Feb 122018

“I’m kinky. NOW what?”

So, let me start by stating the painfully self-evident. You’ve realized that your specific needs and desires aren’t quite “the norm.” If you hadn’t, there’d be absolutely no point in you reading this book outside of morbid curiosity.

The first thing to do is not panic! Sit down, get a paper bag, breathe into it and hear me out.

Life is short! You might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

Statistically speaking, it is an absolute certainty that on a planet populated by nearly eight billion people, there are more than a few people out there who share and complement your particular desires, no matter how “weird” you think they are. This is known in kink circles as Ugol’s Law:

“For every specific kink or fetish any given person has, there is always at least one other person who shares this kink or fetish.”

Or, the tl;dr version: YOU ARE NOT ALONE!

Whether you secretly fantasize about being a 1950s housewife (regardless of your actual gender), reverting to age five as soon as you get home in the evening, being taken to a venue and “forced” to have sex with multiple partners or the traditional standbys of being tied up, beaten like a piñata, fucked like a fifty-cent whore and then cuddled like the most precious thing in the universe, Ugol’s Law assures there’s someone out there who complements your desires.

Your desires may be considered even further “out there.” Maybe you fantasize about having hardcore sex with the Decepticon leader Megatron in his aircraft form from the Bayverse. It could be that people dressed up in animal costumes get you hard or damp betwixt the thighs. You might even dream about being killed, defiled, grilled and eaten. (Yes, this is a real thing real people actually fantasize about doing or having done to them. And I’m not talking about Dahmer-esque psychos…some of these are mechanics, doctors, lawyers, engineers, judges and CEOs. I’m talking people with real, grown-up jobs!)

It doesn’t matter. You have the right to desire what you want without judgment. You may not necessarily have the right to act on these desires, for a number of possible reasons, but simply having them is not a bad thing in and of themselves. As a matter of fact, a rich and varied fantasy life is often the first step to finding ultimate fulfillment and satisfaction.

The biggest thing to hold onto is that you may think you’re “abnormal” or even “crazy.” You may think there’s something wrong with you.

Nothing could be further from the truth!

Just because your sexual and emotional needs have a greater range than “missionary with the lights out on Saturday night and then back to watching Law and Order reruns while we pretend we didn’t just do what we done” doesn’t make you a bad person. There are certainly some acts which, if you took them out of the realm of fantasy or very carefully managed roleplay, could arguably be considered the acts of bad people. By and large, anything you can do with a living, breathing, consenting adult human being or to an inanimate object in your own home or in certain other designated locations is perfectly okay, absent quirks of local laws where you live.

Right now, someone’s reading this last sentence and asking, “Soooo…if I go out into my garage and stick my dick in the tailpipe of my car, or decide to use my gearshift to fuck myself stupid, that’s okay?”


Well…sort of.

Theoretically, you’re in your garage or another otherwise private location. (Don’t do this on a public street or in an open car park. It probably won’t end well.) And hey, it’s your car. And presumably you have enough sense to make sure the tailpipe isn’t hot, or that you have a way to call for help if you get yourself into an awkward situation or hurt yourself.

If you’re not doing this in your own garage with your own car, please make sure you have the enthusiastic permission and consent of the owner of either or both as applicable before you proceed. Some people would enjoy watching a woman mount the stick shift on a Lamborghini, whether she owns it or not. Some people would call the cops and kick the woman out of their home. Go figure.

While basic decency demands you probably shouldn’t be parading your business down Main Street on a Monday morning during rush hour, there’s nothing at all wrong with doing what works for you in the privacy of your own home or a designated area where such acts are permissible, so long as you do it in such a way as to offer a reasonable degree of safety.

The single most important thing to remember as you get started is the acronym MKINYK. It stands for


This means you have every right to your fetishes, kinks and desires, no matter how dirty they seem. It also means the people around you have every right to theirs as well, even if they don’t share yours or vice versa. This basic principle is one of the main ideals of the kink community, although I must say it often seems to be honored more in the breach than the observance when we get down to actual cases. “It’s not wrong, it’s just not right for me” is a fairly common remark in the scene, and one I personally make often concerning kinks, fetishes and paraphilias I personally find unappealing.

No matter how you found out you’re kinky, or what kinks you want to explore, as long as you and any partners you have fully and enthusiastically consented to them and everyone comes away from the encounter breathing, healthy and (at least ideally) happy, you’re okay. And, as previously noted, you’ve got a potential pool of almost eight billion people to choose from.

No matter how ugly, homely, attractive, masculine, feminine, religious, atheistic, old, young (well…within the bounds of the age of consent for your area, usually with a hard minimum of 18 years old to be allowed into most kink venues and events) or whatever, you have no excuses for not being able to find someone who’s right for you and your needs.

So…now what?

Now we start looking for your special someone.


J.S. Wayne is an experienced kinkster under the nom de guerre “_Unicron_” and the author of Fantastic Dominants and Where to Find Them: A Player’s Guide to the Ultimate RPG. He is fascinated by the use of language, human sexuality, occultism, quantum physics and trying to figure out just what the hell the lyrics to “I Am The Walrus” were actually trying to say.


Jan 182016

disorientation18 Our first date was at a vegan restaurant in Echo Park; our second, at an S&M club. I’d never had any particular interest in BDSM: I hadn’t grown up with a spanking fetish, and I wasn’t turned on by leather.

But I’d seen Secretary, and the occasional S&M porn, and I’d gone to a bondage show at Burning Man — so the concept intrigued me. Surely there was something to it — I just wasn’t sure what.

I dressed in black shirt and dark pants, as the dress code suggested, and parked on an industrial street by the LAX airport. A man at the front desk collected the entry fee and asked me to sign a liability waiver.

“Remember,” he said, “always get permission before joining a scene. And blood is off-limits.”

The night’s event was a cabaret performance, themed around superheroes and science fiction; it was also a “play party”, which meant that participants could, if they chose, continue the action in semi-private rooms.

Most of the crowd was dressed up in some kind of costume or another: not the traditional leather and chains that I’d expected, but kinky space suits and superhero outfits, like a sexed-up cosplay convention.

On the stage, a man in a Severus Snape costume casually whipped a woman dressed as Harry Potter. Nearby, a scantily-clad Lt. Ripley stood guarding a shackled man resembling Charlton Heston from Planet of the Apes.

When Ophelia arrived, we each ordered a drink and sat to watch some of the show. While I knew that she had a kinky side, she explained, in a bit more detail, that she liked to tie up and dominate skinny young men like me.

“Dominate?” I asked.

She nodded. “I love finding new submissives to play with.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that — did that mean she wanted to fuck me? — but I didn’t know how to ask without getting too personal.

We wandered about the club, poking our heads into this room and that. Some of the rooms were themed: a classroom, a doctor’s office. There was less nudity than I’d thought there would be; the scenes were more erotic than overtly sexual.

In one room, a woman whipped a half-dressed man tied to a St. Andrew’s cross. In another, a guy my own age stood above a blindfolded girl tied down on a bed. He was slowly and methodically swatting at her breasts and crotch with what looked like a miniature flyswatter. She moaned appreciatively.

Could I be that guy, I wondered? Could I learn to give pleasure to a woman in that way? Or was this what Ophelia wanted to do to me? I didn’t know which role I identified with; maybe, as Ophelia kindly suggested, I was a switch. I admitted that I might be willing to let her tie me up.

She smiled and looked me up and down, as if considering the possibilities. “I promise, it won’t hurt a bit.”



A few nights later, I drove to her apartment; she welcomed me with a glass of white wine and a playlist of Leonard Cohen songs. We lit a joint and sat on the couch for a bit. “Should I get my ropes?” she asked.

She led me to an upright chair, tied a handkerchief over my eyes, and began to loop several ropes around my arms and legs. I felt her hands tightening the knots, her full concentration and attention on me.

A wave of relaxation washed over me. This was an impulse that I hadn’t even known I’d had, a desire that had been lying dormant in me — to let a woman take control over me and take possession of my body.

She picked up a glass of wine and pressed it to my lips, forcing me to drink. Then she reversed the process, loosening the ropes and untying me.

“What did you think?” she asked.

“I felt … relaxed,” I said. “It was … meditative … ” I immediately regretted my choice of words. I hadn’t been sure, when we’d made plans, whether this had been intended as a platonic bondage lesson or a more sensual encounter — but surely relaxed was not the right answer.

She tied me up again, in a different position, with me lying on the floor, my range of motion more constrained. I felt anxious and aroused at once. It was a trance-like moment; neither of us spoke until she’d untied me again.

We sat back down on the couch, pausing to relight the joint. She looked at me over her glass of white wine. “How about if I tie you up with nothing on?”

My eyes widened. An hour or so had passed since I’d arrived, and the weed and wine had given the night a dream-like, fantastical quality. “Sure,” I mumbled.

We moved into the bedroom, where I took off my shirt and pants and then paused, aware of the hard-on beneath my boxers. “Literally everything?”

She nodded, so I took them off, too, and lay face-down on the white, fluffy comforter. She tied my hands gently to the bedpost.

I caught a glimpse of her undressing from the corner of my eye, saw a flash of her breasts in the bedroom mirror, and then felt her body on top of mine, soft and firm, as she lowered herself close to my upper back and shoulders.

She snapped the ropes against my back, running their rough strands up and down my body. I felt myself shivering, cold and naked and excited. And then, finally, she untied me and turned me over, hands on my cock, and grabbed a condom from the bedside drawer, wordlessly slipping it on.

My body rose up to meet hers, mouth reaching upward toward her breasts, hands on her sides, cock sliding easily inside of her.

We moved slowly at first, still meditative, in no hurry to orgasm; and then gained speed, my throat making sounds that I hadn’t heard in years, echoed by her own soft and rhythmic breathing.

I felt an alignment of physical and mental and emotional connection that I’d been waiting for for so long: this was sex as I’d always imagined it — rich in context and full of meaning — in a way that made all of my previous adventures seem out-dated, over-written, obsolete.


Sanctuary: My Night at an S&M Club

an excerpt from The Pansexual Labyrinth: A Polyamorous Search for Love and Connection

by Saul Of-Hearts

Twitter: @saulofhearts

website: multi.love

Buy the book on Amazon!