Shame me if you want, but I'm happy as a slut
By: baby j
www.blackpeoplekink.com
I grew up in an affluent home. Mom and Dad bought a house just uptown in a unique area of the city full of doctors, lawyers, university students, and a whole host of other successful professionals. In an era of declining school budgets, my younger brother and I went to public and private schools rich in arts, music, sports, and activism. Our creativity was inspired and our optimism was nurtured, even if somewhat circumspectly. By all standard societal accounts, we had a good life - a good life that neednât have been bothered by the nuisance of sexual awakening.
Sex was one of those conversation topics that wasnât off limits, per say, it was just never really welcomed like the other issues. We could always discuss race or privilege, economics or social welfare. Religion and spirituality got a couple head nods here and there, as did politics and âhow to be a lady.â But the mere idea of discussing sex and sexuality was met with a palpable squimishness and forwardly pallid enthusiasm.
Every now and then the topic would emerge out of that murky grey area where annual salaries and selections in the voting booth resided.
âYou know, I would much rather you and your brother see a movie with a sex scene in it than a violent one.â
âWell sex is natural, violence isnât.â
âSo we can watch movies with sex then.â
I was maybe 12 or 13 at the time, we didnât discuss that again. A few years later, after a lot of thought on how I liked boys - but really liked girls too, I asked my mom if we could talk. She came into my room and sat on the bed with me while I mustered up the courage to tell her I thought I was bisexual. She replied with a loving yet curt âNo youâre not,â gave me a pat on the head, and walked out of the room. That topic was never broached again either.
So in a seemingly asexual house, imagine my parents dismay when they found a printout of an online magazine article titled âHow to Spice up Your Sex Lifeâ lying on my desk a couple years later.
Bring on the fire and brimstone.
The crazy part was I was still a virgin! Sex and sexuality were, however, immensely engrossing to me. I kept lesbian romance novels tucked away in the back of my closet. I asked my boyfriend of now two and a half years, a lifetime in high school, to tie me up and drip hot wax from scented candles on me. I learned about dildos, and then commenced finding things I could use in their place since I was too young to buy one for myself. I had kissed girls, lavishing on the soft warm taste of their tongues, I had kissed guys, melting in the strength of their arms, and I was in love with everyone I knew. I convinced my boyfriend that a group of us friends should have an orgy. We were all still virgins, everybody just made out that night. But the energy, the chemistry, the desire - you could smell it, even taste it in the air. It would be another two years before my boyfriend and I had sex for the first time, just before my 18th birthday.
I wouldnât call my sexual evolution wild or abnormal by any measure. But like many young women, it had to be kept on the low. My parents obviously wanted to discuss nothing of the sort, other than that pre (and later extra) marital sex was a horrific thing. My friends were open to discuss anything, but getting sex advice from other teenagers only led to misinformation. If sex was a natural thing, why was it so hard to talk about! All I knew at the time was I had this sensation, this insatiable desire for something I admittedly had no knowledge of. When I moved out of my parents home the following fall, I lost my young sexual mind. I partied, I had first date sex, I had sex outside of bars and clubs, in the elevator of an office building, on a rooftop. I had multiple partners. It was awesome and wonderful and beautiful and amazing ⌠but it was vanilla.
My boyfriend and I broke up as soon as I moved away. I told him I had cheated on him. I felt awful. There was no love, just sex, and only once. He wanted us to work it out, and I did too, except I wanted to be able to see multiple partners. I loved him dearly, but promiscuity was calling me. My inner slut was sashaying in sexy heels and a dress that hugged her every salacious curve, perfumed with the intoxicating scent of unbridled desire. He didnât want an open relationship, that was all I wanted.
Over the years that was what I had, a couple short-term flings and many a wild night. I got married, which in hindsight neither of us wanted to do. I have to give him credit though. When I brought up the concept of having an open relationship, he was totally down. We didnât talk about expectations. He had legions of fuck-buddies and I had a few of those too. I also had boyfriends and girlfriends, not many but each serious in their own right. That was an issue. You see, open to him meant sex. To me, it meant open. Open to the possibilities, open to sex, love, or more. After ten years, we broke up too.
I started dating again. This time I knew exactly what I wanted, and though important, it was not just the frequent sex with varying partners I was after. Something had been all but absent from my sex life for a long time. My encounters were full of relatively satisfying yet predominantly vanilla intercourse, but I was a dark-chocolate-chip-macadamia-nut kind of cookie. I liked rough sex, role play, bondage and discipline, Dominance and submission, and sadomasochism - BDSM. I was like a kitten with a fresh ball of yarn when it came to consensual non-consent. I had that with my high school sweetheart, I tried (and failed) with my husband, and I scared off some potentially good partners in my postnuptial scene.
Eventually, I was fortunate enough to meet and grow comfortable with two partners, both men, who were as welcoming of all of my fetishes as I was of theirs. They each had different styles, but I was happily bound, gagged, and fucked to my heartâs delight. The sex was stellar, the conversations were epic, and the company was fantastic. Yet still, something was wanting. These men were fabulous friends and no-strings-attached lovers, the best of both worlds, but that was it. Even though I cared for each deeply, I had no undying loyalty or devotion to either. I trusted them, but not with my life. So I always had an arm free to tap out. I never fully gave in. I never let go. I had found what I wanted, just not exactly what I needed.
A few short yet lovely romances later, I stumble across my gallant King in chromium plated tungsten armor. He offers his cloak, and I give him my heart. He binds me with love, strangles me with excitement and passion, fucks me with force, and makes love to me until I cry. He Dominates me, and I submit happily and without question. He takes care of me, and I serve Him with my whole heart, mind, body, and soul. We are symbiotic - He needs my submission, I would not survive without His Dominance. No one knows what heaven or nirvana actually are; I would submit that I am already there. I believe my life has just now begun, but I needed my past to get me here.
I have had rich experiences full of utter bliss and supreme despondency. I have loved and lost and I am a better person now for it. I hope that as I send this out into the universe, I reach a few specific people.
For the young person who is wondering if what they are feeling or thinking about their sexuality is OK, it is. Love and fuck who, when, where, why, how, AND IF you want to - just be safe and make sure you and your partner(s) are on the same page.
To the parents, mentors, and caregivers, speak openly and freely about sex. Share your stories and experiences and what you may have learned from each. Be welcoming to and curious about what your youngsters are up to.
For the person being approached by a kinster or someone with an otherwise alternate view on love or sex, be kind, open-minded, and respectful. If itâs not your thing, then itâs just not your thing. But you never know until you try!
Finally for the shamers, nothing good will come from making people feel bad about their sexuality. Slut shaming, kink shaming, and sexual and gender orientation shaming are only tools that feeble-minded people use to protect their own frail identities and existences. I am a happy and healthy, beautiful, submissive black woman. I am a proud member of the LGBTQ community. I am a passionate and loving slut, and an enthusiastically giddy kinster. I love myself and my arms are open to everyone I meet. Sometime in early childhood we learned about the golden rule. This would be the perfect place to put it into practice.
jimmyeatworldofficial
kianamaiart
origamiaround
blakekathryn