100% Genuine Artificial Vanilla Extract

 She thrashed again, sharp breaths coming ragged between her teeth. I felt her fish around for something in her pocket. She has a history of keeping things in her pockets that poke her endlessly while making out. She pressed a shiny object into my hand. I glanced at the small folding knife.

"A nuisance?" I asked.

 She fought her eyes into focus. "A hint," she hissed.

 I snapped the knife open and smiled.

 It was years before I ever accepted the label of kinky. Partially, this may have been due to my dislike of labels in general. Like others, I am not overly fond of being pigeon-holed into a box. Labels are useful heuristics, and a good quick first sketch of things you might want to know about someone, but they far too easily become striaghtjackets. There is no label that doesn’t carry with it excess baggage. No one is captured completely by a label, and most of us bristle when people assume all kinds of incorrect details from a label we have presented. But that’s normal enough.

 Years ago, not long after losing my virginity, I went to a panel on polyamoury at (where else) a science fiction convention. It was a thrown-together thing; the panel had been a last minute suggestion and they had then lost the room, so a number of speakers took it upon themselves to commandeer a side lobby, round up some chairs, and host a panel of just themselves. Intrigued, I offered to go as the token white, male, heterosexual, vanilla monogamist.

 An old friend of mine objected immediately. Having met the woman who took my virginity, he insisted I no longer qualified as vanilla. I argued back that we had done very little that qualified as kinky.

 "No." He said. "I know you like to think the universe revolves around you, but it doesn’t. Everything that you do that you like does not then become vanilla and mainstream by default. That’s not how it works."

 The argument continued until his fiance offered up the diplomatic solution of calling me 100% artificial vanilla extract, "he tastes just like the real thing".

 The "vanilla argument" is now a staple my friend and I trot out occasionally for laughs.

 The real reason I didn’t accept kinky for a long time had to do more with its use as a political or community identified by the kinksters I knew. For them, kink was an identity, a lifestyle, a core part of their sexuality. For me, it was another set of toys in the toybox of what might be fun playtime with a lover. Due largely to my first girlfriend, I saw very little line between "pistachio" and "vanilla". It was (and still is to me) all ice cream. My first lover drilled into me that PIV intercourse was by no means the definition of sex. There was no line between one and the other, and so I tended not to draw one.

 While I can be argued into agreeing there is some kind of continuum that runs from "vanilla" to "kinky", I really don’t know where to arbitrarily draw the vanilla line. I think what constitutes vanilla has changed and slid and altered over time. At a gathering in San Francisco in early 2006, I recall a number of people discussing how Tristan Taormino had opined that "breath play was the new buttsex" - anal had gone vanilla enough that no one considered it kink anymore.

 It all seems rather silly to me. I am the last person in the world to say I have a good definition of sex, or kink, or any of it, but I truly think the line between kink and vanilla is nowhere near as bright and shiny as some people like to think it is. Considering traditional heterosexual marriage is about as good an example of a D/s relationship as you can find, only without properly negotiated consent - what is the line? (Go look at some of the "submissive wives" movement. Here are a few links.)
 
 So while I will happily accept the label kinky, I prefer to say that I do kinky things. I doubt I would be seriously unhappy with someone who prefers vanilla sex. When I bother to define myself I define myself as a switch, but really it just comes down to "I do things with my lovers that we both like", and that can take many forms - it depends on the relationship. The dynamic running between me and whoever my playmate(s) is tends to define what goes on.

 In the end, I just enjoy sharing ice cream with people I like.