Lessons

I feel the need to give everything a disclaimer. But I'm thinking this will be my last one, with a few special exceptions. But this is all based on my experiences and on what other people have told me from their own experiences. Everyone is different, and I am but one voice in a chorus of many. That said; enjoy!

---

Pain is significant and beautiful. It exists for a very good, honest reason. It exists to tell us that something is very wrong, and/or needs attention. We feel it when we stub our toes, when we get a finger caught in the door, when we have cramps, when our hearts get broken, and for women, child birth. So with all of the billions of nerve endings that cover our bodies, it is no surprise that we experience uncomfortable feelings now and again.

As a masochist I have developed an intimate relationship with pain that continues to grow as my experiences increase and broaden. In my book there are two kinds of pain; erotic pain and bad pain. Both are pretty self explanatory; one gets me off, and the other hurts like fuck. When I dislocated my shoulder last year someone asked me if I enjoyed it, told me it must have been heaven for me. To which I replied "No dumbass, my arm was out of the socket for almost three hours, it hurt like hell and sex was the last thing on my mind."

The erotic pain I experience is by and large controlled by people who I trust and who know what they're doing. They are my friends and I trust them to take care of me when I am in such a vulnerable position. Although I have been known to get whacked by something or walk into something by accident and I'll giggle and get a nice little endorphin rush and then go on my merry way.

There are different ways of handling pain, I can't begin to tell you all of them. Everyone is different, and people have different reactions to pain. Personally when I'm in a scene I'm either really quiet, really loud, laughing hysterically, or some combination of the three.

Recently I was at Jefferson's, and we were fooling around as we are wont to do, and I found myself on top. I'm about ten pounds lighter than he is, we even fit the same size clothes, so I can hold my own against him pretty well.

I was straddling his belly and had his arms locked against his sides. I talked to him while I ran my fingers through the hair on his belly and chest. I pressed my thumbs against his nipples, and then tweaked them a little bit and he jumped. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret," I began slowly. "When you are dealing with pain, breathing helps a great deal. Alot of people find that pain amplifies if they stop breathing while they are playing. But if you can remember to breath through the pain, it won't hurt as much. See?" I pinched his nipples between thumb and forefingers, rubbing his nipples gently between my fingertips. He nodded mutely, gazing up at me and breathing deeply.

I was surprised to find myself enjoying the tentative control that Jefferson gave me. I stopped when he asked me to, I have no desire to abuse the trust that he gives me. But never before was I interested in getting on top and being the one in control with anyone; I'm happy to just be along for the ride. But I found myself enjoying this strange foreign top space, however brief my experience.

I doubt I'll be climbing back on top anytime soon, being the one in control has always been a bit of a mental strain for me. But that delicate thrumming in my clit was the same one that I get when I top in a strap-on scene, and that gives me quite a bit to think about.

Mind vs. Body and the ever present Edge

I have a strange relationship with face slapping.

Simon learned that if he cuffed me lightly on the cheek, I would start to bottom out.

Jefferson learned that if he slapped me full across the face I tried to fight back.

It's generally an activity that I like to avoid. My reactions are completely unpredictable. So why, all of a sudden, do I just want to be slapped heavily across the face? I guess because I find it hot. And, at the same time, violating and more than a little humiliating.

It's one of those things. Like if I'm told to do something or say something that I have trouble with, especially during sex, my mind will grow wary and I'll start to question why you are making me do this, whereas my cunt will tighten like a vice and I'll practically see stars I'm so turned on. And what I hate the most about it is that my physical response is so obvious. I want to be this prim lady-like creature who is perfect in every way, when in truth I shave my legs, I get PMS, and I usually say the wrong things in social situations.

So I try to put on my poker face, because I want the pleasure I derive from being humiliated to be ignored, but at same time I can't help but hope that I'll be called on it. In those moments I am all too aware of my nose scrunching, or my eyes closing for a moment in recognition of the flood between my legs. A reaction I often hope that will pass unnoticed, and when it does, I can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment.

I hate myself for loving this so much.

I love myself for loving this so much.

I used to hate being humiliated. I found it degrading, hell, I still find it degrading. I am inclined to whack people who try, and most I will stop before they get too far. I can count the number of people who are allowed to do this to me on one hand. Humiliation is an edge for me, and it's not one I am inclined to venture too closely to very often. But when I do, I love it.

It takes a certain finesse to do it properly, get up in my face, pull my hair back, and in that quiet, intense, aggressive, dominant tone of voice that I have to come look for in so many of my scenes, I am verbally run through. And then it becomes a sort of kinky ping pong. Beat me up, call me a pig, cane me purple, tell me if I'm not a good girl for daddy I'll be raped, punch my chest, slap me across the face, kick my cunt, threaten to leave me tied up and naked on the neighbors doormat. Lather, rinse, repeat. You get the idea. 

So why the sudden desire for dancing on this edge of mine?

Pure and simple need. Yes. I need to play at least once every 2 months, it helps keep me balanced. It's one of the few things I am willing to admit to being completely selfish in. I play for others, certainly, I want to make the fantasies of whomever I am with come true. But primarily, I play for myself. I play for the endorphin rush, I play for the fact that I can see my gods in that headspace, and that I can laugh and talk the talk of the innocent. I play because it makes me feel beautiful and sexy and whole. I play because it turns me on both physically and mentally. I play because I like it. I am submissive and masochist, hear me roar.

But the question lingers, why the edge?

Well, sometimes I just need to know that I can. I like having my limits pushed, I like going to newer and greater heights in my play. And the last time I had a limit pushed was when I helped demo in Boymeat's electricity class back in January. I still have the mark, and it was awesome. I'm one of those people who finds having her limits pushed both frightening and incrediblly funny and interesting.

For me play is like life; it's a grand adventure to be had. And with a few minor exceptions (death and permanent maiming, for instance), I wanna try it all. So I'll be slapped across the face, and made to endure various cruelties and undergo all sorts of interesting and different experiences, and some will be edges, and others won't. But all in all it'll be just awesome, because that's what life is, an awesome amazing gift that should be protected and cherished and honored.