The (queer) history

Another reason to try anal sex is the ‘Gotta Catch “Em All” of sex practices that used to be considered sodomitic. The fact that only homosexual men were, and presumably still are, labelled ‘sodomites’ is a fairly recent development. Christianity in particular was a master at framing all sex practices that did not fall under reproductive sex as sodomy and therefore as sin. By the earlier standards, almost anyone who has sexual intercourse today would be a sodomite: mutual or solo masturbation, oral sex, the use of sex toys, grinding, frottage, lesbian sex, etc. While I imagine the non-queer population of this country has definitely masturbated, performed oral sex or possibly even used sex toys, anal sex is not on the list for many. So buck up and contribute to the already loaded history of anal sex to make it even more loaded.

Pegging

I’m a big fan of equality, which means that everyone is allowed to top or be the bottom (if they want to). At the same time, I’m a big fan of the British sex historian Kate Lister, who wrote an excellent article called ‘Why all straight men should try pegging once’ – and to be honest, I completely agree with her.

The main points are: Although pegging is always portrayed as a heterosexual practice, anyone can be pegged or pegging. All you need is a strap-on, a dildo and plenty of lube (there’s never such a thing as too much lube!).
Secondly, the more people (especially heterosexual cis men) embrace pegging and enjoy the truly powerful orgasm, the less homohysteria and bottom-shaming will be accepted and hopefully they will begin to disintegrate like other forms of discrimination.
Thirdly, destigmatise male health care! Prostate cancer is the most common type of cancer in men in both the UK and Germany. According to the Robert-Koch-Institut, around 65,820% of men are diagnosed with it every year. Why? Because men don’t go to the urologist and have their prostate examined. Despite sexual education, the critical masculinity movement, feminism and greater acceptance of homosexuality in society, cis-hetero men are still afraid of someone sticking their hand up their bum. Sure, the first time isn’t pleasant, but that’s why it’s worth thinking about pegging. On the one hand, it trains the sphincter muscle to relax; on the other hand, you are less embarrassed during check-ups. Granted, getting fucked in the bum is still more pleasant than a medical examination, but dear men, you get the idea, don’t you?

Queering the prostate tissue

So far, so good. So far I have found that anal sex is usually accompanied by some form of prostate stimulation. Sometimes just stimulating the anus with tongues or fingers is enough, but even here: You get the principle. Now there are exceptions, and that exception is me. So not me, but trans men or any person who undergoes gender reassignment surgery that involves testosterone. In 2020, The American Journal of Surgical Pathology published a study that found areas of partially advanced prostate tissue in the vaginal canal of a total of 7 out of 8 trans men who received testosterone and four intersex people who had an excess of endogenously produced androgens. The scientists concluded that our bodies are much more flexible in the expression and development of our sexual characteristics than previously assumed. This makes sense when you consider that the respective primary and secondary sex organs only begin to form in the sixth week – there is no difference before then. So I may have several mini prostates in my vagina. Sadly, I can’t feel a difference between my sex life before being on testosterone and now.

The actual meat of

Ever since I made the conscious decision to join the dark side and allow myself to be corrupted (there wasn’t much left to be corrupted), this has been an important part of my interests. But the practical realisation was not so obvious. I lived with my parents for a relatively long time and had a lot of questions about the subject anyway, which is why I was happy to put it to one side. I had a lot to consider: hygiene, training and the appropriate aids, which I didn’t have the money for. I also had health problems that came up at random. The questions about suitable products and methods remained unanswered. My former partner was able to answer some of them for me, but the complaints remained. The idea that intimacy should not be work also left its mark on me. All the effort involved in healthy eating, hygiene and training was five steps too many in the heat of my newly discovered feelings.

Then I moved out, had my own four walls, my symptoms disappeared, I started hormone therapy and discovered cheap but good products. However, nothing changed at first. I didn’t have anyone who wanted to get intimate with me for the first time, and even the people on Grindr weren’t keen to be my first experience. Lube was essential by now anyway, but suitable aids for beginners were still not in the budget. I tried a few times with a relatively small toy and it hurt so much that I didn’t try it.

Then my accident happened. I was not allowed to have penetrative contact for six weeks and my involuntary celibacy and suffering took its course. After four weeks, I developed detailed techniques to climax through external stimulation alone, and it wasn’t long before I was really considering the legendary ‘special climaxes’. I told my girlfriend all this while she showed me her adjustable toy, which unfortunately was far too big for me. She turned to me, gave me a long look and said, ‘Too big isn’t the problem, I have some smaller ones too,’ and with that she presented me with three tools just the size of my finger. Before I could even protest, I was lying on my back like a defenceless bug, my legs were folded upwards and with a lot of lube and an uncomfortable tug, something was suddenly stuck inside me. ‘Well, that was fast and… unexpected’ was the only comment my brain could come up with. There I was, lying in a double bed in a basement flat somewhere in southern Germany, having a light-hearted conversation about intimacy that escalated within seconds. The feeling was… strange. The first few minutes were not pleasant, it felt more like I had to go to the toilet very urgently and couldn’t. A bit of walking around worked and relieved the tension, but in the end I was interested but not yet convinced. When I got back home, my curiosity got the better of me and I tried it out. In the meantime, I had two smaller aids, a small toy and a normal-sized toy, which at the time was practically the final boss for me.

I quickly realised that there is no such thing as too much lubricant. Erotic media helpes, as does external stimulation, as does relaxing beforehand and – even more difficult – staying relaxed while being penetrated. (If anal sex is particularly painful to you, you might wanna look into your pelvic health.) With that, a practice routine was found, and soon I had worked my way up from finger-wide to small to long-thin to my final boss. Which not only (shamelessly) boosted my ego, but also satisfied my cravings, stimulated my digestion (yes, too much information. I don’t care), gave me intense climaxes, I slept better and gave my purple toy a second raison d’être, as I could no longer use it for my go-to-routine. To all people, who are new to testosterone vaginal atrophy is a bitch and every vaguely realistic dildo with a slightly bigger corona glandis will be a pain to insert, therefore just don’t do it. It is not worth it in contrast to good anal sex.

„You can borrow it if you want.“, she shrugged.
I smiled, „Sure, thanks a lot!“
I wasn’t so sure after all, but you must start somewhere and getting a hood for free for a few days seemed a pretty good one to me.

A few weeks later I had my own, which fitted more my vibe. A few months later I sat in a dark cellar in the south of Germany barking, growling, and cuddling other puppies, predatory cats and kittens. Lucky me, I finally found a place, which gave the impression of something worthwhile pursuing. Of course, these are just a few snapshots but for the moment the people that I have met feel less judgmental and more welcoming than folks that are just strict into power dynamics…
I am probably not the only person who noticed that although BDSM is always mentioned in the same acronym, the communities vary. Like Sadomasochism and power play are often combined, but if you are just into one of them it gets very hard to find a partner who is willing to just be the top, a sadist on the lesser extreme end, or if I want to tip my big toe into power play impersonates a more caring dome. This gives rise to the following problem: How to have completely deranged and very queer sex without any committed partner that fits one’s own current needs? Right, you can find the answer in the paragraphs above.

Despite that, no it is possibly not the most deranged sex that someone could have, but it is the most deranged sex that is accessible for now to me.

The “other”

Pet play has several advantages for me. One of the biggest would be that it is not dependent on the gender aspect. The role models of pet players are not Christian Greys in suits, private helicopters and millions in bank accounts, but pets, usually in the form of dogs and cats. Those who insist on an upgrade call it animal play and sneak through the dungeon as a tiger, fox, wolf or snow leopard. Unlike humans, animals only have genitals and reproductive organs but no gender. Quite apart from that, there are plenty of animals that change their gender during their lifetime, without any psychological expertise, letters of indication or everyday tests. You would have to be a clownfish or a ray-finned fish… or not. I have no desire for scales, gills or fins, but the feeling that my reality is not completely trans male, but rather remains trans male and something else.

This ‘something else’ is the crucial sticking point, because as a teenager I realised above all that I was many things, just not female. But I wasn’t male back then either and so I was forced to make myself comfortable somewhere between these two poles and far beyond. But there was no room for ‘in between and beyond’ in my social circles and so I remained emotionally and physically resistant. Try as I might, I didn’t fit in anywhere and everywhere I went, sooner or later I was exposed as a ‘weirdo’ and either merely tolerated or actively ridiculed. At some point, I decided that it was all too stupid for me and stopped trying to fit in. Instead, I mentally sought refuge in the animal kingdom, because animals cared very little what others thought of them, they were wild and free. For me, all of this was reason enough to fill the hole inside me that I knew existed, but didn’t know how deep it really was, with these animal characteristics, because the human ones didn’t do anything for me, nor did they seem to be valued by others. Being or trying to mimic normal human beviour made me feel bad and not myself, so it seemed very easy to just disregard the human aspects that I needed to keep holding up for pleasantry.

Admittedly, feral, menacing, entertaining an affinity for morbid things, prefers to communicate in hellish screeches, would love to be able to manipulate my own skeletal structure as a means of combat aren’t necessary the average needs of a human being or a pet, they are simple my needs. But to close the circle, my own mask, which I bought myself, is not a baby dog mask, but that of a hellhound. Ein otherworldly being with several heads and sometimes a huge appetite for blood. When I am fussy, my Pet Play unites less me being a pet and more me exploring transcending my gender into different realms of possibility for example mythology.

Ah yes, the non-toxic masculinty

It is not just about my gender identity but also about the performance. I won’t stop being adamant about the fact that not every dom has to desire being Christian Grey. Yes, „50 Shades of Grey“ fulfilled a lot of women’s fantasies and empowered them to pursue the start of their BDSM journey. But how many Christian Greys are there outside? Maybe even way too many, especially if you look at Christian Grey’s abusive behavior. Nevertheless, I personally don’t strive to be one.

I will never be a millionaire, I hope I will never turn abusive, and especially, I despise suits and the aesthetic of BDSM. Don’t get me wrong, black and red are fine, but not everything. Suits are, for me, the epitome of „professionalism,“ but a professionalism that is rooted in racism and ableism and denies people the right to wear their cultural equivalents of professional dress and denies neurodivergent and chronically ill people access to workplaces or higher positions. Anyway… back to the topic of „pet play.“

The pet play community is not without its faults or free from the stereotypical idea of the ‘manly man evil dom’. It exists here too, just usually in the form of the big bad wolf, the dealer in unimaginative GEAR Berlin get-up, the leather daddy à la Tom of Finland, the leather/latex dominatrix or the conniving cat lady. However, and perhaps this is due to my kink circles, the practice here is far less anchored in the norms of fixed cliché thinking of roles and positions and hard rules. The fun aspect tends to take centre stage, service tops are more accepted and things are generally more playful. For me, this means that if I ever top or domme, there is no pressure to fulfil an expectation or stereotype, which in turn makes it easier to get started.

The last (plus) point is that Pet Play leaves more room for fashionable ‘deviance’. The two-coloured Mister S masks still dominate the community, but even these are not necessarily black and red. More and more often I see homemade masks made of neoprene or an attempt to find a middle ground between the grim, dark cliché and the exact opposite of the rainbow-coloured unicorn.

„Is there anything we can do to help you?“, I heard behind me and then we stared at the bright red toilet paper together.
„I don’t think so…?“, I replied.
„It looks really bad though.“
„Yeah.“
At that moment I didn’t know what was worse, that the bleeding didn’t stop, the pain or that I had no idea what exactly had happened. I mentally ran through all the possibilities: IUD? Period? Something completely different? Just before the person disappeared back into the club, I called after her, „Could you find me a dog? Big, colourful and should be at the till.“
A few minutes later, I was sitting in a separee with a pile of towels, a torch and a soaked jockstrap, waiting…

„Bless this mess“, my brain commented and I could only agree with it. I’m generally someone who tries to keep my expectations as low as possible to minimise the likelihood of being disappointed. But I hadn’t expected this scenario.
After several consultations with the tiger and the dog, I walked through the evening streets with only a towel around my hips and slightly disorientated, looking for the car that would save me. Although it had started to drizzle again, it was still far too warm and part of me was very happy to have decided to ditch the trousers and jockstrap and just walk through the streets in a towel. Meanwhile, I made a mental note to myself: „Funny, the Scots were right about wearing nothing under their kilts.“

Who was far less competent was the architect of the hospital we were heading for. There’s no other way to explain why the emergency room was built at the other end of the building complex and not right next to the car entrance to the grounds. Our night-time cruising was only interrupted by the voice of the rainbow dog next to me: „You know, I had hoped never to reach a certain level of friendship.“

He was right.

At some point, I got out early and marched into the hospital on the off-chance, hoping to run into the arms of a doctor faster than having to search endlessly for a parking space. Respect to the lady at the night desk, who didn’t even bat an eyelid when I asked for directions to the emergency room, soaked and with a tight towel around my waist. She had probably seen worse things, or she thought to herself that I was walking exactly where I belonged at that moment and that any excitement would therefore be for nothing. She was so unimpressed by my appearance that she didn’t even notice the trail of blood I left behind me. The medical staff, on the other hand, were very interested in it and my doctor in charge was very happy to hear from me the next morning that it had belonged to me.

Once we arrived at the emergency room, we had to wait, wait and… wait. Instead of acute stress, there was tiredness and exertion in the air and I was surrounded by people with broken arms, headaches, stomach aches and possible smoke inhalation. All in all, my condition was in the region of: This could all have been a lot worse, but it could also have been a lot better.
My mood worsened considerably when I realised that I had no chance of being addressed with the correct form of address without changing my marital status and name. For a brief moment, I thought about correcting the nurse, but then gave in to reality. How likely was it that she would be able to tell me apart from the twenty or thirty other patients moving around the periphery of the ER area? In the end, I wouldn’t just have to correct her, but everyone who called on me in the next few hours, and there were far more than ten of them. Correcting people is exhausting anyway, correcting people while walking around with a bleeding wound is even more so. Nevertheless, I noticed how not only my physical health declined over the course of the evening, but also my mental health.

The only moment I was extremely amused to be misgendered was in the operating theatre when I had to explain to everyone present where my festival wristband came from. My slightly convoluted explanations of what exactly the Chaos Communication Congress was amazed them, they didn’t buy my efforts to explain that the CCC was all about hackers campaigning for data protection. Suddenly I was very happy that in today’s hospitals, there is an absolute division of labour, patients are only asked about their diagnosis and not necessarily where they got it from. Those who already found the CCC adventurous were perhaps not necessarily the kind of people I should be explaining to at 3 am that trans people, the CCC and BDSM felt more like a circle than a venn diagram.

The gynaecologist on the night shift, took my story in stride. Even though she asked surprisingly often whether it had happened just like that or whether a fist or something else might have been responsible for my accident. I answered in the negative. They still had me do a urine test and took more blood. I wasn’t bleeding too much anymore, but I was beginning to wonder when the maximum had been reached and my body would have to cope with the minimum. Apparently, there was still room for improvement, because the doctor took her time to determine the problem…
Pain is a very subjective thing. I thought I had a high pain tolerance ,then I started BDSM and found out I was a sissy. Despite the painkillers, I was inwardly cursing the vein access I had been given and the fact that the doctor was poking around exactly where it hurt the most.

„I didn’t want this much attention tonight,“ I admitted.
My neighbours laughed
„At least not from us… Was it at least worth it?“, asked the doctor.
I briefly considered whether the question was too private, but then decided to answer it. I couldn’t imagine a more socially awkward situation, and the doctor had probably rummaged around in people’s internal organs during her basic training. It could hardly have been more intimate.
„Yes.“
„Did they look good?“
„Yes and no. They had masks on…”
She seemed almost a little disappointed that she didn’t get to hear any juicy details, so I added, „Believe me, from experience, you often don’t necessarily want people to remove the mask.“
Laughter rang out again. At least I made them laugh, so I couldn’t be such a bad patient and my sense of guilt (towards whomsoever) shrank.

At that moment, the gynaecologist announced her results.
The good news: the blood was merely flowing out of me and not into my body.
The bad news: If the tourniquet along with adrenaline didn’t help, I would have to have surgery under general anaesthetic. At that moment I realised two things, firstly at the word „general anaesthetic“ my brain screamed “PANIC” and secondly, having a catheter placed is not as bad as I imagined, but still not pleasant at all. In other words: No new kink unlocked.

Even though I now realise that the vein access hurt on my left side, my wound in the middle and the catheter on my right side. Could this be called the trinity of pain? When the doctor left me, I managed to take a look in a mirror and looked straight into the face of a very tired creature, with very thin hairy legs and a tourniquet around my hips that looked like a loincloth. My protruding veins emphasised the please-call-me-the-scrawniest-Conan-the-barbarian-on-earth look.

In the end, I ended up in the operating theatre. Before that, however, I was parked in a side area of the emergency department. Although I had been given a spacious hospital bed, I still couldn’t sleep. The neon light was too bright and the gasping, coughing and wheezing around me was too loud. My brain didn’t help, “Listen and look, right now you get a flavour of what it means to be old and lonely in this country. Your health will deteriorate, nobody will be left to accompany you, and the nurses are way too busy to care either. Sure, you ever really want to start saving for retirement and get old?”

After four hours, I ended up in the operating theatre. Before that, however, I was wheeled through windowless corridors several times, taken up and down lifts and managed to take off my binder myself despite the catheter and vein access. I mentally added putting on hospital clothes to the long list of painful activities I’ve had to go through in the last few hours. I studiously ignored the red button that I could have pressed to call one of the nurses to help me. For one thing, I was strong and independent and for another, I didn’t feel like explaining to someone else why I was wearing such a tight tank top under my T-shirt. Anyone who continued to misgender me, even though I wrote „permanent medication: testosterone“ on every diagnosis, allergy or admission form, didn’t deserve to help me take off my binder either.

The next fuck-you moment I experienced was when the theatre nurses strapped me to the bed and I briefly considered whether running away wouldn’t be a better idea after all. At the same time, I knew that the likelihood of me losing my catheter or vein access if I tried to escape was quite high, and I didn’t know where I should have fled to. Especially as I was still bleeding… My brain contented itself with a silent rant about my still miserable condition and how this was the wrong context for any form of bondage. Already I was not too fond of it in the bedroom, in the hospital I realised I despised it.

My mood didn’t improve when the surgeon held an oxygen mask over my nose and explained to me, clearly too cheerfully for my liking, that the mask was only for the oxygen and not for the anaesthetic, which I would receive via the venous access. At that moment, I couldn’t really understand his friends, especially when the anaesthetist gave me the first injection, which was supposed to „just make me a bit dizzy“. I don’t know what his definition of „a little“ dizziness was, but I was glad I was lying in a bed, because my reality started to tilt and I couldn’t tell up from down. I could still see the second injection being given and nothing after that.
The next thing I knew, someone was pushing me through the corridors again. When I opened my eyes, the anaesthetist from before was standing in front of me, „The operation is over and went well.“ As always, my brain was faster than anything else in my body, „You know what, you should thank him. He did a good job and just because you can’t stand hospitals to death doesn’t mean he was to blame for your accident.“
Not gonna lie, I can’t remember the order in which I croaked out the phrases, „Good morning, thank you and actually I’m doing pretty well“; I was only told later that I had apparently managed it twice.

I spent the next few hours sleeping, without any strange anaesthetic dreams, which was all I needed. Nevertheless, my body wasn’t good at ‚relaxing‘ for long. So began the endless game of:

I opened my eyes, stared at a white wall, and then closed them again.
I opened my eyes, stared at a white wall, and then closed them again.
I opened my eyes, stared at a white wall, and noticed a cup of tea and rusks next to me… From the smell, though, it was camomile tea, which I didn’t like, and the rusk was probably not gluten-free… Therefore I closed my eyes again.
The fourth time I opened my eyes and my best friend was sitting in front of me. A definite improvement, the tea and rusk hadn’t been put away yet. Suddenly I was very keen to leave the hospital as soon as possible, unfortunately, I was the only one.

My circulation had other plans. I was supposed to use the bathroom on my own as a discharge test, but of course my body was not up to the task. The floor tilted, I got cold and sweat poured down my face. Never before had I been so glad that a toilet was designed for disabled people because the handles next to me saved me from a rough landing on the floor tiles at that moment. By now my ankles were white from clutching and I had no idea how to get to grips with the problem. I wouldn’t die, not while I was sitting on the toilet, but the situation was still not pleasant. One option was to lie on the floor and lift my legs up, but was that such a good idea? Did I want to know how many people had already thrown up on this floor? And when was the last time it had been cleaned? I feverishly looked for one of those A4-sized word tables in which the last cleaning was entered in public toilets. No such thing.

I would have to explain my situation when the nurse came back at the latest.
At that moment, there was a knock, „Are you OK?
„Yes?“, I replied and stumbled towards the door.
„Oh my goodness“, was the comment on my condition and a few minutes later I fell back into my bed and was hooked up to a drip. With a „I’m glad I hadn’t removed the venous access yet“, and a subsequent, „You know, that wasn’t really surprising, you’ve lost a lot of blood“, she rushed off again.

Slowly, I began to fully understand the relativity of statements made by hospital staff: „The operation is over and went well“ meant „congratulations, you’re alive and there were no acute life-threatening complications“. My best friend commented on my condition with an accurate: „Wow, you look like shit“, and then turned his attention curiously to the contents of my drip. It turns out that saline solution can work wonders, which is why an hour later I was sitting in my best friend’s car, overjoyed and devouring three rolls of foccacia.

Reading British (online) media is no longer a delicate matter, but rather a white-water ride. Often it’s down to the way journalism reports on issues, more often it’s down to the current socio-political discourse in the country. So I shouldn’t have been surprised when the headline jumped out at me one day: „Sexual choking is now so common that many young people don’t think it even requires consent. That’s a problem.“ 

Surprisingly, the article was well written: Short, simple, and most importantly, the topic of the article was not how „unnatural“ BDSM practices are, but on how consent was lacking. After that, however, I fell down a rabbit hole, because not only was consent lacking in the majority, but there were additional health issues. After the twenty-page study, I started to ponder:

An online survey in the USA revealed that „21% of women and 11% of men ages 18 to 60 had ever been choked during sex and 12% of women and 20% of men had ever choked a partner during Sex“. For me this meant that this kink is heavenly gendered, which somehow leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I have nothing against gender, it’s a product of our society, but in the end I always find it suspicious when certain things are very dependent on gender. It’s enough for me that there are still regions or kink communities where dominance is associated with men and submission is still associated with women, I don’t need gender-dependent kinks.

In my opinion, it is all the more ironic that if choking occurred during masturbation or solo kink sessions, it is also heavenly gendered, but with a (sad) twist. A different study analysed all deaths due to hanging or ligature in the name of autoeroticism from 1954 to 2004 and it turns out: the ratio of men and women was 21 to 7. I was surprised by the huge discrepancy, as „hard“ sex practices are certainly associated with dominance and masculinity, but still… Dear men, please get a play partner who will keep an eye on you while you engage in breath play.

Speaking of partners, the main inspiration for engaging in “choking” as a sex practice was pornography itself or the partner, who watched porn that featured choking. Funnily enough, the big American companies that also produce pornography, among other things, prohibit real strangulation on set for insurance reasons… Acting or simulation is used instead. That’s one of the problems because when you’re acting, nobody looks at what or how you strangulate. 

What fascinated me most was my cognitive dissonance. Why? There are kinks that I have tried only to realise that they did nothing for me in the moment: One such example would be Impact Play. At the same time, these kinks remain kinks for me. They denote a specific action, in a specific context, and since I don’t live a 24/7 dynamic, they don’t appear in my everyday life. It was different with choking. There was suddenly a specific action that for many people only took place in a specific context and my experience was fundamentally different. For me, „choking“ also existed in a specific context, only until then it had never been the BDSM club or the bedroom, but the dojo. To put it polemically: I got choked several times a week since I was thirteen years old. Moreover, I also got to choke people and honestly, I was quite good at it. 

But to be honest, it’s one thing to perform an act to win a fight and score points for your team and something completely different to perform the same act for sexual satisfaction. As soon as I thought longer about how different the two contexts are and what the consequences are. Both for men and women (all the studies were cisgendered) and for the viewers or the audience.

Choking as erotic play

There are certainly countless reasons why people find strangulation exciting: Violence in a consensual setting, gender dynamics, endorphins, a sense of adventure, love for a partner, etc. Apart from the gendered violence just discussed, let’s take a closer look at the individual aspects and consequences:

(Non) consensual violence: Regardless of how risky you want your BDSM to be; choking is one of the kinks that, at first glance, carries a greater health risk. At first glance, this is because a bare-handed blow to the bum could also be fatal if it detaches an aneurysm. At the same time, I would consider choking with the hands to be safer than breath play with belts, scarves, chains, collars or gags. Controlling your own hands is often easier than hands and a foreign object that the dominant person also has to control.

Furthermore, various side effects can occur, but do not necessarily have to, such as coughing, difficulty with swallowing or breathing, vision changes, eyes tearing up and passing out. In my opinion, a bigger problem is the internal damage that can occur, which of course cannot be seen. Nevertheless, another study has discovered the following: A total of 57 women had their brain functions analysed with the help of an MRI, for 23 of them, choking was part of their sex life and it showed: „[…] frequent exposure to partnered sexual strangulation is associated with different neural activation patterns during verbal and visual working memory tasks compared to controls, suggesting that being choked/strangled during sex may modify the allocation of neural resources at increasing levels of cognitive load.“

In other words, there could be a connection between choking and stages of deteriorating mental health, but not necessarily. Further studies are recommended at this point. For me, the question arises as to what extent aftercare was part of the practice in the choking couples, because from my personal experience I can say that the absence or presence of post-sex cuddling determines the status of my psyche and mood.

The age (question): Many official kink events and clubs have an age limit and for good reason. Nevertheless, I am sure that due to relevant pornography websites, TikTok or such mass phenomena as the Choking Game, minors are already practicing BDSM, in the worst case without even knowing it. A solid educational programme would help here. Especially if they are not led by the school’s teaching staff, but by professionals who are not affiliated with the school. There are plenty of organisations… otherwise I shamelessly recommend this educational website, it literally saved my arse a few times by now.

…the location: One of the reasons why sexual strangulation is probably more dangerous than that in sport is that it takes place in private (closed) spaces. On the one hand, a closed room offers privacy, but on the other hand, this privacy can also become a problem, especially when individual actions are no longer consensual. In addition, most of the time, the dynamic also involves only two people instead of two, plus judges, teammates, coaches and audience. A medical team is also rarely present in your own home or even in the dungeon…

Different strokes for different folks: Your limits, your negotiations, your consensuality, apart from that there aren’t really any limits to Breath Play? Therefore whatever floats your boat.

The Goal: The goal is erotic pleasure. For the one who chokes or for the one who gets choked or both. If it is neither of you, you are doing something wrong, at least in my eyes. Maybe you’re more the kink type who does everything just for the endorphins, but even then it’s a positive end result.

Choking as (a part of) sport

The same plot in a completely different context, let’s have a closer look:

Tender gender: While more and more women and marginalised genders are discovering self-defence or competitive sports for themselves, I am very sure that combat sports in particular will continue to be dominated by cis men. In addition, tournaments are always differentiated by weight and gender or sex. If you ignore these general conditions, anyone can choke in judo (and similar sports). Unfortunately, I don’t know whether choking techniques are more common in the men’s or women’s category. 

Finally 13! Funnily enough, the training guidelines mean that all people over the age of 13 have to learn certain chokes. This is partly due to the competition regulations and partly due to the examination content for the various belt levels that are tested. To all concerned parents who are already thinking about how to explain BDSM to their child, various martial arts can prepare them for this. You learn respect, self-confidence and the basic things to remember during choking. In contrast to the private bedroom, there are actually rules here.

Rules rule the sport: Depending on the martial art, there are differences in what and which chokes are permitted. Judo as a purely competitive sport is relatively harmless, but the general rule is: keep your fingers and arm bends away from the Adam’s apple and don’t apply pressure to the front of the neck. A big no-no, don’t do it under any circumstances!

In Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu or MMA, for example, it’s a completely different story; techniques are taught here that would get you eliminated from the tournament in judo. 

Regardless of which sport you choose, it still means: train, train, train, because unlike sex, your opponent doesn’t just defend themselves a little or for fun, they don’t want to be choked. However, a lack of cooperation also means that the risk of injury increases for both parties. Consequently, at least in theory, every move should be in place before you throw yourself into the fray. However, I can reassure you that the likelihood of stranglers being used in a fight is very unlikely. This has a lot to do with the fact that stand-up fighting is always favoured over ground fighting in competitions. Not only does it look more spectacular, it is also easier for the judges to judge. 

Suck it up buttercup: Well, consent is an interesting concept if it comes to fighting sports. By stepping onto the tatami (fighting mat) you are simply agreeing to get beaten up within a set of rules. If you don’t want to get beaten up… you shouldn’t do fighting sports. It is that simple.

The place to be: Well, you can argue that a dojo is a private and also a closed room with many people in it. A gymnasium or a stadium is certanly not. In addition, if you fight normaly you trainer, team mates, and several referees including casual audience is watching you. If you fuck up the rules, some will notice and the consequences are not pretty!

It is all about the… Winning! If you start a fight, the aim is to win it. A fair fight is a good thing, but unfortunately the fighting rules are not strict enough to prevent you from using them to your own advantage on one occasion or another. Either way, to win a fight you have to fight and sometimes „choking“ is part of that.

All in all, this collection of thoughts can be summarised with context is key. The same action does not always have the same goal or the same meaning. That being said, I recommend everyone to do a few years of martial arts. It increases your self-confidence and you learn a lot about yourself and your body.

PS: The day will come when the links in my text will no longer work, so here are the studies listed again:

Contos, Chanel: Sexual choking is now so common that many young people don’t think it even requires consent. That’s a problem, in: The Guardian, https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2022/dec/08/sexual-choking-is-now-so-common-that-many-young-people-dont-think-it-even-requires-consent-thats-a-problem (24.06.24). 

Herbenick, Debby; Guerra‑Reyes, Lucia; Patterson, Callie et al. “It Was Scary, But Then It Was Kind of Exciting”: Young Women’s Experiences with Choking During Sex. Arch. Sex. Behav. 2022; 51:1103–1123. doi: 10.1007/s10508-021-02049-x.

Huibregtse, Megan E.; Alexander, Isabella L.; Klemsz, Lillian M. et al. Frequent and Recent Non-fatal Strangulation/Choking During Sex and Its Association With fMRI Activation During Working Memory Tasks. Front. Behav. Neurosci. 2022;16. doi: 10.3389/fnbeh.2022.881678.

Sauvageau, Anny; Racette, Stéphanie. Autoerotic deaths in the literature from 1954 to 2004: a review. J Forensic Sci. 2006;51(1):140-6. doi: 10.1111/j.1556-4029.2005.00032.x.

Team Scarletteen: https://www.scarleteen.com (24.06.24). 

Guess that is a classic example of how to fuck up as an organization. You want to host a sex party for a lot of people but aren’t considering that those people also want to feel safe and on different levels. Moreover, they also wanted to make absolutely no effort or compromise to make people feel safe.
“Well, at least I know now which parties I won’t attend in the future until they make some attempts to reconsider their ethics and practices. Despite that, I agree which second outfit?! I don’t even really have one…”
Although our conversation turned back to other topics shortly afterwards, the story left a lasting impression on me. Apparently, there was a group of people out there who owned several outfits for sex or kink parties. More than that, they took it for granted and then there were people like me who continued to search more or less desperately. What were the differences?

Clothing or fashion can influence our self-image or the image of others, it can highlight or conceal certain physical features and depending on the form or material, it changes how we perceive, move or feel in our bodies. Actually, these are all very important aspects that, at least in my opinion, are not talked about enough. Personally, I have only heard discussions about „kink fashion“ either through dress codes for special parties or in the D/S area when it was about symbols of a dom-sub relationship. All in all, maybe a topic that gets too little attention?
Which would surprise me, because not only queer people might have problems with gender roles and the associated expectations in connection with fashion. Every person who falls outside the norm of beauty, is disabled or has sensory issues should at least have dealt more deeply with fetish clothing. I, for example, know of a maximum of three online shops that sell sizes in XXXL and have no idea how to make latex or leather trousers for one-legged people or for people who sit in wheelchairs. Presumably, all of these people fall into the „custom-made“ category anyway, nevertheless, it would be nice if (kinky) people would at least talk about it. So let’s talk about problems that generally cross my path in connection with fetish clothing.

Financing

Kink outfits cost money, especially custom-made ones. Sure, good leather lasts forever and tailoring is definitely handicraft work that should be paid, but that doesn’t help poor people or people in training at university. If you only have a very tight monthly budget that you can dispose of freely, then even long savings plans are difficult or impossible to implement. Ebay or second-hand shops become a best friend, but only for those who want to spend the time and effort to stroll or browse online or offline on a regular basis. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, you can find things at flea markets or on Ebay, you should never search.
If I’m honest, to this day I’m not sure to what extent companies actually charge perverts extra just because an item of clothing is suddenly available in a sex shop.

Aesthetics

There is exactly one thing I am grateful to 50 Schades of Grey for: It has „socially allowed“ many cis women and provided a way for them to come to terms with their sexual fantasies and possibly turn them into reality. What I’m not grateful to 50 Schades of Grey for is that the series cemented a very particular aesthetic even more. Anything that doesn’t look red, black or gothic is already out of line. On the one hand, I can understand the inclination towards the specific aesthetic, because in general, kink, BDSM or fetishes continue to be associated with the demonic, dark, mysterious or wicked. More than that, vampires are simply sexy, I personally can’t and wouldn’t want to change that. On the other hand, I find the visual framing a little narrow-minded? By now there are enough vampires who no longer walk around in Victorian dresses or tails, and by now the kink communities have become so differentiated that Littles, Middles, Pups, Clowns and other groups definitely have more than three or two colours in their wardrobe.

Bodily Assets

Back to the topic of the body. Kink or sex parties are not a regular part of everyday life for many people and are rather something special. I would argue that many people dress up for such events and think about what they wear. In case of doubt, it’s clothes that make you feel good about your body and go hand in hand with a certain attractiveness.

In such moments, as a trans man pre-op, I can only laugh, because it feels like I can only lose. While in everyday life I can save myself on the worst days with straight jeans, a binder and a hoodie, it looks rather bad at kink parties. Unless I make an effort to actively hide my physical attributes, they show exactly one thing, that I am not a cis man. I have no problem with that in that I actually like my body. What I have more of a problem with is running the risk of having to come out to everyone I talk to. Unfortunately, coming out still comes with potential emotional strain and if there’s one thing I don’t like at parties, it’s additional emotional strain when I’m already in an environment that’s unfamiliar to me. Clothing options for cis men also fall flat:

– Harness? (May depend on the exact shape and which parts of the body it emphasises).
– Trousers or shorts that are penis accentuated? (I have neither a penis nor a packer… Especially as now a rhetorical question: Why the hell is so much male kink fashion focused on the penis?)

Add to that the aspect of „easy access“, who wants to half-change twice on the dance floor or before or after a scene just to straighten their outfit? I tend not to.

Dream a little dream

If I’m honest, it’s generally due to a lack of finances that I have to improvise something before every party. I have no shortage of inspiration, especially in this age of the internet. Ironically, I didn’t even need the internet. My mother had laid out enough fashion magazines with me as a young child, plus I had a very brief, very passionate phase for film and music posters, so my brain was soon looking to every imaginable genre for ideas.
Among them were the old Spaghetti Western posters from the Dollar Trilogy. I was sure I didn’t necessarily want to embody that kind of masculinity, but a pair of leather chaps was definitely sexy enough in my mind to add them to a long wish list. That being said, did Clint Eastwood or The Man with No Name ever wear leather chaps? I don’t know, until the day I sat brooding on the underground about fetish outfits, that question didn’t seem vital either.

David Bowie seemed like another good option, in the beginning… when I dug deeper into the material, I quickly realized no Bowie wasn’t a good option. Too much fabric and way too much volume for a crowded dance floor.
Vivienne Westwood was another icon that came to mind, but her style also turned out to be too avant-garde. I wouldn’t be able to walk in high heels, nor did I get the impression that kinky people were passionate lovers of deconstructed fashion.
For a few seconds, a very old band poster of Tokio Hotel flickered across my mind. But the second it entered my mind, I also pushed it away. No, memories of an unhealthy youth were not what I needed at the moment.
The last and (in my opinion) best option I found in Prince. We share the same height; I like his style and some of his outfits were flashy but at the same time not as experimental as Westwood’s creations. I could get something out of it…

As usual, I don’t know if there is a conclusion or a final thought. Maybe, organizations or groups should be aware of possible impairment that some people could face? Or that people should own their faults and try to do better? Or that kink is very much individual and shouldn’t follow any unwritten rules or fulfil any “common” expectation?

What did we need?

Massage Candle, Ice cubes, lots of towels, matches, we didn’t have one of those mini fire extinguishers which I would like to have in the future just because: safety first.

What did we go for?

Wanted to go for an indulging feeling. I got the massage and I would enjoy it as such.

What did we do before?

Even though my significant other and I have some paraffin-soy candles, I wanted to try an even lighter version for the massage. Which for me meant taking a whole range of possible options off the shop shelf and putting them back again, because a good 99 % of massage candles, much like scented candles, don’t smell, but rather give me instant headaches.

We didn’t negotiate much beforehand since it was much more of a trying out and go with the flow than an actual scene with intricate power exchanges. The only thing we talked about was which body parts and limbs were allowed to come into contact with the wax and ice cubes and which were not (for now).

We did it!

Although my partner and I assured each other at least three times beforehand that we could stop at any time if something wasn’t right (anymore) or adjust things at any time, I was still nervous. I had always had the habit of playing with the still warm wax of blown-out candles as a small child, but to what extent it would be the same, I could not judge.

Turns out, it is absolutely not the same and I was glad that I went for the massage candle because the first drop felt well, hot. It was a similar feeling as when I used to stand under the pleasantly warm shower and suddenly someone in the kitchen turned on the tap… and that was the interesting part, after a few times of changing between candle and ice cubes I wasn’t able anymore to tell the difference. It was a burning sensation either way.

Apparently, my significant other did go for patterns, just to give me an idea what was to come, which was really nice of him… Unfortunately, I was too busy with breathing and didn’t get that at all. Nonetheless, we went for a round two, which was a step up in every way: Heat, cold and the body parts that were targeted. I would never have guessed in my life that getting fucked with ice cubes is a turn on for me… especially since I am more of a “heat person” temperature wise. How long did it take us in total? No idea… it is odd how your perception of time changes, when you are in some kind of scene.

Thoughts about…

For me the most interesting part was to get an idea of the concept „This is really bad, but actually I don’t want to stop here yet. How do we cope now?“ The best solution my brain came up with was the box breathing methods, which worked just fine. In fact, it worked so well that my partner asked about it in between because I had apparently become very quiet. I didn’t get any more talkative in round two either, except for occasional hand signals. Too few for him, for me they were already a big challenge. Focusing on breathing can be really exhausting. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I was actually in subspace. It felt more like getting tattooed while gritting one’s teeth because nobody wants to hear six hours of whining.

Another part that stuck with me (in hindsight) was that oil and cold water are fluid, so they tend to develop a life of their own… by which I mean they move due to gravity and my stomach just doesn’t like huge temperature differences. Unlike my genitals, how the hell am I supposed to explain that to others? – „I enjoy being fucked with ice cubes…“, probably that would be the best way, as it’s very straightforward. Maybe I could use more polite words, but apart from that.

Which I enjoyed more than I actually wanted to admit. Why? As someone who tends to dislike aristocrats and old nobility, it’s hard not to feel the same way when the scent you’re rubbed with is called „A Trip to Athens“. Greek baths simply have a certain aesthetic and since I am a person who functions mainly through aesthetics….

The final round-up:

All in all, a good start for light masochism, especially if you might not be the biggest fan of impact play. Or the latter is not possible for professional reasons, due to possible markings.  What you should really pay attention to, however, is that you don’t have any contact allergies to any ingredients. I don’t know of any massage candles that are „anti-allergenic“ and I know several people for whom that is already a criterion for exclusion.

Regardless of this, my personal suggestion for improvement to myself would be to work more on non-verbal communication. So far I had not needed it, but I already realise that it would be practical for the future to have this skill.

Germany and its bureaucracy fetish

If I were ever to draw a satirical comic about Germany, there would definitely be a chapter set in a gigantic waiting room where the ghosts of the dead wait to be allowed to die. Why aren’t they allowed to die yet? Their relatives haven’t been able to put together the correct paperwork for the death certificate… It is impressive how much paperwork a deceased person can cause. In order to have a death certificate issued in Germany, you have to submit all the documents that provide information about your personal status: Death certificate, identity card, birth certificate, adoption certificate, marriage certificate (family register), divorce certificate, death certificate of your partner.

If you got married or divorced abroad, please have it certified. Also, if your partner died abroad, please try to apply for a certificate that is valid in Germany. Why? If you have something to bequeath and your marital status is unclear, the inheritance will be locked. If necessary, it will be locked forever, Germany is very strict about that. I got to know cases that now have to be processed by a notary.

If, in the course of life, the assigned gender is changed to one’s own, only a document on the change of first name (and surname, if applicable) has to be presented, provided that the preceding civil status documents (birth, etc.) have not been changed subsequently. Gender entries do not play a role for death certificates. If a person dies and nothing has been officially changed, it is unfortunately not possible to have a death certificate issued in the new name. Even versions in two different names (old and new) are not possible.

For people who have more than one partner: Powers of attorney are your weapon of choice. Because, let’s face it, it may be an indefinite period of time before the „Institut der Verantwortungsgemeinschaft“ project is actually legally and politically implemented.

Despite the German bureaucracy fetish: Being kinky and being dead still doesn’t fully comply 

In recent years, a lot has changed with regard to the funeral system. The word „self-determination“ resonates with more and more people every year. Especially in large cities in northern Germany, the traditional funeral homes are realizing that they might need to update their working philosophy: The chapel is exchanged for the community room of the youth centre, the heavy oak coffin becomes a purple urn made of felt and the content of the eulogy is more secular than biblical.

Nothing legally or logistically stands in the way of a farewell party in the local dungeon (in the presence of the deceased), explicit funeral orations or kinky design of the coffin. It may sound harsh, but in the end, funeral directors are only service providers. If they work professionally, they fulfil their customers‘ wishes to the best of their ability.

Despite all this, some laws cannot be changed and the dress code for the deceased, regardless of whether they are cremated or buried, throws a spanner in the works of many kinksters…

Being cremated 

Thanks to technical progress, the incineration and filter systems of crematoria are also becoming increasingly efficient. Materials whose combustion could develop pollutants are nevertheless prohibited. These include: Rubber (caoutchouc), organochlorine polymers (PVC), neoprene, latex and spandex. If you have been toying with the idea of being cremated in your pup hood or latex suit, I’m sorry to disappoint you. Motorbike helmets or the shoulder pads from American football are rejected for reasons of space.

Perhaps you will be comforted by the legal alternatives such as: Fur, leather, cotton, linen, wool, silk, corn starch, polyolefins and polyester. Uniforms, national costumes, BMX jerseys and leather clogs are therefore allowed.

Why polyester is allowed and PVC (and all other rubber-like materials) is not? I don’t know, to be honest. Presumably the only pivotal point here is the production of pollutants? Because polyester melts when it is burnt…

To what extent the bodysuits with fur print are allowed, I can’t assess. This falls into the large grey area that each crematorium can decide for itself. If in doubt, either call the funeral director or the crematorium.

At this point, however, I would like to point out that the bodies of the deceased are not necessarily flexible, and their skin becomes damp during the process. This is mainly due to the temperature differences between the cold room and the washroom, consequently condensation forms. Anyone who has ever dried themselves badly after a shower and then wanted to put on a pair of skinny jeans knows how badly this works. Leather is in no way inferior to denim. As I said, funeral directors are service providers, and they will fulfil your wishes, but you will probably not become the funeral director’s „favourite deceased“. Moreover, if someone is cremated and the relatives are not present and want to look into the coffin again, the second post-mortem examination is carried out shortly before the cremation. A doctor looks at the deceased person again to make sure that the body has not been changed in between. For this purpose, the body must be naked, however, if a deceased person has been accompanied, they are undressed again. In most cases, the clothes are simply put back into the coffin and the body is cremated naked. The clothes merely decoration…  Incidentally, this is a topic of conversation that many funeral directors deliberately do not mention. If you want to know how the company handles this second post-mortem, you should ask them about it by yourself.

Being buried in a casket or coffin 

The same rules apply to burials in the ground, any material that could disturb the decomposition process or the groundwater is prohibited.

A dead giftaway

Grave goods are by no means „out of fashion“, rather the opposite. Many undertakers actively encourage relatives to include mementos of the deceased’s lifetime in the coffin. Although these are often small objects, they too must not produce any harmful substances, provided they are dissolved.

Materials that are not a problem in a cremation:

• Leather (percussion, collars, harness etc.)
• Paper (letters, photos, books, drawings)
• Thin chains (made of metal)

However, there is much more to say on the subject of metal, except: Go for it, if you want. Anyone who has paid attention to chemistry knows that metals do not burn, but melt. The whole thing gets even more complicated because each metal has its own melting point. The average temperature of a cremation oven changes during the burning process, but on average it is between 900–1300° C. It all depends on the person. It all depends on the person… Regardless of the temperature, after 60 minutes all organic matter has turned to ash. The remaining metal (implants, dental fillings, jewellery) is sorted out of the remains with the help of a magnet and recycled. Depending on the crematorium, the proceeds are donated to various charitable causes. However, not every metal will melt… While silver (960.8° C), gold (1064° C) and copper (1084° C) will most likely be sold on as lumps, steel (1375–1510° C depending on the type), platinum (1768° C) and titanium (1795° C) are a different story. I strongly suspect that Collar rings and especially Eternity Collars will be unaffected by the heat. Now, whether you decide to put it in the cremation coffin or not is up to you. I am merely finishing my thoughts.

By the way, pacemakers, catheters, hearing aids or access devices are removed by nurses or the undertakers themselves. Under no circumstances should they be incinerated, as there is a risk of explosion. Which brings us to the following point…

Materials that are very much a problem in a cremation: Silicone, glass and plastic/PVC.

Silicon doesn’t break down ever. It doesn’t burn, it doesn’t rot. It does turn into goo, if heated up, and no technology likes that. Because of that, most sex toys and silicone implants aren’t allowed as grave goods or need to be removed.

With glass, on the other hand, I was surprised, I had expected it to be allowed, but I was wrong. Apparently, glass contains gases that could possibly (also) lead to explosions if heated too much. Most likely it depends on the size of the object, because glasses are allowed after all.

Plastic/PVC I think is self-explanatory… it melts and generally just causes trouble.

But the soil… 

In general, the same applies to burial in the ground, whether urn or coffin, as to the dress code. Anything that could disturb the decomposition of the corpse or the quality of the groundwater or soil is not allowed. Metal jewellery and anything made of paper works, but electronic devices are taboo. Since urn graves are much smaller than coffin graves, I tend to advise small items here.

If you have special wishes, you can ask the cemetery politely; some tend to interpret the law. Exception: cemeteries in the forest, also known as „Friedwald“, „Ewigforst“ or „Ruhewald“, are quite strict about soil quality. They will tend to say no.

All in all who said planning a funeral is easy? I hope this blog post could at least shed a little light on this.

Years later, I learned that there are two terms for strap-on sex. One is the one I just mentioned, and the other is the word „pegging“. Which apparently refers to the specific description of anal sex by a straight couple, where the woman wears the strap on dildo.

To this day, I only cognitively understand why an extra word was invented for straight couples to describe almost the same sexual practices as strap on or anal sex, but the former was probably too queer and anal sex considered too gay for the 20th century. Sometimes I wonder why queer people are always accused of wanting a special treatment… Yes, queers invent new words, but first we invent new words because they didn’t exist beforehand and second of all we don’t steal from others and reclaimed as something that queers invented.

What did we need?   

A strap on, dildo with a flare, lube, a partner or partners, patience, a positive mental attitude, curiosity, muscle strength, endurance and lots of towels.

Since I just wanted to try it and maybe go further practicing, I didn’t invest in a luxury item. The basic strap on made of fabric does a good job so far. The same goes for the dildo, nothing spectacular here just a plain silicone dildo without any bullet vibe, artificial cum, girth or other amenities.  

What did we go for?  

Honestly, just having a good time. I don’t mix first times.

What did we do before? 

My significant other cleaned out, and I tried to get into the mood. Which was even more difficult than usual this time. I’m someone who rarely relaxes, or relaxes very slowly, and when there’s another ‚first time‘ ahead of me, it looks particularly bad. I thought about candles, but that seemed a bit too cheesy, and the dimmed light was perfectly sufficient for me. What came next was foreplay, which at least relaxed my partner and brought me back to reality and reminded me of my goal: „having a good time.“ Even my body started to have feelings, especially when the own partner starts to worship, lick, suck, and deep throat your cock in every way possible.

At this point my gender confusion went through the roof and closing my eyes to just concentrate on the sensation wasn’t really an option, because then I would have had to break eye contact with the sweet doggy eyes that were looking at me from below. At some point the positions changed, and he was lying on his back, and I was sitting between his legs. All I will say is, that already fingering someone feels awesome, and now I know why dildos for the anus should always have a flair. I would not have thought it, but it really is a sucking motion. Although I still don’t know why because its primary function is still getting things out of the body…

We did it! 

As a big side note: Yes, communication should always be the key to every relationship and social interaction in our lives, but sometimes you really have to think about even the smallest thing. For example, turning one of your fingers, while trying to stretch your partner. According to his reaction, it wasn’t the smartest idea to just do it. Worse, turning it right back without any announcement instead of pulling it out.

Despite that small incident, we both enjoyed it. It wasn’t the hot panting, moaning, deep thrusting that you see in porn. It was much more of a genuine and exciting how do we figure things out? Where are the legs going? Which position is most sustainable for my spaghetti arms? What’s the best way to get the thrusting motion, right? Lots of questions that probably will get settled over time and more practice.

Thoughts about the gender fuckery

Putting the strap-on on was weird. My brain couldn’t deal with the fact that suddenly my genitalia changed without any warning or transition. Excitement, amazement, confusion and then panic. Not due to the physicality of having a dick, but because of the implications.

Let me explain… as a bad copy of a trans man that is still halfway in the closet, I was raised as a girl. Unfortunately, the societal narrative for girls, young women and grown ass adults: Men aren’t safe. Of course, that’s not true, but at the same time, most of the media even today fails to present positive masculinity or teaching men to actual feel feelings. They also fail to deconstruct these expectations of “BEING A MAN”. Some of them even continue to serve the perfect breeding ground for stoic men that who one day need a nervous breakdown, only to realize that they no longer want to and can live their previous lives. Men are also suffering, but while they are suffering most of them still have more power than women and other marginalized genders and there is no symbol on earth that is as associated with male power as is the penis (I really wish the voice of trans people would be more present, but we are getting there…)

Having one opened a little window for me into the world of power and the feeling of being able to do anything… even if the moment lasted only seconds, it scared the shit out of me. I hate the feeling of having power, and by that I don’t mean that I can’t take responsibility. I enjoy planning, managing and making decisions. Furthermore, I just don’t want to have it all, especially if it includes other individuals. There are individuals, who want to be taken care of, who want to be dominated/owned/handled etc. This blog is (also) a documentation of my process of becoming more dominant. Clusterfuck aside, I now realize why some cis male teenagers love taking bad photos of their penises. Complete overconfidence in their appearance, character and photographic skills.

Thoughts about the physicality 

Getting my dick sucked and then fucking someone with it was an interesting, sensational experience. The strap-on gives me the feeling of having a dick and gives me the required control of navigating it, but of course it doesn’t have nerves. Which leads to disconnection between my optical nerve and my brain. While my eyes were screaming “arousing!” my brain ran against a wall. The only feeling that I had was the joy of gender fuckery (after I overcame the seconds of panic) and the satisfaction of finally being a bit more active than usual. It got even better at the second time because we changed positions: from arm strain to more strain on the legs and torso.

Last but not least, the lube question. Lube preferences are like bra preferences, everybody has their own favorite lube and all I can say, the one that we used was incredibly thick and sticky. Which is great for the purpose, and it did an excellent job, I also know now why people sometimes prefer thinner plant or oil-based lubes or grease. I think, I could be one of them… especially the plant-based ones sound tempting, because I really hate having oily or sticky fingers.

The final round-up: 

All in all, I would say: more strap-on sex for everyone! Especially because of its versatility, you can change the dick, the strap on, it is accessible for all genders, and it also provides nice opportunities within kink. Being locked in a chastity cage and have to fuck the own partner with a strap-on, nice idea. The only things I would complain about would be:

First, if you want to have cum, you will have to pay for it. I was surprised how expensive fluids can be…

Second, I didn’t really come up with a sexy way of putting the strap-on one, maybe there is one? At the moment, there are still a few seconds of feeling stuck in a phone loop for both of us. Hard packing could be an option, but it seems rather inconvenient.

Third, the clean-up. Yes, it’s also more of a general thing, but what shall I say…. I really hate sticky fingers…

Fourth, with everything you have to practice, practice and practice and be patient. All things I’m terrible at, but what don’t you do for yourself (and your partner[s]).

The strange thing is, I shouldn’t have a problem with that, should I? How I live my life, is my private business and as long as the basic rules apply like: be discreet, don’t kink shame and support the community everything should be fine, but somehow it isn’t.

Something bothers me. My voice in my head tells me it should be different. The majority of people I have met in the community are kinky and queer. Why am I not, and why am I once again haunted by my own Impostor Syndrome, which not only questions my new hobby, but also my entire identity?

Is there a rough tendency why people see BDSM either as an identity or as a hobby? From the perspective of sexuality, I only know the argumentation from people for whom their sexuality is not the centre of their life. Yes, they sleep with other genders than heterosexuality provides, but they are definitely not queer! Why not? The community and therefore the community engagement doesn’t exist…. there is not even an agenda to sign up to.

Most of the time I got the impression during such conversations that these people wanted to separate themselves in order to keep the illusion of being „completely normal“. Hetero-, cis- or endo- normativity are easy to live with… the rest means so much more resilience.

None of this applies to my relationship with kink. I am lucky to live in a very liberal (even) kinky environment. So there is no social or political pressure. Maybe I am just wired differently in that sense, that I am not fully wired differently just a bit. Or it’s actually just that my own curiosity pushed me over the edge, and I simply found that kink is far more exciting than many other hobbies? That would re-establish the first self-description I came up with: vanilla with sprinkles.

But when does doing kink change into being kinky? Is it just the neurons, the hormones, the job, the environment, the luck of having already found one’s own BDSM identity? A little bit of everything? The more I think about it, the more I know that my pivot is identity. While I have been living with active gender-confusion for half a decade and my sexuality has meandered between all of them for just as long, kink is still a very new aspect of my life.

I know now that if I were already denied the opportunity for medical transition forever, I would suffer negative consequences from it. Even if I transition, there will be this awkward time in which I will have to manually change my name at every company that wants to address me personally like banks, insurances, fitness studios, telephone contracts etc. My favorite will always be the difficult question, if I should out myself already during the job interview or stay in the closet to make thigs easier.

Same goes with demisexuality, while considering myself asexual I wasn’t seen as a full adult neither by society nor by people that were slightly older than me. As a demisexual you just don’t get taken seriously in the dating world and during conversations. Instead of accepting that it takes some folks longer than other to find out how compatible they are with a partner, they call you in the best case “sensitive”. It would be interesting, if I could get a glimpse into the future just enough to figure out how my relationship to kink evolved if I ever figured out my place and comfort zone within the BDSM world.

“Honey, it’s called a switch”, he answered as soon as I finished my lamentation about feeling lost while being wrapped into his bed sheets. My raised eyebrow, however, made him quickly correct himself. „Of course, it is much more complex.”, he finished.

Pleased with his own rescue manoeuvre I moved on; the thoughts stayed. For weeks… There are those moments as a (baby) kinkster when the initial euphoria turns into utter frustration. All the new impressions, ideas, wishes and fantasies don’t want to stop, but you must start somewhere. But how?

I think in most cases it starts with two people and the activity that they want to do. At least I got started like that and that was also the point where the questioning began: Top, bottom, verse, sub, dominant, switch and brat. If there’s one thing I can’t do, it’s stand up confidently, pick a label and shout „switch, I choose you!“. I tried anyway and what came out was more of a „gotta catch ‚em all“. I’ve been stuck ever since, which is annoying at best and emotionally triggering at worst. Especially when everyone in my local scene seems to have figured out their stuff long before I even thought about getting into a relationship at all. Yet being afraid is “rationally” bullshit, but for my brain unfortunately a common mode of operation. So let’s deconstruct my whole identity-tohuwabohu…

First of all, what are labels and what are they for? Usually, labels are words that describe concepts or ideas that lived or resembled by people. Sometimes labels also describe the now purple mass that has been sitting in your fridge for months and no one dares to touch the jar, but that’s not what we’re talking about today.

Since labels are often very short, they should help shorten lengthy explanations about a certain topic. At the same time, labels are inherently subjective and therefore very flexible in their interpretation. There is no (natural) law that determines what label one has to pick. Which is exactly my problem, because I really don’t want to find myself in situations again in which my self-image of my own identity does not match with the external image of others. It goes hand in hand with a lot of fear shame and evil ghosts from the past… Bad news for me, expectations, or assumptions of others: I cannot prevent them. What I can prevent is feeling inferior when confusion within a conversation arises. Now what?

Well, I learned several ways to deal with problems. One of the worst is just sitting it out, even though problems will solve themselves sometimes there is no guarantee for that. A better one is getting information, information always helps me… reading, listening, and talking to others would be great examples.

The best option is just to start trying things out. There is no right and wrong to subjectivity and self-awareness. Especially if oneself starts with making the own (sexual) fantasies real and trying to transfer them into practice. An intermediate step I took before that was to sit down and make a list. I didn’t know exactly where I belonged, but I knew very well where I definitely didn’t belong.

It’s just a snapshot, I’m simply not a big sadist or a high protocol dom. In addition, I don’t have the desire to live in a 24/7 dynamic or becoming a slave or little one. The list got longer over the weeks and even though I still don’t know what I want, at least I don’t want to catch all the labels anymore. Try not being upset by people, who love to play label police. I know that queers love to debate about labels and, if it is possible, to deny a person their own identity, based on their own worldview. I am certain that kinky people have a similar problem although I have never met them, and I hope I will never do.

Two more things before I close this. Memo to myself and everyone else: as I said, there will always be people who either question your views with good intentions and people who simply want to play label police. I know it from queer and roleplaying circles, and I’m sure there are some in the kink community too. Don’t try to listen to them, they’re annoying, but mostly they’re just all barks no bites.

Another and the last one. Embrace your weirdness… Artists or musicians get to create new personas for their new albums or performance art, why should kinky people be denied this privilege? Please be the little brother that is just a pain in the ass of his own big brother. Be the big bad wolf that owns a human, be the service top or the top from the bottom, be a bratty alien that doesn’t know anything about human behavior and let it be the reason for you bending the rules of the kinky scene you are in and my favorite be the carnivorous plant that loves to keep track of their prey.