Kinky Satanic Love

Published December 17, 2019

Like so many of us, I was raised by religious parents. Mine weren’t overtly religious until I entered my teen years, but the undercurrent of religious morality was always there. As a child and pre-teen, the moral message my parents emphasized most was “NO SEX before marriage. Sex is BAD. Love is GOOD. Don’t Do Sex.” They chiseled this message into my young mind through numerous lectures, delivered with fierce parental love. I got it: Sex = Bad, Love = Good. They emphasized that I’d be “punished” by God for any sex outside of the strict confines of authorized matrimony. This message had terrible implications because I was a sexually curious young person, eager to explore the realms of human sexuality with men and women. As a tween, all kinds of things aroused me. As a teen, sex was constantly on my mind. I failed to hide this from my parents, but their admonishments didn’t land as expected.

Each time my parents told me, “You will burn in hell for having sex.” 

I would think, “Wow, God must already hate me for my thoughts and desires.”

Each time they told me, “You must wait until your married, or your sex is sinful.”

 I would think, “Wait until I’m married? Who are they kidding? That’ll never happen. Guess I’m going to be a sinner.”

Each time they told me, “Sex before marriage is against God.”

I would think, “I’m going to have sex before I’m married. I guess I’m against God.”

Each time they told me, “Sexual pleasure is Bad. Only Love is Good.”

I would further divide the concepts in my mind. Sex was wrong, I knew that, and love was right, I knew that too. 

The final result of this constant messaging was that I could not blend my sexual desires with my emotional feelings of love. This division between love and sex was foundational in my young, newly forming character. As my teen years revved up, I discovered that I was only attracted to men I did not and could not love. And, anyone who loved me became sexually unappealing. The sex I wanted was “bad” sex, and even when I chose “bad” people to fall in love with…as soon as I loved them, the sexual attraction dissipated. Sex and love became mutually exclusive to me. This problem caused me and those who loved me a great deal of pain. 

Clues to the Puzzle

At age 15, I was goofing around with a high school sweetheart who tied me to his weight set. Laughing, he ran upstairs to get something, and I was left alone. I struggled a bit and could not free myself, and this made me giggle. Instead of fear or frustration, a feeling of sexual arousal washed over me. I realized that he could do whatever he wanted to me and that I would be powerless to stop him – this turned me on more than anything ever had. I secretly prayed that he would come back and molest my body. I was too young to understand, but it was this element of “powerlessness” that activated the lynchpin of my desire. Take away my power to choose sex, and you relieve me of my responsibility. If I’m not responsible for what happens to me – then by default, the sin is not my fault. (making me free to enjoy it, secretly) On that day, my boyfriend returned with soda and promptly set me free. But, ideas about bondage and restraint began to fascinate me. Later, I fantasized about handcuffs, ropes, and even rape. I knew these thoughts were “bad,” which made me even more confident that I was a sinner living “against God.” My well-meaning Christian parents had accidentally kinked me with their puritanical morality. 

This division between my sexuality and my love turned my early 20s into an emotional disaster. I was turned off by the men who tried to love me. I became a stripper because it was a way for me to explore my “sinful” side. Stripping kept my sex life separate from my love life, but it meant that my boyfriends weren’t intimate with me. I might go through the motions with them, but my real turn-on was my job, where the “bad” sex was happening. Even as caring men fucked me, I imagined violation at the hands of strangers. By my early 20s, I gave up on Christian morality and all pretense of following it. I performed an un-baptism ritual and decided to forgive myself for my sexuality. This act was a triumph of personal growth and self-acceptance, but one that did not change the mechanism of my desires. Powerlessness remains the common element in all of my fantasies, but the Christian guilt is gone. 

At the age of 28, I began a relationship with a man who was 17 years older than I. He was a kinky Satanic Dom, definitely “bad” from a Christian perspective, but he loved me above all else. He cherished me for who I was, and when it came to sexuality, I could be honest with him. Fortuitously, I didn’t want any power in sex, and he wanted it all. He presented me with a formalized kink contract that laid out the parameters of our bond. I signed it gleefully and wore his collar. 

“He wants to do so many BAD things to me!” I squealed with delight to my girlfriends, “in a very nice way, of course,” I would add, smiling.

It was here, in the crucible of a 24/7 kink lifestyle, that I had my first experience with “making love.” It didn’t happen right away. I think it was in the second month. We were having sex (in the kinky way we usually did) when a wave of love overcame me. However, this time, instead of banishing my sexual mood, the feeling of love augmented it. I realized that I loved my master more than I’d ever loved anyone, and because of that love, I’d given up all my choice and power in our sex life. Being loved, AND in a place of sexual powerlessness was the secret sauce, the turn of the key, the last piece of the puzzle. I had finally achieved it: the mending of a divided identity; I finally grasped the romantic combination of sex and love. Instead of fantasizing about the “bad” things a stranger might do to me, I fantasized about those exact things my master did to me. Instead of seeking a “bad” person to have good sex with me, I loved the good man who had “bad” sex with me. 

The man whose dark and evil love suited me the best left too soon. After precious few years, he passed away, leaving me alone for the better part of my 30s. Without the love of a kinky Satanic Dom, I went back to “vanilla” sex with more ordinary people. I realized that kink sex was gourmet sex, requiring high levels of trust and communication. It’s not that hard to find a stranger to bang you in the dark. But, finding someone to engage in symbolic power plays for sexual excitement (who also loves you) is much harder. Sharing one’s kink takes courage, the negotiation of a ‘scene’ even more so. I had some outstanding vanilla sex, but eventually, I yearned for a similar type of kink arrangement.

Here is where I found my true nature, in the paradox of dark and light. It is the expanse of both that measures the fulcrum of human experience. This taste for things that are both beautiful and taboo permeates all my aesthetic preferences. The acknowledgment of our shadow selves is sexy. It is vulnerable and powerful to own what we are and to navigate it with the ones we love. Here is where we find love born of truth and the kind of intimacy which can never be contrived. 

Seven and a half years after the death of my first, I met my second husband – who also happens to be a kinky Satanic Dom. I guess I have a “type,” and as our tenth-anniversary approaches, I reflect on the different ways in which we all love. 

Sexual deviance is a thing, and the denial of its root causes and consequences leads to unconscious, self-destructive acts. I suspect that those who righteously speak against sexual deviance also suffer from its most egregious manifestations. Far better to face the demon, reconcile it, and allow yourself to enjoy the sublime pleasure of kinky satanic love.

With my husband Master Xolotl Sabina – Photo by Desert Viking Enterprises

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