Finding myself again

For the past few months, I’ve felt that a huge part of my life has been missing and I’ve been attempting to discover both what’s missing, and how to get it back. So I began to write this post. As with all my writing, I do it to work through thoughts in my head, but if it helps anyone else, I’m pleased.

 

The “what” is easy – it’s kink. Every relationship I’ve ever had has been located somewhere on the kinky scale. Granted some have been higher on that scale than others, but without some level of physical pain or fear I quickly tire of the relationship. My relationships with both Panzer and The Biker have always been kinky, but for a few years now, the level of kink has dropped to no more than a few face slaps or a hand around my throat during sex. Compared to several years ago, when I was getting beaten or tied up at least twice a week, the kink has disappeared.

 

Why has it disappeared? Well, my world went sideways after a terrible breakup a few years ago and I retreated from kink as much as I could. Scenes became a reminder of how I was manipulated and used, how physically and mentally unhealthy I had become, how I had almost lost myself as well as my other relationships. I had to stop playing. I think that a part of me felt that I didn’t deserve the happiness that a good beating gave me. After all, I had let myself be manipulated; I had allowed it to happen; I was supposed to be stronger than that. But recently (a week ago, in fact), The Biker helped me realize that I was the victim. In order to move forward, I needed to stop blaming myself. Sadly, I also realized that by locking up the kinky part of my personality, by denying kink scenes to them, I had deprived both Panzer and The Biker of something they both loved and needed as well. Years later, I was still allowing that person to manipulate my actions and it needed to stop.

 

So what was it that I love about scenes. Why do I NEED them?

 

Obviously, part of it is that I’m just wired that way; I’m a masochist. I have been since before I’d ever heard that word. I once cut my finger open with a razor knife just to experience the sensation. I enjoyed playing rough games with the boys next door because I knew I’d get hurt. My sexual fantasies have always involved scenes of kidnapping, injury, bondage…all the “standards”.  A good way to torture me is to make love to me gently and touch my body softly. (I have to tell you though – the person I’m with should be prepared to get punched and cursed at if they try that.) Obviously, receiving pain plays heavily on whether or not I enjoy myself. But the need for the pain isn’t the only thing I miss.

 

When my partners and I are playing regularly, I feel extremely connected to them. A huge amount of trust is required. I have to trust myself to know when I’ve had enough, I have to trust my partner to know how to hit me safely, and my partner has to trust themselves enough to hurt me without harming me. All of that trust cannot be present without a great amount of love and intimacy. Over the past few years, without that, I’ve felt further from them emotionally.

 

For me, a scene is a journey. It starts with planning; each player searching for the path to be taken, discovering what demons to poke and what dark shadows in the psyche to explore. There is often laughter and smiles and always underlying love, but what we do is inherently dark in that we are looking to cause or receive physical or mental pain. A kink educator I know likes to say that when we do what we do, we are exploring the “dark pudding”. It’s been one of my favorite phrases since I heard it. When one of my partners beats me hard enough to bruise me or even draw blood, we are most assuredly exploring our dark pudding and emotional connections cannot help but be built.

 

Also, and this is pure vanity, I miss my badass days. When I was playing often, my pain tolerance was extremely high. I was constantly bruised, I could get caned for an hour and still want more. I rarely said no to any toy that Panzer or The Biker wanted to use. I felt like a badass. Now? Not so much. I can barely handle one good slap on the ass without wincing. I hit myself lightly with a small cane a few days ago and the sensation was both wonderful and frightening. Wonderful because I immediately recalled scenes in which I was caned until the skin was broken and welted for days, and frightening because I knew that I had barely swung the rod. It upsets me to admit that I can’t take the amount of pain that I used to. I want immediate gratification. I want to beg Panzer and The Biker to restrain me and have their way with me, but I can’t yet. And honestly, the idea of having to build up my pain tolerance again is daunting, to say the least.

 

But, I will persevere. I’ve already asked both of them to help me (not that it took much convincing). They’re both sadistic enough to enjoy the process of rebuilding my alligator skin. Panzer has already come up with a game in which I get to choose two out of three things: Toy, Location, Intensity. He gets to choose the 3rd. I think he’s delighting in knowing that I’m somewhat terrified every time I have to choose. The Biker hasn’t invented a game; he’s taking a more direct approach by man-handling me more and using his knowledge of human anatomy. He giggles when he manipulates my pressure points and nearly drops me to my knees. I usually end up giggling as well, after I curse him. For the first time in a very long time, I feel like we’ve discovered the correct path. Yes, it’s dark and it will require tears at some point, but the end of the journey will be worth it.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: