Sex as Sacred Union

In a Venn diagram of people in theater, kinksters, and poly folk, there's considerable overlap. I'm not sure if it's as remarkable as the geeky vs. kinky graph, but it's close. Something about subcultures and niche social groups and other-than-mainstream beliefs, probably. Or that it's a self-perpetuating feedback loop of friends having interests spreading to friends, etc etc.

Regardless of why, I've got a fellow stage manager friend, who's also poly, and we bumped into each other the other night. As expected, it was late at night, in a mostly empty theater. She was doing paperwork after a rehearsal, I was helping a friend tape out a floor (for those of you not in theater, taping out a floor is when you mark out the set, in tape, in the rehearsal space, so the actors can practice on it. It's actually one of my favorite bits of stage management). We were all tired and a little fried, but again, as expected, got to talking. In this business, with it's strange hours and ridiculous time commitments and insular subject matter, we all take the social time where we can get it, which mostly means theater people are friends with other theater people

She got to talking about a lover of hers (her word, not mine; "lover," always ends up sounding too much like shag carpet and shiny shirts with gold chains, to me) who, after much discussion, she'd finally found a balance with. He wasn't interested much in her theater friends, or that community, and she wasn't much interested in his kinky proclivities. But they'd found a happy medium, a good level of investment and commitment for both of them, and she felt like they were, after a year, finally hitting a happy pace and frequency for each other. Especially considering how into the kink scene he'd gotten lately, she said, which just wasn't her thing.

"Yeah, whips and chains and pain, it's not for me. I'm about sex as sacred union, and if that's not you, then no thank you."

And I'm sure she didn't mean it as anything, because for her, kinky sex obviously can't be sacred, or deep, or... whatever it is that she needs sex to be. But it was interesting, hearing those words come out of her mouth, how much it stung. As usual, the sting got me thinking, and as usual, I have thoughts from that thinking.

Much of the world, it seems, especially with the recent media frenzy around That Book That Shall Not Be Named, has become aware of the kink in a way they weren't before. And sure, there are all kinds of ways this perspective (the perspective that's offered by the media, that's offered by The Book, that most of people, when I talk to them, have about kink) is pretty screwed up. But this friend of mine, a woman I know and like and who's sex positive and open and loving, she doesn't really fit into that category. She knows more, and doesn't, from what I can tell, have these biases. She's not a person I would peg (punny, punny) to assume much, if anything, about other people's sex lives. So it was surprising to me, and enlightening, to see this tiny piece of the perspective on kink that, regardless of where you get your representations of kink from, or sex positive or poly you are, might be much more prevalent than I realized.

Different than the idea that being kinky is deviant, or a sickness, or exists only in the sex industry, or is something that dirty, fringe people do in dark hotel rooms, there's this idea that kinky sex is funny, or silly, or, in some fashion, trivial. That it doesn't run as deep as sex without pain, without overt power exchange, without role playing or costumes or implements.

That kinky sex is, inherently, less than non-kinky sex.

This might not be a revelation to many people, but it was for me. I thought back on conversations I've had with friends and acquaintances, and started to wonder what kind of weight they gave the words I use, how the meaning behind those words and ideas shifted from the moment they came out of my mouth, to the moment they landed in the brains of those friends. Do they imagine it as a game? As goofy? As trivial or, worse still, as just a mechanism by which I get turned on, as a tool by which I get to the actual, meaningful part: the sex?

Taking kink too seriously has it's own issues, and I'm not trying to advocate that kink = meaning any more so than any "non-kinky" sex must be imbued with meaning. That's entirely up to the practitioners of that given sex, at that given instance of sex. One of my favorite blogs is Happy BDSM, and it serves as a delightful reminder that this is fun, that this is play, that joy comes in smiles and laughter as much with BDSM as without.

The other side of that coin, though, is this reaction I'm having to my friend's comment, the thing that I think so many people don't understand about kink, or don't maybe better said: the thing that they don't even think to consider. That yes, the joy comes with D/s, with role play and bondage, but that it comes because of it as well.

The moment of obeying a command, the seconds between hearing it out of Jamie's mouth and fulfilling the action, the frantic, visceral, immediate compliance: this is sacred to me. The warmth that spreads from my face to my shoulders to the very edges of my skin when I know I've done what's been asked, when I know he's happy with me, proud of me, when I know I've been good, really good, whatever I've overcome to get there: that is sacred to me. The sound of a cane through the air; the sharp shock of as it flicks across my ass, upturned in the air, although it's frightening, difficult, shameful for me to keep there, but he wants me to keep it there, so I do; the pain changing in the seconds after the strike, spreading, ebbing from sting to pressure to a sweet and steady burn; the residual warmth of the line as he winds up for another, and another, layered in succession until I'm screaming: this is sacred to me. Running the tips of my fingers up to my neck, feeling the wide band of black leather there, knowing that it is only a thing, but my, what meaning we have put in it, what incredible heights such a simple, ritual object can carry us to: this is sacred to me.

So yes, kink is sometimes silly: sex, in any of it's permutations, should be able to be silly. But frivolous? Or employed for some other, better purpose, by definition? Or lesser in some way than other kinds of sex? No way.

because isn't that the face of the radically ecstatic?

And I know that most people reading this are with me on it; I know I'm not trying to convince anyone otherwise, really. But I think a lot of my passion about this comes from how incredible it's been for me to discover this; how basically excellent it's been to find. I'm invested and passionate about this part of myself. Wanting to scream from the rooftops: "Look! Yes! Look! This is how I am! I've found what I want and I get to have it! Isn't it amazing? Isn't it just fucking unbelievable?"

A few dictionary definitions of scared pretty much sum it up: "dedicated to some person, purpose, or object; regarded with reverence." In those moments, I revere him; there isn't a better word. I am dedicated; I am a dedication, dripping wet, prostrate, ass welted and panting through open lips. This is my church; this is one of the ways I find myself most joyous in the world.

So yes, Sir, yes Sir this is my sacred union. This is the way I butter my bread. And not as an appetizer, not simply to fill my stomach, but because this bread and this butter are my first choice.