On Being Non-Binary and Kinky
When I first 'came out' as nonbinary a number of years ago, I was the only person I knew in my real-life social circles to carry the identifier.
It was a slow, fraught process at a tumultuous time in my life. Those early years were confusing, incredibly tedious, and often unbearably lonely.
The frequent explanations, conversations, and sense of alienation quickly became a game of choosing my battles, and I routinely felt as though I was losing the war.
I’ll be the first to say that things have become easier. Not easy, but easier.
Hell, the social shift I’ve seen and experienced in just the last few years has been night-and-day. I’m no longer the only genderfluid, nonbinary, or otherwise gender-diverse person in a room. I may occasionally continue to be the only one using they/them pronouns, but even that has become more and more rare.
And for that, it’s no exaggeration to say I am grateful.
Kink & Vulnerability
That said, being nonbinary continues to impact my relationship to the kink scene. It is still a microcosm of all of the most intense parts of how I experience day-to-day society: Despite growing acceptance, I frequently feel alienated, misplaced, and downright vulnerable.
This increased vulnerability is probably my biggest barrier when trying to establish new relationships and dynamics, no matter how casual or temporary: Am I safe from possible gender-based vitriol during group conversation? Do the people I’m interested in actually perceive me in a way that aligns with this core part of my identity? Can I trust those I’m accepting an increased level of risk to play with not to simply be… humoring me?
Often I've started to feel more and more that I wish I could stuff myself back in the closet, and let things be normal-hard.
I'm not conventionally attractive;
I’ve got more hang-ups than a hat stand;
The way I perceive, and interact with, the world around me is undeniably neurodivergent (for better or worse);
I carry historical baggage and trauma that I am constantly working to make peace with and overcome the effects of.
None of these things make me unique, but they are all things that make navigating interpersonal relationships trying at times. Having a complicated relationship with gender is just another challenge to add to that list. Having one less of those would be nice, but that’s not the reality of my situation.
Community Change
Probably the single largest social change I’ve witnessed in the kink scene in the last few years is how I feel at munches and community events as a whole. Of course, it’s possible that this is a matter of how I carry myself in public spaces these days, or some sort of psychological phenomenon wherein I expect more acceptance and therefore feel that I experience it.
My reality is subjective, and all that jazz.
That said, while the social formalities (such as including pronouns during ‘intro circles’ and on name tags) have been accepted practice for a while, I’m happy that the atmosphere has seemingly started to surpass the superficial. For example, I experience far fewer instances of people ignoring (or rebuking) my attempts to correct the pronouns they use for me. Most notably, there are significantly fewer occasions wherein my gender identity is targeted for dismissal or derision in an apparent attempt to bond with other members of the group.
(That may seem like a non-professional’s pseudo-clinical interpretation of those experiences, but– after years of processing, a gentle dusting of therapy, and a whole lot of reading about group dynamics– I feel safe saying that’s often at the core of many similar encounters.)
I have had more comforting, positive interactions in the last year (ongoing pandemic allowing) than I ever did early on, and those people have come to mean more than I can possibly touch upon in the context of this writing. The queer, trans/non-binary, kinky ranks seem to be growing exponentially, and I’m loving it.
As for the jerks? Ehh, they’re fairly quiet these days.
Whatever those people’s private or personal beliefs may be regarding the legitimacy of non-binary genders, I find that the obvious public support and acceptance is worlds away from what it was a handful of years ago and it’s made a difference.
The overt assholes seem to pretty much keep themselves secluded to the online realm. I’ll take it.
(To the event coordinators who have gone out of their way to facilitate these changes and create venues in which people such as myself feel authentically safe and welcome despite the friction you may face from others in the community— I see the work you have done, and I value you deeply.)
Safety & Play
The increased understanding of non-traditional gender identities has also made the idea of approaching my kinks and preferred play/dynamics easier.
Though I do continue to find myself at times disheartened by the binary framework surrounding conversations about some dynamics. Caregiver/little (CG/L, or CGL) relationships are a case that comes to mind. I’ve consistently felt that the term CGL exists as an under-utilized label for a frequently binary (mommy/daddy, girl/boy) and often-alienating environment. This is perhaps the most structurally obvious example regarding these foundational binaries, but I don’t think it’s particularly unique.
A related mental calculation applies for pet play and power-exchange dynamics, as well as many other areas of interest that would require me to feel particularly secure in my vulnerability, deeply understood, and earnestly cared for in order to want to explore at any depth.
Establishing Relationships
While I would no longer say that it feels impossible that I will ever establish authentic connections for these interests, I do still feel that the intersecting qualities that create the Venn Diagram of “me” are more limiting than I would like in this area of my life.
I continue to be lucky enough to be non-monogamously partnered with someone who sees my gender for what it is, and holds space for me even when I don’t have the words to articulate the interpersonal manifestations of my dysphoria.
I am a little less lonely than past-me was, and a little more hopeful and willing to connect with potential partners and playmates than that version of myself would ever have been.
The Venn Diagram may still feel small, and disconnected– But my place inside of it is comfortable, and these days I’m not quite as alone.
About the Author: GoblinBights is a nonbinary, queer, service-oriented s-type creature with a penchant for rope, leather, and whatever else their neuroatypical brain stumbles upon.
