Sex-shaming isn’t new. It’s been stitched into the fabric of public discourse for centuries, buried beneath polite language and lifted high by scandalous headlines. But now, in the age of viral tweets and screenshot culture, our obsession with shaming others for their sexual choices has gone from problematic to outright toxic.
We’re not talking about criminal behaviour or non-consensual acts. We’re talking about consenting adults engaging in acts that others simply don’t understand — or more accurately, don’t want to understand.
And nowhere does this moral policing scream louder than in the online shaming of public figures.
When the President Pees (Or Doesn’t)
Let’s get real. Everyone remembers the swirling rumours of “golden showers” and Russian hotels. Most people laughed, cringed, or both. But fewer people paused to question why they felt compelled to react that way.
Why did the idea of someone engaging in a consensual kink—no matter how unfamiliar—trigger so much judgment?
Because we, as a culture, are still stuck in the shadow of sex-negativity. And kink? That’s a whole other level of taboo.
Even in Melbourne, a city celebrated for its art, its open-mindedness, and yes, its thriving Melbourne brothel industry, the stigma still lingers. People indulge in fantasy, then bury the evidence under fake names and burner phones. It’s not desire they fear. It’s being judged for it.
We Pretend We’re Better Than This
If we’re honest, sex-shaming doesn’t come fr om moral high ground. It comes from discomfort. From fear. From repression.
People who are comfortable with their sexuality tend to let others explore theirs. But for those raised in rigid environments, where sex was sinful and kink was perverted, judgment becomes a tool. A defence mechanism.
This isn’t about golden showers. Or BDSM. Or feet, latex, roleplay, or whatever someone else has bookmarked in incognito mode. This is about the damage we do when we mock or shame those desires publicly.
The sex act itself? Fleeting. But the humiliation that follows? That sticks.
The Shame Is the Problem, Not the Sex
Every time a politician, athlete, or celebrity gets outed for their sexual preferences, the world pounces. The tabloids thrive. Hashtags bloom. Memes go viral. Careers collapse.
But when was the last time someone was ruined because they were too boring in bed?
Exactly.
We punish curiosity. We ridicule openness. And then we wonder why people lie to their partners, sneak around, or bottle up desires until they explode in unhealthy ways.
The real scandal isn’t what people do in bed. It’s how brutally we react when we find out.
Melbourne brothel workers hear the stories all the time. People in suits, people in uniforms, people with fancy degrees or no degrees at all—every one of them carries a story of shame. Some had it injected into them by religious guilt. Others learned it at home, where talking about sex was taboo unless it involved judgment.
The brothel isn’t where shame is born. It’s where it begins to unravel.
Sex Is Not a Spectator Sport
You don’t have to be into water play to accept that someone else is. You don’t have to love submission to respect a friend who does. And you sure as hell don’t have to step into a Melbourne brothel to support the right of others to do so.
Sex is not a community sport. There are no cheerleaders on the sidelines, no scorecards, and no trophies for playing it safe.
So why do we treat sexual expression like it’s something that needs to be voted on?
Why do we expect everyone to align with our turn-ons?
Why do we say “I’m fine with kink… but not that one”?
Here’s a tip: If you don’t want it in your bed, don’t invite it. But don’t mock it in someone else’s.
The Slippery Slope of Public Outrage
When you shame someone for a golden shower, you’re not just mocking them. You’re telling the guy next door, the woman in your book club, or the kid struggling with their identity that they need to hide, too.
You send the message that sexual difference equals sexual deviance.
And that message has weight. It leads to isolation. Depression. Secrets that eat people alive.
Ask any Melbourne brothel companion who’s worked long enough: the clients who carry the most guilt aren’t the ones with wild fantasies. They’re the ones who’ve been shamed into silence.
The ones who whisper instead of asking. Who apologises for wanting to feel something? Who beg for discretion, not because they fear the law, but because they fear the laugh.
That laugh is more dangerous than the kink ever was.
Mainstream Sex vs. Real Desire
We love pretending that everyone just wants “normal” sex.
We let the media push narratives about missionary-style love-making under silk sheets, with candles flickering and soft moans choreographed to a Spotify playlist.
But that’s not reality.
Real people want real things. Filthy things. Tender things. Contradictory things.
And Melbourne brothel companions have a front-row seat to the truth: fantasy is messy. It’s inconsistent. It evolves. And it doesn’t have to make sense to you.
We all have our weird. Some of us just pay to explore it safely, legally, and without shame.
Don’t Like It? Don’t Do It
You don’t like golden showers? Great. Don’t participate in them.
You think roleplay is silly? No one’s asking you to buy a costume.
You find the idea of a pegging session a little too wild? That’s valid—for you.
But don’t weaponise your discomfort. Don’t turn your opinion into someone else’s trauma. Don’t label them a freak for doing something you don’t understand.
And for the love of honesty, stop pretending like you’ve never had a “weird” thought.
Because everyone has.
Even the president.
Even your neighbour.
Even you.
Final Word from the Red Light
Melbourne brothel workers know the truth: there’s no such thing as normal when it comes to sex.
There’s consensual. There’s respect. There’s legal.
And then there’s yours.
Your kinks, your desires, your limits. They’re yours to own, not yours to apologise for.
So the next time the headlines erupt in laughter over someone’s sex life, ask yourself:
Am I laughing because it’s funny?
Or because I’m afraid I might relate?