It took a long time to get the most recent issue of Spark out.
I asked people to share their kinks via anon, Twitter, to my personal email, by carrier pigeon if necessary. Yet, unlike other Spark issues, a surprising number contacted me personally not with articles, but to say:
'I can't write about kinks for the newsletter. I feel ashamed.'
These weren't messages saying 'I'm a teacher and so can't write this sort of stuff,' these were people going on to say they felt that having kinky desires and voicing them was wrong.
I just…who made you feel like that? Who made you feel like your wonderful, earthy, human sexuality is wrong?
Who benefits from you feeling like that?
You know who does. Their desires are all over the media, their kinks are catered to with magazines and movies titled Barely Legal, Rope Slave, Slutty Maid. But your sexuality? From the time you're a girl your desires are seen as lesser, mockable, or worse: non-existent.
Sweet darlin', fuck that noise.
Here's what I wish: I wish that you allow fandom and fic to help you relish your kinks. Take them back. Take them, they're yours, they're valid, they're amazing.
No one has a right to laugh at them, think them second-place, to prioritise their sexual wants over yours.
Forget what the media tells you—that women don't sexually get, they only give—instead, indulge your kinks, coddle them, fuckin' name the glorious things. By that I mean say what they are at least to yourself, maybe to a friend, perhaps anon on some fandom group? Whatever, wherever, give your desires existence, priority.
Your favourite kinks to think about, write, read are……
……what?
Whatever you answered? It's right.
Your desires are never wrong, not so long as there's consent. And in the sanctity of your fertile imagination even consent isn't necessary because no one gets hurt inside your head.
The online Puritans, who tell you even thinking about something like non-con is wrong?
They're wrong.
When they say just thinking about something means you're more likely to do it ask yourself this: How many actors have gone on to become serial killers?
Because, despite a mind-boggling number of films about such people, no actor playing one has ever gone on to, you know, serial kill people. Despite thinking a lot about it.
So when the new Puritans try to make you feel bad for what you desire? It's they who're creating real world pain. Your frisky imagination? It ain't affecting no one. So let that thing be naked, free, and filthy.
Daydream every sweaty, slick scenario that pleases you. All the Omegaverse and lactation kink, all the rimming and comeplay, all of it. And know, absolutely know you're not alone, in fandom you're surrounded by glorious kinky company.
Fandom has given me so, so much, not least of which is a legion kinks. I think half came from reading and writing fic, the other half just appeared one day—possibly via carrier pigeon.
Sherlock Holmes in heels might be the first I giddily wrote about, then I went mad for John nursing on Sherlock, for somnophilia sex, for Holmescest, for the riding crop. Along came Star Wars, and suddenly there wasn't enough Kylo Ren or General Hux in lingerie, never enough pet play, mpreg, oviposition, or tentacles.
Reading or writing kinky stories where delicious men do kinky things with one another's bodies brings our bodies joy.
And sweetheart there ain't nothing, nothing, fucking nothing wrong with that.