Lessons in Kink and Kingston

Vanilla to the bone; creamy blandness instead of bile.  Hailing from a long lineage of “Vanillas”.  Meant not as a racial term.  Sex is alluded to, not directly discussed.   Shared behind a closed door.  Adventurous definitions still fall short of extreme.  Boring, but also the most loved flavor.  Am I the only one who finds the term a little offensive?  And yet fitting. My mainstream nature was recently brought to my attention. I had never really thought about it.  

My bestie participates in a local kink community and warned me that if I met any of the other members, I would have to avoid using my “judgey face”.   What the literal F?!  I don’t have a “judgey face”!  I don’t discriminate in my ridicule, it is free for all!  Stinging, I pouted, and then pondered on it.  

Ozzie and I found ourselves at the diviest dive bar in a town that once was the capital of NYS, pre-burning.  Snapper Magee’s has been there for as long as I can remember.   Named after a bulldog, I assume from the photos and various iconic pictures festooning the place.  Low to the ground and rather mean looking, the bar lives up to its namesake.  The motto: “Deny Not Thy Thirst”.  Kingston NY is filling with pretentious places and prices to match NYC.  Breweries and Wineries and Distilleries, oh my.  But Snapper’s remains an island of predictable subpar.  The ceiling tiles are falling, the floor is sticky, and the walls are strewn with random edgy paraphernalia.  Having come from a brand new on-site spirit distillery at $13+ per oz, we were ready for a better bargain.  The Working Class Combo was just the ticket – a shot of Fleishmann’s and a can of Rolling Rock – $5. Ozzie took the whiskey.  The plucky signage behind the bar reminded us to not be cunts and to respect the dive.  The cash register was a pedestal for a gnome themed butt-plug, and Chinese cookie fortunes with “in bed” handwritten at the end were taped to the wall.  “You will find the thing you are looking for.  IN BED”.  How very vanilla of them. 

10pm and we were only joined by several farm workers who wreaked of cheap cigarettes and sexual desperation, two stoners, the heavily pierced and tattooed bartender, and her off duty coworker- equally tattooed, less pierced.   The TVs played the newest Jumanji movie on one side and women’s wrestling on the other.  Enter “Mad Mike” to the mix.  He rumbled up in his Humvee, carrying concealed, and suffering scurvy of the left eye.   His leg may have been peg.  Clad in leather and an eye patch, A Biker- Pirate of sorts.  Previous occupation- roaming the Halls of Justice.  Current occupation- build and design for the kink community center.  Specific builds this week including a vertical spider web restraint wall and moveable tool carts (a must have).   Nilla wafer presented fascinated face- no kink-shaming face here. 

The Kink Community enjoys unconventional sexual tastes and behaviors, so says Webster.  This includes a well-known subset called BDSM (Bondage and Discipline, Dominance and Submission, Sadism and Masochism).  From what I gleaned, Ozzie and Mad are into the D to the S and the S to the M.  While they talked whips and restraints, I watched as the bar filled with young people who found Snapper’s after more acceptable venues were shuttering their doors.  Everyone animated with drink and stinking of fear.   Men afraid of going home alone, or finding a connection that would turn too serious, or losing the girl (or boy) to another.   Women terrified of being found wanting- too much of something or not enough of another. Wanting connection, and attention, but also afraid of the emotional and/or physical wallop that may come after finding it.   Dangerous waters.  No one really discussing anything more than superficial.  Mating is bloody dysfunctional.  

What I started realizing is Kinksters have one leg up on us fudgeless sundaes (all puns intended); They have Confidence in Communication.  I want, I do not want.  They have to communicate frankly, and fully dialogue about sexual consent for example.  Where saying yes specifically is the only way to go forward, instead of just NOT saying NO.   That confidence spilling over to every conversation, about anything.  Sounds like a super-power to me  seeing as  I can even be wishy-washy about my coffee order….  Ozzie tells me I don’t make sense, flirting while looking for the exit sign.   I guess I find the interaction fun, but don’t touch me or expect anything.  Doesn’t feel like I can make a verbal contract first sentence- Yes to banter and yes to innuendo; no to expectations and no to physical contact of any kind. You in? Where are the teasing only communities? Bet they are out there.  

We played some killer games of Connect Four in the only booth in the place and watched the crowd at the dart boards and around the juke.   Ozzie and I had been to this bar often in years past.  Blurry nights where we added to the din, floor goo, and fear.  We had sat outside on the curb at 3am waiting for a locksmith, because I locked my keys in the car, sharing a cigarette.  Older and marginally wiser, we walked away from Snapper’s at a more reasonable hour.   Making our way down a street that once saw a sea of Red Coats with torches.  Onward toward the future that might still see us grow and change.  Burning old habits that take away our power.  Cracking it open and pulling forth good fortune.   “You will be the King or Queen of your own Destiny.   IN BED”.   

– Penny Rainmaker