Over the last decade I’ve spent much time dealing with the public on matters kinky, and patiently working to convey the message that BDSM is a healthy, normal sexual choice. I think I’ve been barking up the wrong tree. The anti-sex group I really need to convince about the harmlessness of queer and kinky play wears fur instead of leather.
There may be a member of this group in your home right now, awaiting their chance to interfere with your BDSM play. They’re well-organized against us, despite having four legs and no opposable thumbs.
How else could I interpret the actions of Random the Siamese kitten, who discovered his own premature adolescence mere hours before the start of a leatherdyke play party in my home. Guests arrived from all over the West Coast, only to find that the dungeon had been liberally sprayed with eau de tomcat, and was uninhabitable. An obvious win for the opposing team.
My friend complains that Toby, her 110-pound Doberman Pinscher, attempts to tear down the bedroom door to rescue her when she’s getting spanked. Only the bravest tops-or qualified Schutzhund trainers-come back to spank her a second time.
There was Maxx, the Chow, who found that his luxuriously soggy sneezes on our bare skin did nothing to dissuade me and his owner from doing the nasty, and so decisively trumped the whole activity by drinking litres and litres out of the toilet, then standing beside the bed and vomiting a tidal wave of goo on the hardwood floor. A brilliant anti-sex tactic.
Jacob the Chihuahua was a secret master of the anti-sex crusade. I housed him for three weeks, and he interrupted every bit of play I attempted by dragging his favourite stuffed toy close by and humping the toy wildly, as if mirroring my own sex act. No amount of imprecations or thrown pillows would dissuade him. The dykes I dated complained. And no wonder; it’s been years and I still can’t rid myself of the unsavoury image of his vacant, bulging eyes, lolling tongue and bouncing hindquarters.
Just a coincidence, you say? But, time after time, there can be no good reason why Dayton the tabbycat would only sit on my pillow and fish for his earwax when there was foreplay in the air.
We have failed to act against this grassroots anti-sex crusade because we prefer to think of our resident four-foots as benevolent. But the next time you attempt to do a bondage scene, and find the rope wrapped instead around your cat, be sure to look past her gleeful, innocent playfulness and see an agent of the vast forces arrayed against your sex life.
* Elaine Miller is considering giving up heavy petting.
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