I discovered kink in 2006. Coming from a middle-income family in a tier-3 city in Rajasthan, with a convent school education, I was expected to remain pure, chaste, and a virgin until marriage.
The funny thing is, I believed all of that. I thought it was the ‘right’ thing to do. My saving grace? I never judged my peers, especially the women in my life, who were sexually active. I would just shrug and say, “Whatever rocks your boat.”
And then, I discovered kink.
I learned about submission, domination, sadism, masochism, bondage, restriction, discipline, the Gorean fantasy, roleplay, and so much more. It felt like a whole new world had opened up to me—a way to explore myself in ways beyond mere ‘fucking.’
Keep in mind, this was 18 years ago—long before 50 Shades of Grey became a phenomenon. The community was smaller, more close-knit, and ethics were taken seriously. Women in the community had what I like to call an ‘active privilege.’ This environment facilitated a lot of asexual experiences for me.
In truth, I didn’t experience peno-vaginal intercourse until December 2016, even though I had been playing for six years by then.
One might ask, how is that even possible?
There are a few factors at play here:
Social Conditioning
Contemporary Indian socio-cultural expectations are paradoxical. You’re expected to be chaste in body, mind, and thought, as if you are asexual—while knowing you’re not. Then, when you marry, your sexuality is expected to blossom overnight, but without becoming too overt. Confusing, right? It was for me too. So, the safest bet seemed to be to avoid sex altogether.
Not Knowing My Triggers
This was both by choice and by chance. For the longest time, I avoided discovering what aroused me, for fear of temptation. Later, when I realized that it was possible to play without intercourse or sex, I settled into a comfort zone—until I didn’t.
When I first played in 2011, I dabbled only in pain, not in humiliation, and I found peace, not arousal. Pain was, and continues to be, a centering and grounding mechanism for me.
I never thought of men in terms of “OMG, he’s so handsome, I want to fuck him.” In intimate moments of play, when men expected at least a handjob, it was just another task of service to me. It never struck me as “OMG, I love his cock!”
In my erotic world, there were toys for restraint, impact, and pain, but no pleasure toys. Fingers were just for probing, not deep penetration.
Ah, virginity, you useless medal!
My Unfamiliarity with Queerness
During the first decade of my BDSM journey, I often thought I was asexual. Others told me so, and I was even judged for it. Though I discovered the lifestyle in 2006, I didn’t experience an orgasm until 2011. I wasn’t familiar with queerness, so I never realized I might be asexual. I’m still learning about queerness, by the way.
I also didn’t distinguish between sex and sexual activity.
So, What Changed Later?
I fell in love. I realized I was demisexual and sapiosexual, and I also happened to be a masochist and submissive. To some, I was a freak; to others, potential prey. I needed to protect myself.
My asexual comfort zone was perfect—until it wasn’t.
Once I discovered I wasn’t actually asexual, and that asexuality was a sexual identity, I felt like a fraud for having thought of myself that way. That’s when I first combined kink and sex.
Even today, I think of sex primarily as intercourse of some sort. Unless seminal or vaginal fluids are exchanged, I consider the activity sexual, but not sex. I know it’s a limited definition, but it’s the one that works for me.
Here’s the thing, though: even now, the best sessions I have are asexual.
I love serving my partners in all ways—both asexual and sexual. I don’t care much about my own orgasms. I love impact because it brings me peace, calm, and tranquility.
Despite being polyamorous, humiliation and degradation are spaces I don’t explore with just anyone. So, my sexual side rarely surfaces in most of my intimate moments. Yet, I find ways to make my partners feel cherished, loved, and treasured.
So, What Does This Journey Mean?
At the moment, it means two things:
First, as a kinkster, I was on the ACE spectrum for the longest part of my journey, and I didn’t even realize it.
Second, as someone who identified with the ACE spectrum for nearly a decade, I was still a kinkster—and that’s something I always knew.
Asexual kink allows me to be vulnerable. It allows me to have physical contact without fear of my boundaries being violated. It allows me to explore at my own pace, experiment with tools, toys, and techniques, and empowers me to explore sexuality within well-defined, mutually consensual boundaries.
Asexual kink offers a world of possibilities—a perfect way for me to express myself as a poly, kinky, submissive, masochistic, demisexual, sapiosexual, single woman who is continuously exploring herself more deeply.
Writer Asmi
