My embarrassing kink
[Hi, all -- I have been busy teaching and traveling and haven't had much time to sit down, clear my mind of administrivia, and write. But! Look! Here I am, putting real live pixels on the screen! Hurrah! -- Lily]
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At this point, I feel pretty good about all my kinks. I don’t think that they reflect badly on my character or my mental health; I can laugh about them and I’m not all that worried about people finding out about that aspect of my life.
It wasn’t always that way — I was raised in an environment of grand sexual repression — a place where it was not okay to be gay or bisexual. Since I was discovering my own sexuality before the era of the Web, the only glimpses I got of BDSM from movies and television and books were always connected with danger and death. So at a very young age, I simply put that aspect of myself in long-term storage.
Now?
I’m an unrepentant freak. And I am glad, because I didn’t realize how stressful it was to repress my sexuality until I stopped doing it.
But I digress.
Because, you see, pervs — I still have kinks that even I am embarrassed by. I imagine myself being grilled by a vanilla person (for some reason, these imaginary interrogations always take place in line at a Starbucks. In my imagination, vanilla folk have absolutely no compunctions whatsoever about drawing others into their scene without consent and will bust out the interrogation play right in front of the pastry case). I fare very badly in these interrogations. I have no good answers for why I’m doing what I’m doing and…it looks pretty bad.
No double latte for me, pervs.
At this point, you’re saying, ENOUGH VAMPING PERV WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU INTO SPIT IT OUT ALREADY.
Okay. Holly has this phone, see?
YOUR GIRLFRIEND HAS A PHONE. UH HUH.
Stop that! I don’t even know if there’s a word for what I’m talking about. I have no clue about how I would go about adding this one to my fetish list.
Anyway, Holly has a new phone. A smartphone! With, like, apps and stuff.
Gawd, this is so embarrassing. You know those apps that let you see where your friends are?
I put one on her phone.
Not without her knowledge and consent, you understand! In fact, I showed her how to switch it off with one click, and told her that she’s welcome to turn it off at any time for any reason without fear of any butthurt whining on my part. (Everybody hates a butthurt dom, anyway). Nor do I ever comment on or try to control where she goes or when (that kind of controlling behavior is one of the classic “red flags” for an abusive relationship).
I have no desire to tell her where to go.
I just like to know where she is.
All the time.
Of course, my desire to know where Holly is (and actually be able to do it) isn’t happening in a vacuum.
We live in an age of surveillance. The numbers of surveillance cameras in use in public places has tripled in the past three years. Drones zap human targets from the sky. Everyone carries around the ability to be Big Brother in their pocket — take out the phone, start recording video, have it up on YouTube in seconds. I’m not sure I know too many people who think this is a good trend. But me? I turn it into a kink. facepalm
That sounds bad, doesn’t it? No wonder I get creamed in those imaginary interrogation-by-vanilla-at-Starbucks scenes. I have a private panopticon in my pocket. I am Evil Dom who knows where her s-type at every moment of the day. I mean, it sounds like I’m about to microchip the poor girl!
Why the hell would I want this, anyway? Well, Holly and I live just far enough away that “dropping by” is really impractical. And due to our respective jobs, impromptu “just to say hello” phone calls are also impractical.
That doesn’t mean I don’t think about her throughout the day — it just means that I have nothing to do with that feeling, no place for it to go.
Until now, that is. Now I just pull out my phone and look in on her. Oh. There you are. Hello. You don’t know it but I miss you.
