Sunday 18 May 2014

Got Something To Tell Me, Mom? Or, Spanking Is A Gateway Drug

I never came out and told my mom, "I'm into BDSM." My mother is many things, but stupid isn't one of them, so she guessed most of it on her own. And there are only so many times you can come home with yeah-those-aren't-hickeys-those-are-bite-marks before a person puts two and two together.

I don't remember the context, but I remember her once telling me that all masochists had been really ill as children. I was tempted to ask, "Soooo... I don't remember this illness, or...?" But I didn't really want to get into it with her. Because, awkward.

She also told me that I shouldn't be kinky, because I would just keep needing more and more until I, I don't know, self-destructed or something.

To that I say (but again, not to her): Life is all about progression. Staying at Level One in any activity gets boring after a while. But just because you've canoed the same river multiple times doesn't mean you're going to suddenly attempt to canoe across an ocean. Sure, play might get more intense, or at least change, over the years, but that doesn't mean that it's going to become dangerous or unhealthy.

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