Am I Supposed to Be Kinky? Here’s How I Feel After Trying It.

Am I missing out?

When it comes to sex, I am always interested in exploring new experiences and pushing the boundaries of what is considered normal. But as someone who has dedicated a majority of my adult life to researching and writing about and sex and relationships, I’m surprisingly not kinky.

I’ve had hundreds of sex partners, yet I’ve always been a bit hesitant about venturing into the world of fetishes. A lot of my sexually liberated friends think you’re not really good at sex until you’ve tried everything in the book: sex parties, swinging, furries, pony play, wax play… the list goes on and on.

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But sometimes I get overwhelmed just visiting a sex shop. Will a latex bodysuit chafe my nipples? How many calories are in edible panties? Does a leather whip really need a bluetooth speaker?

And then there’s the question of why even bother with all this off-the-wall stuff when the simple act itself is pretty damn good. My therapist once told me kink is always rooted in something much deeper than the act of sex itself.

“It’s why all these CEOs are into dominatrixes and humiliation,” she explained. “They spend their days screaming at lower level employees and manipulating people into doing what they need to build their business. They want to be dommed because they want someone else to make the decisions for once.”

I certainly am not looking to sex to alleviate work-related imbalances. But I did wonder, am I really not sexually adventurous if I’m kink-averse? Am I missing out? I decided to explore it more, and this is what I learned.

Apparently butt stuff isn’t kinky

Growing up, going through “the back door” was super taboo. At the time, it made sense — poop comes out of there, why would I want anything to go in there? Plus sex ed has taught me that the anus is not nearly as elastic as the vagina is, and there’s a reason it’s a one-way exit. I connoted anal sex with pleasure for him, pain for me, and that was enough to forgo it.

Then one time, through experimentation, I found out I liked butt stuff.

When a new partner asked me what my kinks were, I proudly declared, “I like it up the butt.” He laughed, but politely informed me that anal sex was pretty mainstream — even anilingus was growing in popularity.

He then repeated the question, to which I just shrugged and said, “You can slightly spank me while you do it, I guess…”

What he said got me really thinking though. The Bad Girls Bible found that 63.3 percent of women they surveyed are into anal sex. If that many women like it, it must not really be “weird” anymore. And if it wasn’t really a sexual kink, what was?

BDSM is such a head trip

A dom/sub routine felt like the first logical step for exploring kink. But while using the word “daddy” has become more mainstream, I think it’s wild that we associate dominance with paternity. Besides, desiring sex with a father or a father figure will never turn me on.

And BDSM always seemed strange to me. Aside from the whole idea of deriving pleasure from pain, how could I justify being a third-wave feminist on the outside and then let a man take total control and tell me what to do during sex?

Being dominated was not an option, but I also had issues trying to dominate someone else. I didn’t want to yell at my partner during moments of intimacy. Even though my sub got off on being told what to do, I don’t want to think about giving commands when I’m having sex, I just want it to happen.

With all the pre-sex conversations, agreements, and safe words, BDSM felt like negotiating a major corporate merger. For me, that just kills the mood.

Costumes are expensive

I used to do a lot of theater when I was young, so I thought maybe dressing up during sex would become my kink. There were so many roles to play and endless scenarios to explore, it was a surefire way to keep things exciting.

Let me tell you though — sex costumes are an investment. $40 for a sexy maid costume felt like a lot of cash to drop when I was a broke 20-something and not even really sure if I liked the guy I was sleeping with.

That aside, wearing my old Catholic schoolgirl uniform in a slutty way, seducing my “math teacher,” and trying to have sex “in the locker room” felt super creepy. Similarly, dressing up like a nurse and thinking about sex in a sterile, cold hospital turned me off.

Pretending to be someone else, having sex with someone also pretending to be someone else, just didn’t feel authentic or connected. It just felt like I was directing someone the whole time. I mean, how deep into the role are you supposed to get? They didn’t really have condoms in the colonial days, and that’s all I could think of while trying to put one on my partner, as he donned a tricorn hat and said, “The British aren’t the only ones coming tonight…”

While At the end of the day, I found myself more excited about designing an elaborate plotline and maybe that means I should just join a community theater group. Not all your interests are meant to be mixed.

And then there are some things I just flat out won’t do

I don’t do bodily fluids. Period. I don’t even swallow because it gives me acid reflux.

Though it’s rare, it also applies to any requests for golden showers or scat play. These are private moments in my daily routine that I don’t need to share with others.

“But you’ve never tried it!” one guy chided when he brought up the subject on a getting-to-know-you date, and I said I wasn’t into it. “You’ve got to at least try it.”

He then went on to describe how he kept things “clean” by using plastic sheets and tarps (“lots and lots of tarps,” were his exact words), and that we could start in his bathtub so I could “get the angles right.” While there’s clearly nothing sexier than hearing, “Honey, I’m horny, get the tarps ready…” I had to decline.

I thought I wouldn’t like sushi, and then I tried it and I did. I thought I wouldn’t like butt sex, until I tried it and I did. I have an adventurous spirit, for sure, but I also know that I don’t have to try everything sexually to know it’s just not for me.

Stop telling me I’ll “find my kink” eventually

Am I supposed to be kinky? As I’ve explored these different aspects of my sexuality, I felt more and more liberated and empowered. I also feel more confident setting boundaries with men, and discussing our sexual fantasies earlier on in the relationship, so I can figure out if we’ll be sexually compatible. But I don’t think I’ll ever be getting into hardcore fetishes.

“One day you’ll wake up and your kink will just happen,” a friend told me when I asked her if I was boring because I was totally chill with just a firm mattress and few basic sex positions.

I mean, maybe that’s the case, sure. Maybe I need the right partner, maybe I need to meditate before I do it to clear out any extra thoughts, maybe I need a “happy accident” like being teased with a bluetooth-speaker leather whip.

Or maybe, to my therapist’s point, I don’t have some deep psychological need to get tied up in ropes by a man wearing a rabbit suit yelling “pineapple” or whatever. It’s totally fine to just be into vanilla sex. Kink is usually something that enhances sexual activity for those exploring it. If I already find intense pleasure in the everyday sex acts, maybe I have nothing to worry about.

The best sex I’ve ever had was when my partner and I knew each other so well, we didn’t have to instruct each other on what to do. It’s more predictable, but I know the outcome will be great every time.

Katka Lapelosova
Kat is a born and raised New Yorker exploring the world as she writes, eats, and everything in between. Read more
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