Cara McKenna's Kinky Limits

When Charlotte invited me to guest post on the topic of “kinky limits”, I must admit, I was a bit surprised. And flattered, since Charlotte is such a bomb-ass ho. But kinky? Me? You really think so?

I’m proud to say I write down-and-dirty erotica and occasionally my explicit sex scenes get rough, but I don’t really consider myself a kinky writer. Not in the bells and whistles, props and costumes kind of way. As many erotica authors will agree, I can’t eroticize things that turn me off; if I tried I just know my discomfort would come through on the page and leave my readers cold. And sadly for me, just about anything that smacks of a fuss turns me off. I can understand the power-dynamic appeal of bondage, but the thought of all the formal BDSM accessories and etiquette exhausts me. My scenes with a bondage flavor will never involve leather and fancy furniture, though I have used duct tape and gritty hardwood floors. DIY bondage, that I’ll do! Come to think of it, according to my books the only beds they manufacture are the variety with slatted headboards, located in handy proximity to unused pantyhose or easily removed belts.

I guess my favorite kinky head trip is tied up in the whole m/m scene, but specifically, straight-identified guys experimenting with other men…especially if I can make them exceedingly uncomfortable. Which is different from writing about things that turn me off. Anguish totally gets my motor running. So that’s a favorite kink of mine—bringing an alpha male to his knees. Literally, whenever possible. Emotional unease turns my sadistic writer crank. I’m sure it’s lost me a few readers already in my short career, but the scenes and indeed stories I love writing most are fraught with turmoil and ugly emotions. Jealousy, sexual identity obliteration, lusting over off-limits persons, crippling and compromising infatuation…basically taking a character who thinks they know what they’re about and punching them right in the soul via the introduction of their love and/or lust interest.

But let me back up and ask this—what counts as kinky nowadays? Is spanking still kinky? I’ve written my fair share of it, but I’d say that’s pretty vanilla now. Or maybe I’ve just been listening to too much of the Savage Lovecast (not that there’s any such thing). But eavesdropping on other people’s crazy sex issues has definitely raised my mental bar for what’s properly kinky these days. The zaniest of that stuff violates the few rules in place at the mainstream erotic pubs, what with all the piss drinking and dressing up like babies and the furries and so forth.

Let me see, what kinks have I written about… A healthy amount of what I call “light bondage” (cue the belts and headboards), cuckolding, rape role-play, conception-as-turn-on, double vaginal penetration, male-on-hetero-male penetration, bit of spanking, sex in the great outdoors, spitting / biting / slapping (all female on male), menage of course, voyeurism, a harem of men squirreled away in a brownstone in Boston’s snooty Beacon Hill neighborhood… Still, nothing too freaky, I don’t think.

Now what would I like to write one day? Now my knickers get all bunchy when people use “kink” and “fetish” interchangeably, but I suspect I’d be interested to write about a true fetish sometime. Like a story about a man who can’t get off unless he’s chewing toffee out of his partner’s hair, then giving him a happy ending with a game woman who owns a salon-stroke-candy shop. Only not that horrible. But a proper fetish, bordering on an affliction. Again, off I go with the uneasiness and mental turmoil.

I’d be also interested in trying out [ahem, on paper] fisting, sensory deprivation, pegging (in fact I’m quite sure that will come up in a story I plan on writing next year), prison-based sex (guards or inmates or a mix, I don’t care—bring it on) and maybe a bit of good old-fashioned American wife-swapping. I love a little something’s-amiss-in-suburbia dystopic romp.

Now what could I never write, or as Charlotte put it, what squicks me out? Probably no female-on-female—not a squick factor, it simply doesn’t do a thing for me, personally. I won’t say I’ll never write male-on-female anal, but I must admit, I’m sick of it. Mainly because it became the biggest mainstream, Maxim-type popular taboo during the time I was coming into my own sexuality, and it’s now pretty much standard in all porn and much hetero erotica. Sorry, so over the anal craze. Leave my butt alone! If others dig it, I say go for it, kids, but for some semi-irrational reason it gets my feminist hackles rising every time. And as far as double penetration goes, if my heroine finds herself in a bed with an extra cock, I suggest giving the good old flexible front door a try. Room for one more.

And on that classy note, I’ve hit my 800 words limit.