When it comes to sex scandals in the UK, there’s nothing we like better than a Tory MP, some faux moral outrage and a spot of gratuitous spanking. Happily the Sunday Mirror was on hand last weekend to report that the Conservative MP Andrew Griffiths had paid a bartender Imogen Treharne and her friend in exchange for sexting, naked pictures and videos.

The text messages, which it gleefully printed, exhibited his kinky tastes, in particular a penchant for DDLG (daddy dominant/little girl) relationships. Predictably the story was met with shock, disgust, and, in some quarters I’d wager, confused feelings of titillation. But some have questioned whether the, apparently consensual, sex life of an MP – indeed of anyone – ought to be considered “in the public interest” in this day and age.

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As someone who writes, speaks and hosts a podcast about sex and gender politics, my gut reaction is that it shouldn’t. As a journalist, though, I have to concede that the answer is more nuanced. While the Mirror’s reporting may read like the breathless spilling of gory details, you can bet the paper considered carefully which of the Burton MP’s actions infringed upon his ability to do his job. While the mere fact of a consensual relationship involving BDSM (which may stand for bondage, discipline, domination, submission and sadomasochism, depending on whom you ask) would be unlikely to affect someone’s work, other elements might. Sending 2,000 messages in three weeks, for example, seems to indicate a lot of time spent with your head not in the game.

Then there’s the question of character. In 2018 we surely do not believe that sex and kink are inherently corrupting, but if Griffiths deceived his family that is potentially significant. Voters might be forgiven for wondering whether they can trust him. Perhaps most intriguingly, there’s the question of whether his activities made him vulnerable to blackmail.

Sex shouldn’t be shameful and no one ought to be held to ransom over a few risque WhatsApp exchanges. While I admit there are some intimate moments I’d prefer not to have splashed across the internet, I like to think I wouldn’t be susceptible to a shakedown in the unlikely event that someone threatened to expose me. Blackmail only works if you’re ashamed and, since I already write and speak openly about sex, it seems unlikely a few dirty messages could destabilise my professional reputation. The same is not true for politicians though. For an MP to put themselves in a position where they could be blackmailed is foolish and could prejudice their decision-making.

But is it possible we’re part of the problem? There’s no doubt the language used by the Sunday Mirror to describe Griffiths’ behaviour was both prudish and censorious. That we are still using words such as “perverted” and “depraved” to talk about sex is depressing. It was also quick to juxtapose his sexual activities with his role in the Tory party’s Women2Win campaign to get more female MPs elected, implying that it was hypocritical to support equality while secretly getting turned on by the domination of women.

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While there may be hypocrisy in the apparent deception of his wife, and the way he creeped on these young women via social media, something tells me this is not what the tabloids are getting at. The message is that BDSM, in particular DDLG role-play, is indicative of a violent urge towards women. In other words: if you want to hurt, humiliate and control women in a sexual context, that must also be how you feel about them in reality. What’s even more depressing is that much of the response to the story condones this view. Every detail was examined for sleaze, every last text message pored over and analysed for signs of disreputability.

The distaste for and moral judgement of Griffiths’ sexual proclivities, coupled with the delight with which the tabloids leapt upon him, make it hard to envision a world in which someone with a kinky sex life would not be vulnerable to blackmail. If we are to differentiate between prurience and the public interest, we have to stop believing that our sexual preferences are indicative of something “wrong” with us. People get their kicks in different ways and you don’t have to be personally aroused to accept that if it’s consensual, it’s OK.

There is a word for this conundrum in kink communities. If something “squicks” you, it means you are not turned on by it (indeed, you may find it revolting) but you do not judge others for being into it. It’s one of the wisdoms of the BDSM subculture that could desperately do with finding its way into the mainstream.

Griffiths might have shown himself to be irresponsible, creepy and dishonest but I will not kink-shame him.

• Franki Cookney is a freelance journalist specialising in sex, gender politics and social development, and hosts the sex podcast the Second Circle. @frankicookney