The Feminist Lesbian Identity in BDSM

Sexual Freedom or Women Oppressing Women?

by Erica — Perky Antagonist

Dykes are already sexual deviants, according to heterocentric ideals. We’re women who have found a way to escape male influence in our personal lives, for the most part at least. By writing her 1915 novel Herland, feminist writer Charlotte Perkins Gilman suggested that women would live in a perfect and peaceful utopian world if men didn’t exist (Gilman). From the earliest feminist theories, men were said to be the problem. Men were the violent ones. Without men, lesbians often assume that they can live without violence and inequality in their bedrooms. Women would not be objectified. Women would not be fuck-toys, nor would they be slaves with no control over their lives. In lesbian relationships, women would not be subjected to violence; they would not to be raped, beaten, bruised, humiliated, or terrorized.

But what if some women want to be “abused” in such a way? What if some women desire to administer that kind of “abuse” to their partners? If a feminist lesbian enjoys sexual activities that would not be considered “feminist” by many, or if she enjoys playing with men in the BDSM scene, what does that do to her identity?

No matter their sexual orientation, women with “kinky” desires often find solace in the BDSM community. BDSM, an acronym for “Bondage/ Discipline/ Dominance/ Submission/ Sadism/ Masochism,” is often the umbrella term for fetishes, sexual acts, and power exchanges that are considered sexually deviant.

According to The New Bottoming Book, a staple book on the “bottoming” side of BDSM, written by kink experts Dossie Easton and Janet W. Hardy, “BDSM gives us permission to act in ways that are unacceptable in the outside world — to be dependent and clingy, passive and boundaryless, manipulative and covert, bossy and cruel” (Easton and Hardy). This message has been something I often remember in my personal life.

Outside of the kink scene, I am self-reliant. I try not to depend on others, and I keep to myself. In the scene, I’m allowed to acknowledge, without shame, how I often feel clingy. I’m allowed to admit carnal needs that I cannot acknowledge in the real world. I am a lesbian feminist, yet I am a woman who enjoys being beaten until I have purple and black bruises to remind me of the scene.

I consider myself service-oriented, masochistic, and submissive. Ideally, though, a feminist is none of those things. Feminists fight for rights that would make women equal to men in society, but the foundation of a BDSM relationship is a power exchange — dominance and submission — that is not equal in the relationship’s dynamic, no matter the gender of the couple. What does this contradiction do to my identity? Am I still a feminist if I enjoy receiving the same abuse feminist theory accuses men of dealing out throughout history? Am I merely oppressed?

In her article, “Erotica and Pornography, A Clear and Present Difference,” feminist activist Gloria Steinem reasoned that, “any depiction of sex in which there is clear force…[i]t may be very blatant with weapons of torture or bondage… tell[s] us the lie that pain and humiliation (ours or someone else’s) are really the same as pleasure” (Warner 97). Like many of the other anti-pornography activists of the Sex Wars in the ’70s, Steinem connected sadomasochism and other similar sexual practices to actual violence against women (Warner 97).

While it is true that BDSM often includes play that involves consensual non-consent, like rape play, all circumstances are agreed upon by all parties in the scene. Although the bottom may seem to give up any choice in the situation, he or she will always have the right to say the safeword and bring the scene to a halt. The bottom is “responsible for knowing [his or her] limits and making sure [the] top knows [those limits], for communicating clearly, explaining what [he or she] want[s]… A responsible bottom figures out what [he or she] wants, and what [his or her] limits are, and communicates this information to [his or her] top” (Eason and Hardy).

Some may argue that BDSM can actually be therapeutic for rape victims. As a rape victim myself, playing in kink as a submissive has helped me let go a lot of the sexual issues I had that had stemmed from the abuse I once endured. According to one professional dominatrix, “You’re taking the power back. Even as a submissive, you’re taking the power back because it’s still under your terms. You’re choosing the person who’s dominating you and you’re choosing to give over the power, and you’re hopefully doing it in a controlled, good way” (Lindemann 8).

In my own experience, acknowledging what happened to me was difficult until I was able to revisit that trauma in a way in which I was in control. I do still have limits that come from that bad experience — I can’t be completely restrained or blindfolded otherwise I have a panic attack — but actually facing it has helped me move on.

I consider myself both a feminist and a kinkster; neither is mutually exclusive. Some may say it’s a contradiction, that I’m still being oppressed. If I partner with only other women, does it make it less so?

Australian gay activist and writer Senthorun Raj says no. In his 2010 article, “Que(e)rying Violence: Rethinking Pleasure, Harm and Intimacy in Lesbian Sadomasochism,” Raj stated, “Distinguishing between the embodied qualities of violence, in a socio-cultural context, relies on a consideration of power, pleasure and ethics. However, none of these terms are universal or self-evident” (Raj 122). Raj noted that sadomasochism is most understood as a crime of assault when in a heteronormative context. “As a culturally ‘transgressive’ practice,” he said, “sadomasochism emerged as a politically contested area and term in the ‘sex wars’ of the 1980s” (Raj 122). Raj pointed out that among radical feminists, sadomasochism suggests acts of patriarchal violence against women (no matter if it’s between women), and among “vanilla” lesbians, “assuming a dominant/submissive position is seen to reproduce heterosexual roles” (Raj 124). Raj suggested that by any opposing view, “women are conceptualized as simultaneous victims and perpetrators of violence” (Raj 124).

With the full authority of a male, Raj condemned the sexual acts of an entire lesbian subculture. Never mind that he only has the view from the outside in, but he fails to acknowledge that those acts are between consenting adults and only involve adults who agree to such acts. In fact, in the BDSM community, it’s actually frowned upon to push one’s kink onto others. The acronym YKINMK (Your Kink Is Not My Kink) is often used among kinksters to portray the need for respect for others’ kinks and fetishes.

One point that Raj brought up, however, is that such acts would be considered assault if in a heteronormative context (Raj 122). I argue this as untrue. In fact, in most cities (like San Antonio), the kink scene is primarily straight couples who enjoy BDSM. It’s not considered any more harmful than a lesbian couple. In fact, lesbians aren’t even the norm in the pansexual scene.

That was something that was a struggle for me when I first began exploring BDSM. I was living in Denton, TX, on my own for the first time. I had always known that I was interested in kink. I knew I had masochistic tendencies, though I didn’t know to what extent. I began exploring the local scene, and it didn’t take me long to realize that I was the only lesbian in the entire Denton fetish scene. Damn.

I haven’t been to the fetish scenes in many cities (only Denton, Austin, and San Antonio), but I’ve noticed that there are usually a lot more male than female dominants. Denton was no different. So what is a lesbian, masochistic submissive to do in a scene of almost nothing but female submissives and male dominants?

The majority of my experiences in Denton were with men. My identity as a lesbian never changed, though many people suggested that it should. I never saw “play” as sex; I had men as non-sexual play partners. As I’ve described to friends before, to me, play in a BDSM sense is much like a massage. A masseuse may touch you in a way a lover might, but it’s not meant to be sexual — it’s therapeutic. That’s what play is to me, therapy. Whom I played with has nothing to do with my identity as a lesbian.

In the dissertation of Ph.D. candidate Elizabeth Ruth Busbee of Yale University, Busbee conducted interviews with various kinksters to examine power exchanges and identities in BDSM. In one such interview, the subject, Hannah, described a similar mindset for herself. “As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found that I prefer to play with girls because it’s less sexual for me. And I feel like a woman is able to read a woman’s body better. I feel like there’s better communication there than with a male” (Busbee 172). According to Busbee, “Hannah described herself as heterosexual, but her partner choice was based more on communication and emotional comfort rather than sexual desire. For her, BDSM existed as a separate set of activities, only loosely related to her sexuality” (Busbee 172).

Personally for me, my play with men was a matter of convenience. It was either go without gaining experience, or get over my issues and realize that it’s not about sex for me. I was secure enough in my identity as a lesbian to not be gender biased in my choosing of play partners. I was lucky that I found a couple of trustworthy men who never overstepped my boundaries and respected my orientation.

In my move to the San Antonio scene, I was happy to find that there were a lot more female dominants in the area than in Denton. However, other lesbians were still rarely seen in the pansexual scene. It doesn’t necessarily mean that there are no other lesbians in the city who have an interest in BDSM. While exploring and discussing the issue, I have found that there are not many lesbian kinksters involved in the local scene, much like in Denton. The few who exist often take refuge in groups and parties that are exclusively women. In the San Antonio lesbian community as a whole, however, involvement in BDSM is far from the norm.

Why is that though? When I first observed the lack of a lesbian population in the BDSM scene, I was confused. I had always thought BDSM was a normal part of lesbian sexuality, an alternative to vanilla lesbian sex the same way it was to vanilla straight sex.

I had always had a curiosity for BDSM-like practices, but I never had a name for it. My first real exposure to kink was through a book called The Whole Lesbian Sex Book, which is a popular book among lesbians. Throughout the book, there are various references to kink as a part of lesbian sex, so I assumed such sexual practices were normal.

Civil rights attorney Anne Menashe wrote a scathing review of the book, accusing it of pushing kink onto the lesbian population, “I found it to be…a highly opinionated, doctrinaire, and, at times, ‘judgmental’ espousal of the ‘superior’ eroticism of [BDSM] and male/female, butch/femme roles” (Menashe 3). Like Gloria Steinem, Menashe insisted that the private sexual practices among lesbians are political and affect the entire feminist movement. “[T]reating pain, torture, and humiliation as erotic ‘play’ that is enjoyable to both parties may affect life outside the bedroom. Does it not lead us to trivialize the ongoing problem of misogynist, homophobic, and racist violence that permeates every institution of our society? Does it not cool our outrage and anesthetize us to the consequences of such violence in the real world? For if pain is a ‘turn-on’ and bruises can be fun, maybe women who stay with men (or women) who dominate, batter, and abuse them are really content and somehow ‘choose’ their subordination. That’s what they’ve been telling us all along” (Menashe 2).

According to Menashe, what should all lesbians strive for? “For me and countless other lesbians, the potential for equality between two women remains the biggest ‘turn-on’” (Menashe 6).

My argument for Menashe is that if she actually compares safe, BDSM practices to actual domestic abuse, she’s showing her true ignorance of the subject. The violation of consent is among the biggest crimes in kink, and actual abuse is more than frowned upon.

There are women who have the innate need to submit, who have actual masochistic desires, such as myself. As opposed to finding themselves drawn to actually abusive relationships, wouldn’t it be better for women to fulfill that part of them in a safe and sane way, in a way that has clear rules and a community to enforce those rules?

For me, suppressing my masochism would be like suppressing my lesbianism. It’s a part of my psyche, and although it’s looked down upon through both societal and feminist ideals, it’s never going away. If I can indulge safely, why would I want for it to go away if it brings me fulfillment?

Another part of Menashe’s argument that I oppose is her observation that butch/femme or male/female roles in lesbian relationships is often seen as superior as it mimics heteronormativity. I argue that the true dynamic of any relationship, lesbian or straight, is not in the butch/femme roles, but in the dominant/submissive roles. Some people have naturally dominant or submissive personalities, and there’s no need to deny that. BDSM does not force the power exchange in a relationship’s dynamic, but it embraces what is naturally there. There are varying degrees of dominance and submission. It may seem that a relationship is purely equal, but one partner may be dominant in one area but submissive in another in which the other partner is dominant. For two people to be equal in all areas of the relationship, I argue that there will be no room to bend or to compromise.

As I’ve quoted before, “BDSM gives us permission to act in ways that are unacceptable in the outside world” (Eason and Hardy). What I do in my private life is not political. I hold onto my feminist ideals, but I indulge in my masochistic and submissive needs. Other people’s standards shouldn’t define my identity. I’m just trying to get off, not start a revolution.

Works Cited

Busbee, Elizabeth Ruth. “Power Exchange: Interaction and Identity in a BDSM Community.” Yale University, 2008. United States — Connecticut: ProQuest Dissertations & Theses (PQDT). Web. 2 Mar. 2012.

Easton, Dossie, and Janet W. Hardy. The New Bottoming Book. Emeryville: Greenery, 2001. N. pag. Kindle. Web. 25 Apr. 2012.

Gilman, Charlotte Perkins. Herland and Selected Stories. 1915. New York City: Penguin Group, 1992. Print.

Lindemann, Danielle. “BDSM as therapy?” Sexualities, (2011): 151–72. SagePublications. Web. 1 March 2012.

Matthews, Marcia A. “Lesbians Who Engage in Public Bondage, Discipline, Dominance, Submission and Sadomasochism (BDSM).” Widener University, 2005. United States — Pennsylvania: ProQuest Dissertations & Theses (PQDT); ProQuest Psychology Journals. Web. 3 Mar. 2012.

Menashe, Ann E. “The Whole Lesbian Sex Book — A Passionate Guide for all of Us: Selling Sadomasochism as Lesbian Sex.” The Lesbian Review of Books II.3 (2001): 3-. GenderWatch. Web. 1 Mar. 2012.

Raj, Senthorun. “Que(e)Rying Violence: Rethinking Pleasure, Harm and Intimacy in Lesbian Sadomasochism.” Gay and Lesbian Issues and Psychology Review 6.3 (2010): 122–31. GenderWatch; ProQuest Psychology Journals. Web. 4 Mar. 2012.

Warner, Alex Ellis. “”Where Angels Fear to Tread”: Feminism, Sex and the Problem of SM, 1969–1993.” Rutgers The State University of New Jersey — New Brunswick, 2011. United States — New Jersey: ProQuest Dissertations & Theses (PQDT).Web. 4 Mar. 2012.