‘Scene’ Is Just a Word


But, like most of them, it’s got meaning.

I don’t think it’s accidental that it’s calmly become part of the vernacular of kink. There are many other words that would fit that context just as well, but I have to believe that at some point the other options faded away until there was just that singular, that theatrical nom de guerre, with all of the baggage that it brought over from the West End.

To me, it’s a reminder. that what I am doing, no matter how real and powerful it feels, is only as real and powerful as I allow, and as you allow in turn. that it’s a construct, primarily, something affected even if the contents, the stage directions, render one or the other of us powerless, restrained and wanting. A fantasy rendered real by the moans and smirks, each spank and pinch, props coming flowing out from under the bed like every monster you ever imagined.

More than that, there’s also an intent behind it. An actor needs words, a play needs meaning, and a scene needs thought and care behind it, an aim and purpose to drive it through to culmination. You need to leave different, more. I need to do more than just thrill you, I need to help you become who you want to be.

It’s what separates a scene from sex, no matter how kinky it is. Just because I slip my hand around that delicate, elegant throat and squeeze upwards, doesn’t mean this is a scene. Just because I make you beg, over and over, for release, only to deny you and build you up all over again in the wreckage of the previous attempt, doesn’t mean that this is a scene.

That you left the room, an hour later, with a sense of catharsis that rooted deep down into your bones, bones that will ache for days, a body that will ache for a few days more, with a pervading sense of difference, like you’re better equipped to face the world beyond this door.

That makes this a scene.

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