We’re all at least a little weird. I like to say that everyone has a thing, something that if it ever got out would mortify and shame them. For me, It’s my unconditional love of erotica and really fucked up porn. The kinkier, more eyebrow raising, and extreme, the better. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy a good old Vanilla binge, but I like weird stuff, and If you’re reading this, I feel safe in the assertion that you do too.
If someone can look you in dead in the eye and tell you they’re completely normal, and have nothing to hide, run. That’s the craziest person you’ll meet all year, and I’m very much including your Inlaws in that.
Everyone has a thing. Everyone. It’s what makes us unique sexual creatures, and because of that, you’re just like every person who has ever existed. To me, that's a very comforting sentatment, that our weirdness is caged in the total mundanity that is the human experience.
So why do we hide our intimate nature? The parts of us that would attract a partner willing to fulfill our fantasies are the parts of us we bury the deepest, and are the least willing to share. If you live in the west like I do, then the puritanical roots of our culture have some burden of responsibility to bear, but I think it's more complicated than that. Even if we lived in a totally sexually enlightened society, people would still hide their kinks to at least some extent, and I think that’s a good thing. Hear me out, I swear this is going somewhere.
What makes sex, especially kinky sex so pleasureable? And no, I’m not just referring to the stashing the salami bit of wikihood. The actual act of intercourse is typically brief, unless you're a massive big dick chad with unparalleled sexual stamina like me, a culling of the pleasure of the flesh that’s only a small part of the total equation that results in satisfying intimacy and “good sex,” whatever the fuck that means. Think about the whole act, from start to finish.
There’s build up, tension, anticipation, even before any form of foreplay begins in earnest. The act itself is way more complex then just the actual fucking bit, and then there’s the whole part afterwords, either the Aftercare, or as I refer to it, the “satisfied wallowing in chemically recumbent bliss.” That whole process is amplified by sharing a fetish or kink that’s indulged in consensually, and I don’t think it would be nearly as fulfilling if everyone wore their stripes on their sleeves, and was totally upfront about what they want at all times.
What I’m getting at is the guarding of sexual proclivities and desires, the keeping of secrets about what we genuinely want to do and to be done to us, makes revealing them and finding someone to indulge in them with us more special. It fosters trust, and intimacy not just in a sexual sense, but in an emotionally gratifying one as well.
Secrets can make us feel safe, and in the information age we live in, a little piece of a chaotic world that we get to keep all to ourselves, and a select few who we let in, is more precious than any gem or precious metal. You can’t put a value on that kind of trust, it’s not quantifiable. And that’s what makes keeping and sharing secrets so special.
