Holding my tongue.

It's always awkward when I'm with "normal" people--work, family, some of my more uptight friends--and the subject of weird sexualities comes up. On one hand, I'm usually very well-informed on the subject, and eager to share information and correct misconceptions. On the other hand, it's awfully ill-advised (and sort of obnoxious) to come busting out with "well, in my experience with erotic infantilization, it's actually a very loving experience." Even without the direct overshare, helpful factoids like "That's called a Whartenberg wheel and it produces this interesting sensation like being cut without actually breaking the skin" still seem like bad ideas.

Sometimes it's frustrating. Yesterday at work we were listening to someone talk on the radio about swinging, and my partner was all "oh my gosh, how could someone do such a thing, I couldn't live with myself, what about the children," and I wanted so badly to bust in with some sort of chirpy politically-correct sex-positive pep talk about polyamory and open relationships and ethical slutdom, and I didn't.

I thought about J.L. J.L was in a class I took on emergency medicine, and J.L. was not in the closet about his kink. He showed up to class wearing a triskelion and proudly explained its significance to all and sundry whether they had asked or not. He drew fox-people in bondage in class. One day he came in wearing rubber wrist cuffs and sat in class idly clipping them together. J.L.'s ultimate low point came when he said he wanted to have backboarding (like so, done to immobilize spinal injuries) practiced on him because he was so into bondage. Jesus. If the whole class wanted to know what makes your dick hard, dude, we woulda bought you dinner first.

I would rather experience a little frustration and let a few misconceptions pass than turn into J.L.