(Originally posted 21 June 2008)
It made me happy when Elliquiy decided to handle blogs. While I have my own blog that's fairly transparent, I also hesitate to write about certain things, because it very much has my name attached. I have never had a boss stumble on my blog, but I've had friends, schoolmates, people who know what to look for, stumble on it. And... I think my mother reads it.
My mother. Reads my blog.
While my mother knows a lot about my sexuality - for Heaven's sake, she knew I was bi before I did, and her response to my 'coming out' and telling her I had my first girlfriend was, "Well, it's about damned time!" - she also doesn't know everything... and I think she likes it that way. My siblings and I were raised with the concept of "Do not ask questions to which you do not want the answers", and as a result, people can ask me anything, and often I will answer honestly. Also as a result, I'm very bad at sugar-coating, and my tact is only barely functional at best. So, while my mother could ask me about the crop that hangs in plain view on the handle of my bedroom closet door - and I would answer - I think she simply chooses not to ask. In light of that, I try not to give her information that I think she just doesn't want to have. After all, if she wants it, she'll ask.
So, in that vein, I try not to talk about anything too sexual in my own blog. This makes it difficult to explore and sound out sexuality, sensuality, and so-called decency in journal form. I'm a fan of journaling, so this has bothered me. This, of course, leads me to my little happy dance of joy that finally, finally, there is a place where I can do that, and where my musings will then possibly help someone else. Yes, I enjoy writing, but a blog is for the readers. If I wanted to talk to myself, I would open up notepad (actually, I do that often).
The question then becomes, when dealing with this self-imposed limit, what constitutes kink? Where is the line? Would it be the sort of thing that would only show up on Law and Order: SVU? Does it have to do with positioning? Do I range into the realm of 'kinky' when I start to talk about woman-on-top? Or 'doggie'? Or does it only range into kink when outside materials are involved, such as lube (I cannot type that word without thinking of penguins, thank you Elliquiy) or blindfolds or candles? Are you not kinky until you get up to whips and chains and corsets, oh my?
There's also a bit of a generation gap to consider, but even that isn't straightforward. My mother is a (young) child of the sixties, which means that while she grew up with stricter 'decency' and 'obscenity' standards, she is on the tail end of the peace, love, happiness generation. She was a teenager during the 70's and early 80's (she was born in 1963) when you got your money for nothing and your chicks for free. She was an early Bon Jovi fan.
She is in fact not that much older than, or that different from, me. Knowing this makes things complicated, because if my mother can have such a history ...
... so can every other old person on the face of the planet. Not only do they know what us twentysomethings are doing, they probably did it first. So that makes things complicated, and makes it difficult to figure out where the line is. Yeah, the woman who's twice your age and works in the cubicle next to you has probably heard it all before, but that doesn't mean she wants to hear it at work. I know, I know: well, duh, Trieste. And yes, I know it tends to be a bit simpler in the workplace, but what about when your boss calls you at home to ask you to come in? She's probably not going to be scandalized if you answer the phone during sex and then find out it's her, and for all you know, she was making those same yodelling noises last night. But she could be a middle-aged virgin, and I've found that those tend to be very bitter about that fact. Bitter leads to vindictive, which leads to Bad Things.
It's a very subjective thing, but I have noticed one thing: if something is on the edge of being acceptable but almost too far out there, it's kinky. If something is over the line and just too far out there to handle, it becomes creepy, or freaky. Or weird. So, to me, it almost seems like we use the word "kinky" as a warning... this is where my limits are. Danger, Will Robinson, you're approaching freaky territory. You're not there yet, but god help you if you get past the bikers wearing diapers chasing nurses dressed like Smurfs*. So it becomes a very shaky area, and doesn't necessarily have to do entirely with sex.
With that in mind, I try to stay away from my explorations of masochism, my musings on non-con or bedroom roleplay, and my rambling about breathplay in my normal blog. Because the line between 'kinky' and 'disturbing' is so hazy, and it's such a private thing that it seems best left alone. With that in mind, it makes me very happy to have a place to explore those subjects pretty much unfettered. And I will, dear reader.
Believe me when I say I will.
* Kudos to you if you get that reference. If not, I suggest going out and finding the song "Internet Porn" by Da Vinci's Notebook.