I’ve been thinking lately that the “sex” part of my tagline above doesn’t get nearly as much of a workout lately as the other bits.

So, here goes. This is going to be part one (because I’m tired and have to get up early!) of a multipart series on sex and sexuality.

Ren’s declared it kink week, Amber asks just what kink is, and Caroline talks about those kinky goth girls.

For me, kink came right along with discovering sex and taking ownership of sexuality. I was one of those freaky goth chicks, yep, all right, dyed hair and big vinyl boots and corsets and fishnets and lacy lingerie, back in college in New Orleans, which has to be the best place in the world to be a goth chick just learning how to play.

I was still a virgin when I left for college. Loved a man back then more than I’ve ever loved anyone, but the sex thing still scared the crap outta me. So when I got into a relationship that had a lot more of a playful BDSM dynamic to it (as well as got into a friendship with a girl who was among other things a stripper and a submissive–and the smartest, most in-control lady I’ve ever met when it came to her sexuality), I took that opportunity to define sex on MY terms. What I wanted.

And I had control.

And I liked it.

So the kinkiest relationship, in terms of yeah, BDSM, which Amber notes is the first thing that jumps into people’s minds when they think of kink, that I ever had was when I was 18. With a man who’d always thought he was a top but liked when I told him what to do…and kept letting me take that further…

Being a goth girl, especially one who is interested in BDSM, gets you super-sexualized and gets you a bad reputation, uh huh, but I didn’t give a damn and New Orleans was a great place to not give a damn. I was surrounded by girls who were badder than I could ever hope to be, were the bad girls all the boys wanted, and that gave me so much room to explore. To learn that after all, I’m fairly vanilla, but I like teeth and nails and some other things that are none of your damn business anyway.

Lacing myself into a corset was a new form of control, an experiment with my body (which already is pretty hourglass-shaped) twisting it into new shapes different from the hyperskinny ones longed after by most college girls. And even before I called myself a feminist I understood the difference between putting on the corset and boots for ME because I had the choice to define myself that way. And to not need the big boots and the black eyeliner anymore to tell people who and what I was, because now I like the mystery better.

And if I choose to submit, that’s my choice too.

Being on top gave me the courage to explore. Gave me the strength to give in to my desires–and sometimes those desires lead unexpected places.

Putting on those accoutrements of difference, black lace and vinyl or sometimes bright red or hot pink or white because even in that crowd I liked to stand out, I took control of myself. My adult life. My sexuality. My conscious thoughts about it, and my subconscious feelings.

Kink is, as has been said, subjective. All sexuality is subjective. We should know that by now. But the religious right types and the anti-porn types don’t want to give us that freedom to know what we want, to experiment, to figure out which pieces fit and which should be discarded. They don’t trust us to know. They say, “No, little girl, let me tell you what  you’ll enjoy. Let me tell you what’s degrading. What’s wrong.”

But I drew more strength from BDSM than I ever did from someone protecting me.