Control Tower

How Will I Know?

by Mistress Matisse

Non-kinky people—or at least, those who claim to be such—often ask me, “So, how’d you get into this? How did you know you were kinky?”

This is a little like asking someone how they know their own sexual orientation. There’s a slowly growing awareness of small, unrelated clues that gradually lead you up to an “a-ha!” moment. My brother and I used to watch the old Batman reruns, with Adam West, when I was little, and I always really liked the ones where Batman and Robin got tied up. And when it was Catwoman who was doing the tying—well, I was glued to that set. I used to tie up my dolls, and then, when I was around 10 or 11, I invented games that were thinly disguised opportunities for me to tie up and torment a few of my more submissive playmates. I knew I liked doing it, but I didn’t really know what “it” was until my early teenage years, when I browsed through the stack of Penthouse magazines hidden in my Dad’s closet and gleaned a fuzzy understanding that there were words to describe this, and other people who liked it.

Fast-forward to me at 19. I’d made a few stabs at doing light bondage with different partners—bathrobe ties to the headboard, that sort of thing. But I was always the instigator, and none of those early partners ever came up with ideas of their own, or offered to reciprocate.

Then I met Carmella. She was older than me, in her 40s, and, as I later realized, very experienced. “Be careful of her,” one of my friends told me when we first began seeing each other. “I hear she’s into some wild shit.”

I wasn’t alarmed by that; I was intrigued. And when Carmella showed me her extensive collection of cuffs and paddles, I was aroused. So when she held out the leather-buckled restraints to me, I let her put them around my wrists, and she showed me that the eyebolts in her ceiling weren’t really for hanging plants.

Carmella was an education for me in more ways than one. From her, I learned BDSM terminology, some basic ideas about safety and about etiquette, and a lot about what kinds of play I did and didn’t like. Carmella knew I wasn’t cut out to be her slave, but she gave me a taste of many different techniques and sensations before the affair dwindled out. By watching her top me, I began to assemble ideas about how I would go about dominating someone else.

However, even after the relationship with Carmella, I still felt so new that the idea of seriously trying to dominate an experienced BDSM person seemed ludicrous. I decided I’d find another dominant partner and learn from the bottom. I began scanning the personal ads, looking for the code phrases Carmella had taught me. Back then a lot of mainstream papers would not accept ads that were obviously BDSM-oriented. People used coy little phrases like “dominant personality” or made insider references to BDSM books like The Story of O or Venus in Furs. (I think at least half of all the heterosexual male dominants at that time were calling themselves “Sir Stephen” in their ads. It made figuring out to whom you’d already written rather tricky.)

I met a few “Masters,” but their mastery left me unimpressed. One night, during an encounter with an Englishman who was all mouth and no trousers, my patience grew short. After landing a few inexpert swats on my ass with a ping-pong paddle he’d painted black, he made the mistake of asking me, “Well, what do you think about that?”

“I think I could do a hell of a lot better myself.”

Like Queen Victoria, he was not amused. I chose to take that as a good sign. After closing the door behind him, I sat down to write an ad of my own. “Strict female with a emerging dominant personality seeks like-minded individuals on which to hone her special talents…” The responses flooded in.

I knew I was kinky because I paid attention to what made my pussy wet. And I’m still getting wet for BDSM, so I know I’m still kinky. I make it a habit not to say things like, “Oh, I’d never, ever do that!” Saying that too often shuts off erotic possibilities, and it teaches your mind to disconnect from what might be happening in your body. Sexual desire isn’t a static target. You have to keep examining yourself—without prejudice—to see what’s turning you on today. How else would you know what you are?