Opinion Piece by Casey Valentine
July 2026

So, I’m kinky. My delight in the unusual can instantly bring me closer to a new partner—or become a point of friction. Eyes widen as they take in my collection of impact toys, rope, needles and knives, TENS units (yes, I have two), and sounding rods. 

In my experience, people are usually more curious than judgmental. The data backs me up; a survey of over 4,000 participants conducted by Dr. Justin Lehmiller for his book Tell Me What You Want indicates that around 60 percent of American adults have at least one fantasy researchers would classify as kinky (‘non-normative’ is the preferred research term, which seems at odds with the concept of objective majority, but I digress).

I count myself lucky as someone who often gets to help people explore those fantasies for the first time. It’s a treat to see someone truly connect with their desire in a new way. Although I’m pretty adept at evoking expressions of bliss, I occasionally get confusion that borders on disappointment. A partner will remove their blindfold, squinting against the light, and say something along the lines of “Well… that wasn’t like I thought it was going to be.”

That disconnect isn’t a failure of BDSM—it highlights something fundamental about desire. Porn, fantasy, and lived experience each serve different purposes, and expecting one to perfectly recreate another often leaves people disappointed.

Addressing this disconnect between expectation and reality is important. It sets people up to have more fulfilling experiences in the future and addresses potential gaps in their understanding of what safe BDSM looks and feels like. I try to gently steer people towards openly communicating when a scene falls flat and encourage them to develop their unique erotic palate so they can continue to explore with other partners. 

But what does this mean for the original fantasies? Is it wrong to be turned on by the impossible? Do we have to abandon our innermost desires to find true satisfaction? 

Or can we have our sexy cake and eat it, too?

Finding Your Flavor

During a summer stroll by the river in early July, I found myself talking with a childhood friend about the origins of our mutually kinky sexualities. We grew up together in the same tiny mountain town, each of us harboring our own dark fantasies that were a confusing blend of thrilling, shame-inducing, and slightly repulsive. 

I gently probed about how he discovered he was interested in BDSM.

“Oh, my ‘for you’ page on Tumblr was full of kinky stuff. I tried to be interested in vanilla porn, but it just didn’t do it for me. I guess I got exposed to the idea of chastity and FemDom early on and nothing else was really the same after that. I had a cage delivered to my family’s P.O. box 8 years before I found someone to use it with!”

Similarly, most of my earliest fantasies and masturbatory explorations originated with online content. Watching ‘real’ porn was out of the question (only boys do that, right?) so my late night escapades involved hours of navigating hentai sites and digital comic archives. 

Bondage Fairies by Japanese artist Kondom excited me with its transgressive themes, stockings, and stilettos, and the Sunstone series by Stjepan Sejic was the first place I learned about authentic consent, negotiation, risk management, aftercare, and the idea that a play partner wasn’t necessarily the same thing as a romantic partner. Both featured queer femme protagonists and stunning artwork that lodged itself permanently in my imagination, no matter how many sappy heteronormative romance novels I attempted to bury it with. 

According to a 2023 review by Bryce G. Westlake, et al., porn is the point of entry for around ⅓ of kinky people. The growing visibility of BDSM in mainstream media suggests more people are turning to the internet to learn about whether it’s OK to get turned on reading an infamous and unfortunately best-selling Twilight fanfic, or why Ariana Grande suddenly started strutting around in a latex bunny mask and thigh-high leather boots. 

Most experienced kink practitioners would strongly discourage learning technique exclusively from pornography. But as an introduction—as a way of discovering that certain desires even exist—it appears to play an important role for many people

Much of the public conversation around pornography emphasizes its harms, but Westlake points to evidence that it can also promote sexual openness, decrease shame, and increase both awareness and approval of ‘nonstandard’ sexual interests. Porn may be especially important for closeted kinky folks, normalizing interests that could otherwise be isolating and empowering people to seek supportive, like-minded community. 

Both my childhood friend and I continue to engage with BDSM activities we were introduced to online. Both of us have found greater sexual confidence and deep interpersonal connection doing things that once brought us shame. And both of us have a relationship with porn that has evolved over the years.

I asked my friend if he still uses porn to pick up new ideas.

He grinned. “I’ll sometimes watch videos with my partner for inspiration, but I really prefer to explore with her organically.”

“Honestly, I don’t really need porn the same way I used to,” he said, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. “Because my partner and I practice 24/7 chastity, I can’t get satisfaction in the same way.”

As for me, I mostly appreciate porn for its own sake. Making erotic content of my own has given me a (perhaps overthought) appreciation for porn as an art form, similar to my appreciation for other visual media. So much ends up on the cutting room floor in order to sustain the flow of a scene. If I’m going for hot and heavy, I’m going to leave out awkward angles and lube spills. 

What makes it to the screen isn’t reality.

It’s artistic fantasy. 

The Right Ingredients

It should be no surprise to anyone who’s ever had an erotic experience, especially one with another human, that fantasies are decidedly different from reality. Reality is messy. Reality means sometimes your top accidentally stubs their toe on the leg of the massage table, or your bottom realizes they have to pee just as you finish a mummification. Reality means dealing with physicality, and the fact that sometimes the things that turn us on are just… impractical.

Recently I was grabbing coffee with a potential new top, an attractive guy in his mid 30’s with a handlebar moustache who’s well known in the community for being an archetypal sadist. I asked him if he’d ever had a scene that didn’t quite work out the way he’d imagined it.

“Of course! The idea of leaving my sub in a cage overnight is a huge turn-on … but I’ve tried it and I always end up wanting cuddles,” he laughed. “There are lots of things that are hot for my sadistic side, but hard on my heart. Or just plain impractical. For a while a partner and I tried a 24/7 chain, but no matter where we put it on her body, it caused her issues. Sometimes the trade off isn’t worth it. I don’t want to actually inconvenience myself.”

As a practiced top, he’s found his own balance between fantasy and practicality. Sometimes, he explained, he enjoys playing with a single element. Using an object, phrase, activity, or situation to evoke the full depth and complexity of an imagined scene. 

“It represents what it represents. I don’t always need or want to do the whole thing.”

A single object can invoke an entire fantasy without requiring the fantasy itself to unfold literally. A collar can represent lifelong ownership. A cage can evoke long-term chastity even if it’s only worn for an hour. A phrase, a ritual, or a single sensation can stand in for something much larger. 

Fantasy exists in the realms of the emotional and psychological. The imaginary offers absolute control over not only yourself, but your partner(s) and environment as well. This precision can be a treat to indulge in, especially if you’re someone who enjoys power exchange, role playing, gender bending, or a kink that would be difficult, unsafe, or unwise to execute in real life. 

Oh, and by the way, it’s extremely common to have fantasies that you wouldn’t actually act on. In a 2022 study where people were asked to compare multiple fantasy and in-person interests, the majority perceived them as separate, distinct parts of their sexuality. 

Eat That Cake!

Whenever I’m with a new partner, I try to hone in on their unique tastes and work with them to make something truly yummy. I love hearing about previous experiences that didn’t quite land, both for the entertainment value (kinky people can have some truly hilarious mishaps in the bedroom) and to learn about what they’ve been missing. Almost always, the ‘feel’ of a scene turns out to be more important than the actual activity. 

Whether your interests are considered vanilla, kinky, or somewhere in between, the goal isn’t to force fantasy and reality to match perfectly. It’s to understand what each gives you. Fantasy can inspire. Porn can spark curiosity. Real-life intimacy can surprise you with pleasures you never imagined. 

Identifying the core emotional and psychological elements of an implausible fantasy can enrich the practical to the point where lived experience becomes as fulfilling as the imaginary. This takes time, introspection, and vulnerability both with yourself and your partner. 

So, my friends, go forth and fantasize! Sample new erotic flavors, and experiment unapologetically. Learn from mistakes– they’re inevitable. 

Indulge in imagination. And eat that cake. 

Sources:

Joyal, C. C., & Carpentier, J. (2017). The prevalence of paraphilic interests and behaviors in the general population: A provincial survey. The Journal of Sex Research, 54(2), 161–171. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224499.2016.1139034

Lehmiller, J. J. (2018). Tell me what you want: The science of sexual desire and how it can help you improve your sex life. Da Capo Lifelong Books.

Gormezano, A. M., Harris, E. A., Gauvin, S. E. M., Pinto, J., van Anders, G., & van Anders, S. M. (2022). Sexual orientation across porn use, sexual fantasy, and in-person sexuality: Visualizing branchedness and coincidence via sexual configurations theory. Archives of Sexual Behavior, 51, 1201–1219. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10508-021-02202-6 (orca.cardiff.ac.uk)

Westlake, B. G., Kusz, J., & Afana, E. (2023). A double-edged sword: The role of pornography in learning about BDSM. Sex Education. Advance online publication. https://doi.org/10.1080/14681811.2023.2266808