm not *that* kinky!"
Edited to add: I totally had sex in the dark last night. It was so, so filthy. 3
