My Life in Electronica

I’ve been listening to a lot of 80s new wave and electronica music lately. Reliving my youth, maybe. Or maybe just remembering how damn good it all was. The Pet Shop Boys were always a favorite, their sometimes simple but always danceable beats made it easier to take in the often heavier and meaningful lyrics. Last week, as I listened to them more closely than I have in many years, I saw my life summed up in their words.
It’s a Sin
Even at the time, this one hit home for me. I was pretty sure it was a reference to the Boys being  gay but for me, it applied to everything. The regular Baptist church we attended could find fault in anything, from going to the movies, listening to rock music (weren’t they all evil, gay, satan worshipers? And why doesn’t that sound so bad anymore?), to watching television.

And, of course, sex.

They never explicitly advised against getting off on pain and bondage. They didn’t have to. They were too busy making sure I was straight, saving myself for marriage, and monogamous.

I think we all know how well that turned out.

Bondage was something I knew I enjoyed before it was sexual though. I was too young to understand it, too young to even know it was “weird.” But I liked the tightness, the restriction, and looked for ways to do it to myself. Jump ropes, sheets, pantyhose, all worked well at the time.
Eventually, it did become sexual, however, and I knew enough to be ashamed of my desires. Knew they weren’t normal and would not be approved of. Mom had caught me with rope in our small, backyard pool. She made it clear that not only were my actions dangerous (they absolutely were) but were weird.

So I retreated to my bedroom, restricted my activities to the darkest hours of the night, and hid it all. Even from myself. I literally could not make myself put words to what I enjoyed. Instead, it was “those things I want.”

I knew what I meant. And “those things” were things to be overcome. But try as I might, I could never let them go completely or for good.
 
I Wouldn’t Normally Do This Sort of Thing
Not until after my divorce did I start to truly come to terms with “those things.” I started to accept that they weren’t going away. I was even able to tell a couple of people about wanting to be tied up. One of those people suggested I search out munches – gatherings of kinky people in public restaurants. I was immediately skeptical. What would such people look like? Would I fit in? What if I was the wrong shape, the wrong face, the wrong … everything?

With no expectations that going to one of these events would change my life, I nevertheless gave one a shot. With no commitment beyond showing up at a restaurant, there seemed little to lose.

It absolutely changed my life.

On my first night, I ended up following a small group to a local dungeon space. There, I stood around with people I would eventually call friends and talked movies while whippings, beatings, and bondage happened only a few feet away from us.

No one treated it as weird. No one treated it as abnormal. They weren’t ashamed.

I collapsed back in my bed overwhelmed and in awe. I had conquered a fear and found a home.
 
Was It Worth It?
It didn’t take long for the inevitable drop to set in.

No one had warned me about the rush of endorphins that would come from merely being in a dungeon, surrounded by people who understood and accepted me, and feeling normal for the first time in my life. Or about the aftermath of those endorphins receding from whence they came.

What I would quickly come to think of as “drop” hit hard the first time. I ended up sobbing at the dungeon, utterly unable to describe what was wrong, or why I felt the way I did. A woman patiently put her arm around me and explained.

Over time, drop would present itself in a myriad of ways. After a particularly heavy scene that would leave bruises for a month, I curled up on the floor and cried until one of my tops helped me ground the excess energy. It became a pattern, with or without this particular top. Heavy scenes would leave me crying intensely until I simply stopped and moved on.

Not everyone’s response, certainly, and that’s okay. But it was mine, and I knew to expect it.

Now, my responses vary. Drop usually hits pretty quickly unless it’s a larger, multi-day event. In that case, it hits my first day back at work, where the absence of people who “get it” is felt more acutely.

It’s easy to weigh such highs and lows and question one’s choices. The scenes, the camaraderie of like-minded people, watching others find themselves the way I once did are all joyous. But they are balanced not only by the drop but by those who take advantage of our newer members, the predators, and the liars.

There have been people and events that have made me question every bit of my involvement in kink. But I keep coming back because I can’t not.

It is absolutely, unequivocally worth it.