When One Partner Is Kinky…

When Kenny and Martha sat down for our first session, clouds of anger and shame permeated the room. Martha clenched her teeth so hard I could see her jaw muscles working, as if she was chewing a tough piece of steak. Kenny simply stared at the floor, looking as if he hoped it would open up and swallow him.

“I’m glad you two are here,” I told them. “I know how much courage it takes to face hard problems. Let’s begin by taking a deep breath, and then whoever wants to start, please tell me what brought you here today.”

Kenny continued to stare at the floor. Martha shot him a look of disappointment and said, “A week ago, I found Kenny’s laptop open and running while he was at the grocery store. Curiosity got the best of me, so I checked his browser history and discovered he’d been looking at porn. But what really upset me was that all the women in these videos were dressed in black leather, shouting orders, tying men up, and forcing them to do nasty things, like licking dirty boots.” As she recounted what she’d discovered, her lips twisted in disgust, and I could see the anger and confusion on her face.

Martha went on to share that, at the beginning of their relationship, Kenny had told her how much it turned him on when she bossed him around in bed. She’d humored him a few times and had even worn her knee-high boots as she tied his wrists with a rope and handcuffs. But after 40 years of marriage and two children—not to mention her own preference for more mainstream sexual practices—Martha didn’t want to do that again. In fact, the very thought of it offended her. Why, she wanted to know, should she do things that didn’t give her pleasure just to satisfy Kenny? Didn’t her pleasure matter? Plus, finding out that Kenny was fantasizing over thin, blonde women made her feel unattractive and angry. Betrayed, too—not because Kenny had ever strayed with other women, but because it turned out that his deep-down erotic desires weren’t aligned with how she saw herself.

As I listened to Martha, I realized her story is a version of one I often hear when one partner discovers their significant other has a secret fantasy, fetish, or erotic desire. With the heterosexual couples who end up in my office because of this issue, it’s usually the male partner whose secret desire has been discovered. Although plenty of women have secret kinks and fetishes, my experience is that when a male partner discovers his female partner’s kink, he’s intrigued—and often wants to partake in it.

Mixed erotic-orientation relationships, where one partner is kinky and the other isn’t, are common, but many therapists, even seasoned sex therapists, don’t do enough to normalize them—which goes a long way toward helping couples feel less distressed. “We’re often attracted to people wildly different from us,” I tell couples. “Introverts are drawn to extraverts. People who live in their heads are drawn to people who are emotionally expressive. We’re also drawn to people with different erotic orientations than ours. It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.” Craving something erotic that’s different from what a partner craves doesn’t have to be a death knell for a relationship: if a couple can accept it and get curious, they can work with it and use what they learn to deepen their connection.

In my view, too many therapists automatically align with clients like Martha, whose nonkinky erotic interests are considered the gold standard. They often respond by labeling the person with the kink a sex addict and working to contain, discourage, or, in extreme cases, rid that person of their erotic interest without trying to understand what’s at its core. But kink is not a diagnosis. In my view, it’s not even a symptom of a problem, though it may be related to early trauma and be a creative, embodied way in an adult’s present-day life of gaining a sense of control over a painful past situation. The word kinky is defined as “unusual sexual behavior,” but I consider most kinks to be quite normal.

I’m not alone in this view. Psychologist and Kinsey Institute researcher Justin Lehmiller found that only five percent of men and 13 percent of women in a sample of 4,175 Americans had never fantasized about some form of group sex, whether threesomes or orgies—with a majority viewing group sex as a favorite kinky fantasy. Similarly, he found that 96 percent of women and 93 percent of men indulged in BDSM fantasies. Taboo sex, nonmonogamous sex, and gender-nonconforming sex played into other common erotic fantasies in his sample. If we define normal as common, then kinks are far more normal than we’ve been raised, or trained, to believe. And accepting your erotic interests is part of self-acceptance—which is critical to exploring the deeper significance of a fetish with openness and curiosity. This process allows clients to explore whether going on to act on these interests is appropriate and healthy, and how they might do that with a partner’s consent and support.

I’ve been working with couples and their sexual issues and behaviors for almost 40 years. Time and again, fellow therapists have told me they were trained not to ask about a couple’s erotic life unless the clients bring it up. I’m dumbfounded by this information-gathering methodology. How can avoidance possibly help us learn more about our clients’ intimate lives and challenges? We don’t wait for clients to bring up family-of-origin issues or trauma histories. We ask about them. So why shouldn’t we also ask about their sexual interests? Sex plays an essential role in feelings of intimacy and happiness in a relationship, even though, given our culture’s shame around sexuality, mental health and sexual health are rarely mentioned in the same breath.

Sadly, even when a client takes a risk and reveals a sexual issue without prompting, therapists often steer the conversation in a different direction. Whether they’re conscious of it or not, many therapists aren’t comfortable talking about sex and haven’t examined their unconscious biases around it. Many would be hard-pressed to describe what kind of sex they like. Unprocessed shame about sex and ignorance of one’s own erotic inclinations and turn-ons can translate into therapy that focuses solely on the differences in a couple’s approach to sex, like sexual functioning and positions, while avoiding differences considered more taboo, like erotic fantasies.

Working with Shame and Betrayal

Fantasies come in all different shapes and sizes. Consider, for example, the straight man who likes to watch gay porn. Most people assume he must not be straight if he’s interested in gay sex, but people can be heteroflexible: they might only be attracted to the opposite sex, but have an interest in same-gender sex from time to time. That interest has nothing to do with sexual orientation—rather, it’s an erotic orientation, which doesn’t have to match sexual orientation. When a nonkinky partner understands this distinction, they can begin to cultivate acceptance and compassion for the partner with the kink. This process might include letting go of feelings of betrayal fueled by distorted beliefs that their partner’s erotic orientation should align with theirs and exploring their own vulnerabilities and fears—often unfounded—that the kinky partner wants to leave the relationship or no longer finds them attractive.

Another thing to keep in mind about erotic interests is that when one partner says no to a fantasy, there’s still a yes in the room. The partner who says no shouldn’t be forced to change any more than the partner who says yes. Most therapists understand this conceptually; they’re used to helping couples differentiate in the context of household responsibilities, raising kids, and managing money, but they don’t always apply what they know about differentiation to a couple’s erotic life.

In my sessions, I ask outright whether partners talk about or share fantasies. Are they okay with their significant other having private fantasies that don’t include them? Are there creative ways for the partner who doesn’t have the fantasy to participate in them with the partner who does, perhaps by talking about it but not engaging in it? Maybe they can watch an erotic movie or read an erotic story together. Maybe the partner with the fantasy is permitted to engage in it privately, or the couple is willing to work on opening the marriage so the partner with the fantasy can find someone who’s willing to engage in it with them. There are countless possibilities—once fantasies are normalized and couples engage in the work of opening lines of clear communication, exploring their own social conditioning, and understanding healthy differentiation.

Interestingly, I’ve found that gays and lesbians are often far more open and honest about erotic desires than heterosexuals. On most gay dating sites, for instance, gay men will state their sexual interests up front so they’re likelier to find someone who shares them, especially if they’re looking for a monogamous relationship. As for lesbians, my experience is that although they’re less likely to reveal these details on dating sites, they’ll talk about them early in a relationship. However, it’s not hard to imagine how revealing your kinks or fetishes on a hetero dating site or early in a relationship would be quickly labeled weird or creepy. For women especially, given our culture’s history of subsuming their needs to those of men and the power inequities that often factor into heteronormative dating dynamics, revealing these details doesn’t just risk shaming or ostracization: it can also be dangerous. When women and men feel free to express their erotic preferences safely and openly, and when we can name the harmful power dynamics rooted in sexism and heteronormativity, we can move toward changing the stigma around erotic interests in the wider culture for heterosexuals.

Until that happens, I start to help partners mired in feelings of shame and betrayal by using a genogram to take their personal histories. Since many of our erotic interests—kinky and nonkinky—are influenced by past experiences, including ones in childhood, the genogram is a useful tool for uncovering information that can shine a light on the origin of a kink or fetish and, from there, allow for greater understanding and compassion.

This approach aligns with the findings of renowned sexologist Jack Morin, a pioneer in uncovering the nonsexual narratives in our erotic interests, which he discusses at length in his book The Erotic Mind. I see these narratives play out in my office all the time. For instance, when my client Sarah discovered that her male partner, Aaron, had a fetish for female amputees, she was appalled that he sexualized and fetishized a group of people who are so often marginalized. Aaron felt incredible shame about his fetish and had kept it hidden from Sarah for many years. After doing the genogram, however, we learned that Aaron had lived across the hall from a woman who’d had her leg amputated after a rock-climbing accident. Unlike his father, who suffered from depression and rarely left the apartment, this woman led an active life even after her accident and had an agency that Aaron had found highly attractive.

Discovering this narrative invited what I call erotic compassion from Sarah, the nonkinky partner, as well as erotic self-compassion for Aaron, the kinky partner. Often, the nonkinky partner’s initial disgust, betrayal, and shame reactions are based on the appearance of the fantasy without deeper consideration of the meaning behind it. Shining a light on the history and the narrative behind Aaron’s kink made it less scary for Sarah. Once she learned that Aaron’s fantasy had developed from a young age and that it had developed for a reason, she became more receptive, understanding, and empathetic. This shift also opened the door for Aaron to do work in therapy around the impact his father’s depression and inactivity had had on him as a child.

Similarly, my job with Kenny and Martha was to help Martha understand that Kenny’s erotic interest in dominatrixes didn’t stem from anything she had or hadn’t done in their relationship. In fact, the genogram revealed that Kenny’s overworked, single mother had often needed Kenny to take care of himself when he was growing up. She’d been too busy making sure she could cover their rent and pay for their food to prioritize his need for attention. In Kenny’s dominatrix fantasies, the dom represented an especially attentive, present mother—rewarding him when he was good and punishing him when he was bad. After this came to light, Martha began feeling more empathy for Kenny and how his history had shaped him over the years and woven itself into his eroticism. She came to understand that his kink had nothing to do with her. Kenny had always had this fantasy, and would’ve brought it into any relationship. He still loved Martha and was erotically attracted to her—and his erotic fascination with blonde doms was something separate from that love and attraction.

Depending on partners’ histories and belief systems around sex, it can take anywhere from a handful of sessions to a full year to reach meaningful breakthroughs—and do the work that follows. Every couple is unique in how they negotiate moving forward. With Aaron and Sarah, once their erotic differences were out in the open, we worked on a way for Aaron to keep his fantasy private through solo masturbation and watching porn, unless Sarah asked about it—which they both agreed would be best. As for Martha and Kenny, Martha eventually decided she felt safe occasionally joining in the dom fantasy to satisfy Kenny’s erotic needs, watching dominatrix porn with him and assuming a more dominant role in bed every once in a while. Both couples made explicit agreements that helped them integrate the kinks and fantasies into their relationship.

It’s a common myth in our field that processing erotic interests will make kinks disappear. This is rarely the case—and that’s okay! Another pervasive myth is that kinks are always and exclusively rooted in trauma. Sometimes this is the case, and sometimes it’s not. As Morin explores in depth, eroticism is unruly and unpredictable. Positive, pleasant, loving, or socially acceptable emotions aren’t the only aphrodisiacs. Whether we like it or not, eroticism often thrives on emotions we deem negative and unpleasant, like anxiety, fear, guilt, and anger. I almost never encounter a client whose kink or fetish poses a danger to themselves or others, breaks the law, or violates consent, but on those rare occasions where I do, I help these clients find safer alternatives without seeking to totally expunge the kink. In essence, I help clients make choices around the kink, so it ceases to feel compulsive, shameful, or out of control.

Coming to Terms with Ourselves

In the 1990s, I was extraordinarily fortunate to have been introduced to a therapist who told me she was open to hearing about my sexual fantasies to help me deal with my childhood sexual abuse and trauma and release the shame I felt about them. Her unconditional acceptance and willingness to hear all the details without judgment felt like therapeutic gold—and it still guides my work today. Without her, I never would’ve discovered the healing potential of delving into our sexual fantasies.

In and outside my practice, I’ve heard stories from people who were likewise surprised by how much it helped them to “go there,” exploring erotic depths they’d previously avoided. Many therapists fear that asking clients about sexual fantasies, kinks, and fetishes will trigger some degree of shame within the client or their partner. The key is to ask nonjudgmentally, the way you would about any other domain of a client’s life, and then remain open to whatever your client shares. We shouldn’t push for details, but we do need to communicate that we’re not uncomfortable or afraid to hear what they might say. Of course, if we are, we need to do our own work first.

We often speak broadly about improving our work through training, but I believe we need to go a step further and examine our own sexual predilections and biases. We need to recognize that erotic fantasies are often politically incorrect and go against our culture’s morals and values—and that’s precisely what makes them so hot for people! Once we can do this, we’ll be much likelier to create a safe space for our clients.

Photo by iStock/Marccophoto