It Took Me 25 Years To Accept My Kinkiness

Goodbye, Carrie Bradshaw.


I wanna start by saying that there’s absolutely nothing wrong about enjoying vanilla sex, even if others use this word as an insult. On the other hand, though, kinky preferences should not be shamed either but mainstream media often present them as something embarrassing or weird at best. As a result, for years, we have been feeling uncomfortable and disturbed by our kinks. Or at least I have. Until recently.

It all started with multiple lockdowns, boredom, isolation and loneliness within my four walls. They forced me to take a painful decision, which I still deeply regret, and binge-watch Sex and the City. I’ve never seen it before and honestly, now I wish I hadn’t but sadly, I can’t take it back. I’m not gonna discuss its queerphobic or racist scenes because first - I don’t think you have that much time, second – it all has been said before me. But the approach of Carrie & Co. to all kinds of kinks makes me low-key sick and I won’t shut up about it.

Basically, anything featured on this show that can be seen as sexually non-normative is ridiculed, demonized or misrepresented (or usually, all three at once). This includes BDSM, swinging, foot fetish or golden shower, so nothing particularly niche, after all. Most episodes end with a safe and happy comeback to sweet normativity, even for seemingly liberated Samantha. I guess the title should be changed into Sex And Straight, Cis-gender, White, Vanilla Women.

After watching more and more scenes of sexual shaming, “I couldn’t help but wonder:” do I feel embarrassed about being kinky because of pop culture?

I’m 25, I’m aware of my kinks for longer than I can remember but until recently, I’ve never shared them with anyone. And I’m not only talking about my sexual partners but also, my closest friends (and believe me, usually, I’m a massive oversharer). Turns out I didn’t even properly admit it to my twin sister or to myself. Cause you are born kinky, baby but acknowledging vs accepting it are two different stories.

I continued to have classic, normative sex, trying out some experiments from time to time but never something that I actually enjoyed and wanted to do. Don’t get me wrong, it was nice but was it fabulous? Never. Orgasms? I don’t know her. True, sex is not about coming but actually, I really wanted to come. At least once.

So yes, I blame pop culture for my long-time internalized shaming. Sex and the City is just the tip of the iceberg and although we’re living in the era of 50 Shades or 365 Days, not much has changed since Carrie’s disgraceful misinterpretation of masochism as a toxic relationship (yes, she actually said that!). These movies are not even close to an accurate representation of kinky sex which should be fun, consensual and enjoyable.

And how do I know that? Well, first, after many years, trials and partners, I finally decided that it was time to come (was that too much to ask?!). I realized that it wasn’t gonna happen if I didn’t embrace my kinks. Second, I understood that I need to talk about them. About what I want and what I don’t want. What I’m scared of and what I’m embarrassed about. What turns me on but what I’m still a bit nervous to try.

It’s so cliché to say that talking about sex is crucial for every successful intercourse but a friendly reminder, a dude asking, ‘So, what do you like?’ on *insert a name of a dating app* does not count as a proper conversation. And you know what’s even more tragic? They usually won’t accept an answer different from what they’re expecting in the first place. In other words, they want you to be “kinky” but on their own terms.

Why? Because the reception of our sexual preferences is analogous to the image of women in society. Anything we do is wrong and called out, a tale as old as time. If you’re a virgin, you’re inexperienced and prudish. On the other hand, if you’re experienced and liberated, you’re a slut. Be sexy but not too sexy. Be chaste but not too chaste. We’ve all been there.

Similarly, if you like vanilla sex, you’re boring and not fun. But if you enjoy kinky sex, again, you’re a hoe and a weirdo. Especially if you wanna peg a guy. Be kinky but not too kinky. Be vanilla but not too vanilla. A fucking patriarchal golden mean.

There was one more realization which helped to leave the sexual shaming and Carrie Bradshaw’s outrageous comments behind. Like sexual orientation, kinkiness is a spectrum. Just because you like hardcore choking, doesn’t mean you wanna be spanked with a paddle. Just because you enjoy a good role play, doesn’t mean you wanna lead someone on the leash. Mind that neither of those things is wrong or shameful – they’re just different!

Kinks are also much more complex than their mainstream, selective representation on Sex And The City. Chances are you are a kinky beast yourself, you just have your kinks yet to explore. As long as they are consensual and not hurtful, go for them, who makes the rules? Don’t repeat my mistakes and don’t let them tell you that you’re weird. I missed so many potential orgasms, trying to fit in with Carrie’s normativity.

It took me a while but I’m a happy and sexually satisfied kinky woman, out and proud. Embracing my kinks helped me to find out so much about myself. I can come in a few minutes although before, it seemed unrealistic or even impossible. I even realized that my body is capable of squirting and it feels amazing. And, most importantly, I made a huge discovery, even though it may sound obvious to you. Sex is not just nice or fine. Sex is FABULOUS, while I am not weird. And neither are you.