Editor’s Note: This article briefly references experiences of trauma pertaining to sexual assault and reclaiming pleasure through BDSM. Some readers may find this content offensive, disturbing, or triggering. If you’re a survivor of sexual assault, you can find resources via RAINN.
BDSM can be a wild, emotional, euphoric ride.
First, there’s the build-up. BDSM scenes can be weeks, even months in the making. Sometimes, they require advance preparation, like hunting down the perfect violet wand to engage in a little electro-sex.
Maybe you’re big on the aesthetic element of BDSM, and get just as much of a thrill from stocking up on latex, leather, and gimp suits as you do from the actual scene. Perhaps you’ve been anxiously anticipating your first-ever play party, eager to get tied up and flogged in front of a horny, half-naked crowd. Maybe you’re just starting your journey: reading up on kink, practice, and safety while discovering your interests and limits.
And then, there’s the BDSM itself. Here, a few myth-busting disclaimers are needed. The first is that BDSM is a pretty broad umbrella term: it incorporates bondage, dominance, sadism, masochism, power play, and more.
Sex isn’t always the actual point of BDSM scenes. You might get spanked for hours but never actually orgasm, spend your time dressed up as a pup sitting obediently at your dominant or partner’s knees, or be locked in a chastity cage for weeks without being able to fuck anyone. Fantasies can be enormously creative; dreaming them up is a big part of the fun.
You’ve likely seen the actual BDSM scenes depicted in mainstream media. You’ve seen the menacing dominatrix with a shackled client in a sex dungeon, as well as the spanking session in the middle of a play party in shows like Bonding and movies like 50 Shades of Grey or My Normal.
These are arguably the flashiest, sexiest parts of the scene, but there’s another vital component of BDSM that often goes overlooked. It’s called aftercare.
What is aftercare?
This term has different meanings to different people. Kelvin Sparks, sex blogger and author of Trans Sex: A Guide for Adults, defines it as “the period after a scene or a kind of play that allows both/all players to decompress, process what’s happened, come down from an endorphin rush, respond to any physical or emotional needs that may have arisen, ground themselves back outside play headspace, and make a connection with each other outside of that headspace.”
The rush of BDSM can be intoxicating, but it can also be overwhelming. If you’re trying new things for the first time, it can be helpful and important to discuss them with your partner, asking questions like, “Did you enjoy it? Would you try this again? How did it make you feel? What would you do differently in the future?”
These moments of checking in with yourself and your partners are vital. More importantly, they foster the kind of intimate, clear communication that maximizes the pleasure of BDSM.
How do you provide aftercare?
Depending on the type of play you’ve engaged in, aftercare can be a practical necessity. “A scene which involves a bottom’s skin being broken is going to require wound care,” explains Sparks.
Ness Cooper, a clinical sexologist and sex educator, corroborates this statement. “People might enjoy the sting or the bruising of a consensual, physical injury,” she says, “but performing aftercare to keep the site clean can prevent infection and unwanted sensations.” This might be the case for hard flogging sessions, medical/needle play, or anything that involves bloodletting more generally.
BDSM can be mentally tiring too, for dominants and submissives alike. Cooper notes that people might feel a certain “drop” after a scene, “where endorphins and hormones from the play can crash suddenly. This can lead to some feeling shaky, cold, and even teary after a good play session they enjoyed.” Think of it as a comedown, and be just as kind to yourself as you would be in other circumstances.
Naturally, sex workers are generally well-versed in the art of aftercare. Alice Skary is a queer, professional dominant, as well as working as the Director of Customer Service and Model Outreach for the adult subscription site JustForFans. “I’m a top, so my first priority is always to provide aftercare to my bottoms and submissives,” they explain. “Generally, that starts with tending to any injuries, and then attending to their emotional needs as they wish.” They leave the specifics up to their partners, specifying that “a good meal, cuddles and a movie, a warm blanket or a favorite playlist are common.”
That’s not to say that Skary doesn’t need aftercare, either. BDSM is at its best when partners are in tune with each others’ needs: for those in the more dominant role, that can mean memorizing their partners’ kinks and boundaries, learning to continuously check for consent without breaking role-play, and being aware of any risks associated with certain kinds of play. For Skary, food is the answer. “I tend to ‘crash’ if I don’t eat well afterward,” they say. To recuperate, they snuggle under a cozy blanket, take the time for “lots of rest” and eat a “huge meal.” “I have chronic fatigue, so I have to kind of baby my health after such a huge expense of energy.”
Can BDSM be healing?
Depending on the dynamic, there can also be a distinctly emotional aspect to aftercare. Sparks tells Cashmere he’s “used BDSM in ways that were cathartic and/or therapeutic” in the past, namely to help him heal from sexual trauma. “I’m a survivor of multiple experiences of rape,” he says. “The most recent time –– in 2019 –– left me feeling distant from my body, and grappling with [the] feeling [that] I would be unable to experience being the subject of desire in a way that didn’t involve overstepping my boundaries.”
Sparks found solace in “rope topping” –– learning to tie and restrain partners with various rope-knotting techniques, which vary in their complexity. It can be an intensely meditative act, the kind which requires trust and patience. “The kind of rope [play] I did didn’t involve nudity or other forms of sex,” he explains. “It provided an environment that felt safe, but with a sensual aspect.”
Honing his rope skills helped him build confidence, and work up to “believing [he] could be desired by others in a way that wasn’t violating.” Clearly, in some cases, BDSM can be cathartic, even healing. Under these circumstances, aftercare often means taking the time afterward to check in with your emotions, to mitigate the risk of becoming overwhelmed.
This can be a continuous process. “Not all aftercare happens right after [a scene],” clarifies Cooper. “Some people may need regular aftercare. Sometimes, delayed emotions can occur; someone might need support from their play partner even days afterward.”
Cooper adds that these emotions don’t have to be negative or overwhelming. BDSM can trigger elation and euphoria –– especially if it’s helping you reconnect with your body, your desires, and your boundaries.
Sporadic studies are emerging to support these claims. A 2013 study, published in the Journal of Sexual Medicine, linked BDSM to “favorable psychological characteristics,” describing “BDSM practitioners” as “less neurotic, more extroverted, more open to new experiences, more conscientious” and “less rejection-sensitive.”
A 2016 study, again published in the Journal of Sexual Medicine, refuted pathological descriptions of BDSM as a disorder, instead describing it as a form of “recreational leisure.” In total, 935 respondents answered the researchers’ questions, and the overwhelming majority of them positively affiliated BDSM with “a sense of personal freedom,” “pleasure or enjoyment,” “decreased stress” and “self-expression or exploration.” Accordingly, aftercare can involve the giddy celebration of a post-play high, or the “achievement of a certain goal set by a domme,” says Cooper.
There’s increasing evidence that BDSM can positively impact those who enjoy and embrace it. Anecdotally, articles extol the healing benefits of BDSM. Practitioners have tapped into this too, offering what they describe as BDSM therapy. Yet this destigmatization –– which, arguably, is partial, and concentrated in kink and sex-positive circles –– has been centuries in the making.
BDSM fantasies aren’t always reflective of reality.
Perhaps the under-discussion of aftercare plays into this ongoing stigma. The tides are arguably changing, but there’s still a sense of taboo surrounding sex, kink, and fetish. In fact, the DSM –– the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, the ultimate authority on clinical definitions of mental illness –– only reclassified BDSM as a “behavior” as opposed to a “pathology” in its 2013 edition, after a more-than-decade-long campaign led by the National Coalition for Sexual Freedom.
Unsurprisingly, sensationalism still shrouds BDSM. According to Sparks, “mainstream depictions generally fall into two broad categories: freak show, or fantasy.” The former, he says, aims to create “sensationalized stories, which aftercare rarely fits into.” The latter is focused on “creating an idea of what BDSM might be like for a vanilla audience, in a way which appeals to them.”
He says these depictions don’t have to be sexual, noting that many of them lean on the idea that BDSM is “empowering,” but that they don’t necessarily go against the grain of what people already associate with BDSM. Instead of exploring the psychic worlds of power play, complicated fantasies, and mutual pleasure, these depictions largely rely on short, snappy scenes, which reduce BDSM to whips, chains, and not much else.
Of course, art doesn’t have to be educational –– although plenty of us do look to porn and sexual content to fill the gaping, sex-ed-shaped void in educational systems.
Sparks also clarifies that “fantasy depictions of BDSM are ‘wrong’ or ‘bad’” –– “so long as the distinction is made between reality and fantasy, it’s not morally wrong to depict dynamics that would be unhealthy in reality,” he explains. “The issue with 50 Shades of Grey, for example, is not that Christian Grey is abusive, but that he’s in a narrative and written by an author that doesn’t seem to understand that’s what he is.”
Unpicking fact from fiction requires critical thinking, and it requires awareness of actual BDSM dynamics. But plenty of us don’t have all the facts, to begin with –– and sometimes, these purely fictional examples end up being weaponized against actual kinksters.
Talking about aftercare helps destigmatize kink.
Expanding discussions of BDSM, aftercare, as well as kink and fetish scenes more broadly, could be hugely helpful to those who want to explore their own fantasies, but feel nervous about doing so.
I can speak from personal experience. My first play party was an eye-opener, to say the least. I had explored kinks of my own with partners in the past, but I was still nervous that a play party would be an overwhelming experience.
When I arrived, there was a wristband system –– green to signal you’re down to fuck, red to signal you’re not looking for new partners, yellow to indicate that you’re open to hooking up but not there just for that –– and private sex rooms, as well as designated areas for those who wanted to play in a more voyeuristic setting. There were stewards situated throughout the party to check in on guests, and the importance of consent was emphasized consistently.
It wasn’t the overwhelming, nerve-wracking experience I had half expected. Instead, I met open-minded strangers who understood the importance of aftercare, of checking in frequently and talking openly about what turned them on. The day after the party, they shared selfies in the ‘aftercare’ channel of a group chat. Some were bathing their bruised bodies, others snuggled under duvets watching animated movies.
Prior to that event, I had practiced aftercare but not named it as such. Scrolling through this group chat made me think more deeply about what I needed, both from myself and from my partner. It reiterated the importance of clear communication, and the recognition that shared sexual experiences and a sense of community can feel wildly affirming.
These concepts are especially vital for those who feel, or have previously felt, shame around their kinks and desires. Skary tells me they became interested in kink before they became interested in sex. “I was deeply fetishistic,” they explain. “My first sexual urges were around hurting people, tying them up, golden showers, and consensual non-consent. This was a really complicated time for me because I was young. My only frame of reference about what I was feeling was hearing about serial killers. I thought I was a baby serial killer.”
It was only when Skary began reading and researching more about kink that they “learned about the BDSM community,” describing the knowledge of its existence as a “great relief.” Although Skary was “too young to participate in it at the time,” they were later able to “explore these urges,” which gradually became more sexual. “First, I mostly explored them to please and satisfy my partners, but I later began to enjoy parts of BDSM myself as well.” Because they had done plenty of research, they were aware of the importance of aftercare “pretty early on” –– and as a result, they had a clear understanding of the varied layers of BDSM.
Gradually, myths are being dispelled. Sex workers, and sex educators –– including those who straddle both fields –– are speaking in-depth about BDSM, and not just from a straight, cisgender perspective. “Kink is an amazing equalizer,” continues Skary, claiming that there’s a misconception that only “young, thin, able-bodied cis people” are the “only folks” who engage in BDSM.
Sparks emphasizes the diversity of practices that fall under the BDSM umbrella, explaining that you can be into some aspects, but not others. It’s not a “package deal,” he says. “People who are curious about light bondage may turn away from BDSM because they’re not interested in heavy S/M play, and think that being ‘into BDSM’ requires that.”
He also underlines that BDSM is mutual –– both the more dominant and the more submissive parties are “on equal ground,” he continues, and “the dominant or top’s right to say no is just as important as a sub or a bottom’s. I find this extra objectionable, given that I know a lot of other tops who have had their boundaries violated by bottoms or subs being coercive, or indifferent to consent.” Cooper concurs, explaining that “a lot of media seems to confuse BDSM with toxic sexual habits, which it isn’t. BDSM can be consensual, and the power dynamics within BDSM dynamics don’t have to follow stereotypical patterns of how societies see dominance or submission.”
Aftercare factors into all of this myth-busting. Post-BDSM check-ins, long, pain-soothing baths and post-scene naps are all as intrinsically linked to BDSM as the play itself, and talking about them more often could offer a more complete insight into what these scenes actually entail.
Sex education is still treated as taboo, and long histories of treating kinks and fetishes as mental illnesses mean that many of us still deal with shame. Unpacking these feelings can be a crucial component of aftercare, as can chatting openly within BDSM communities.
The thrill of being whipped can be galvanizing, as can the prolonged pleasure of having your junk locked in a cage and “owned” by a partner. There’s a multitude of pleasures linked to BDSM, and engaging thoroughly and consciously in aftercare can only serve to heighten them.