Help, the person I like is not kinky!

Author: Kitteh
Kinky Life | Recommendations

Disclaimer: This article is autobiographical and does not aim to explicitly ridicule, attack, or judge anyone. It’s about subjective experiences with added value.


Dating and sex between kinksters unfolds differently than between non-kinky individuals, and that’s no secret. When you meet someone within the BDSM community, some things are simpler. Common fetishes and roles are familiar to each other, as well as safety protocols. One can assume that there is a fundamental willingness to communicate about sex. People feel safer in their interactions and have less fear of rejection. After all, we’re all in the same boat.

But how do you deal with it if your partner (to-be) is not kinky? What problems might arise, and how can you best approach the situation? In the following article, I’d like to share a bit from my own experience, hoping that you can take something useful with you.

A kinky notch in the bedpost

In my life, I’ve managed to settle into some cozy bubbles. I belong to the vast community of tattooed individuals, the tribe of photographers and Instagram models, latex enthusiasts, plumped-up Munich residents, forever-young suburban metalheads, the proletariat of gym bros (though I’m a girl) and fitness elites. Wow, that’s a lot of boxes to be in all at once. And then I’m also something like a sex-positive kink author. One who writes about power dynamics, whipping, nipple clamps, and turns dirty talk into words. I’ll be honest: Sometimes people expect a lot from me. And by people, I mean sexual partners.

As a predominantly relationship-oriented person, I can count my dates and casual acquaintances on one hand. I once asked one of those frivolous fingers from my past, “Why did you actually start something with me?” The sobering answer: “No idea. I always wanted to have someone with such intense tattoos.” So there it was, the realization that for people I don’t let closer to me than my bedroom, I’m just a notch in the bedpost.

The expectation of a sexual delicacy…

…from women who are not kinky

As my kinky side became more and more apparent and I began to openly embrace it, the feeling of being seen as a sexual delicacy by vanillas didn’t necessarily improve. With women, I felt like they expected me to always be the one taking charge because of my kink. Sometimes it even seemed like it was somehow my duty to compensate for the bad experiences a vanilla woman had previously had with men in BDSM. So, it was important to make it clear to my counterpart: I am not your past experience with BDSM. Perhaps you have had experiences or tried things before. That doesn’t mean it has to be just as good or just as bad with me. Once we made it completely our own thing at our own pace, we were more relaxed. Both of us.

…and men who aren’t kinky.

With vanilla men, it was quite different. There was always a certain power imbalance with them, as rough sex is part of the standard repertoire for many cis men. Either to keep up with media-driven societal expectations or to compensate for their own sexual insecurity. My experiences as an openly kinky woman with non-kinky men ranged from boring to frightening. “She’s into BDSM. I don’t really know what that is or how it works, but I’ll just give it a try.” That was often the motto of the hour. Expecting to elicit the highest level of sexual ecstasy, they would just grab, push, hit, spit, insult, and choke.

Had I been less resolute and assertive about my boundaries, and had I not always had the courage to end a situation, it could have ended traumatically at times. Every attempt to have a serious consent discussion or even to explain how my preferences work was fruitless. Perhaps because one didn’t want to admit that such a girl in her mid-twenties with a handful of sexual partners had more sexual knowledge than oneself, who had already broken countless women’s hearts and beds.

Plain text – But at the right time

So there I was with my questionable reputation and my many controversial preferences. Instead of being happy that I could categorize my sexuality and know pretty well how my mind-body connection works, I constantly felt pressure. What if I can’t live up to the expectation of being a kinky, tattooed vixen? What if I don’t feel like indulging in elaborate practices, positions, or toys? What if I don’t immediately cheer “Hooray!” when a third person enters the room? Or better yet, if I don’t jump through a burning hoop and juggle tissues during oral sex? What if I meet someone I like but who can’t fulfill my needs? Someone who may have absolutely no interest in latex, edging, and impact play?

Certainly, I’m still not a pro at handling these concerns and being relaxed with every potential sexual partner who isn’t part of the kinky bubble. Not rushing things allows time and gives your counterpart the opportunity to perceive you without prejudice. Of course, someone who gets to know me will soon see from my Instagram pictures that there’s something there. Even if it’s just that I’m relatively shameless and revealing. You don’t have to tell someone on the first or second date that you enjoy gagging, face-slapping, or being humiliated yourself. That’s just too intimate in the beginning.

If the assumptions become more concrete, it’s better to understate than to overstate. I’ve always said something like: “Yes, there’s a side of me that I occasionally explore. But it always depends on the person.” Or: “I can tell you more about that sometime. Right now, I’m not feeling it.” Also, “When the time comes and you’re interested, I’d love to show you my version of BDSM,” would have been a good statement. Honestly, I have to admit that it never came out of my mouth like that. Even kinksters get nervous and beat around the bush sometimes. Even those who professionally talk about sexual matters.

Talking the same language

Eventually, you should really come clean. My advice to all my kinky readers who want to try with a vanilla partner: Spare yourself the intimidating SM jargon. Those who are too unsure or pretentious to ask will, at worst, just interpret something into your SM terms. We’re not at the pub or on Fetlife here; you don’t need to show off how many sexy jargon words you know for generating bodily fluids.

Instead of telling someone that you’re into verbal humilation and bondage, try: “I like it when you call me a worthless piece of shit during sex and always stop right before I come. But when I’m done, please hold me and tell me how nice you think it is to make me orgasm.” It’s not necessarily arousing if someone needs a dictionary in order to have sexual intercourse with you. Although, of course, Deviance offers a great range of resources. Just in case.

Change of perspective

What shouldn’t be forgotten in all of this is that I certainly wasn’t the only one who caused all this head-scratching. For people who have nothing to do with BDSM, it can certainly be daunting to suddenly have to satisfy someone who probably enjoys the wildest things. The pressure to perform and leave a special impression in bed is already present for most men. This doesn’t necessarily make it easier for a woman who writes dictionary articles about orgasms and doesn’t fit the sexual norm.

Equally important:

If we as sexually diverse people want to be tolerated, we must understand, without rolling our eyes, that there are people who are different than us.

People who simply cannot find the lowest common denominator with a kinky partner because they simply have no predispositions. Put yourself in this position and show understanding. Just like you don’t want to be convinced that all this BDSM stuff doesn’t have to happen, it’s just as inappropriate to question the sexuality of a non-kinky person.

The big secret of sex without kink

To have good sex that isn’t kinky, I had to first free myself from the idea that only BDSM sex would be satisfying for me. After playing exclusively kinky and submissive for a long time, this was initially unsettling. I don’t mean that it was difficult for me to be active during sex, because even as a Sub, it was part of the role to entertain my Dom. What was unfamiliar was that there was no power dynamic. I used to think that I had to think the least and could only completely let go when I was submissive. Later, the assumption added that I could only get what I wanted if I was dominant and subdued the other person. Only then would exactly what turns me on happen.

The fantastic insight was: If sex happens without a power imbalance, I can do both: turn my head off and stop thinking about what I’m doing. And in the same way, direct and take what I want. That’s the greatest satisfaction of non-kinky sex for me. When he’s good, he’s casual, spontaneous and self-perpetuating. Of course, this doesn’t work for everyone. Especially when sexual arousal is strongly linked to BDSM tendencies, it becomes difficult to generate it without triggers. Sex without a clear exchange of power can be a new experience. We know Switchers who can play both up and down. If you can have sex both with and without a power imbalance, the possibilities increase.

I also believe that at the beginning, you shouldn’t dictate a direction between a Kinkster and a Vanilla. Neither saying “our sex will remain Vanilla” nor expressing the desire “we will definitely explore BDSM from time to time” is advisable. Because both create pressure and expectations. If your partner knows what you’re into, even if it’s just the first two-thirds of your preferences, they will incorporate this knowledge into your sex life. Consciously or unconsciously.

…and what if not?

Then you have to accept that. Now the question is, how closely is your sexuality linked to BDSM? And: How important is sexual fulfillment to you in a relationship?

It’s quite a predicament to be in when feelings are involved. There are many approaches. However, open partnerships, poly relationships and the idea of ​​experiencing BDSM separate from sexual acts with other people are difficult to grasp for people who do not live in our bubble. Here it is important to first reflect on yourself: What do I absolutely need? How can you accommodate each other? But no matter what you agree on, always remember: a real situation is never emotionally comparable to the theory. Unfortunately, you can’t avoid trying it out. Be aware in advance that, despite all the agreements, it may be that a constellation is not as okay for one of you as it seemed during the conversation.

Are you unable to find a solution despite sufficient communication over a longer period of time? Is there more suffering than passion? As hard as it sounds, some things just aren’t meant to be. And some things do. At the risk of this last paragraph leaving you with a slimy trail of pathos: once you’ve fallen in love, it won’t matter whether the other person is kinky or not. Then you want the person and you don’t care what drawer they are in. Nerd, athlete, proletarian or simply vanilla.


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