How the College Entrance Exam Shaped My BDSM Journey

It’s that time of year again — college entrance exam season. Wishing everyone the best of luck!

Looking back, the biggest impact of my own exams wasn’t just grades. It was the chance to leave my hometown, move to a big city, and finally live life on my own terms.

And honestly, my “terms” aren’t anything spectacular. I’m not here to give you a motivational speech — I just want to share what moving to a city really meant for me.

I grew up in a small fourth-tier county, but my parents were surprisingly open-minded. My mom, in particular, has always had a rebellious streak. When I was a kid, she would take me to internet cafés. We’d each sit at a computer and play games side by side. Not because she was spoiling me, but because she herself was obsessed with Audition Online and didn’t trust me to stay home alone.

That game probably broke more space bars than any other game in history.

Once, I actually beat her in a match. She was so excited she gave me her account, bragged about her skills to her online friends, and I — caught up in her praise — completely lost myself. After school, I’d do my homework and help her level up.

Other kids would get banned from going online if their grades slipped. Me? My mom would joke, “If you keep failing, I’ll have no excuse to take you to the café anymore! My account still has a bunch of quests undone!”

I think that’s where my “service-oriented” streak began. I had to help her with the game while also doing well in school just to keep that excuse alive. Looking back, I can’t help but laugh — I could’ve charged her, saved up, and probably bought an apartment in Beijing by now. Instead, I’m just left shaking my head at Lishuiqiao.

Because of all that, I didn’t really see her as just “Mom.” She was a friend. She understood me, supported me, and accepted the odd things I was into.

Outside of my family, though, small-town life could feel suffocating. My high school was a traditional boarding school. We could only go home for half a day on Saturdays.

There were six of us in a dorm, and like most teenage boys, we found our own ways to handle loneliness. But we weren’t satisfied with the ordinary. In the spirit of exploration, we pooled money to buy an MP4 player, taking turns updating its collection each week. It became our shared “spiritual food” for the week.

Through this exchange, we learned about each other’s preferences.

• Zhou liked Western girls, blonde and blue-eyed.
• Xu liked girls with fuller figures.
• And me? I was into BDSM.

When I first added one of my favorite videos to the MP4, I felt nervous. Their reactions were… mixed. Xu said, “What is this? This is messed up.” Zhou joked, “You’re not violent, right? Don’t kidnap us!”

I laughed it off, but deep down, I felt alienated. I started to believe I was some kind of freak.

That feeling lingered until I moved to Beijing for university.

Big cities, as the name suggests, are… big. Big enough for all kinds of people.

At first, I found a small community online called “Devil XX” — the name was cringy, I know — but it became my final puzzle piece in self-acceptance. I posted a self-introduction, which got deleted by the moderator. She DM’d me, pointing out issues, and we ended up chatting. To my surprise, we were at the same university.

Within minutes, we arranged to meet. It felt surreal — like seeing a shooting star land right next to you.

That night, we talked in the library for hours. I had no framework to understand my desires — no Foucault, no Li Yinhe, no theory of BDSM. I was still teetering on the edge of self-doubt.

I asked, “Are we… weird? Are we not normal people?”

She rolled her eyes. “There’s no such thing as ‘normal.’ Everyone is specific. You are specific. I am specific.”

That answer stuck with me. Looking back, it was a turning point — the moment I began to make peace with myself.

She added me to a QQ group of forum members who met offline. “We’re going to the zoo tomorrow. Come join us!” she said. And I did.

Meeting them in real life was transformative.

• A was a male dom, but not in the typical sense. A Tsinghua science grad, he loved creating unusual play tools and testing them, more fascinated by his designs than the people using them.
• B and C were a young couple with the most experience among us. They would share new things they’d tried, with C blushing the whole time — it was part of their play.
• D, E, everyone else — all unique, alive, ordinary, yet extraordinary.

Seeing them in real life made more sense to me than any book or theory ever could. They taught me that I wasn’t a collection of “weird” traits. I didn’t need to fit anyone else’s mold. I was — and am — a unique individual.

And honestly, none of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t moved to a big city. I might still be trapped under small-town rules, flattened into someone ordinary.

So here’s my advice: if you want freedom, aim for a big city. It might be harder, more exhausting, and more competitive — but at least, you’ll get to live in your own shape.