The subject of ''real kink'', ''real D/s'', and most of all, ''real dominants'' and ''real submissives'' is a perennial favourite among the bdsm/kink crowd, particularly those active online. I have written a little post on the subject before, but there is much more to this and before I rant and overanalyze it further, as I am wont to inspired by some recent reading, I feel (although I am not a cis het male dom, but there are other issues) a Personal Statement is due. So here it is.
Hi. My name is Skin Shallow and I am not real.
Before you start imagining a porn-soaked 16 year old locked in his bedroom typing and wanking furiously or some other version of a Deluded Internet Fantasist (OK, the wanking bit might have some connection to the reality), here is more.
I believe I have a noticeable dominant side to me. I know that I have a noticeable sadistic one. So far, so good, some might say. But here is the catch. I have not lived in a real life bdsm relationship with anybody. The last time I derived or gave sexual pleasure by directly giving someone pain using my actual, real hands, Wonderwall was in the charts, John Major was still the Prime Minister, EU consisted of 15 countries and you could buy 20 red Marlboro for less than three quid.
And when I did, I didn't know what I was doing. I had no concept of ''kink'' or ''bdsm community'', or ''dominant'' or even ''sadist'' as an identity. I knew that there were things I liked doing that many people didn't like, I knew that there were things that turned me on that many found alien or repulsive, and I had always know that I was... kind of weird, sexually. A bit twisted, and less than any other woman I knew interested in being seduced, swept of my feet and ravished. So there was that. But I didn't have a name for that box of delights, and I didn't have a frame of reference apart from more or less erotica-focused contemporary and classic literature. The names and the framework came later. Much, much later.
And by that time I had been involved in a committed, long term relationship with a vanilla partner. I had a life, I had a family, I had projects, I had all that stuff that has little or none to do with how I get my rocks off and what turns me on faster and deeper than anything else.
Sure, we had the Talk. We had several Talks, some more serious, some more playful, some angry, some incredulous, some understanding. But, contrary to some of the popular femdom fantasies, not all men have a hidden submissive side aching to get out, and trying to work kink into your sex life by stealth is not only unethical, but doesn't work beyond a certain point. And, contrary to another popular fantasy, not all men are locked into monogamy by jealous women and dream of having a carte blanche for the sexual adventure of an open relationship. Perhaps I was unlucky. Perhaps I picked unwisely. Perhaps both.
I could have dropped all the things I valued in my life and openly pursue a fulfilment of this side of my sexuality. Perhaps I was too much of a coward. Perhaps I felt too much loyalty or sense of duty towards innocent members of my family.
I could have also pursued all that on the sly, create a secret life on the side. I sometimes crave it, and fantasise about it, and once or twice I was genuinely tempted. But I know how important monogamy is for my partner and I don't think he deserves this level of deception and betrayal. I wish monogamy had not been a default all those years ago. I wish I had had enough sense and self awareness then to negotiate a possibility of opening that door later on. I didn't. I had, stupidly in hindsight, made my vanilla, monogamous bed and I had to sleep (and fuck) in it.
Not that there was anything wrong with the vanilla (sometimes just-this-side-of-vanilla) fucking. But the itch for the extras returned, and I have developed a compromise that involves a don't-ask-don't-tell, tacit acceptance of discreet, remote, mostly fantasy based pursuit of satisfaction of the kinkier side of my sexuality. I write small-scale pornography of the kind I like. I play online, here and there, mostly casually, occasionally longer term. I don't pretend to have a fully equipped dungeon hidden in the garden shed, or a stable of slaves ready to kiss my domly feet and submit to my domly spankings at a drop of my non-existent domly hat. I don't promise real life play or real life relationship, because, well. Because I am not real.