Big fan of the column—so I feel it's safe to say I know where you stand on most of the issues you've written about. So I have a question about this SLLOTD, in which you advise a bi guy to come out to his parents.

My question is this: You generally advise people NOT to come out to their parents as kinky. I believe your rationale is that parents have a right not to know about their kids' sex lives. On the other hand, you say, gay kids should come out. Being gay implies that you will one day have a relationship in the public sphere, and it is unrealistic and unfair to attempt to hide that from your parents. Besides, it's better to live with some integrity about your identity. Straight people are always out about their heterosexuality; why shouldn't gays be out too?

Should WANTS end up with a long-term opposite-sex partner, though, his bisexuality is purely a fact about his sexuality, and has nothing to do with a relationship in the public sphere. It's also not something he might reasonably be expected to allude to in polite conversation the way straight people allude to their opposite-sex partners. So why advise WANTS to come out about his bisexuality to parents who clearly don't wanna know and might never need to, but turn around and advise a kinky person to keep it to himself because it's just a fact about his sex life? As someone who considers her sexual orientation to be "kinky" rather than "bi/straight/gay," I'd love to know what you regard as Need-To-Know information—and why.

Kinky Contradiction Uncovered

My response—and a bonus (and epic) BDSM-as-orientation letter—after the jump...

Lesbians, gays, and bisexuals who don't tell their friends and families that they're lesbian, gay, or bisexual—LGB people who don't come out to their friends and families—are assumed to be straight. It's a perfectly reasonable assumption: most people are straight, KCU, which is why straight is now, and always will be, the default assumption. Even I assume people are straight unless 1. they tell me otherwise or 2. my gaydar is pinging up a storm. (Hey there, Marcus!)

And WANTS' bisexuality is more than a simple fact about his sexual expression, it's a fact about his sexual identity—and a highly relevant one, politically and personally. WANTS is currently single and a same-sex partner is still a theoretical possibility. It would be better for all concerned—WANTS, his parents, his hypothetical future husband—for WANTS to come out to his parents now and not, say, at his engagement party. And WANTS' bisexuality is something he "might reasonably be expected to allude to in polite conversation." Suppose mom asks WANTS if he's dating someone and WANTS is dating someon—a man. Is WANTS supposed to lie and say he isn't dating anyone, or that the person he's dating is a woman, until he decides to make a long-term commitment to the man he's dating?

Also: WANTS, in his letter, mentions that he's censoring himself around his parents—and biting his tongue, presumably when they make bigoted remarks about LGB people. Those are both good indications that the subject—minority sexualities, WANTS' sexuality, the genders of the people he's dating, the struggle for LGBT equality—is coming up, being alluded to, discussed, etc., right now.

Generally, KCU, I believe that people should be open about who they do—men, women, both, neither, people who at all points along the gender spectrum which isn't a binaryblahblahblah—but they need not be open about what they do. Please don't read "need not" as "must not," KCU, and definitely don't read it as, "people who are open about what they do have done something wrong." Like I wrote to SUB in this week's column: "I'm not saying you can't or shouldn't tell people other than the women you date that you're submissive. You can be as open as you wanna be—say, with friends you feel comfortable telling everything—but the only people who absolutely, positively need to know about your desires, SUB, are your sex partners."

I look at it this way: coming out queer is a requirement, KCU, while coming out kinky is an elective. I don't think there's anything wrong with being an out kinkster—hello—but a BDSMer doesn't have to be out about his or her kinks to mom, dad, siblings, neighbors, employers, etc., in order to live an open, honest, and fully realized romantic and social life.

But here's another perspective, KCU, from someone who agrees with you...

First, I want to open by apologizing for the long email; I'm rather long-winded, but I'm going to try to be as brief as possible while also hopefully getting my point across effectively.

I'm a big fan of your column, etc., and generally agree with you, etc., but I took some very semantic and nitpick-y issue with the opening letter of your most recent column, particularly with this bit: "Generally, SUB, if it's something that gay, straight, or bisexual people can all do—like erotic power exchange (bondage, D/s, BDSM, etc.)—then I consider it a sexual activity, not a sexual orientation."

All well and good, and certainly technically correct for 99.99% of people out there, but there are a few people who consider themselves "BDSMers" (for complete lack of a better term) as their primary sexual orientation. There aren't many, but there are some, and as you've probably guessed, I'm one of them. My partner is another.

Ever since I was small, I've always felt like I was "different" and "weird," but I had no idea just how different or weird until I got quite a bit older. My first self-aware sexual memory came when I was about three or so, when my parents first warned me about not talking to strangers and never going off with a stranger regardless of what they said to me: if they knew my parents, if they had candy, etc. I asked, "Why not?" My parents said, "They might take you with them and steal you." (I'm paraphrasing here, obviously.) My first thought even then—which I was intelligent enough to keep to myself—was, "That sounds interesting," and my mind immediately flipped to a scenario where I imagined myself being sexually "abused." The idea really intrigued me.

When I was four a friend—a female; I'm male—and I started playing "Doctor" off and on, like you do when you're that age. We started in what I assume is the normal realm, but quickly got into things that went quite a bit beyond that: oral sex, anal play, "I-hurt-you-until-you-can't-stand-it-then-we-switch," humiliating games, and lots of other things like that, all topped off with a ton of D/s dynamic, dirty talk, and stuff of that nature. We continued doing that for around three years, off and on. We were within six months of the same age, and we shared a really strong interest in all aspects of what I would much later learn was called BDSM—we talked about it all the time and tried everything we could think of, all while we were between the ages of four and seven.

I was smart enough to not tell my parents what I was doing with that friend, but when they gave me the sex talk at five or six years old, I came back at them with BDSM-related questions. They told me, in no uncertain terms, that what I was interested in was wrong and abusive and absolutely repulsive to them. I quickly shut up and didn't talk to them about it again for years.

I'd learned that what I was interested in was wrong with a capital W, but I still wanted to learn about it, so I started paying attention to the world around me, trying to learn anything I could about the things I was so interested in. There are no avenues through which six-year-olds can learn about safe, sane, and consensual BDSM, but there's plenty of popular media surrounding everyone, and what I picked up on when I started paying attention absolutely terrified me. The only references I found were those relating to serial killers and kidnapper/rapists. They were the only places I could find themes of power play and pain, and I became gradually convinced that I was destined to become a serial killer. I withdrew. My parents still talk about how shy I became when I was around 6 and how I didn't become outgoing again until I was about twelve. I was certain that I was living in a world where I would never fit in and where I could never feel at home because my interests and desires were so alien and despicable to everyone around me. Plus, it wasn't like my moral compass was broken—I could see what was wrong with rapists and serial killers, but they still fascinated me.

For years I continued down that spiral of thinking I was destined to be a truly awful human being while simultaneously fantasizing about being a truly awful human being while I masturbated to those thoughts. Then I encountered the idea of BDSM. I was SO FUCKING RELIEVED; I'll never be able to express to anyone how fucking relieved I was. All of a sudden I had role models of a sort: apparently, there were people in the world who were interested in the same things I was, who weren't serial killers and who were productive and respected members of society. Who existed within society, and didn't have to live outside it. And shortly after that I hit puberty, which meant I was able to tone down the causing-horrendous-pain aspects of my fantasies and add the "BOOBS!" aspects. It wasn't all wine and roses from there—for example, trying to explain to your first girlfriend why you think "normal" sex is boring and a total turn-off when you haven't even had sex yet isn't easy, let alone trying to explain what you want to do instead—but I was at least secure in the knowledge that there were other people like me and that I wasn't, by default, a horrible person for my interests.

We live in a culture where those of us who are weird enough to have similar experiences have absolutely nowhere to go, which is why I want it in the public consciousness. Which is why I'm "out," why I intend on staying that way, and why I think being "out" is so important for those interested in BDSM. I belong to the local kink group, go to munches, etc., and we get a lot of people in their 50s who have been having sex for years and are just now getting interested in kink. I've been interested in kink since I was three and am only now—at age 24—getting interested in more vanilla-type sex. I prefer feminine-but-androgynous partners, but I'm bi and have played with members of both genders (if you believe in a binary, and many genders if you don't), and I'd much rather whip someone I was unattracted to than have just plain old sex with someone I was. And there are other people like me, regardless of how rare. My playmate between ages four and seven. My current partner. And there have to be others.

I don't care what you call what I am (although I'd be very curious about what you'd call me if not "BDSM-oriented"), but I'd like it to be known that people like me exist. Eventually I'd love to see it inserted in the public dialog, hopefully so the next generation has it a little easier. It's no fun being trapped in your own head, unable to talk to anyone and convinced that what turns you on, something you totally didn't ask for, is destined to eventually turn you into a predator and a monster.

Baby Dominant Sado-Masochist