My Personal Journey into Kink¶
How I began¶
Long ago, back when dinosaurs roamed the Internet, down in Silicon Valley, which was a suburb of San Francisco, I came into being. I was a confused, and confusing child. I don’t think anyone understood me, and frankly, my parents didn’t want me. So I had no idea what to do with myself.
While eventually there would be a name for Autism, there wasn’t in my time. And so no one knew what to make of me. I was able to do great at things when people would tell me what was expected of me, or what the rules were. But without that, I had no clue. Everyone else seemed to be operating on some sort of social manual that I’d never been issued.
I was rubbish at girls especially. Once in middle school, a girl told me that she knew what my problem was. “You’re too mature,” she said. I was confused. “That’s bad?” I asked. Apparently, at that time it was.
I was likely destined to be an outcast forever. But I found joy in reading science fiction and computers. And in Silicon Valley, we had those things in abundance. So I was content, even if I was also more than a little confused about society.
How I discovered¶
It was completely by accident. I was at a science fiction convention of all things. There would be different groups and they’d all host parties. Some of them had the doors open, and for some, you had to knock on the door to be invited in. One room might be filled with Klingons, and the next folks were talking about and dressed up as characters from Dr. Who.
I loved these events and it certainly wasn’t my first one.
At one door I came to, I heard folks definitely having fun on the other side. So I knocked. And since I had knocked, I’d been allowed in. (It didn’t occur to me until much later that perhaps ‘typical’ folk didn’t knock on random doors to random parties they didn’t know about.) Regardless, that I had knocked got me invited inside. I had no idea what I was walking in on. (Later I’d realize that the hosts probably took my presumptive knock to mean I knew what I was walking in on.)
And oh what a party I walked into. The details are beyond fuzzy, this many years removed. I don’t even remember how old I was. But I do remember seeing people having fun. Seeing people having such joy and pure fun was something I’d never experienced before. And so I sat my ass down quietly on the edge to take in the views. I don’t remember if I talked to anyone at that party, or if that came later at other parties.
I definitely came back to more of their parties over the coming months. (Years? Not sure. Long, long ago.)
How I evolved¶
Eventually, I befriended someone who invited me to a thing they called a ‘Burger Munch’ where I might meet other folks who came to these parties. And so I went. Much later, I’d stumble upon the Wikipedia page for munch letting me know the event I went to was the original munch and the origin of the word. Eventually ‘munch’ became the general term for these types of events worldwide. But at this point in time, there was just this one.
I found a mentor, a woman who’d been in ‘the scene’ much longer than I had. And I started going to house parties at the home of a local female dominant who was well-known and well-respected. And who hand-braided the very best floggers I’ve ever seen.
Back then, no one respected you as a dominant without a reference from another dominant they knew. There was a lot of gate-keeping at the parties, as only people who knew people would be invited. (Again, this predates the Internet being a way to discover things. The web wouldn’t gain traction for several more years.) So your reputation was paramount. And as everyone did things a certain way, I picked up those traditions and did things the same way as I saw others doing them. No one had a name for what we did, it was just “the way things were done”. I wouldn’t learn about the history of our community until later.
So with a mentor, I learned and grew. Time went on. I found an interested girlfriend and we started doing stuff together at parties. Always under the watchful eye of my mentors. (Who were also the hosts of the parties, which made that easy.)
One thing that always made me feel safe in this community was the negotiations. The rituals and the rules. I could learn them, which meant for the first time ever I knew what were the rules in the community I found myself. And for me, that was life-altering. I found myself in a culture where it was not only accepted, but expected, for me to be blunt about what I wanted, and would be told bluntly what my partner wanted. This opened up a whole new world of community, relationships, and mind-blowing sex, for me.
But I think the biggest thing that held me here was the smiles. All the huge grins from subs when I’d pat their head, give them a little scritch behind the ear, and whisper in their ear that they were good and I was proud of them. That moment when they blush and squirm and smile… It’s fucking magical. And addictive. I can never get enough of patting their heads and making them smile and beam with pride at a job well done.
Where I am¶
I’ve lived in many places and seen far more. I’ve had wild and crazy adventures and half the time it’s hard to believe I’ve been so lucky. But I’m back home now. I’ve come full circle and live once more in the suburbs surrounding the center of kink culture. I’ve had decades of kinky fun, wild relationships. Love, and heartbreak, in untold measure. And I’ve felt so alive.
If I had to do it over, I probably wouldn’t change very much at all. I have a few regrets, but very few. I have only one thing left on my bucket list since I’ve crossed all the rest off. (If you know of any willing, kinky, female twins, let me know and maybe I can check off that one last thing.)
Why I write¶
Eventually, we acquired a name for our generation of kinksters: The Old Guard. (Before that we had no name. It was just us doing things ‘the way they were meant to be done’ by those who’d come before us. In time we became almost a legend in some places. Talked about by people around the country who had heard that much had been done, and much had been lost, in the 90s in San Francisco.
I like to sit and tell stories. I don’t know if people always believe me, but it’s fun and people laugh and get damp in all the right places, so I keep telling them.
But I also worry about what we’ve lost. As the years pile on and I remember all those I know who are no longer in this world, I think of my own mortality. Many of my mentors are gone now. So I’ve started to think of the time beyond my own death and what will be left of a once-vibrant culture and lifestyle that grew to encompass my entire existence.
I have no major health issues and should be around for decades to come. But still, I think about what will come next. When the last of us are gone, will we be remembered? I’d like it if we were.
Friends who come over and see my home, a functioning 24/7 D/s household, tell me how impactful seeing this culture in practice is for them. It inspires them and many of them have gone on to try to take the best parts of what we were and carry it forward. The submissives who come to visit and later tell me in smiles and tears about how they felt understood, and safe, in ways they never felt before: those are the motivations in my life now. I do this for them. For the submissives that I love as a class, and as individuals. And whom I’ve been blessed to have shared their lives with me along the way.
To the beloved subs of my life: You made it the best journey I can imagine.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some heads to pat and smiles to share. Ta ta for now…
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