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Content warning: this article contains description of sexual assault
After a somewhat lacklustre sex life in my teens and early twenties, when I found myself single for the first time in eight years at the age of 24, I promised myself better. I set out on a sexual adventure in search of the things, and the people, that would really get me off.
I’ve always been a curious person, but not much grabbed my interest the way sex did. It wasn’t long before I discovered the world of kink. After one particularly alcohol-fuelled date, I found myself pinned down on a sofa by a soft, but firm, hand around my neck. He was a construction worker, and I remember how rough his hands felt, being suddenly aware of just how strong he was – and the control he was exercising to make sure he didn’t hurt me.
I didn’t hate it. For the first time since I was a teenager I felt vulnerable, but excited, in the bedroom. The element of perceived risk got my blood pumping, and I couldn’t get enough.
Things escalated, and it wasn’t long before asking about kink felt like a top priority on a date. Through a string of casual partners, I stumbled my way through spanking, rope play, and power play. Being dominated took me out of the driver’s seat. I could let go of the control I was constantly trying to exercise over my entire life and just do as I was told. I got a buzz from being bossed around in bed, but I rarely orgasmed. For a while, pleasing someone else was more than enough, and it was easy finding people into it. A small questioning voice popped up every now and again, but I kept chasing that excitement.
“For a while, pleasing someone else was more than enough, and it was easy finding people into it.”
I remember the night all the novelty officially wore off. I usually leaned towards regular partners, but on a night out with my best friend we ended up taking twins back to mine. As she cozied up with one, the other kissed me and led me to my room. After a bit of fumbling around, he grabbed a condom. No more than two minutes later I felt a swell of emotion out of nowhere, and started crying. He stopped and checked to see if I was okay. I told him to leave, but he was sweet and hugged me while wiping away my tears.
I would’ve thought this was a big turn off, but no. Instead, he pushed his way on top of me – this time without a condom – and I tried to push him off. I fought for a while, but he fought harder. The risk was no longer perceived. I decided it would be easier, quicker, and probably safer to just let him finish. I cried myself to sleep wondering where I had gone wrong.
Of course none of what happened that night was my fault, but it brought up a lot of questions. I paused my sexual exploration and reflected. While I was searching for answers, they ended up finding me in the form of my current partner. We both talk very openly, and it wasn’t long before he started sharing his preferences with me. It turned out he liked being dominated, and I found myself getting excited again. What began as degradation is now, 10 months on, him asking for permission to use the bathroom when we’re in public. We don’t live this life 24/7, but the feeling I get when I tell him off out of the blue and his eyes light up doesn’t even remotely compare to the thrill I got when I was submitting.
“There’s a fundamental change and calmness in me that comes from knowing who I am, and what I want sexually.”
The more I leaned in, the more natural it felt. It took me a while to work it out, but now I will never go back. Being submissive was a nice break from reality, but now I hold the keys to my own satisfaction. The effect it‘s had out of the bedroom is solid proof this is my most authentic self. Having your body worshipped whenever you demand certainly does wonders for your confidence, but it’s more than that. There’s a fundamental change and calmness in me that comes from knowing who I am, and what I want sexually.
Sex is an important part of who we are. It can get confusing and messy because we often express it in an external way, and bring others along for the ride, but I’ve learned to embrace the chaos. Empower yourself to go and get what you want, even if you’re not sure what that is. The trial and error could bring up some uncomfortable feelings – shame being the most common – but I know first-hand the only way to get over it is to get through it.
And if my words aren’t enough to convince you, just know that, now, I finish first every time.
Kimberley Slater is a freelance writer
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