Sometimes You Just Don't Know What You're Into

Before 2016 dawned in all its glittery splendour, I used to write posts about why I wasn’t into rope. I was interested in the psychological elements of BDSM, you see. If a man needed to tie me up to get me to stop wriggling, he was doing a crap job at dominance.

Surely if he told me to sit in the corner and be quiet, I didn’t need rope to follow the instructions? Surely the sensation of physical bondage couldn’t compare with the sensation of mental bondage?

I had giant thinky thoughts, so I wrote a post called, “Restrain Me With Your Words" calling rope and cuffs inferior types of bondage. I knew everything when I was new to kink. Any yum I’d never tried was a yuck. I wish I was still as omniscient as I was before I’d tried things like rope. </sarcasm>

I was the same way when my mother married an Italian. Before he joined the family, the only dishes I’d ever tried were bread and mashed potatoes. I snubbed everything my stepfather put on the table. One did not mix foods like Parma ham and melon. Ham was for sammiches. Melon was for cutting up and throwing at your cousins. The twain should never meet, so I told my stepdad I didn’t like things I’d never tasted all the damned time.

In the years that followed, Parma ham and melon were always on the Christmas lunch table because they were my favourite combination. It’s amazing how your opinions change when you actually know what you’re talking about.

I once thought shibari was a kind of art and little more. Then a lovely rope top convinced me to actually try the thing I’d “yucked.”

It was sublime.

It sent me into a realm I hadn’t known existed. In 20 minutes flat, I suddenly understood why rope bunnies were so committed to their roles. If I had rope on tap, I’d also spend half my life doing yoga. The kink makes the work worthwhile.

You don’t always know what you’re into unless you've tried it. You think you know. You can write Fetlife posts about your reasons, but until you’re trussed up like a Christmas turkey, your opinion might be bunk.

Don’t get me wrong. There are certain yucks I know I’m right about even though I haven’t tried them. I know blood play is too much for me because I’m a recovering self-harmer. I know breath play moves beyond the realm of reasonable risk for me, and I know TPE flies in the face of my personality. I understand these three things because I understand my psychology.

It’s okay to have yucks you haven’t tried.

Just don’t assume you’re always right.

If you’re at a play party and someone’s offering you experimental kink time, don’t be too quick to say “no.” If the kink in question isn’t a mental health risk and doesn’t fall beyond your physiological risk profile, maybe you should give it a shot. You never know what you’ll be putting on your Christmas lunch table years into the future. Those sneaky Italians have a way of altering your tastes.