Aidan Sunassee
March 28, 2025
As a neurodivergent Dominant partnered with equally neurodivergent submissives, the premise of this book felt very personal. I’ve long followed Raven Kaldera’s books, particularly noting the recurring mentions of his boy, Joshua Tenpenny, and the ways their dynamic and neurodivergence seemed to parallel my own experiences. Going in, I was both excited and a bit cautious – sometimes books like these fail to capture the nuances of neurodivergence or flatten them into tired tropes. Thankfully, that’s not what happened here. This anthology feels genuine from page one.
What really stands out is how the book doesn’t shy away from showing the complexity of actual, lived experiences. For instance, the foreword by Akasha Eden sets the tone beautifully: it’s all about re-framing autism not as a limiting condition but as a potentially enriching force in one’s life – even if it does demand extra consideration in a D/s or M/s framework. Then, Tenpenny’s own essays, alongside contributions from others on the spectrum, provide the guts of the book. One I found especially striking discusses managing overstimulation – everything from short, coded signals in public to the concept of “rock blankets,” which mimic Temple Grandin’s squeeze machine to calm the central nervous system. It’s equal parts practical tips and windows into real vulnerabilities.
Because this is an anthology, you’re getting a whole parade of voices, each with their own take on how autism can mesh with (or sometimes clash against) power exchange. Some folks thrive under rigid, detail-heavy protocols. Others need those protocols to bend at just the right time, acknowledging that a meltdown or a shutdown isn’t a moral failing but a neurological fact of life. Everywhere in these essays, there’s this emphasis on negotiating structures that honor individual limits while still allowing the D/s or M/s relationship to deepen. For me, that’s the heart of the book: it doesn’t tell you “this is how it must be done”; it shows you “this is how we’ve made it work, and here’s why it’s amazing.”
From a reader’s standpoint, Service on the Spectrum strikes a sweet spot between approachable and substantial. You won’t drown in technical jargon, but the authors don’t gloss over the tricky parts, either. They tackle everything from meltdown management and special interests to emotional communication styles and how to handle the awkwardness of group events or public play. It can be quite easy to misread someone’s tone, even as a neurotypical individual. Add autism into the equation, and it’s all the more crucial to develop clear protocols for checking in – or, in some cases, to have a pre-set plan for how to politely bow out when a space becomes overwhelming.
I love that the book’s essayists include a mix of s-types, D-types, and switches, so it’s not just one side of the slash telling their stories. Kaldera and Tenpenny in particular have been vocal
about the ways their own dynamic respects neurodivergent needs – sometimes that’s about giving a heads-up before shifting modes from “problem-solving partner” to “deeply surrendered submissive,” and other times it’s about building space for alone time in a jam-packed weekend. That approach is echoed by other contributors as well, and it’s refreshing to see so many examples of how dynamic can be lovingly (and creatively) tailored around an individual’s wiring.
A personal favorite segment involves the “Care and Managing of the ASD Submissive,” which unpacks how a D-type might navigate the literalness and occasional rigidity that can come with an autistic submissive. That might mean establishing crystal-clear rules or being ready to step in when the sub gets stuck on an unexpected change. It has me reflect on how many times I’ve had a partner freeze mid-task, anxious about how to interpret an order – it’s nice to see it normalized here, along with tips for smoothing out the bumps.
If I were to nitpick, I’d say the book sometimes left me wanting more extended breakdowns of real-life routines – examples being, “Here’s how we structure an entire day at a kink event to minimize meltdowns while still getting to scenes or classes.” But that’s less a flaw and more a sign of me being greedy for details. The content that is here is incredibly valuable, and it’s presented in a way that doesn’t just speak to novices. It’s equally useful for those of us who’ve been blending kink and neurodivergence for years.
Overall, Tenpenny’s Service on the Spectrum feels like having a long, satisfying conversation with people who’ve faced the same challenges and found a bunch of unique, inventive ways to navigate them. These essays aren’t only eye-opening; they’ll also leave you feeling validated, seen, and maybe a bit excited to try out a rock blanket or your own version of a meltdown-ready protocol.
If you’re already comfortable with the fundamentals of kink but looking for a deeper, more inclusive take on what D/s can look like when you factor in autism or other neurodivergent traits, this anthology will absolutely be worth your time.