This may be the story of one of the most meaningful kink experiences I’ve ever had. It’s certainly one of the most intense. If you’ve been listening to me on OCP or  if you’ve heard my interviews on other BDSM and sexuality podcasts, you’ve probably heard me tell this story before. I’m telling it again because I love it. If you haven’t, enjoy…

A few years ago, when Miss Violet and I were more formal in our dynamic, we had a date to play at our local dungeon, the now gone Rancor Studios (the first ever sponsor of OCP, by the way). So, she has me strip down and bend over a spanking bench (think a wooden sawhorse-but padded for bare skin). She then shows me the implement she’ll be using for our scene: her foot long, ¼ inch thick teak paddle. I hate this thing. I hate stingy toys and the sting from this paddle lasts for days. 

Now, if you’ve never seen me play, you should know that I’m not stoic. I don’t sit there and take it. I whine and cry and scream and move around. (Take note-if you plan on playing with me restraints and gags are probably needed.) So, Violet shows me the other tool she’ll be using that night- a Crayola washable marker.

“max,” she says, “when I hit you, you make too much noise. So, every time you scream too loudly, I’m going to write another one of your fetishes on your back. And that way everyone can see what a filthy pervert you are.” 

Now do I not only have to take a hard beating from a toy I hate; I have been denied an outlet to express my pain. Because I know what fantasies I’ve owned up to her in late night sessions, and I know what she’s going to write.

I clench my teeth and I try not to scream, but of course that makes her hit me harder. I think I lasted three or four swats from the paddle when she decides I’m too loud: “Let’s start with something that’s not too shameful,” she says, “I know you’ve watched GILF porn. I’ll spell it out. Grannies.” The marker is writing on my back and she’s counting every letter.

The scene continues. After the second fetish, which is SSBBW, it dawns on me that I can’t win this one. There’s no way I’m going to make it out of this until she’s written everything she wants to write on me. And while that should seem hopeless, it’s liberating. Sometimes when the hole you’re in is deep enough, the only way to go is down. 

Of course, I forget this lesson immediately as soon as I release another scream I’ve been building up. By this time, she’s added feet, dirty sneakers, bisexual men, and raceplay. How comfortable I am discussing these fetishes completely depends on how intimately I know you (unless I’m on the mic. Listeners get unfiltered maximus.). And at this point, she decides “Nazi” is a good one to write.

For the record, I’m Jewish. Miss Violet is Jewish. And because I love playing with taboos, I have watched Nazi porn. I have jerked off to Nazi porn. I am not proud of this. I have not been proud of this since I was a teenager and discovered the classic of sexploitation cinema Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS. The incident I’m describing here also occurred before Charlottesville, when Nazis in the popular consciousness were an abstract threat and not a real world problem we seem ill equipped to handle.

So, of course, I’m panicking. And panicking means I can’t breathe. Which means I can’t hold my breath.  Which means I’m going to scream. And because I’m panicking there’s no way I can regulate my volume, it’s hopeless. Dick chooses this moment to walk by my scene, and immediately bursts out laughing. He’s actively pointing and laughing at me. I might as well be 12 years old and have just had my sweatpants pulled down in gym class. 

And the thing is, the scene still isn’t over. There’s nowhere for it to go. What could possibly be worse than Nazi? And then it dawns on me, a split second before she says it “I still haven’t written incest. You have incest fantasies. And you could have stopped it, but now everyone you know is going to know you want to fuck your little sister and no one is ever going to respect you ever again.” And there it is. Five letters across my back. I’m so defeated. I’m completely humiliated. Others have joined Dick in the pointing and laughing. And I hate myself and I hate Violet and I hate that this is exactly what I want out of play. I don’t care who’s seen what anymore. I just want to get my shirt on and smoke a cigarette and crawl into bed and listen to yacht rock and disappear for a couple of years. 

Before I can say anything, Violet says “Come to the bathroom with me. I want to get a picture first.” And I can’t say no. The zen of the scene returns as quickly as it flooded out of me. Everybody’s seen it and I’m still here. I can explain my sex fantasies to my friends. Hell, I do it weekly to strangers and they’ve always been supportive. 

I follow Violet into the bathroom, and she takes a picture of my back. She shows me her phone, and I just stare in disbelief. The only thing written on my back is the following message: “He thinks when he screams I write one secret nasty fetish he enjoys. Please laugh. Thanks.”

I don’t always play on the edge, but when I do, I tightrope walk across the motherfucker.