A Handful of Cinnamon: Power Exchange, Kink & Sex

Someone I correspond with and I have been exchanging stories about things we were interested in when we were younger that informed our kinky selves as adults. Many kinksters have these stories—they were fascinated by the damsels being captured by the bad guy in TV shows, but they didn’t know why, or they really liked the shots of the leather boots the police wore on CHiPs, but they didn’t know why that was, either.

I wonder how many fetishists this show is responsible for? (source)

I wonder how many fetishists this show is responsible for? (source)

So this friend and I were talking about various early signs of pervdom and they asked if I’d ever thought about a specific activity. They described it really well and I could see the appeal, but it just wasn’t something I’d considered.

Many people seem to (from what I’ve witnessed on forums and in listening to conversations and podcasts) discover their kinkyness through physical actions of some nefarious sort. Either seeing something on a show or reading it in a book. Someone is being beaten or teased or tied up (OR someone is doing one of those things to someone else—depending on which side of the slash you’re inclined towards).

For me, it was more about a feeling. I was a budding service-oriented submissive (or slave) so I wanted to fetch and carry and do the general bidding of a woman I respected and admired. I wanted to be important to that person. And still do. That hasn’t changed. It was a few years before ideas of physical activities other than cleaning and filing began to enter my mind.

(And I’ve spoken before about how sex-mad I am.)

Activities—any of them—don’t interest me as things to do outside of a power exchange.

To me, power exchange is the meal and activities are the seasoning.

When you go into her pantry and see this... you know you're in for a good time. (source)

When you go into her pantry and see this… you know you’re in for a good time. (source)

I mean, I like cinnamon, but I don’t want a handful of it. (This is no denigration on people who do the cinnamon challenge every day of the week. I’ve seen your photos, you rock, it’s just not how I work. Although I feel compelled to add that the actual ‘cinnamon challenge’ is dangerous and you probably definitely shouldn’t do it. I’m just using it as a metaphor in this essay.)

To continue with the metaphor. There are quite a few seasonings I would be interested in trying, given the correct chef, but I’ve never been the sort of person who felt the need to do something just to do it.

I have a friend who is thirty and who is still in that, ‘Ooh, let me put that in my mouth,’ phase. He’ll eat anything. I don’t mean that sexually, either. He has no fear of any food, perhaps because he grew up all over the world so he has no cultural bias towards or against any one type. He’s experienced more textures and taste sensations than I ever will and I’m really okay with that.

But there are people who are sexually that way or kinkily or just in general—’Hey, do you think I can pick up that snake?’ kind of people. And they probably have much more colorful lives than I do. They most definitely have better stories. I am completely happy hearing the stories later. Totally fine with that. I admire people who can do that because I have never been that person.

Maybe I would be comfortable trying the seasonings within a power exchange because those require trust and communication. I would be allowed to experience those things because someone I admire would be there to protect me and give me permission.

Whatever the reason, it’s not as though I’m just waiting for my first power exchange to break out the restraints. If I don’t meet a person I want to try things with then I won’t do whatever. This isn’t a video game—there are no points for racing through the levels.

And when I eventually land myself a D-type I most likely won’t be asking for ghost chili peppers the first week. My people come from the lands of bland—England and Ireland. I’m completely fine with boiled potatoes and a roast. A hearty, filling power exchange is fine by me.

Nil spices in this photo, but I'm salivating. (The thing in the bottom left is a Yorkshire pudding.) (source)

Nil spices in this photo, but I’m salivating. (The thing in the bottom left is a Yorkshire pudding & they’re fantastic.) (source)

Once we’ve got a solid nutritional foundation in place we can start introducing moderate seasonings—nothing nuts at first—a little white and black pepper, maybe. And work our way over to some of the more interesting spices. I’ve been eyeing up the saffron, it’s far too expensive to be used frequently, but used correctly and it’s nice.

(Ginger root can keep the hell away from me, though. I know what it’s used for and I’m not impressed.)

I haven’t mentioned sex because it’s that side dish that gets left in the fridge and usually never even makes it to the table because everyone is happy with what they’ve had. You’ve pushed back from the table, unbuttoned the top of your jeans and someone says, ‘Aww, we forgot the potato salad!’ and everyone says, ‘I could NOT eat another bite.’

Now, after I’ve been in a power exchange with someone for a period of time and everything is going well and meals have been running smoothly and if it turns out my Mistress happens to make a kickass apple pie (or something) that she wants to feed me… well, you know… Maybe I’ll have a lil apple pie.

[This writing also appeared on Medium. If you are a member there and you enjoyed it, please give it some love.]

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