Ask Boot (all about himself)

That's right. It's about me. Am I selfish? Yes. But what does that have to do with anything?

So who are you, anyway?

I'm going to assume you aren't asking about who I really am. We've talked about that not being okay. You don't need to know what I do in my real life. You don't even need to know what I write when I'm not Boot LS. So what, exactly, are you asking?

How did you get into BDSM?

Ah. Now that's different. And I can answer as honestly as possible: I don't know. The origins of my kinky desires are lost in a fog of the past, but there are hints of it. Glimpses of memory.

I remember once, long and long ago, seeing a movie late at night. I don't remember anything about it, other than that there was a man tied to a rack and a woman in leather and high boots, holding a whip and being cruel to him. That image stuck with me, and helped shape my mind as I went through puberty.

I remember Star Trek, and being so turned on by the tough girl Tasha Yarr. I remember how I kept looking at her boots, the way the leather stretched on her legs. And I remember that I always loved the boots they wore, on the original series or on TNG.

I remember girls in school being mean to me, and remember them in boots. I remember finding girls in boots more attractive. I remember also that I found people attractive when I heard that they found me attractive; maybe the boots were a coincidence.

I remember a girl who made me do things I didn't want to do. It wasn't like she forced me. All she did was ask. I liked spending time with her, and I did whatever she asked. If she had known the kind of power she had on me, I'm sure she would have done more. But as it was, I just spent time with her when I could. She would hit me sometimes, or kick me, always in a friendly way. I never minded, but it was never sexual. I do wish it had been, though.

What about your family life? Were you abused or something like that?

Nope. Contrary to popular belief, interest in BDSM does NOT have a connection with abuse. Personally, I think that myth comes because people look for excuses, for reasons why someone would do something terrible. And if some of the people who do terrible things happen to also be kinky, I think that becomes the focus, the 'why' of it. But someone who likes to get hit with a whip is not someone who likes to be abused. Someone who likes to take control of a consenting partner is not someone who is abusive. There's a world of difference.

Sure, sure. Get off your soap box. We were talking about you. About your own experience.

I wasn't abused. My parents were very open about sexuality, very encouraging about asking questions. They didn't make it a dirty thing. That's not to say they didn't consider it a private thing. I never saw my parents have sex or anything like that. But if I had questions, they would answer them. There was no awkward 'birds and bees' talk for me. I had all the information I wanted, and I knew I could always ask for more.

None of my relatives ever hit me. Or sexually assaulted me. I was never the victim of a religious figures unwanted sexual overtures; I grew up Jewish, and Rabbis are not celibate. They didn't have that level of denial, so it wasn't an issue. That said, I never did anything with any of them, nor did it ever come up as a possibility or even cross my mind until I started writing this paragraph.

I was never forced to have sex with anyone. I was never exposed to abusive relationships. I didn't do drugs, and I know the name of everyone I've ever slept with. My first time was gentle and loving and fun, and there just isn't any sexually themed tragedy in my past.

So then why are you kinky?

I don't know. I think it's genetic. I never found out for sure; it wasn't something I wanted to ask my parents. It wasn't that I was embarrassed to ask. I was afraid they'd answer. And I did NOT want to deal with those images.

But I will say this: I thought it was a phase.

How did you find out about it?

Lucky for me, I grew up with the Internet. I don't mean to say that the net was around when I grew up. I mean literally that as I grew up, so did the Internet. I was able to find all kinds of information, all kinds of forums, websites, essays, books, and descriptions of things. I was able to put names on my desires, to find out that it wasn't just me. I didn't have to think I was a huge freak; all I had to accept was that, as a teenager, I was ahead of my time. Kink wasn't something high school kids did (I thought).

But you did eventually.

Obviously.

And you thought it was a phase?

Yep. I thought it was something I'd do in college, but would get over. I thought I'd sew my wild oats, so to speak, and then my life would progress. I'd get married. Have two point five kids. A white picket fence. Missionary sex once a week.

And dear god, was that a depressing thought.

Still, I tried. I tried to stop, tried to let it be something I used to do. I tried to look back on it fondly, the way I look back on when I used to play with action figures or army men. I tried to put away childish things and grow up and be a man.

And?

It sucked. I wasn't satisfied by anything. I dated a number of women who deserved far better than I could give them. I had plenty of sex, but it was boring. Without the kink, I just didn't like it as much. So eventually, I came to accept that either I had to keep my childish things and be happy, or put them away and be miserable.

And I have to tell you: It's way better to never grow up. I still like the same things I liked when I was eighteen. I like new things too, but I learned that it was stupid to decide I was too old for something I enjoyed. It's stupid to stop doing something because it's not normal. And I've learned, since then, that it's way more normal than I ever thought.

What do you mean?

I mean that I think people are kinkier than we give them credit for. Whether or not they have any experience with it, I would guess, based on no real research, that as many as 75% of people have at least some level of kinky desire. Some deny it, some find little ways of expressing it. Some get more involved. But I think that behind those white picket fences there are more handcuffs than there are people who need them professionally, more paddles than boats, and more dog collars than there are dogs.

So are you still looking for the dream, then? A kinky house with the kids?

Hell no. I'm happy where I am. No kids. No white picket fence. I'd rather have a wrought iron fence, secret passages, and a really happy time with my wife and any other partners we decide to bring in to our play.

You have other partners?

Sometimes. We're poly, not open. You'd have to get her okay before we could do anything, but it's possible.

Do we have to go through all that?

Hell yes. She'll cut you. How many times do I have to remind you of that?