The prompt this week for Wicked Wednesday is ‘Confusion’ and so it seemed like it was time to share this piece which I had written for the The 30 Days of Kink but had been plucking up the courage to actually post.
Any early experiences that, in retrospect, hint at your kinks?
When I first thought about this question I actually couldn’t think of any answers but as time has moved on and my kink and submission have developed I have been able to look on things with a more analytical eye and realised that my previous assessment of their being ‘nothing much’ was wrong.
We were talking about kinky movies and books and Sir was telling me about his discovery of some fairly eye opening porn in his Granddad’s garage when he was about 12 and that this was probably one of his earliest hints at his later kinks but that like me it would be many years later before he was able to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together. However this also made me think about this question again and I realised that I had not really been casting my mind back far enough.
My Mum was a big fan of musicals, something she definitely passed onto me, and I spent much of my childhood watching those fabulous old movies; Guys and Dolls, My Fair Lady, Oklahoma (a personal favourite of mine) and The King and I to name but a few but it is the King and I that is the key here. When I think of this movie I think of dancing, singing, impossibly big skirts, kings and palaces but that is not what fascinated about this film and it is not the things that immediately spring to mind when I remember it because those things are run-away slaves, captured slaves and the threat of a whipping as punishment. I can remember watching that part of the movie over and over again. I have no idea what, if anything, my Mother thought of my desire to replay this film repeatedly or if she even noticed what my favourite part was but even now, many years later the vision of a powerful, angry Yul Brenner as the king, standing over the slave as she is held down on the floor in front of him and her clothes are torn from her back is vivid within my mind.
At the time I was clearly oblivious as to why I was hooked on this scene but when I look back I now know without a shadow of the doubt I wanted to be that slave. Did I want to be her when I was 8 or 10 or however old I was? Maybe, I certainly imagined it but only within the narrow confines of my childlike mind but for whatever reason that scene and the feelings of voyeuristic fascination it sparks have stayed with me to this day. Do I want to be that slave now, hell yeah! I wonder if maybe this was also the beginning of my attraction to older men, but that is a subject for whole other blog post
There is another movie in this story though, that had a far more profound effect and that is ‘The Accused’. I think I was 18 when I first saw this film and I came away from it shocked and fairly confused. I found the whole idea of what had taken place in that bar utterly terrifying and disturbing and yet between my legs a little pool of moisture had gathered along with a throbbing ache. I was appalled at myself and my body. I was turned on by rape and that freaked me out. I spent many years carrying round a very large bag of shame about that and it wasn’t until I met Sir that I found someone comfortable enough with to tell this story to. Of course by then I understood it a great deal more myself but it was still a challenging notion to share with another human being, especially when I had kept it so hidden and locked away for so very long.
At the time the thought that I was somehow turned on by rape, or the rape of another woman was abhorrent to me. I really didn’t have the knowledge, or anywhere to find the knowledge, to help me to understand what was going on. Of course now I know that I am not turned on by the violent and non-consensual act of rape but that I am turned on by the thought of being held down, fighting, surrendering, power and dominance within my sexual encounters and that watching that scene in that movie triggered a physical response in me because of that.
I know all that know and understand it but I still find it a challenge. I still worry that when I tell people about this they won’t understand, they will only hear what they want to hear, that I am turned on by rape and not understand it within the context of my sexual desires and adult relationships. I have taken a long time to get round to writing this piece and my heart still skips a little beat and the thought of putting it out there, but if I have learnt anything from my blogging and writing it is that facing the tricky subjects and sharing them is something that I need to do.
Sometimes I wonder how life might have been different if I had had someone to help me understand what this meant all those years ago. Maybe if the internet in its current form had been around I might not have had to wait quite so long to start really understanding and embracing my sexuality and maybe I might not have spent quite so long suppressing a side of me that I thought was ‘abnormal’ and pursuing a life plan that I believed was ‘normal’ (By the way I hate that word). On the other hand maybe I would not have found my way here to this life now because without that journey and the time spent arriving where I am today I very much doubt I would have ever met Sir. Although sometimes I regret all those lost years I also know that they ultimately bought me to now, to him and to us. I do sometimes wish I could go back though and try to explain things to my 18 year old self and most of take away her shame and horror but in truth I doubt she would have heard me, she just wasn’t ready for that yet.
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