Having a secret.

On the surface of it, keeping my freaky sex life a secret seems reasonable enough. There's no reason to tell family or coworkers or unhip friends what I do in bed, right? They don't tell me that they like it doggystyle with clit stimulation, and I don't tell them about getting beaten up; that's just decorum.

The problem is that if anyone is at all prying, they ask questions I have no good answer to.

"So where did you go out last night?"
"Um with friends."
"Oh, how did you meet them?"
"Off the Internet."
"What did you do?"
"Just hung out."
"I've never met these people! You should introduce us sometime."
"Uh, maybe, sometime."

Admittedly imaginary-person there is being a little pushy, but their questions aren't unreasonable--and certainly aren't sexual--and yet I can't answer them honestly without digging way too far into the details of my sex life. I'm either a liar spinning stupidly elaborate webs of "oh yeah, so then we went bowling and my score was terrible, ha ha", a petulant teenager saying "we went places and did stuff, okay?", or a very petulant teenager screaming "that's none of your business!" All so I don't have to tell everyone in my life that receiving pain makes my pussy wet.

The worst part is when I go to a purely social kinky event and we end up talking about sharks or linguistics the entire time, ass-beating barely gets a mention, but I still have to skulk around with a Dark Secret. Nobody can know I was at Denny's talking about sharks, or I'll be ruined!