How I Learned to Love My Kinks After 20 Years of Shame
- Filip
- Oct 3
- 3 min read
By Daniel Mercer
I spent the better part of two decades treating my desires like a dirty secret. On paper, I was the “normal” guy: married, steady job, went to the gym three times a week, never once let on that I wanted someone to tie me up, edge me until I begged, or spit the word slut into my ear.
That stuff lived in the shadows. Late-night porn searches, anonymous chat rooms, the occasional scroll through FetLife before slamming my laptop shut like it was on fire. I’d close the tab, feel a mix of shame and adrenaline, then wake up the next day pretending none of it existed.
The truth? My kinks scared me more than they turned me on—because they didn’t fit the script of who I thought I was supposed to be.
The Weight of Shame
Kink shame is brutal because it’s invisible. You can be sitting at brunch with friends, nodding along to their stories about Tinder dates, while secretly replaying the fantasy of being collared or bent over. For years, I thought something was wrong with me. That if I admitted what I wanted, I’d lose my partner, my respect, my place in the world.
Part of that comes from growing up male in a culture that feeds you one model of sexuality: always in control, always dominant, always ready. There’s not much room in that script for wanting to be the one on your knees.
I know women carry their own versions of this too—shaped by living in a patriarchy that polices their sexuality, labels them sluts, and punishes them for wanting too much. Shame is democratic like that: it hits all genders.
The Breaking Point
For me, the turning point came at 39, during what was supposed to be a regular couples’ therapy session. My therapist asked me what I actually wanted in bed. Not what I thought was acceptable. Not what my partner expected. Just me.
And the words came out before I could stop them:“I want to be dominated.”
Silence. My cheeks burned. My heart thumped. And then—relief. Like I’d been holding my breath for twenty years.
That confession cracked something open. Suddenly, the idea of exploring my kinks wasn’t terrifying—it was possible.
Midlife, Fetish, and Freedom
Here’s what I’ve learned since finally stepping into my kink life in my 40s:
Curiosity beats shame every time. When I swapped judgment for curiosity—asking why does this turn me on? instead of what’s wrong with me?—I realized my kinks were less about deviancy and more about release.
You’re never too old to start. The BDSM community is full of people discovering themselves at every age. I met a submissive at 55 who was just starting to explore rope. Liberation doesn’t come with an expiration date.
Communication is your safe word. The scariest part is asking for what you want. But I’ve found that most people respect honesty, even if they’re not into the same things. My partner didn’t run when I told her about my submissive side—in fact, she leaned in.
Shame thrives in silence. The second you start talking about it—whether with a partner, a therapist, or a trusted friend—you take away its power.
From Fantasy to Reality
These days, kink isn’t just porn tabs at midnight. It’s real. It’s rope burns and bruised knees and the hum of a paddle against my skin. It’s playful, sometimes ridiculous, sometimes transcendent. And it’s mine.
Do I still feel echoes of shame? Sure. But they’re quieter now, drowned out by the sound of my own moans.
If you’ve been carrying kink shame for years, here’s my unsolicited advice: stop waiting for the “right time.” There isn’t one. There’s just now, and the chance to trade secrecy for liberation.
Because nothing tastes sweeter than freedom—except maybe the leather of a well-worn collar.