Kink

 

Leather? Whips? Nipple clamps? What counts as kinky, and how can you tell? OR: This gimp suit isn't doing it for me, but it took an hour to put on. 

 

Transcript

I was talking with a couple of the people in my office the other day, when a really hot maintenance guy came in. He was fixing a printer or putting up some new lighting or something similar and we were all having a bit of a look, as you do when a new person wanders into an area where normally it’s the same people every day.

One of the other gays in the office was like “Phwoar, he’d get it…” and Carol, one of the PR girls said “Oh my god, Stephen! You’ve got a boyfriend!” Yeah, he could join in. Make it a threesome” “Don’t be so kinky!” and I was sat nearby, thinking Actually, Stephen, keep talking. I want to hear more about what you and your handsome boyfriend are down for, especially when you wear those jeans that show off your arse like that.

But then that thought was overtaken by another thought which was Bitch, please. You think a threesome is kinky? I could tell you some stories.

But then I realised that it would be much more fun to tell you those stories instead, so here we are.

For example, last weekend, I woke up, and was feeling quite perky so I messaged my friend, asking what he was up to. He replied pretty much immediately, which made a nice change. “Dressing a straight guy up like a little girl, then I’m going to fuck him until he squeals.” Well. I was going to see if you fancied a coffee, but it seems like you’re busy, so I’ll leave you to it.

And, y’know, when I hear the word ‘kinky’, the first images in my head are rubber gimp suits and chain, and while S&M is part of the kink world, I guess, it’s not like there’s a line as to what is and isn’t kinky…

I dated a guy who worked in a fetish shop once. We spent an evening playing dress-up in the shop after everyone had gone home. That makes it sound like one of those different outfit montages from an 80s movie, but it was a lot more struggling with rubber shorts and leather harnesses and stuff. Not even close to as much fun as it should have been. And I think that’s a bit of a mood-killer for me. If it takes me more than ten minutes to put on a pair of shorts, then they’re probably not for me.

Or being chained up. That’s not for me, either. I’ve been out with enough guys who seemed to be perfectly normal who then turned out to be complete weirdos. So I know that I am not comfortable being alone with someone unless I know there’s nothing stopping me heading for the door if necessary.

Or, at least, being able to stop them from doing whatever it is they’re thinking of doing. Especially if it involved putting things in places.

On top of which, I’ve lost count of the number of times a guy’s name slipped my mind while mid-shag. I mean, it’s not exactly necessary at that point - ‘oh baby’ works for pretty much anyone, but still, if I occasionally struggle to remember the guy’s name without my phone in front of me so I can check my contacts, there’s no way I’d remember a safe word.

Besides, even if I were the one doing the chaining, I’d be terrified of losing the key. I put my house keys down in weird places often enough. And it’s not as if skintight rubber shorts have many pockets for things like that...

I used to think ‘kinky’ meant anything that involved additional equipment when having sex, but that’s not always true either…

Like, nipple clamps, I guess, are pretty kinky, but what if you’re just with someone who really likes having their nipples played with? Like, not putting bulldog clips on them, but still likes them being fiddled with? I’ve dated a few guys like that - from a gorgeous, lovely boy who just, BOING, got hard whenever I touched his nipples, to a frankly mental Italian who only liked it if I grabbed them hard and twisted. them. Right. Round.

And, y’know, personally, I don’t get anything from having my nips twiddled, but if pretending to tune in a radio on someone’s chest helps them get where they need to go, I don’t mind doing it for them. But yeah, so it’s not as simple as special accoutrements.

And y’know, some of the girls at work, bless’em, think rimming is kinky. Instead of, y’know, a nice way to say hello to someone. Oh, god. Mum, if you’re listening to this, don’t… Don’t google that.

And it doesn’t have to be something that you can’t have sex without. If that were the case, then I have a fetish for being mildly disappointed.

So yeah, you don’t have to have a kink in your sex all the time, only when you’re in the mood.

And y’know, kinks and fetishes are really subjective, and what one person might think of as the height of kinky naughtiness is just par for the course for someone else. Like, speedos, or underwear could be a fetish, to the right person. To someone else, they’re just clothes. Or even those grey sweatpants. When there’s something hefty swinging around in there as someone walks… Sorry.

I’d say it’s important to try different things and see what you like. Don’t jump in the deep end, obviously, start small and work up. Don’t go for a traffic cone before you’ve tried a finger.

And it’s important to feel able to say ‘That’s not my kink’ whenever anyone suggests anything you’re not keen on. Y’know, maybe you’re down for a snog and a bit of a wank together, and he’s like “aaaaa! Piss on my tits and call me shirley!” don’t feel like you have to do anything. Especially if it might ruin your bedsheets.

It’s like any other kind of consent - only do what you’re comfortable with, and know you can withdraw that consent whenever you like. As with everything, clear communication is key.

In fact, I’ve used that sentence when stuff I just plain don’t want to do comes up. “Hey, shall we try one of those avocado lattes?” Fuck, no. That’s not my kink.

Find out what you like, and then see to what degree you like it.

For example, when I was in San Francisco, a friend of mine took me to the local kink shop. He was stocking up on supplies, and I was playing around with some different things when an employee offered to zap me with a cattle prod. It was one of those that goes CLICKCLICKCLICK and the little blue spark zips between the two electrodes.

I declined, quickly, and wandered a safe distance away. But realised I’d not know until I gave it a go, so after thinking about it for a little while, I wandered over and told him I’d changed my mind.

So he got the cattle-prod thing and stuck about a bajillion volts into my right bumcheek. I must have yelped quite loud, as everyone in the shop was looking at me.

I wouldn’t say it was something I wanted during sex, but it certainly woke me up. It was better than a coffee. I was tempted to get one, just to get me going, but if a taser is what it takes to get me out of bed, I’m not sure where my day could go from there, unless I start putting cocaine on my cornflakes.