Oh, to be met.
I went to a BDSM/Kink show.
I went to a BDSM show this week.
I’ve been yearning for something deep and playful and no one knows me like kink does.
Our host was a queen who needed no introduction; everyone could feel her presence upon entering the room. Dressed in a suit and a long silver chain around her neck, holding the end of it in her own hand.
She sat us down in a room full of playful items and instead of picking anything up, she instructed us on layers of touch using only her fingers. Just her eye contact and encouragement to try ourselves. She increased and decreased the tone of her voice based on the depth of the hold on herself. She showed us the places she liked to be touched; the small curve between her fingers, above her eye brows, along the arch of her jaw line. Matter of fact about her pleasure.
Eyes invitational, curious; attention always on us.
Next, I decided on wax; choosing my chest because that’s where the vulnerability was. I placed my trust in the holder of the candle and, slowly, purple wax dripped down my collarbones and chest. The flame was hot under my chin and I was glad for hands holding my lower back so I could arch, a contrast to the urge of wanting to lean closer to the dripping.
I was invited to experience erotic paintings, metal work, art. Asked what I thought they meant, to interpret, analyse, reflect. Evoking parts of myself I generally only am asked in the therapy room about others.
All a curated preparation in anticipation for the main event.
I was instructed by her to sit and watch.
Dark at first, just my breath, then five bodies lying soft on the floor.
One by one, limbs ever so slowly came alive, the same whispers of touch we had been instructed about before. The lights behind them changed colour, and silhouetted off their bodies until they seemed to become one unanimous flesh.
Playing alone at first but always moving in time together.
Seeing naked skin, it was strange I ever saw them clothed.
The freedom was tangible.
Intimacy and vulnerability demonstrated through skin, it suddenly made sense to me why we call it holy.
There were no words, but I saw through touch how they got to know each other. Memorising the lines, freckles, muscles. When the pace changed, it changed for all in some interconnected web.
I watched each learn the bodies language and take turns.
And I thought, oh, so this is embodiment.
My attention gravitated towards the queen. She moved in a way where she chose the direction and the air filled in the space. I felt her power ripple through the others. Where she beckoned, they stood. Where she walked, they followed. She was effortlessly powerful. I also knew, that this level of bravery is only forged in fires.
This power did not control or overpower; it unravelled.
I could physically see the permission it gave others to do the same. The ease in their shoulders, the smiles at having their gazes met, the nods and moans.
I was struck by her humanness, tears, sighs. Her care, pleasure, joy.
She created space to hold and in turn, she came to be held.
They all needed one another.
She empowered the others by kneeling, evoking their own body movements while contained by her gaze. How freeing it must feel, to be watched like that.
It was the first time I have truly understood raw sexual reciprocity and presence.
The give and take, the rising and falling of co-regulated chests.
The genderless, stereotype-less act of true, honest, connection.
One exchange, felt by all.
No bargaining, no earned love, no over-responsibility.
Just someone seeing you and you seeing them back.
The strength in the surrender, the shared story.
Oh, to be met.
Despite the nakedness, I had a felt sense of who each individual was beyond skin. The way their bodies were given permission to move, the touch that made them feel joyful, how they surrendered into embrace. I could write novels on their person just from how their body moved to her touch.
The wax worked its way from thighs, arms, to the places we generally kiss; forehead, ears, collarbones, back.
The touch deepened from arms, shoulders, to the places we write poetry about; the cheeks, the fingers, the arch of the hips.
The joined finish was felt by all, but the sensations crescendoed and reverberated long before this ending.
When they slowly wiped wax off one another, I felt like a kid peaking at a goodbye kiss; the intimacy made me both want to look away and look towards.
All were wet, heated, satiated.
And me, sitting in the dark once again, irrevocably inspired.
In awe that there are other people out there like me.
This, this is what I have been aching for.
Embodied power, presence, reciprocity, play, art.
Oh, to be met.
All my love, C x
I was one of the performers of this show and had the honour of pouring wax on your chest. Reading this brought heartfelt tears of joy to my eyes and a wonderful warm ache in my heart. Thank you for seeing us, for feeling what we wanted to share with you, with the world. Thank you for writing this, it's hard to know sometimes as a performer if your creation has touched people. Seeing writings like yours makes all the creative process worthwhile. 💜
Wow! I loved this!