Should Kink Be Allowed at Pride?
Ball gags and furries in front of children? Really?
My experience of kink was nothing to write home about before I set foot on American soil.
I was aware of the tamer side, having seen leather crops and rubber gloves in erotic stores here in Spain, and having once attended a Bridget Jones “tarts and vicars”-themed party in my final year of university.
I naively assumed that that was pretty much it — a touch of slap and tickle with some tar and feathers involved.
That was until I travelled to the US this year to celebrate Pride.
“Kinky” is one of those words that my super-conventional mother used to toss around in reference to anything remotely daring or unorthodox. It didn’t need to be particularly scandalous, I’m talking facial piercings, taxidermy, Beetlejuice, and winklepickers.
I remember an occasion a few years ago when my dad, who is a surgeon, told us about the time he was tasked with surgically removing a sweet potato from a man’s rectum after he “slipped and fell” on his vegetable patch one evening.
My mother had a face like thunder as we kids howled with laughter. It probably didn’t help that this took place at the dinner table over Christmas lunch.
