Songs of Our Kink: Insecurity and Belonging
Sometimes a song can be more than just a background to a scene.
There’s a go-to song I either call to mind or listen to as I get into the headspace for a scene. I’ve been thinking a lot about that song lately, and how it both lyrically and musically embodies aspects of my own Dominance, and speaks to my attitude on kink overall. The song is “Sing Along” by Blue Man Group, ft. Dave Matthews. Now there are a lot of songs on my kink playlists, and usually each playlist is unique to the partner with whom I’m playing. But “Sing Along” is a staple, and in the larger scheme of things, the music and lyrics speak to belonging, strength, and confidence.
On the musical side, “Sing Along” synesthetically captures the “sound” of what I feel and see when I interact with a partner. It starts out relatively simple and slow. A steady beat. A single, almost sleepy voice. Then, the metallic hits on piano strings sound like it feels when I put my fingertips on my partner’s skin. I pick up all the little signals they send me. An eerie guitar fades in and out like gentle touches as counterpoints to initial stings and thuds. And I begin to lay down the first layers of sensation, pain, or protocol, upon which the whole scene will be built.
And really, do I need to explain those “swish” sounds in the background?1
But it’s in the layering of Dave Matthews’ voice that really captures the feeling for me (even though I’m ambivalent on Dave Matthews as an artist). I build and weave together combinations of sensations and rules. In some scenes there is a definite end-point or picture I want to paint— a song I want to sing. In others, it’s more like a baroque or jazz improvisation. But there’s always a primary melody. And if I’m “on,” and there is a good energy with my partner, then those different layers will continue to resonate and act even if I’m not actively engaging in them at that moment, kind of multiplying my presence so it seems as if I’m in a few places at once. A particularly wonderful bottom once said to me during a playful scene “How many hands do you have?!”
But the other aspect of this song that I really love are the lyrics, and they address a phenomena in kink that we don’t like to talk about, but I think all of us—at some point or another—have felt: insecurity.
If I sing a song, will you sing along Or should I just keep singing right here by myself? ... If I tell you I'm strong, will you play along? Will you see I'm insecure as anybody else? ... If I follow along, does it mean I belong Or will I keep on feeling different from everybody else?
The songs of our kinky selves are first sung in solitude: the fantasies we have that we don’t think anyone else does, until we find out that—yes—there are people like us. Yet the particulars of our kinky desires often makes us feel like no one could possibly understand them. Even when we do find others like us, and talk to them, and even participate in our first scenes, underneath that exhilaration and excitement may be a little questioning of just how “real” we are.
No matter how we’re oriented on the Dominant/submissive spectrum, we are all susceptible to insecurities at some point or another. Some can be fleeting and scene specific (especially if we’re doing new things), and others can be deeper and, sadly, can remain as unwanted companions through our longer kink journeys. I remember attending a presentation by Midori at my first “Thunder in the Mountains” kink conference in Denver in 2017. She was talking about Dom aftercare, and how most Doms (whether they admit it or not) need aftercare that includes a lot of reassurance.
“We Doms,” she said, as she peered over the top of her glasses, “are really insecure.”
She whispered the last two words into the mic, and most Dominants in the room laughed, perhaps nervously. But that laughter was followed by a palpable feeling of relief. For many of us in the room, it was the first time we had heard someone else who identified as Dominant actually say those words out loud. Meanwhile, some of the submissives in the room nodded and smiled knowingly, while others seemed genuinely surprised.
But as we play, and as we immerse ourselves in kink relationships and engage with the broader community, what seems like “following along” at first later transforms into an intimately personal journey, where the deepest aspects of our respective kinks help us to learn things about ourselves; help us to come to terms with the insecurities that have been part of us for the longest time. And even the most confident of us come to recognize that in those moments when we’ve made mistakes, they’ve often been related to our desire to “belong” or perhaps even to adhere to a persona that we’ve created; we’re trying to be who we think we should be instead of who we actually are. Or, for those just starting out, perhaps we have an idea of who we think we’ll become, only to lose sight of who are are in the moment.
I love this song because it keeps me centered and reminds me not to fall back on two decades’ worth of experiences to define what any particular scene “should be.” But it simultaneously reminds me that, through that experience, I have earned and deserve the joy that I encounter in what I do. Sharing that joy—and sharing in the joy that others are feeling—is a beautiful thing.
We do belong. We are strong. And we will sing our beautiful songs to each other.
I once made a play partner (consensually) cry just by swinging a crop in the air next to her. It’s a very distinctive sound.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Please Kink Responsibly to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.