Kink in exile

Notes from a kinky nomad

Weekend, or how my sex was influenced by Heinlein novels

“I want to be whatever you need me to be.” I ground myself in this thought, allow it to shape my approach to you. Wait for whatever subliminal cues I create from this to form. Wait for you to read them in my body. I know how you like to have sex, I am waiting to see if you tell me again.  If you will own your secrets and let me give your fantasies to you.  Do you trust me?

I want to curate the things you thought were hard to find, and lay them out before you. I don’t really care what those things are, I’m just here to facilitate.  Believe it or not, that turns me on.

It used to be confusing as well – you, in this scenario are usually submissive. The things you want – painful, embarrassing, perhaps unfair. For the casual observer, I am taking, not facilitating. I get off on taking too, but that is different.  This is about creating the space you thought could not exist. This is my healer mood.

I’m shy about it, because the healer requires hurt to exist.


I watch him watching him tie her up. We are talking, I think, about marketing.  He isn’t making eye contact with me, he is watching a scene he wishes he was a part of. I am bored.

I didn’t expect to be bored.  Having resurfaced the healer, used her to find what’s core to the sex I enjoy, I was hoping to keep that energy. To roll this thing that was going well forward, and use it to spark something fun. I thought perhaps this wouldn’t work and I would find the event as a whole deeply upsetting.  This too didn’t happen.  I am simply bored. The kind of bored that sometimes happens at cocktail parties organized by professional conferences.  After you’ve caught up with your colleagues, said appreciative things to the day’s speakers, and had a pleasant chat about Big Data with…someone.  You just look around, drink in hand, and wonder “would anyone notice if I slip out to watch a bit of porn in the hotel room?”

I ask myself if I would like to have a sexual experience with someone in this space.  Perhaps the young man who works in publishing. Or the other gentleman who did make eye contact while discussing ad placement. I don’t. I don’t in this space.  This space is not designed to support the way I want to have sex. This is fine, it is designed to support that way people who like to have public sex like to have sex.

I want to have sex with you, with the scary secret parts of you, behind closed doors.  I want to create the space we inhabit with intentionality and purpose.

I’m not sure what to do with this space, so I prepare to leave.  I run into people whose company I would enjoy over a beer in some other context. I look for a diplomatic way to answer “will you be here tomorrow,” realizing eventually that those asking don’t much care – I can just smile, say “maybe,” and move on.

The next day I buy myself a fancy coffee and wonder as to what sexuality and sensuality look like in private, away from those public sex spaces I’ve been taught to think of as the pinnacle of sexual empowerment.

I suspect you’ll be able to read it on my body.


Written by kinkinexile

January 28, 2014 at 8:07 pm

Posted in headspace

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  1. […] front lawn that says “have the sex you want, with the people you love, and if you have the energy create the space for others to do the […]

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    February 10, 2014 at 9:38 pm

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