The Night I Gave Up and Got a Blog Post Instead

My second venture into the FetLife scene was supposed to be a spanking night at a local dungeon. After the emotional gauntlet of my first outing, I was hoping for something simpler, maybe a little raw fun and some good conversation. What I got instead was a masterclass in what happens when a community gets too comfortable and forgets how to welcome a new face.

The space was clean and well-kept, which was a good sign. But the vibe? Not so much. There was an established polycule in the middle of a scene, and while the sounds were undeniably arousing, the crowd around it was not. I felt a palpable sense of predatory energy and decided to keep my distance. A few men stood out in the worst way. One was a creepy fidgeter, constantly wandering around with an unsettling aura. Another, who looked like a high schooler with greasy hair, followed me to the classifieds board to point out his ad for random play. My immediate thought? Hard pass. Then a third guy came in, ignored my friendly smile, and started talking about his "black book" of subs.

I quickly realized I had stumbled into a very specific kind of clique, and I was not part of it. The conversation was just as bad as the company. By 9:20 PM, it had devolved into a dull, corporate-speak discussion about club memberships and 501(c)(3) statuses. Here we were, at a kink club on a Saturday night, and this was the topic of conversation? Yikes. The whole scene felt utterly devoid of the playful, exciting energy I was seeking. They didn’t just sound boring; they sounded complacent.

So I did what I do best: I made my Irish exit. I left after an hour, knowing full well that this was not my tribe. I hadn't found connection in the room, but I had found it in myself. I had a profound realization: I was reconnecting with a part of me I'd lost. My ex had numbed my ability to listen to my own thoughts, to feel in the moment, to know when something was truly right or wrong for me. And in the midst of that dreary dungeon, I felt it. I felt the clarity of my own mind, my own desires, my own revulsion.

I went home and journaled. The act of sitting alone and writing about the experience was more connecting and meaningful than anything I'd found in that room. The spanking night was a total bust in terms of social interaction, but it was a massive success in terms of my personal journey. It taught me that my instincts are sharp and that I am the only person who can truly give me what I need