Why I Write BDSM

Why I Write BDSM

Chances are, if you ever meet me, you’ll find out pretty quickly that I’m an open book. I also don’t hide what I write. Well, unless I’m talking to people I went to seminary with and then—do you blame me? So, pretty much everyone in my life knows that I write BDSM fiction. Yes, my parents and grandmother are aware of it. They just don’t want to talk about it. I often joke and tell people in my day-to-day life they aren’t old enough to read my books yet, which gets a few laughs. Every now and then, someone is curious enough to ask me the real question.

Why do you write kink?

To be honest, at first I did it just because I was curious. I wanted to know if I could write what I’d begun to read and develop a taste for. It was an experiment, really, and one I enjoyed.

The first ever kink book I read was The Bottom Line by Shelley Munro, a fabulous author from New Zealand. It’s a very light hearted spanking book that I actually “got.” For me, a lot of the BDSM-themed books I’d looked at (before I really understood the genre) didn’t make any sense to me. I needed a “regular girl” approach, and The Bottom Line was all about this normal girl who knew she liked it when a guy slapped her on the bottom, so she looked for something more fulfilling. It was that attitude of going for what you want that really spoke to me, so I started to research.

I discovered I knew a lot of kinky people and went to several BDSM 101 classes that broke the whole concept of what BDSM was about down into the nuts and bolts. It wasn’t just the—We like to flog people silly and have sex—explanation. It was everything from psychology to identification, history to tools. Literally more information than I could ever hope to hold onto. Which is why I went to several of them. Over, and over, and over again. I think I sat the class three times. What grabbed me in The Bottom Line continued to hold onto me in those 101 classes: People wanting something, and going for it. Admitting they have something the like, and hoping to find someone who likes doing it with them.

Believe it or not, I’m not a very sexy person. I can’t flirt and the most romantic thing to me is pizza in a blanket fort playing video games. I just didn’t get the sexylicious genes everyone else got.

A big part of the appeal of BDSM to me was—and is—the concept of communication. That it’s expected you’ll sit down and tell your partner what your desires, wishes and wants are—and they’ll reciprocate. There’s still nerves going on, but there’s also a freedom and acceptance that I really think could be incorporated into the “vanilla” world.

I found that once I addressed the communication aspect of the character’s relationship, there was a freedom to really give up control and accept the raw reality of how they felt. It’s easier to be intimate and go farther with someone who already knows your darkest desires—and accepts them—than when those aren’t shared and you’re left fumbling in the dark. From that place of openness and freedom comes a depth of emotion I’ve never found in another genre as a whole.

I like to think the books I’ve written that deal with BDSM themes have gotten better and more complex, but at their core, it’s still two people, admitting what really turns them on to someone else, and being accepted for it. Granted, the kinks have gotten more extreme the more I write, but hey, different strokes for different folks!

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