On kink communities.
Kink isn't an area of my life where I seek community. It is, in fact, one of the few portions of my life I prefer to keep quiet.
It's maddening that this preference — to not invite everyone into my intimate moments; to not stand witness to those of others — makes me less trustworthy in the eyes of otherwise like-minded people.
I'm not trying to yuck anyone's yum by saying this; I'm lamenting that there are SO MANY people who would slap an ice cream cone out of my hand because they don't get to watch me eat it.
Just come meet some folks and talk about kink!
I don't watch kink; I don't talk kink; I practice/act/do kink. It's the flip-side of my watching and talking about, but not performing, wrestling.
How can someone know you're safe?
By knowing me first; by communicating with others who know me; failing that, by taking their own actions to turn a big risk into a calculated risk. By telling a friend they have a date, by sharing where they'll be, by sending someone they trust a few pictures. All the S̴̝͒͒T̸̼͕̊̏Û̴̪͑F̸͇̣̚F̵̰̅͆ that kinksters try to do an end-run around by meeting up at a bar once a month. All the S̴̝͒͒T̸̼͕̊̏Û̴̪͑F̸͇̣̚F̵̰̅͆ we both wish no one had to do . . . and I sure ain't got MY wish yet.