Leather and Hyde: Actualizing the Kink

Leather and Hyde

Odysseys and Observations
Actualizing the Kink
by Debra Hyde

My, How We Change...

"Is this it?" I asked myself as I turned off the vibrator. Slight reminders of my orgasm still pulsed within me as cable-scrambled images worked across my television screen -- boring glimpses of sex to an aerobics beat. And I was certain that paying for complete images wouldn't help any. I pulled up my pants in frustration, hoping I wouldn't need the vibrator again that day. My libido, I had realized, was the sexual equivalent of an intellectual wasteland, and I was too young to let entropy have its way with me.

Life made a whole lot more sense when I realized what I was missing wasn't a man in my bed, but a man at my feet.

That was then, a little over two years ago.

Now I go to Dick's Sporting Goods, buy the heaviest bank weights they have, and spend quiet afternoons dipping them in liquid plastic so I can hang them from men's balls. Life made a whole lot more sense when I realized what I was missing wasn't a man in my bed, but a man at my feet.

Sexual dominance came late to me and I'm not sure why. Perhaps it was the lack of access to pornography and of men-in-submission images in my life. Sure, I'd seen the occasional leather-clad, whip-in-hand dominatrix photo as I grew up, but it was a shallow, meaningless icon because the Hefner-and-Hustler mainstream mentality never showed me the slave at her feet. (Editorial slant is everything.) And submission, what little I knew of it, described women succumbing through bondage, never men squirming in agony. So despite a cunning sexual wakefulness at an early age, I was clueless and undefined until my late thirties.

The Early Years

Somehow, clueless didn't render me entirely incapable. I had plenty of unrealized D/s experiences. My first boyfriend, that shy, older virgin, underwent many interrogations about sex -- what he read, what his friends talked about, what he fantasized about. By all outward appearances, we progressed like all teens of the early 70s did: base-by-base. However, I commanded him to show it to me, ordered him to touch me there, and finally, orchestrated the mutual loss of our virginities. He became adept at appeasing my sexual whims, even though we didn't know the words Mistress and slave, even though we didn't know the first things about leather trappings and ritualized play.

Funny to think back on it, but I never let him come in me. Born of necessity, and marginally safer than coitus interruptus or Vatican roulette, it was, nonetheless, a rudimentary control of his orgasms. And I unknowingly trained him well: We reunited for a Summer fling when I was in college and, although I was pill-protected, the dear soul's body hadn't forgotten. It took a remarkable amount of fucking and several tries before he allowed himself to come within me.

I went through my teenage years sexually active but wise. I didn't squander what was between my legs, taking lovers only occasionally and usually from other towns, and leaving the local boys wondering. I quickly found that teaching men about sex was a lot like training horses: Impart your expectations to them with genuine affection and pride, and they will be loyal and thankful. If only I'd known just how far I could've extended that horse metaphor.... Well, at least I had sensed that the air and the mystique of being sexually active smelled of power, even if I didn't know to claim the power fully.

"So close, yet so far" characterizes the history of my sexuality. I orchestrated and controlled much of my sex and sexual partners. Yet I did not know the language of dominance and submission. I knew I had power between my legs and that my sex made men weak in the knees and vulnerable in their cocks. Yet I didn't know I could put them on their knees and make them beg for bliss. I knew a little about kinky sex, repeatedly and always unsuccessfully cajoling partners into rape fantasies and bondage. Yet I didn't know I could be on top. The few, early dominant fantasies I had were about women -- I longed for a strap-on before I knew they existed. Yet I refused to take a woman lover because the vanilla notion of bedding a woman to please a man raised my hackles even then.

It wasn't until a young man asked me on-line if I was a FemDomme that I had a label for my basic nature and a language through which I could seek sexual definition.

I even chose to marry a man who capitulated to my decisions and desires, a man who was attracted to my strong, outgoing nature. Yet I didn't know about lifestyle power structures.

Turning the Corner

It took that late 30-something libido kick to knock some awareness into my head, a time when near-constant masturbation left my body mildly satiated, but my mind and soul frustrated and incomplete. It wasn't until a young man asked me on-line if I was a FemDomme that I had a label for my basic nature and a language through which I could seek sexual definition.

And I made up for lost time, big time. I educated myself about dominance and submission and all this practice entailed; discovered fully -- and with all the trappings -- the joy, power, and responsibility for taking a man's sex and toying with it; uncovered a deep love and inherent joy for sado-masochism; negotiated my marriage into an open, kinky and across-the-board power structure -- and finally, finally understood myself.

In all ways, it was a journey worth taking. I don't regret my lack of awareness all those years one bit, primarily because I have a deep appreciation for what I've gained by waiting. I'm not at all certain that, had I discovered BDSM in my twenties, I would've valued the discovery and transition as much. Nor could I have adopted kink as responsibly then as I could now. Thanks to certain life experiences, I have an emotional intelligence that rivals my rational intellect, and bringing both facets into my kink makes play a more powerful and safe experience for myself and my partners,

Yes, I still have more to learn, to experience, to refine. Yet I feel a sureness of purpose that comes from accepting passion's full place in my life.

something that is crucial to the ethics of my play. Something that I, personally, could not have accomplished in younger days.

Yes, I still have more to learn, to experience, to refine. Yet I feel a sureness of purpose that comes from accepting passion's full place in my life. Whether I send shudders through a bound submissive with the touch of a finger, whether I banter with a bottom over some fine point of play, whether I offer myself up for a taste of masochism, my passion finally feels integrated, whole to my being and whole to my world. And without that integration, I'd still be zipping up my pants in frustration.

About the Author

Debra Hyde is a mostly submissive switch who lives in New England with her husband, two children, three cats, and a dog. She says she is "well-owned and well-loved" by a very special Master, and shares a unique triangle with him and her somewhat submissive husband.

"When England Calls," one of Debra's short stories, graces the pages of the recently published Mammoth Book of Historical Erotica. She is currently working on a number of others, as well as the Great American Leather Novel. Her BDSM work has been previously published on the Internet by Leather Online and Section 12, but Leather and Hyde was her first regular column, originally hosted by About.com's BDSM site and relocated here with her kind permission.

Debra also maintains a personal Weblog called Pursed Lips and can be reached at 75222.2150@compuserve.com... but no junk mail or "Wannas," please.