On Futility

OR Terminally Online Kink Discourse Gives Me Migraines

Twitter is an addiction. There, I said it. Admitting to having a problem is often the first step to recovery, but social media has a vice grip on my soul, as a way to connect with others in an increasingly isolating world, but also as an irreplaceable part of my kink journey. I wouldn’t be where I am without it, I wouldn’t have met the people I’ve met without it, and so I must tribute towards the unpayable debt that the monsters of Silicon Valley have saddled me with through giving it my unbridled attention. But with that comes tradeoffs. For every hot man I come across, every OnlyFans trailer that pops on my feed, are reminders of the world outside my bubble. Often times those reminders are from folks that reside outside of my bubble of kink and androphilic homosexuality, and they sure have a lot to say about the goings-on in these necks of the woods, especially around kink, Leather, and the nature of Pride (with a capital P.)

The particular instance that has spurred today’s writing was about the nature of cruising. Now, what is cruising? Well to put it simply, it is the act of attempting to solicit sex through behavior, maybe a bit of word exchange, but predominantly signaling interest between consenting parties. It’s a language and a culture all its own, where glances, subtle gestures, and even articles of clothing send signals that can easily be compared to the words on a hookup app of choice. Hell, perusing Grindr for a one night stand is a form of cruising in and of itself, but perhaps I’m putting the cart before the horse when I say that those who partake in this discourse are not ready to have that conversation. Cruising is not limited to a particular locale, it can happen in more public places like bars or off the beaten path; locations like parks, rest stops, and even bathrooms have historically been places that, often under the cover and discretion of night, have become gathering points for those looking for action. Of course, there are plenty of risks that come with the nature of such a public act. Non-consenting individuals may turn up, including the police, and, of course, general concerns regarding one’s safety (both in terms of physical and sexual health.) Cruising is risky behavior, and I don’t think anyone that has partaken or continues to partake in it deny that fact, but they do so knowing full well that they are responsible for mitigating those risks to the best of their ability. Modern hookup apps still have their hosts of risks as well, people can lie about their physical appearance, their age, their sexual health, give false addresses, these apps carry their own sets of risks that come with the territory. But people still use them knowing that they’re there. 

Now, that’s a lot of rambling, I know, but I do so to more accurately set the stage of why we’re here today. I came across a tweet that reads as follows:

“Your performative disgust at historically and culturally queer sexual practices such as cruising makes you useful idiots for fascists, your eagerness to show off that you’re “one of the good ones” won’t save you.”

Now, this was my first exposure to the notion that people were against cruising. It’s unsurprising on its face: it’s taboo behavior, it’s risky, and certainly not for everyone. But the responses to such a callout were not all… kind. Labeling those that partake in it as perverts, calling their fervent defense of the practice as “fighting for your right to be a sex offender,” the works. Again, none of this is all too surprising, but there’s more to that original tweet than just the notion that people are vehemently against cruising. This disgust is labeled as performative, reducing it to behavior that is meant to earn the respect of “fascists” and show of one’s status of “being one of the good ones.” As well as the notion of being knowingly ignorant of the history and cultural significance of the act of cruising. Let’s take this apart piece by piece, starting with the notion of performative disgust. 

Disgust at the taboo is nothing new in the kink world. There’s a reason why it’s taboo, it goes against the cultural grain, it’s outside of the so-called “Charmed Circle” that society expects us to exist in when we engage in sexual activity. But the simple notion of LGBTQ+ sex is ALSO, to a concerning amount of folks, especially among those with substantial political power, at best indifference and at worst sodomy of the highest order. It’s this mindset that has always been the adversary of sexual liberation, that living our lives authentically with consenting parties was disallowed because others didn’t approve, and therefore it was bad. This discourse is not the first time, nor will it be the last, that such a mindset exists towards Leather and Kink. It happens every year during pride, that Leather, collars, and even pup hoods are too much for the public. It happens around Folsom, where people see a private, ticketed, adults only event and conflate that as having sex in front of children. It continuously comes from folks that know nothing of the world beyond those fences that block the Folsom festivities, those that are clueless as to what occurs in our spaces. But let’s put a pin in that for now as we take our next bite: the notion of the “useful idiot.”

As I’ve already addressed, the notion of someone being anti-kink is not radical, but rather completely conventional. But what makes it radical to those that already hold these opinions, is when it comes from the mouths of those you least expect. The notion of conservatives latching onto the marginalized that share their opinions about those same marginalized people is nothing new. But what makes the waters murky in this particular case is the notion of what qualifies as sexual deviancy. I keep coming back to thinking about that Charmed Circle, and all of the things that fall outside of it that go beyond what’s associated with Leather and BDSM. Do you hook up? Are you married to the person you’re having sex with? What about pornography? Hell, do you play by yourself? All of these behaviors are seen as some level of taboo socially, even if all parties involved consent to the activity. And, as a friendly reminder, regardless of whether or not Target has rainbow merch during June, even homosexuality is still taboo enough to cause some lowlifes to trash stores and make bomb threats. It would be foolish to believe that those who wish to do LGBTQ+ folk harm will simply stop at JUST being anti-kink. They will stop at nothing to ensure that ALL acts outside of the Charmed Circle are punishable, and thinking that they’ll acquiesce at some arbitrary line that you personally believe they should stop at is a denial of the reality that drives those that wish to eradicate us: they want all of us to play by THEIR rules, and not yours.

On that cheerful note, let’s take our last bite: the notion that those who partake in discussions like these are denying the historical and cultural significance that both cursing and even Kink/BDSM as a whole have had in the fight for sexual liberation. One of the joys of creating a social circle primarily comprised of older men isn’t just that they’re hot, but they’re have stories to tell. I’m passionate about my history, and knowing whose shoulders I stand on in order to even have a taste of the life that I get to live. And part of that is learning the role that Leather has had in the fight to allow me to live the way that I get to. And a lot of it is heartbreaking as hell. The language of cruising was created out of the reality that at that time being caught trying to solicit homosexual sex was sodomous, and as such, very much illegal. And even when done in our own spaces, removed from the public eye, these spaces were still infiltrated and raided by the outside world. And that’s not even getting into the ways Leatherfolk have continually been shafted by the vanilla LGBTQ+ community, from denials of seats at organizing tables, and even after pulling up our own chairs being denied the visibility that others received regardless of that involvement behind the scenes, events like the 25th anniversary of Stonewall, multiple marches on Washington, and even Pride parades of today Leatherfolk are still denied the same courtesy of visibility that is afforded to the more palatable among us. This is what I meant when I said these sentiments are not novel, even among our own “kind” it is a stigma that has always been levied against us, even by those we saw as potential allies with similar aims. But most don’t know how deep this go, and I am certainly in a position of privilege being able to learn all of this from individuals that lived through it. I am certainly an outlier, and while some may be too quick to label this apathy as pride in the sinful sense, perhaps it’s simply apathy: they just don’t care. While LGBTQ+ history may be sorely lacking in schools (I don’t know the current state of education to give a definitive answer) the internet is a treasure trove that can fill those gaps. And yet, here we are, arguing with folks STILL about our right to live as we please, decades old diatribes not even with a new coat of paint, but a few swipes of Scotch-Brite on the panels of a decrepit automobile barreling us all towards collective extermination. But why should we care about whether or not they understand? While sure, understanding our history can give newfound appreciation, sexual liberation (at least in my perhaps fairly infantile understanding) should not be contingent on understanding history. Rather their understanding should be focused on the realization that those that partake in what we do in the pursuit of joy know the risks, educate ourselves on their mitigation, and from there do so with others that seek what we seek. Even if they may not want to partake in such activities, even if they find them disgusting, dangerous, or wrong, that should not matter, because risk awareness and consent are at the center of all that we do. We are responsible adults in like company. 

But does any of that matter?

My first few months out to my parents were kind of rough. I had just moved halfway across the country, and so they’d check in often to make sure I was ok and safe. Almost to the point of paranoia, which while expected out of parental figures still felt pedantic and irritating. It didn’t matter that I was on PrEP, that the HIV positive individuals in my social circles were not only provably undetectable but also kept close watch on my medication habits, or the community I found abided by the notion that my safety was their safety, that safety was still continuously called into question. It was heartbreaking, feeling like I couldn’t be trusted despite the education on what I was involved in I gave them. In a way it was my first taste of the futility of explanation. But within that futility, buried underneath the sorrow that comes from never feeling truly understood by the outsider, is a sense of freedom, right? Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery, after all.