I love kink but I’m not in love with kink…not anymore at least.
I’m sure that feeling will come back in time but for now, I just feel sort of “meh” about the whole thing.
My friends on the other hand—well that’s a different story. I’ve noticed that when I meet people who were recently introduced or recently discovered their kinky side it’s like watching a kid in a candy shop.
They want to touch this.
They need to learn about that.
They talk about these.
Honestly, I want to be happy for them but it’s exhausting. Then I have to ask myself, “Was I ever that in love with kink?”
The short answer is no, I don’t believe I ever was. For me the kinkiness that I embraced was an evolving process so to speak. I stepped into it casually in my own time and never felt overwhemled, starry-eyed, or overly pre-occupied with it. It was like finding out that I had a raised freckle I couldn’t see on my shoulder. It was now just a part of me. A part of me that I showed some people but I certainly didn’t show it off.
My friends who are delving deeper into kink are losing a bit of themselves I feel. They’ve all but forsaken any hobbies that don’t involve rope, kink, or takes place in a dungeon. They don’t really interact beyond attending the same kinky functions (the only place I’m guaranteed to see them), and in my opinion they certainly could care less about what’s going on the more dull but very “real” world.
Is this jealousy? I wondered that myself at first but I have to say no.
What it is however is kink quietly sneaking between the cracks of friendships and working its way in until it has nearly consumed them beyond recognizable condition.
I never thought of it before but BDSM can be like a drug. The power, the submission, the raw sexuality of it all wrapped in a shimmery box tie of a social secrectecy topped with freedom.
But like all drugs it can come with a price…