My first San Francisco fetish experience was at the Folsom Street Fair: gay men in chaps, furries sweating their tails off in elaborate costumes, leather ponies and puppies, women in ropes suspended in aerial contortion, and naked men riding bicycles — all stuffed into 13 city blocks of madness.
Folsom was exactly what I wanted, but it didn’t give me the answers I was looking for. I was waiting for an epiphany. Was my sexual submission an expression of my sexual freedom, or was it reinforcing patriarchal ideals — especially if my partner was a straight man?
My interest in BDSM (Bondage, Discipline, Sadism, and Masochism) started when I was12. I had tied myself up with scarves in my bedroom. I got the initial idea from Princess Leia, chained and collared, in her gold bikini. I didn’t think too hard about it at the time, the kind of pleasure I was experiencing — the pleasure that comes from surrendering control to something, someone, other than yourself. I only knew that it felt good.
While most adolescents were finding porn and saving it away on floppy drives or watching Degrassi, hoping to find fantasies involving curly headed heartthrobs, I was on Literotica (a free erotic-fiction website) trying to figure out how to operate this new connection with my body. I was just like anyone else: young, confused, and suddenly in touch with a new part of myself, wanting to trust that another could know exactly what I needed. The only difference was that I was a bookworm with giant wire-rim glasses who wanted to be tied up and spanked.
I lost my virginity when I was 20 and had my first “official” boyfriend when I was 22. I told him to take control, still not consciously defining what I needed. He seemed eager enough to play my game, so I kept pushing for more. I finally asked him to tie me up and spank me. He looked nauseated and confused. “Why?” he asked. I said nothing, opting to cry in my bathroom. That’s when I realized that I needed more.
I have a more open approach to feminism: If you believe that women should have social, economical, political, and sexual equality, then you are a feminist.
I learned about Fetlife.com (the Facebook for kink) shortly afterward. I signed up and friended anyone who lived in the greater Pittsburgh area, excited to find other people who were as disturbed as I was. There were fetishes I was excited about and eager to explore: spanking, paddles, collars, ropes, and — of course — chains. And there were ones that horrified me: blood play, scat play, golden showers, and the like. These are still hard limits.
I deleted my account and called off the search when a few of my female friends called it disgusting; I had made the mistake of sharing my excitement about it during our Skype calls. It was either “Ew” or “What’s wrong with you?” One friend launched into a deep analysis, explaining that BDSM was inherently abusive and that I was perpetuating the submissive-female role and setting back decades of women’s lib. At the time, I wasn’t secure enough about myself — and my views about feminism — to tell them to fuck off.
I have a more open approach to feminism: If you believe that women should have social, economical, political, and sexual equality, then you are a feminist.
When a woman is submissive to a man in a BDSM relationship, it’s by choice. If it’s not by choice — if it’s not consensual — then it’s not a BDSM relationship.
Opinions about BDSM vary in feminist literature, particularly because women have often been sexually repressed. In traditional patriarchal societies—I’m counting the U.S. here—we’re seen as sexually submissive; we “lie back and think of England.” When a woman submits herself in a BDSM relationship, especially to a man, she can be seen as invoking these historical repressions.
But the core principles of all BDSM relationships are safe, sane, and consensual. These principles are not negotiable. Consent can be as simple as “no means no,” but the absence of “yes” can also be problematic. According to California law, affirmative consent is a requirement for sexual contact. Consent can be withdrawn at any time, and this stops a scene immediately. A BDSM contract — verbal or written — outlines the requirements of safe words; in fact, there may be multiple safe words, such as “green” (“go”), “yellow” (“slow down”), and “red” (“stop”). The participants also have a detailed discussion about limits: hard (absolute no-go’s) versus soft limits (when a participant is hesitant but willing), time limits, and requirements.
In traditional patriarchal societies, women are not submissive by choice. They are submissive to men sexually, socially, and economically. When a woman is submissive to a man in a BDSM relationship, it’s by choice. If it’s not by choice — if it’s not consensual — then it’s not a BDSM relationship.
At Folsom, my partner at the time and I already had leather cuffs, a metal hoop studded into the wall, and a spreader bar. We stopped and looked at the vendors, with all their leather and latex, spikes, paddles, gags, ball locks, chastity belts, cock rings, and corsets. At one booth we made an impulse buy: a leash and a collar with a small metal hoop.
The crowd was dense. You had to sidestep through it and wait in a queue just to keep walking. Sweat from someone else’s arm would occasionally rub off on you as you shuffled past.
My partner and I went to an unoccupied parking lot just outside the fair. There were a few topless women and men smoking weed in the sun. My partner took my new collar and wrapped it around my throat, adjusting it to the right size — just tight enough for me to feel it if I swallowed. He hooked the leash through the hoop and tugged. He led me back through the fair, his gentle tug directing the way. This time, instead of dodging everyone, the crowd parted as I was led the way back home.
Since my initial trip to Folsom, I’ve been to rope-tying classes (that have been known to end in orgies), dungeons, and multiple kink events.
The first time I went to a dungeon, I was with a friend. As newbies, we were told the house rules. The first of which is “no means no,” highlighting the prerequisite of consent. It’s also a sober space — no drugs or alcohol — as participants are required to be of sound mind to give consent. These rules, along with the others, are in place to keep participants safe.
In the social area, I grabbed some pumpkin juice and asked to sit next to a couple who were snacking on some chips. They were taking a break from their puppy play, a form of kink whereby the submissive role-plays as a puppy. The puppy had on an elaborate leather mask, a snout, a tail, and a collar that was attached to the leash of her owner. I found the couple to be surprisingly endearing.
In the main room, a man was tied spread-eagle to a Saint Andrew’s Cross and getting flogged; life-size stuffed animals with their dicks out were fucking other animals; and two women in a glass display were making their third friend come as many times as they could.
She didn’t seem to mind that she was a sexual object in that moment. In fact, I’m sure that was the purpose.
The glass display separated the play area from the social area. I noticed it on my way out. One woman was in the center, on her back, while her head was cradled in another woman’s lap. In between the center’s legs was a third woman. Coming was the center’s reward for taking her earlier punishment so beautifully.
Watching the scene, I didn’t know which woman I wanted to be. I prefer being the bottom, but with a woman I feel more flexible. I was abruptly pulled from the fantasy when my friend returned from the bathroom to collect me. Looking around the group that had formed, I noticed that I was the only woman among the voyeurs. Now, instead of fantasizing about what it would be like to have two women make me come, I was wondering what it would feel like to have my bisexuality become a live fetish show for men.
My ruminating lasted only for a minute, though. The center girl’s muffled victory scream woke me up. She was smiling and petting the face of the woman between her thighs. She didn’t seem to be perpetuating the ideal submissive woman. She didn’t seem to mind that she was a sexual object in that moment. In fact, I’m sure that was the purpose.
That’s when I had my epiphany: it’s easy to be a feminist who likes to be tied up and spanked. BDSM gave me a framework that empowered me to embrace my sexuality and pursue my desires. Being a submissive doesn’t contradict anything I do during the day. It doesn’t mean that I want to be harassed on my way home or that I want my boss to interrupt my meeting to tell me that my skirt is too short. It means that I want to surrender myself to my desires completely and to be completely fucked. In losing control, in surrendering, I found my sexual freedom.
