I started dabbling in kink when I was 18, and it very much happened in isolation. I was shopping for toys, my interest piqued as I browsed and saw all manner of straps and devices to play with, and vowed I should explore.

You could say my dominant side was awakened quite early on. It wasn’t because anybody told me what it was, but it clicked in me in the way certain things do when you find the language for them.

It felt similar to finally realising the reason I wrote sapphic FanFiction throughout my teenage years was a lot to do with being a burgeoning lesbian myself. 

You recognise yourself in the language, and begin to feel quite at home there.

I explored kink as part of casual dalliances, in a non-committal I-like-this-but-not-sure-where-to-go-from-here sort of way. It never occurred to me that entire parties - entire rooms filled with people like me - existed. Even if I had known they were a real thing back then, I sincerely don’t think I’d have dared to go.

My confidence took a while to find. This was before Kilter, before announcing to my friends, family and colleagues - both current and former - that I’m into BDSM (spoiler: nobody was surprised), or taking it one step further and talking about sex and bondage on TikTok to a sea of faceless profiles.

I was still a bespectacled wallflower. The idea of a themed party, where I didn’t need to be ‘myself’ was appealing.

What I neglected to appreciate was that I am somebody who lacks the appropriate skills to prepare in advance for any sort of costume-based event.

I only remembered the event 24 hours before, and found myself panic-ordering a glue gun, plastic foliage and all manner of paraphernalia on the bus into Holborn.

Then the day of, I slapped it all together with the kind of hopeful optimism that only last-minute crafting can generate.

And then shortly before I was due to depart for the event, I found myself consumed by mild panic that, while my outfit had come together, it didn’t seem to fit under any coat or weather-befitting outdoor attire for February.

One of the most common misconceptions I hear about attending parties is that playing is expected.

I want to be abundantly clear, it is not. It is not a waste of attending if you do not play. It does not make you any less valid of a kink-enthusiast if you are not strapped/strapping somebody to a spanking bench. You are valid in all ways that you show up (just please respect the rules of the event).

It’s easy to assume, if you haven’t been to such an event before, that everybody would be immediately engaging in something intense, something active, the moment they stepped through the door.

I will dispel that myth by saying the moment I stepped through the door, I found myself in a forty minute queue for the cloakroom where, lo and behold, people were behaving like they were at any other night-time event, but just in more creative attire.

Sure, many people, myself included, had more exposed flesh than a vanilla event (read: underbust corset, chains, pasties) which I definitely could not have worn to a concert or bar.

As somebody not into playing publicly, I was relieved to find there was no expectation of that. Yes, there were areas set up with different music and vibes, different atmospheres you could step into if that’s what you wanted. 

There were two dancefloors, alternative performances, a six-person deep queue for the bar, people lounging on sofas and me - awkward and glued into an outfit dancing around the periphery of the action, just absorbing the atmosphere. It could have been my fourth vodka and tonic that encouraged me to relax into the environment, and before I knew it, I found myself pulled onto the dancefloor with somebody dressed as a tree.

But where were people playing?

In truth, there was playing happening everywhere but it was mostly contained within the designated playspace, where the DM presided over spanking benches, and St. Andrews Crosses.

What I enjoyed was how normal it felt to be there. I was among people who, just like me, were exploring themselves and their version of pleasure, power, and play. Not every interaction was intense and many just danced, laughed, talked about work, about life.

I walked away that night with a tiny thrill of enjoying a space filled with kinksters. People like - me - some more confident, some less so - but with a shared enjoyment of the alternative.