We live in a world that is, for the most part, both obsessed with and disgusted by sex. I bet there are many a scholarly paper on the reasons why, but at the end of the day, do you care? Will it change your willingness to wear a latex pig costume on the bus? Probably not.
Also, I wouldn’t be caught dead reading a scholarly paper on the bus.
Sex is everywhere, but woe be to the sex that airs before 10 p.m. and ever goes beyond a man and a woman kissing and maybe engaging in nipple play or softcore no-genitals-visible intercourse. We tolerate, in small doses, more of the risque stuff on our HBO and Showtime, but never in real life. For evidence of this, look at how many people online still use “pervert” as the go-to term for someone who has any kind of sex that isn’t dusty missionary between two god-fearing Middle Americans. Come on. If you think an extramarital blowjob is perverted, you need to flee the internet right away because sooner or later, you’re going to see something that turns your curlies white.
Now the thing to acknowledge about this stigma is that it’s posturing. All bullshit posturing. How many of those people who condemn someone for a blowjob, or homosexuality, or promiscuity, aren’t engaging in similar activities behind closed doors? And, more pertinently, why should it matter? Why does where I put my ball sack matter a hill of beans to anyone so long as it’s not in their lunch box?
That’s essentially the stigma we all face — what we do shouldn’t matter, and realistically doesn’t, but it will be judged. And we fear that. It’s natural to fear being treated like you’re weird or wrong. We can say “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks” all we like, but few people can live that way. And you shouldn’t, either. We live in a society with one another, so what other people think does matter. But you shouldn’t have to be the one to change or hide when the thing other people think is, to be blunt, fucking stupid. But that’s the way it “should” be. Not how it is. How it is is you get the stink eye when someone finds out you like to fuck melons.
Very likely, you keep your sexual weirdness on a low boil and don’t walk around with a sign that says “I have two Transformers action figures in my ass, and a third one … somewhere. Ask me how!” That’s fair. Not everyone needs to know about your proclivities, if we’re being honest. Does it have any bearing on your banking? Your Burger King order? Your chat with a stranger on the bus? Hopefully not.
In private though, we can still face that trepidation when it comes to laying it all out, potentially literally. There’s a fear of approaching someone you trust enough to rub grundles with and proposing something new and different. What if the thing that turns you on disgusts them? What if it makes their blood run cold and they flee, half dressed in the night, panic-tweeting about how you want them to wear a Donald Trump mask while they administer a marzipan enema?
If you’ve ever Googled tentacle porn for the purpose of proving to your wife it exists, or whatever it was that prompted you to do such a thing, you know that there’s a rich tapestry of fetish porn available. Sure, everyone likes butt stuff and throat-fisting and beef-busting, but who the hell is into inserting metal rods into their urethra? Or riding dildos shaped like horse dongs? And how do you get into it? Don’t answer that, it was rhetorical. I mean, send me a DM or something, but don’t bother commenting.
Bringing up “your thing” with someone else is often one of the most harrowing parts of a relationship. If you’re the kind of person who can just say to anyone “I’d love to eat paella out of your bum,” know that you’re both rare and envied. For the rest of us, it’s a hell of a leap of faith.
Fantasy Vs. Reality
Fantasy Vs. Reality
One of the most perplexing parts of understanding any kind of kink is the separation of fantasy and reality. This is probably exemplified most easily in something like a rape fantasy. The fantasy is actually surprisingly common, with up to 57 percent of women admitting to them in some surveys. And for the love of God, please don’t go thinking that means that many women actually want to be raped. Because they don’t. Don’t be that fucking guy.
The big difference between having a fantasy and making it reality is, as you may have guessed, that one is real and one is not. You can entertain a fantasy that you’re a pirate, doesn’t mean you want a boat. Some people don’t seem to be able to get that. It’s a cliche defense you’ll see on police procedural dramas that a rapist would say the victim liked rough sex and that’s all that happened. Well, so what? Rape isn’t rough sex and fantasy isn’t reality.
Becoming OK with the idea that your fantasy isn’t inviting a horrible reality is a hurdle. Because the darker the fantasy, the more the fear that it means something about you as a person — that you want something bad, or you are bad. And you’re probably not.
And I have to say probably, because any time I write something like this in general terms, I’ll hear from someone who wants to bring up illegal activities, like pedophilia. And then I have to face palm and say fuck no. Fuck no, I don’t mean that. In fact, here’s where I’ll say this whole thing is about safe, consensual acts that do not victimize or harm anyone or exploit anyone not in a position to be an equal, consenting partner in that sexual interaction. I’m mostly talking about finger banging someone in the back of the bus or whatever.
I rarely see this addressed in the realm of fantasies and fetishes, but it’s worth mentioning that, for some of these to work, you need a baffling level of commitment. Like if you’re into pegging (that’s getting your back door spelunked with some manner of inanimate fidget spinner), you pretty much need to buy a full-on adjustable leather harness rig for the other person to wear, and some manner of attachment. If you’re down with hardcore bondage, you not only need to buy the supplies, but you may need to actually learn complex knot-tying like some kind of Boy Scout getting a merit badge in depravity. And role-play? Just holy shit to that.
The idea of role-play is pretty common and it’s been comedy fodder for a long time. A roommate/friend/relative walks in on a couple and she’s dressed like a school girl! Oh no! A good rofl is had by all. But getting into role-play is hard if you’re not super into the idea of role-playing. This takes what I said before about sharing a fantasy to the next level because now it’s not just “I like fucking okra, please fuck me with okra.” It’s “I need you to take on the role of a sex-obsessed okra farmer while I immerse myself in the persona of a donkey-dicked hitchhiker who gets stranded at the okra festival.”
Role-playing requires that you not only have your sexual encounter, but you make it an improv smut routine at the same time. And sure, probably some people are happy to weave in and out of the fantasy as the mood strikes, but some people don’t. Some people have a uniform and a personality shift and appropriate props and goddamn, how do you keep your boner geared up for fun after all this work?
Luckily for those into it, some people do maintain that bonerization. And some people are willing to commit to that level of effort for a partner but man, it can’t be easy. If you want your partner to pretend they’re Mrs. Ochmonek and you’re ALF and the only way you can get back to Melmac is with a pork-fueled spaceship ride, your partner better be super turned on by ALF. But let’s be real: They probably are. Who didn’t used to rub one out to ALF?
Warner Bros. Television Distribution
Show of hands of who didn’t. You fucking liars.
Close your eyes for me. Wait, shit, don’t do that. Keep your eyes open while you read and imagine yourself someplace romantic, like a beach at sunset or the alley behind Chipotle. You’re with that special someone(s) and you’re ham-slamming your ram-jams every which way and things are going so awesome that you’re pretty sure you want to spend every day like this. Or do you? There’s an issue with sexual precedent you’ll potentially need to work out with any long-term partner. If your thing is getting slapped in the face with a burrito while you jerk it into a shoe, is that a deal breaker if it isn’t every time? Chances are your partner is going to want to shake it up every so often and if you have a recurring, pervasive fantasy, this can become a problem.
And if your thing is getting slapped in the face with a burrito in the alley behind Chipotle, well, buddy, the world is your oyster.
I know this from experience from having, after a substantial amount of time, someone ask me if I felt they weren’t satisfying enough on their own, and that this fantasy needed to be included. And the weird thing was no, it didn’t need to be included, and yes, they were satisfying enough. But at that point, I thought she was so into it too that I felt like it was expected each time. So essentially, we were both partially engaging in it for ourselves, but also because we thought the other person expected or needed it. Which wasn’t true and as a result, it made the whole thing kind of sad and awkward.
Communication is your friend. Honest and frequent interactions based on trust is pretty much the only way to guarantee you’ll get your nuts buttered and tied up with elastic bands whenever you desire such a thing AND keep everyone happy and sexually fulfilled. And guess what? Your abnormal shit is probably normal as hell in the grand scheme of what floats people’s boats. I mean, some people intentionally paint miniatures. For fun. So even if you like to slather your genitals in hot sauce, you’re not the weirdest person in the room.