shame

The Internet: A Haven for Fetishists & Sex Nerds

Kate Sloan

This quote is about the universe, not the internet, but it feels like you could replace one word with the other and it would be just as true:

“In the beginning, the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move.”

-Douglas Adams, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

Was the internet a bad idea? Did it make every human impulse worse? Is it speeding us toward our doom, entwining us in a web of capitalism and fascism that we’ll never escape? I don’t know.

But what I do know is, the internet has allowed sexual weirdos to connect with other sexual weirdos around the world, and I think that’s a goddamn beautiful thing.

“What did you all do before the Internet?” I asked a woman in an online forum.

“The brave ones looked for personal ads,” she replied. “The rest of us were lonely.”

-Jillian Keenan writing about the spanking fetish community

I truly believe that sexual shame is an evil force, largely created to control the masses. And like many forms of evil, shame grows best in darkness. We are most prone to sexual shame when we are disconnected from other people, or when we feel unable to discuss our true sexuality with the people we are connected to.

In that way, the internet can be a wonderful balm for those of us who’ve grown up with secret kinks rattling around in the backs of our brains. If you’d had a foot fetish all your life, for instance, but had never heard anyone talk about feet IRL as anything other than a practical (or perhaps gross) body part, I can imagine it would feel deeply freeing to log on and discover foot fetish porn sites, foot fetish erotica, and articles with titles like “how to sell feet pics” and “how to give an erotic pedicure.” The whole world would open up to you, before your very eyes. And hopefully, as part of that process, some shame would lift, all because you found out that some other people feel the same way you do.

I didn’t grow up with fetishes per se, so this isn’t an experience I had – but on a related note, I’d been interested in sexuality on a nerdy level for as long as I’d known it existed, and it blew my mind to discover that there were other sex nerds on the internet. Even at a time when I barely felt comfortable admitting to my best friend that I masturbated, I could read sex forums and listen to sex podcasts, where (sometimes) level-headed adults would discuss such topics as “how to negotiate a threesome” or “how to be a good kisser” or, indeed, “where do fetishes come from?” It bolstered my nerdy little heart to know that I wasn’t the only freak reading encyclopedia entries about famous sadomasochists or scientific abstracts about clitoral bloodflow.

Obviously, with this personal history in mind, it’s troubling for me to see how the pendulum of sexual shame has, in many ways, swung back the other direction now. These days, the internet is just as likely to instill sexual shame as it is to alleviate it, what with all the zillions of social media posts and forum threads falsely asserting that queer and trans people are “groomers,” or that sex work is inherently degrading, or that having a consensual non-consent fantasy means you’re psychologically broken. It’s almost impossible to avoid developing sexual shame of some kind, in a world that’s still so hellbent on propagating sexual puritanism.

It’s hard to know what the solution is, or whether there even is one. I don’t think it’ll be possible to cure the world of sexual conservatism entirely, at least not in my lifetime. But in the meantime, I think it does a lot of good to build community with other sexual weirdos of various kinds, and to model sexual self-compassion. I’ve heard from many people that my public openness about my kinks helped them feel more comfortable with their own. It’s an honor to be what the empathy educator Kate Kenfield calls a “beacon of permission” for people to be themselves, and it’s also a huge responsibility I have to take seriously. My sexual shame or lack thereof is no longer just a personal issue; it can affect how others view their own sexuality, because I have a platform and some influence.

So, while the internet hasn’t turned out to be the shame-free sexual utopia I dreamed it might be when I first got online, I think there are pockets here and there that feel utopia-adjacent. It’s up to us to keep building the world we want to see.

 

This post contains a sponsored link. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

You Are Not a Bad Submissive

Kate Sloan

Being a loudly and proudly submissive woman on the internet, I get a lot of questions in my various inboxes from other submissives, seeking affirmation and advice. Sadly, the subtext (ha!) of all too many messages in this vein is: “Am I a bad submissive because I don’t [do xyz thing that someone told me submissives do]?”

You can fill in that “xyz” with just about any kinky activity. Service. Masochism. Being tied up. Being “forced” to orgasm. Giving oral sex. Being a brat. Being obedient. Being “hot enough” or “pretty enough” or “kinky enough” or just… enough. There are so many areas where submissives doubt themselves and their ability to do certain things they feel are expected of submissives, whether due to physical limitations or psychological baggage or just… not liking certain acts.

Thinking you’re a “bad submissive” because you can’t do, or don’t like doing, certain things is like thinking you’re “bad at sex” for the same reasons. Sure, there are some overarching attributes and behaviors that are likely to make you a good submissive, or good at sex, no matter who you’re fucking: on-point communication skills, well-attuned self-knowledge, generosity of spirit. But it would be erroneous to assume that you’re universally bad at being submissive, or at having sex, just because your tastes and style don’t align perfectly with those of everyone you encounter in your sex life. Sure, yeah, maybe you had a dom once who craved good obedient service and your idea of sexy-fun submission is more like brash brattiness. That doesn’t mean you’re a bad submissive. It just means you’re not compatible with that dom in that way.

I dated a dude once who was way kinkier than me by every measure I can think of: he had more kinks than I do, felt more strongly about them, and could find ways to eroticize things that sometimes seemed pretty random and odd to me (in the best way). When we first started dating, I was nervous that I wouldn’t be able to live up to his expectations – that he would look at me, tied up and squirming on his massage table, and wish he was throat-fucking me instead, or caning my calves, or encasing me in saran wrap from head to toe.

However, in our numerous detailed kink negotiations, I learned that he didn’t think that way at all. He wasn’t sizing me up, putting together a wishlist of things he wanted to do to me, regardless of my opinions on the matter – he wanted us to figure out together what would be fulfilling for us to do. This is the basis of how every good dom approaches their dynamics, in my opinion. Sure, sometimes it can be fun to invite a partner to try an activity they’ve never tried before, to see if they’ll be into it – but if the answer is no, any dom worth their salt will accept that completely and unequivocally. If it’s a dealbreaker for them – like if they have one primary fetish and their sexual relationships just aren’t complete without it – they have the right to communicate that, so the two of you can make decisions accordingly. But they should never make you feel pressured to participate, and moreover, you are not a bad submissive if you can’t or won’t get onboard with what they’re proposing. It just means you may not be compatible and should likely go your separate ways.

If anyone ever tells you you’re a bad submissive, a) they’re an asshole and b) they probably just mean you’re not a well-suited submissive for them. This is every bit as weird and shitty as telling someone they have bad taste in food just because you don’t like their favorite dish. Like, first of all, who asked you? And secondly, why are you under the impression that your highly subjective opinion is objectively correct?!

To continue the food metaphor, the list of activities dominants and submissives can explore together is a colossal buffet, and you don’t have to like every dish on the menu. In fact, it’s pretty unlikely that you will. Just skip over the ones you don’t like!

Beware of any dom who, when you mention that you don’t like [x], gets huffy or argumentative. Yes, sometimes it can be disappointing to hear that the hot new person you’re into doesn’t like doing your favorite thing, and yes, sometimes a dom might be a little sad upon hearing that news. But any attempt to sway your answer is edging into manipulation territory, and that’s just not cool. I think saying “You’re a bad submissive” is often a last-ditch attempt to shame someone into doing certain things, and it should be seen as such: an abusive falsehood, not a damning proclamation.

When you think about dominants you’ve known, I bet you don’t mentally sort them into “good doms” and “bad doms” based solely on what they did and didn’t like. Maybe that guy who adored chain bondage or that goddess who loved cake-sitting didn’t turn your crank, but that doesn’t mean they were bad doms. The same is true for you: your boundaries are valid, you don’t owe anyone explanations about your preferred palette of kink activities, and your incompatibility with certain people is not a statement about your overall value.

I spent years feeling like a shitty submissive because I didn’t make pretty-enough faces while getting whipped, or couldn’t hold certain positions for long periods of time, or sometimes spaced and forgot to do the kinds of pre-emptive service my doms may have preferred. But in my current dynamic, my partner makes me feel every day like I’m the best submissive in the world – or, more importantly, the best submissive for them. We play to each other’s strengths, and don’t push each other’s boundaries (except in the fun, consensual way!). Just as they make me feel like a stellar submissive, I work hard to let them know that they’re an incredible dominant – not just in general, but for me. That’s what matters in a D/s dynamic, and anyone who tells you otherwise probably isn’t fun to play with anyway.

Submissive babes, I love you, I see you, and I want you to be happy. And an important part of that journey is recognizing that you’re a good submissive, for somebody, even if that somebody isn’t currently in your life. The more you accept and broadcast the unique fingerprint of your yeses and no’s, the closer you’ll get to meeting someone whose list matches yours. And then you’ll get to feel like the very, very good submissive that you are. 💖

But also? You’re a good submissive even if you don’t have a partner. You’re a good submissive even if you never have a partner. You’re a good submissive because, just by virtue of identifying as a submissive, you’ve taken the time to figure out who you are and what you want, to some extent. Your self-knowledge is beautiful, and inspirational, and revelatory, and – guess what? – good.

It’s Okay to Break Up Because of Sex

Kate Sloan

It’s funny how you can entrench yourself so firmly in positivity and still get sucked into the vortex of shame from time to time.

I’m a sex-positive person. I live and work and socialize with almost exclusively other sex-positive people. So I know that having sexual desires is normal and acceptable.

And yet it only took a few weeks of constant sexual rejection to send me back to square one: profound embarrassment about being a sexual person.

Let me explain. I dated someone recently who was way, way lower on the sexual-desire-o-meter than I am. In fact, he seemed to conceptualize sex in a totally different way than I do. He talked about it as if it were a favor he did for me, that gave him no direct pleasure except in the way that it’s satisfying to give a loved one a backrub or make them dinner.

In my lifelong path of learning about relationships, one trick I’ve picked up is that it’s usually a bad idea to use “blame language.” It would be fallacious of me to say that this man “made me feel bad about myself,” since he wasn’t actively, maliciously choosing to do that. He was just living his truth – which happened to involve a far lower libido than what exists in my truth – and that took an emotional toll on me. I certainly don’t blame people with low desire levels for being that way. I just think that folks should be paired up with partners whose frequency and content of desire is roughly equivalent to their own.

When my relationship actually started to make me feel ugly and unsexy, that’s when my friends drew the line. “You have to break up with him,” they all told me, one after the next, when I shared my story privately on coffee dates or nights out at the bar. They saw my situation with the clarity and objectivity that I could not. I kept making excuses: “I like him so much, other than this one little thing!” “I think I can get him to come around!” “We’re non-monogamous, so I can always get sex elsewhere!”

I see now that part of me believed it’s not okay to break up with someone over sex. That it’s too small a reason, too unimportant a factor. That “the actual relationship” should be weighted more heavily in your decision than the sex ever would.

That is such bullshit, though. Sex is part of “the actual relationship.” Because it’s a fucking huge factor – for some people. And if sex is important to even just one person in a relationship, it matters in the grand scheme of things. Don’t let anyone tell you sex “isn’t a big deal” or “shouldn’t be that important” if it is to you. Only you get to decide the role and significance of sex in your life, and in your relationships.

The language my boyfriend used about sex started to creep into the way I thought about it, too. His go-to initiation (the rare times he did initiate) was, “I think we should get you off tonight.” The way he phrased it, it was like he didn’t view sex as a shared experience, a mutual delight, a bonding tool; it was merely a means to an end, and the end was my orgasm. Basically so that I would be satisfied, shut up about sex and quit bugging him for it. Or at least, that’s the feeling I got from him.

There’s nothing wrong with giving orgasms, or with wanting them. But this paradigm started to make me feel like it was selfish for me to want sex, because the only end result of our sex together was my pleasure. Viewed in that light, it seemed ridiculous for me to end the relationship in search of greater sexual compatibility. Did I just want to get my rocks off wherever I could? Was my nymphomaniacal hunger so great that I would throw away an otherwise good relationship to get that need met?

The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized how wrong this view is. For me, sex with a partner isn’t just about getting off – if it were, I’d simply masturbate instead, since that’s a more reliable way to make that happen. No, sex is one of the main ways I connect with partners, express my affection, and feel that affection mirrored back at me. It is absolutely crucial to my experience of romantic intimacy. Without it, I just don’t feel that I’m truly giving love, or receiving it. You can flood me with attention in all four of the other love languages, but without sex, it feels to me like a portrait that’s missing its subject. All of the pleasant peripheral details, with no central focus to hold the image together.

Viewed this way, it seems obvious that my relationship needed to end. Our problem was more than a fixable breakdown in communication; it was a full-on, hard-wired mismatch in the way we communicate. If we stayed together, “giving me” sex would continue to make him feel resentful and awkward, and being chronically denied sex would continue to make me feel rejected and unattractive. A pairing like that is destined to shatter. No one can or should suppress the ways they express and experience love; they should just seek out other people who express and experience it in similar ways.

Through this whole process, no one ever actually said to me, “Sex isn’t a good enough reason to break up with him.” In fact, my friends continually pointed out that sex is a good enough reason, even if there were no other reasons (and there were). It was just the slut-shamey voice inside my own head that parroted this sentiment at me – and, to a lesser extent, the words of my boyfriend, when he said judgmental things like “It seems like sex is the most important thing in a relationship for you” and “I wish you wouldn’t make everything about sex all the time.”

Since I’m conventionally unattractive (i.e. chubby and kinda weird-looking), there is a part of me that believes I should “take what I can get.” That a good-enough relationship is good enough. That I shouldn’t push for all the things I want in a partner, because there’s no way I’ll get them. That I should feel blessed when any man is attracted to me, even if our relationship is a daily trainwreck.

It was only once I surfaced from this shitty relationship, and looked at my life with fresh eyes again, that I remembered: Oh yeah. Lots of people are attracted to me. Many of whom are pretty damn compatible with me, including in the way we think about sex. And I do deserve good sex. And it is okay to make that a priority. And that doesn’t mean I’m a pathological perv – it just means I’m a human with a sex drive.

If you’re thinking about breaking up with a partner because the sex is bad, infrequent, or otherwise unsatisfying, I hereby give you permission to do so. Consider it carefully – because, as my slightly shamey ex-boyfriend told me repeatedly, there are other factors to consider besides sex – but also consider that a bad sexual connection can be the bad apple that spoils the barrel. If sex is a baseline need for you, you’re not going to be truly, fully happy in a relationship where the sex doesn’t work. That doesn’t mean you’re selfish or fucked-up or have a one-track mind, so don’t let anyone tell you it does.

You are allowed to want sex. You are allowed to want a partner who wants the same kinds of sex that you do. You are allowed to pursue that kind of partner, even if it means making a radical shift in your life. Like Oprah says: live your best life now.