The frustrations of discretion
Pardon the play on words, but sometimes, this spanky stuff is a pain in the ass.
I am not ashamed of Erica Scott. However, I’m not naive and I’m no fool. I know that, in a great percentage of the population, the Erica Scotts and her fellow kinkoids of this world are considered freaks. And therefore, a degree of discretion and anonymity must be maintained. Out of respect for my family, my friends who have vanilla careers, etc., etc., I have to disassociate from them to a large degree. Names cannot be mentioned, or pertinent details. Because to be associated with me would bring embarrassment to them, and judgment onto me. And no one needs that crap.
But DAMMIT… sometimes, it’s so hard keeping quiet. Especially when I’m bursting with excitement and pride over something that is happening with someone who knows and loves Erica [real name], but has no awareness of her alter ego. And I want to keep it that way.
My cousin, the TV producer I’ve mentioned many times over the years and in my book, has published a bio. I have already read it, since he sent me an advance copy. There’s been a lot of buzz about it, and now the buzz is a roar, with interviews and columns and photos. Granted, the millennials don’t know who he is, anyway. But still, to many, his name is iconic.
My father is mentioned often in his book; there’s even a picture of him. In all the bits and pieces of interviews I’ve seen so far, my father is in them. So I am doubly proud — my cousin has had an amazing career, and my father did too. I don’t want either of them to be forgotten. I want to do all I can to keep their names and legacies alive.
But I can’t. Because if I mention a name just once, it’s on the Internet forever, associated with me. The next time someone Googles my cousin, listed in the gazillions of hits will be his mention in a “porn star’s blog.”
I suppose if I really wanted to, I could build a whole other online presence, with my real name, no pictures of me, and write about my family. But 1. I really don’t have the time for that, and 2. who would read it? No one knows who Erica [real name] is. And I don’t want the two entities to combine, even in a slight blur.
I need to mention, yet again, my admiration for writer Jillian Keenan. Because not only did she come out as a spanko online, she did so with her real name, and in an article not for a kinky blog or site or whatever, but for the freaking New York Times. That is bravery. That is conviction. And she’s had to deal with a whole lot of backlash over it, too. Her husband was outed in the process and that was very supportive of him as well to be OK with that. I cannot do that.
So I share things with friends, privately. I tamp down my desires to share details. I don’t post the picture of my cousin and me taken two years ago, after my mother passed away and he and I got together. I hint at things, I give sly odds and ends. But never names. Never identifiers.
Tomorrow, I’m going to a belated birthday lunch with my stepmother — yet another person whose presence I wish I could proudly broadcast. But alas, she must remain anonymous too.
There are costs for everything. I am living my life, for the most part, true to myself and my deeply kinky, rebellious and iconoclastic self. But I pay the price by having to be discreet at times when I wish to trumpet with joy.
Not going anywhere in particular with this; just expressing a bit of frustration. Because it really is a drag to have to be concerned about offending loved ones if they’re associated with me. But, again, that’s the price we pay sometimes.