Being visible on Fetlife exposes you to an absurd amount of love and hate. Your strengths and defects are obvious to anyone who wishes to judge, and I’m profoundly flawed so I give them plenty to work with. Your average journal is exposed to 30 readers at a time, most of whom are friends who adore your abandonment complex and understand your last break up. I remember those days. I was blissfully unaware of who I was back then.
K&P exposes your character and choices to thousands of opinions, most of which come from strangers. And they will formulate opinions, many of which will be hateful. Visibility = judgement. That is just how it goes.
If you looked under my skin three years ago, you would have found more than a little fragility. I can’t tell what changed after that. I can only tell you that I found kink. I wrote 570 posts and got criticised as many times—by misogynists, feminists, and probably more than a few teenage boys. Some of those people knew better than I did. Some saw all the way into the cracks in my psyche. It hurt until they broke the entire structure of my self-esteem down into a foundation that could bear more weight.
Munches are peaceful, nonsexual events where kinksters can talk about their careers, hobbies, and how to fuck a slave with a pineapple and other miscellaneous fruit without causing a yeast infection.
If you want to attend a munch follow these step-by-step instructions.
-1) Find our munch by perusing the events listed in your area.
-2) Check the list of attendees to see if someone you don’t want to see might be going, especially that asshole, Norman, who sent you an 800-word piece of smut about “stuff I want to do to your sphincter.”
-3) Click the convenient “I’m Going” button.
-4) Make a list of people you really wouldn’t want to meet at a kink event: Your first-grade math teacher, the local pastor, and your gran.
-5) Soothe your heart palpitations with a tumbler full of whiskey and click the “Not Going” button.
-6) Remember why you wanted to go in the first place: mainly because Sandra told you it was a good way to find kinky men with silver in their beards.
-7) Swallow a second tumbler of whiskey and flick the “I’m Gowing” grutton agen.
-8) When you’re sober, choose an outfit. Think helluva sexy yet boring in a casual, yet formal way. You want to look scorchingly hot, but easy to ignore in case the company turns out to be crap.
Last night I received a long goodbye from an old Fetlife friend who is leaving us for Vanilla Land. Goodbyes and distance are the worst the community has to offer. I struggle to stay in touch with local kinksters as it stands, so continents represent a bit of a challenge. I often wish this community lived on its own island so that when I wanted to see you, I could hop in a taxi with a pizza and a bunch of tulips. But there is no such thing as BDSM country. Fetlife is as close to common ground as I’ve found, and its exit is well used.
I’ve developed a long list of people to wonder about. Why did they disappear? Will they be back? Are they happy? Some have been gone for years, and I miss them.
My inbox has far more “ins” than “outs” these days. I don’t keep up, largely because I try to limit my time here given that cyberspace is a shabby replacement for the ocean. If I could jet off to meet everyone on my friends list, I would, but pixels and happiness don’t mix for me. Maybe they don’t mix for anyone.
The time I spend at my keyboard is no reflection of how much I value my friends. Some of you have left a permanent imprint on my life. Some of you have changed me. Some have seen me through chaos and trauma, and some have shown me more generosity than I believed possible in this world. My connections here are profoundly meaningful, so when the door swings outward, I always feel the loss.
Last night I received a long goodbye from an old Fetlife friend who is leaving for Vanilla Land. This morning I received a “hello” from an old friend who has come back to the kink community after a long absence. These doors revolve. Every now and then, someone I treasure returns, and I’m reminded that some connections, no matter how virtual, endure.
Makes an igloo joke about the fact that you “live” in Antarctica.
Has been on Fetlife since his wild and unfettered youth in the Fifties. Did he mention that he began dom training at the age of five?
Can Photoshop a cock shot so well that the only indication of his penis not being 20 inches long is its lack of inclusion in the Guinness Book of Records.
Can treat your breakup tears using the Buddhist Art of Spiritual Spanking. Can even manage that in the kitchen section of your igloo.
If you’re not ready to relocate, he can fuck you from Iowa because his cock is psychic. Or something.
Has read The Odyssey all the way to the end and has formulated an opinion about “That Zews Dude”.
Has been temporarily unemployed since 1968.
Knows how to cure your flu using only a candle and a set of cups he bought from the 50 cent store. This works better if you relocate from your igloo, but if you’re not ready yet, it’s cool. He can do it via Skype.
-1) Your hair is the same shade of blue as your ass.
-2) Two years ago you thought you were super hardcore because you had threesomes with your boyfriend and his boyfriend. Now you think you’re not hardcore enough because you can’t suspend yourself while being water-boarded and having your tongue tattooed simultaneously.
-3) Your ass bruises spontaneously when you look at a flogger.
-4) You’ve invented 78 slave positions, six of which involve standing on water like Jesus Christ Super-Slave.
-5) You’ve asked yourself what the bloody hell has happened to your vagina.
-6) Every time someone changes your local kink party rules, you think the entire BDSM world will die forever so where the hell is your Morrissey CD?
Monday: Checks Fetlife. Finds no requests, not even from a cock shot. Eats a block of chocolate and watches Nymphomaniac Part Two for the seventh time this month. Replays the silent duck scene in slow motion.
Tuesday: Peruses the local personals groups hoping to find a desperate dudebro who might be willing to give a nonsexual spanking. Gazes lovingly at her old collar. Eats salad and feels instantly svelte.
Wednesday: Buys a pair of stilettoes, then cries inconsolably because he will never see her wearing them. Eats a slab of chocolate and washes it down with a bottle of Tequila.
Thursday: Receives a text from the ex saying, “Thanks for the pussy pic you sent last night with the hawt chocolate smudges. My new sub totally got off on it.” Weeps. Screams. Wails. Steals a non-consensual hug from her dog. Eats two slabs of fucking chocolate, one tub of ice cream, and the fucking Lindt bunny she got from the fucking asshole last goddamned Easter. Fucking hell!
-1) The more serious we are, the more true our kink is. Look at us scowl and be amazed.
-2) You think you’re true? I have 24 floggers and five doctorates in fucking so I know more about BDSM than you even though I’ve never had kinky sex before and only really want a blowjob.
-3) All women should be subs because I’m straight and like to watch myself growling in the mirror.
-4) We aren’t a cult, but we do require our harem members to quit their jobs and live in this poly house, which doesn’t have a TV set or a phone.
-5) We talk about glitter a lot and wear kitty Snapchat filters on our avatars.
-6) Some of my best subs are black, so I’m not a racist. Okay, so they’re all black, but that’s not a sign that I fetishise race. Fuck you. I also like The Asians, although I’m not sure which country they actually live in. Dubai?
-7) I’m more than a label, so don’t ask me which kink role I prefer. It’s true that I’m a dominant, but using the actual word doesn’t make me feel superior, so let me describe my domliness to you in these seven lines of complicated prose instead.
-9) I’m seriously experienced! I have these five toys <linky link>. I’ve spanked my pillow. I also have five different types of condoms. Boom!
-10) I call myself queer. What does “queer” even mean? Yeah, I don’t know either, but I’m sick of being called a cis het man, so now I’m queer.