Saturday, June 04, 2011

The New Normals

The Bard, the Balance and I sat on couches and talked at the going-away party that wasn’t for the Psychiatrist, who was leaving us for the military. I was sad about his leaving, and I missed my chance to say goodbye. The living room regulars were scheduled to be in attendance, the Molester, the Cowboy, the Jedi, and Doomhammer. Words like slumber party had been tossed around. Alas, as often happened when one joined the military, plans were rearranged at last minute so that now only the Balance, myself, and the Bard were sitting on the couch.

The Balances asked us about our weekend and we began with the tales of Shibaricon first.

“What is it, though, about being tied up? Why?” The Balance asked.

“What do you mean?”

“What does one get out of it?”

This was a perfectly valid question and one which, interestingly enough, there were answers for. Most notably during Shibaricon while I ran off to learn about strap-on harnesses and rope cocks, the Bard had taken in a session entitled “Sensing the Rope with Hedwig,” which was an explanation of Hegwig’s dissertation on rope and the kink community. It was an ethnographic study on the use of rope in three countries, and examined the relationship between rope and its users.

“It’s not about sex, or what you think it is about,” the Bard explained.

And it wasn't. It was about art and practice and art forms; learning a skill and learning how to apply the skill. A person that tied wanted very much to perfect the notes, and the shape and the form of rope.

“One man, he talked about his first time at Shibaricon and how he went around and bought every kind of rope he could get. Sure, people were trying to push and pull him in one direction or the other, but he didn’t care about that. He just wanted to have the rope.”

We talked about how words like dominance and submission and sex had nothing to do it. “How did Hedwig put it, that people think, sure tying someone up with rope is nice and all, but at the end of a day it’s all about a right proper shag.” We all laughed. We laughed because we knew that the shag, the fuck, was the least part of the experience, indeed if it was even part of the experience at all.

“It defies things like submissive and dominant,” said the Bard. “One of the women in attendance had worked with some of the best rope masters in Japan and she knew lots of rope bottoms. She says the rope bottoms would be confused if you asked them about being submissive. They are not being submissive, they would say. They are contributing to the art form and perfection of a master artisan. Submission never really enters into it.”

“I have this gamer I was talking to; I came online and he was chatting away with a bunch of people online by the time I got there,” said the Balance. “And he was telling this room of people that women don’t really like large cocks, that it’s just not that important.” I raised an eyebrow. “He also said that no one was really into choking. He said there were a lot of things that people say they like but the truth is ‘no one really likes that.’”

“I spent the weekend at two entirely different conventions where I am pretty sure people would argue that they really like it.” I responded.

“I just don’t understand his desire. I tried to argue with him, because I know people interested in choking, and bukkake, and rope, and leather, and I just cannot understand how someone can sit there and say that ‘no one really likes it.’ What purpose does it serve?” the Balance asked.

My theory was that this is partially a protective stance for people who have (but don’t want to admit) desires that someone, somewhere, said were abnormal. Maybe it was spanking, maybe it was catholic schoolgirl uniforms, maybe it was both.

“It’s the difference between a kink and a taboo. Something taboo is much worse than something just kinky.” We bandied about with this thought of “but nobody really likes that” trying to figure out the often caustic hetronormative response to things like kinksters, and queers, and open interest in fetishes and desires.

“It’s the same sort of moral outrage and backlash that Kinsey got after telling America in the late fifties that ‘You are all a bunch of kinky motherfuckers.’ It may be true, but no one wants it to be true.”

“That just doesn’t seem like enough.”

“It’s people with a normal fetish who just can’t seem to let go.”

“That’s a good way to put it,” said the Balance.

“I stole it from her,” I said, pointing to the Bard.

“I mean, come on, a convention that singlehandedly can rent out the Hyatt in Chicago for five days for a private convention of leather men, and fill a market for the same number of days with people coming just to buy the gear? At some point you have to admit that “normal” is in the minority.”

“Yeah, but nobody really likes that.” We all laughed.

It was the kinksters and the queers, the dykes, the faggots, the grandparents wearing leather vests and learning to tie new knots that all made me laugh. It was the man pushing his walker around with grey hairs poking out from under his leather cap. It was the beautiful black woman with bound breasts, rolling around in a wheelchair. It was the Bard with her love of rope, the Balance with his fetish for words, the Electrician with his violet wand, and me with my leather bag that was the center of attention. We are the normal for us. We are the new normals. And we like it. We like it a lot.

Nobody really likes that, but here we all are anyway.

It’s okay if you don’t want to like it. We will like it for you. We’ll like it just fine.

1 comment:

Doc Merrkin said...

Always an interesting perspective on a subject I had given little thought to previously. I'm glad you are back to creating with a keyboard regularly. Your fingers always give me something to ponder...