30 Days Of Kink: Day 3 – How Did You Discover You Were Kinky?

I've already answered this question in a large part here. However, I will also be adding lots of other details to this post which I think are quite exciting and fun!

If we go right back to the early days then I remember being friends with my mother's friend's daughters, Leah and Rose, and I remember us always playing Hospital. I was always the poorly patient who would 'die' if not enough attention was paid to me, I craved that attention and would do anything to get it. I didn't know it at the time but I was ASMR receptive, and that attention triggered the sensory response in me. Until my late twenties I thought everyone felt "the tingles", little did I know!

In primary school I moved on to other games, most notably cops and robbers. I was always a cop, never a robber, and I took my role very seriously. Secretly, though, I was colluding with the robbers, and I would let the robbers escape.

My hidden desire, naturally, was to get caught.

The idea of being caught and punished was exhillerating. I liked the idea of trying to plea my innocence, only to have my captors be completely merciless. I didn't want mercy though, mercy was the last thing that I desired.

From about age seven my life was full of medical appointments. I didn't think too much of them at first, but slowly and over time then things about them started to bother me more and more. Being spoken about, objectified, examined and studied, it put me into a transient state of powerlessness that I so loved and craved. Things like the cold floor underneath my feet, the cool air that made my skin sensitive to the slightest touch and the way that I felt exposed and seen. It was heady for me and I felt ashamed of it, though I couldn't deny that I quite liked that feeling, too.

Some of it I've since seen come up in the ASMR community, though some of it I think goes deeper still.

For a long time I tried to surpress it. I think I managed it until the appointments stopped, then I fell into a frustration, a kind of depression. I needed that again; I didn't know how to 'be' without that sense of powerlessness and vulnerability. I needed that loss of control.

And I think for a time, it actually made me a not very nice person.

I was pushy because I wanted someone to push me back. I wanted someone to take the lead, to take control. Someone to take me back there again.

I was ashamed and confused, so I would try to manipulate my way there instead, then I would never have to confront or explain my desires. A lot of people just saw me weird and refused to play with me, which was totally understandable of course.

Later on in life I remember playing soldiers and spies with my brother and our neighbour's son, and I was always appointed the role of "spy". At one time I was captured, interrogated and '"shot" by my neighbour's son, and by which I mean that I was loosely tied up with a skipping rope, beaten with a stick and told that I was "dead" and could no longer play. I tried anything I could to play again, and I tried nearly every day. I didn't care if I was supposed to be dead, I just wanted that feeling again. I wanted that loss of control.

I tried kidnapping them myself on one occasion so that they might kidnap me again, but it didn't work. I would act secretive so that they might want answers out of me, but they usually overlooked it instead. I gave them every reason to interrogate me but it never haoppened again. That frustrated and confused me even more.

Why wouldn't they play like I wanted to play? Why didn't the other games interest me? What was wrong with me?

In high school I became aware of sex and boys for the first time. My Mum made me go to an after-school drama club and I was feeling bugged because we had a task to do and I didn't think anyone was going to want to work with me, and so I was in a funk about that.

"I'll work with you, Helen" came a cheerful voice. When I looked up, I was greeted by the very meaning of 'tall, dark and handsome' - Carl.

Carl was my crush for many years after that, and my fantasies about Carl were never just limited to sex. I imagined him sharing me, I imagined him commanding me and I imagined him humiliating me when I argued that the way he treated me wasn't nice.

"Do you want me to be nice?" Fantasy Carl would ask.

"No, Sir" I would reply.

In sex education, I remember never being particularly enthused about the mechanics of sex. I was unphased at having to draw an A4-sized penis in my science book and I was completely nonplussed as I coloured in the deeper pink parts of the uterus. I drew a sperm cell with ease and I copied down all of the labels, and after that we watched a video about sex and pregnancy. While all of my class mates were left giggling, I left the classroom thoroughly bored. When would the good sex start?

Sex like I want with Carl.

My mathematics teacher was strict, and he always insisted that we answered the register with "here, Sir". At first it was odd for me, then it became ingrained and habitual. He was the only teacher that I called Sir, the only one that I wanted to call Sir, and I ached to please him.

I was never really sure why.

Mr Brown (not his real name) used to shout at the class if they misbehaved, and he'd go betroot red if he lost his temper. I wanted to please him though, and I did I think - I was the only student to earn Star of the Week in maths class. Nobody could believe that I got praise from him!

I remember when I messed up my arm in 2000, I was sat in the school reception area awaiting pick-up when Mr Brown spotted me. I was scared that he would be mad at me because I had to go and get my arm x-rayed again - meaning that I would miss maths class - but he wasn't mad at me at all. Instead he crouched down beside me, asked me how it happened (not knowing when to concede a point in a game of bandminton!) and asked if I needed any notes so I didn't miss anything, then wished me well at the hospital and with my recovery. Our relationship changed substantially after that.

Mr Brown always greeted me with a smile from then on, and my "here, Sir" sounded different too. I felt appreciated, respected, understood and accepted, and I wanted to work harder and better for his accepting and respecting me, so I did.

I realised then that his yelling was at my rowdy classmates, not at me, and so it bothered me less. We were on good terms and that's all that really mattered. I knew that I wasn't in trouble.

I also realised then that respect was a key part of this... whatever it was. Respect made me shine, and I smiled different with the people who I respected out of choice, not fear. I'd work hard for them, I'd shine for them. "Studious" was an oft-repeated word on my record, I was intent on listening to the people who listened to me.

I was ashamed of many of the fantasies that occasionally swirled in my teeenage head, fantasies of being tied up on a canal boat in Bristol docks while the rest of the world carried on around me, or kidnapped and tortured in some of the most delicious ways possible. It made no sense to me: Why couldn't I just think about sex? Why not normal, nice, romantic sex like I was supposed to want? Why did I want this "more"?

I tried, really I did, I tried shunning all of those 'bad' thoughts to the back of my mind for a long time, afraid of what my fantasies meant about me. It wasn't unil I was seventeen that I got to learn about BDSM amd after that, everything made sense. I was fascinated, hungry and eager for more. Finally I knew where I belonged.

I was a Domme for a while to begin with but I think that was because it was already natural for me to care for others. If I listened to my gut, though, really I was aching to submit. I wasn't really a Domme. At my best, I was probably more of a service Top.

In romantic relationships then I was very set on gender roles, that a man should be the head of the household and I didn't want a relationship where I did all of the decision-making. I was happy to have some responsibilities, but I didn't want all of them.

With Matt then he was into traditional gender roles too, but with a modern respect for women. He was happy to lead, but he was also adamant that leading me did not put me below him. He would trust me, and he would trust me to defer to him where I felt it mattered. That was how we worked, and that was how we have worked ever since.

My medical kink fantasies haven't gone away, and I know that they are always there, bubbling away just below the surface and waiting for a chance to be explored some more. For now though I can take great pride in finally knowing who I am, what I do, and being the strong, confident, helpful, kick-ass submissive woman that I am known as.