I’ve been circling around my own sexuality for years. Words like bisexual, demi, pan, queer, they all touch parts of me, but none of them hold me fully. What I keep coming back to is this: my desire is bound up in kink. It’s not an add-on. It’s not a hobby. It’s the orientation itself.
The research calls it different things. Kink orientation (Gemberling, Cramer & Miller, 2020). Fetishsexuality (Lev & Sprott, 2020). The Kink Orientation Scale (Holvoet et al., 2017) even tries to measure it, splitting desire, practice, and identity into strands that together weave the whole. What they show is what I feel: for some of us, kink isn’t a flavour. It’s the recipe.
🧩 Desire Built in the Wires
What draws me in isn’t gender or looks. It’s whether someone wants to step into kink and BDSM with me. When I see that spark of interest, I light up. I want to info-dump, to overshare, to give everything, because I hope we can embrace it together. This thing that society calls taboo feels natural to me. It’s fun, it’s exciting, it’s beautiful. I don’t see a taboo. I see myself.
🔗 Practice as Proof
I used to think my needs were learned behaviours. Trauma scars or quirks I should iron out. But the more I read, the clearer it is: kink can be central, stable, and life-shaping. Lev and Sprott call it a “world of complexity” where people build identity through the very acts that others call taboo. For me, practice isn’t an afterthought; it’s the proof of who I am.
⚡ The ADHD Switch
For a long time, I framed kink and BDSM as my biggest special interest, the thing ADHD made me fixate on. It is true that I throw myself in fully, that I want to share, to overshare, to dive into every detail when someone shows interest. But I see now that it is more than just a special interest. It is my core. It is what makes me, me. ADHD may fuel the intensity, but the orientation itself is kink. That is the ground I stand on.
Sometimes that intensity spills over. When I feel that someone shares my kink, that they might actually want to step into it with me, I can come across as overwhelmingly full-on. I get so excited that someone wants to do the thing that is me that I go all in, over the top. I know I have probably scared a few people away because of it.
If you are reading this and you have felt that energy from me, please understand where it comes from. It is not a trap. It is not a test. It is the joy of finding another person who sees what I am and wants to explore it with me. Underneath it is care, hope, and a longing to share something beautiful that the world still calls taboo.
🌌 Identity in the Open
Kuperberg’s work on pathways shows how people come to name themselves through community, disclosure, and acceptance. That rings true. When I found words like “kinksexual,” I felt less broken. I wasn’t layering kink onto an existing orientation. I was finally uncovering the orientation itself.
🪶 My Reflection
My sexual orientation is kinksexual. Or fetishsexual. Or whatever term holds the truth that my desire is rooted in BDSM. It isn’t decoration, it isn’t extra. It is the core.
Attraction blooms where power and play meet. ADHD gives it heat, pushing me to go all in when I find someone who shares it. Sometimes that burns too brightly, and I know I can come across as overwhelming. But that intensity is not something to fear. It is me offering the truest part of myself.
Kink is not my secret. It is not a side. It is the centre, the compass, and the beauty I want to share.
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