The gap between anticipation & reality, a kink perspective
One of the things I’ve been reflecting on since entering the kink community is the gap between expectation and experience.
Not because the experiences have been disappointing. Quite the opposite. Every event I’ve been been to has been genuinely enjoyable. I’ve met interesting people, had great conversations, laughed a lot and every time I’ve been glad I dragged myself out of the house.
So why do I sometimes feel flat during and after these events?
I’ve spent a bit of time trying to work out whether it’s simply a case of unrealistic expectations, but I don’t think that’s quite it. Before every event I consciously ground myself and have a geniune vibe that I’m not walking in expecting some life-changing connection or unforgettable scene. My only real intention is to be open to whatever the night has to offer, whether that’s a conversation, a laugh, meeting someone new, or simply becoming a little more comfortable in the space than I was the last time.
And that’s exactly what’s been happening.
The thing that really caught my attention was that the feeling wasn’t limited to parties. It also happened after going on a date with a woman that I genuinely clicked with. During the evening I was completely present and having a great time, but afterwards I realised I’d quietly expected it to feel… bigger.
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It made me wonder whether I’d unintentionally created a link between extraordinary experiences and extraordinary emotions.
I’ve heard people talk about subspace, euphoric scenes and life-changing moments. Those experiences are obviously real, but I started wondering whether I’d unconsciously adopted them as the benchmark.
If something is objectively exciting, does it follow that it should also feel euphoric?
The more I think about it, the less convinced I am.
When I remember these events, the things that stay with me aren’t actually the moments I expected. I remember conversations more than play. I remember recognising familiar faces, feeling increasingly comfortable introducing myself to strangers and starting to get the sense that this community could become somewhere I genuinely belong.
Perhaps that’s the part I hadn’t appreciated. Belonging probably doesn’t arrive with fireworks. It seems far more likely that it grows quietly, through repeated conversations, familiar faces and the slow transition from walking into a room full of strangers to walking into a room where people know your name.
I’m starting to think I was looking for connection and accidently cloaking it with intensity.
