kink.com – Title Unknown (2007)

I’m cagey when it comes to posting this.

First of all: the above is so technically inept that the light of baseline proficiency won’t reach it for a million years.

Second: it’s a property of kink.com; on a good day I’m–shall we say– unenthused about their products (which tend to be a bit extreme for my taste). 

Third: kink.com has an established prerogative of turning a blind eye to coercion–a fact that rankles me.

Fourth, there’s the issue of consent. While, I haven’t viewed the video from which the above still ensues, given the image presented–devoid of any sort of grounding context–I have fundamental concerns about the responsible presentation of verbal affirmation, safe words, etc.

Given those extensive reservations, then why the hell am I going ahead and posting it? Simply put: despite my reservations, I find it really, really hot.

The reason why I feel this way has to do with several situations not unlike the above which I have experienced. I’ve written about one previously, the other involved a junior high class mate quite literally beating the piss out of me and subsequently squatting over my face and grinding her ladybug undies against my mouth several times before spitting on me and leaving me crying on the floor of an empty classroom.

The first time was different. I repressed it for quite a while but it surfaced a little more than two years ago. I still can’t remember all the specifics but I do have an idea what transpired.

I have mixed feelings about it. I had no personal agency and further was unable to consent to the proceedings but I was also extremely aroused by what I was asked/made to do–a fact that ended up figuring into the proceedings.

It’s probably a mark of privilege but even though I feel extremely weird about what happened, it doesn’t even break into the top ten of childhood trauma.

And I am not at all sure what to make of the realization that this event ended up changing my wiring. I make that observation based upon the fact that I spend a great deal of time craving the opportunity to re-experience a situation like the one depicted above. Except in this iteration, to be able to consent and have the option of withdrawing consent at any point during the exchange.

It’s as if the original experience itself was neither good nor bad but the way it was approached and handled was intensely problematic. And I guess I feel that while I definitely got something out of the encounter, I feel that re-staging it allows me the opportunity to exert control and agency in a situation where previously I was powerless.

It’s like the option of choosing it renders it just another part of who I am instead of something that happened to me.

That distinction somehow feels vital to me.