He tells me I taste different. Metallic. Then he spits my cum back on to my cunt. I see he likes it. I ask him if he likes it. He answers yes.
But I don’t. It’s another thing to have him spit on my face while playing. It’s another thing entirely if we’re not playing. If it’s for real.
Someone might say it is always for real. That’s why I want to talk about my friend’s boyfriend. To illustrate the difference.
Some time ago I was out with my friend K and her boyfriend. We talked about life, sex, love and the pain of growing older, being an adult, having to face the fact that everything is under constant movement, ever-changing. Even ourselves.
We were talking about being self-destructive. He had done many things that I recognized from my past. Drinking too much, doing drugs, having wildly unprotected sexual relationships with people who weren’t trustworthy. Getting himself in situations which could turn out to be really dangerous. Risky behaviour. Hurting himself. (He wasn’t spesific, but I was listening very carefully.)
I still have the same streak in me. If things go bad and I get anxious, it’s a legitime way out. I don’t let myself think about it. I even talk about it like I were an actor in a film I saw. Yeah, and then I just left the bar with the guy I never met before, sat in his car and drove around the beaches sniffing stuff up my nose and had to fight him so he wouldn’t follow me up in my apartment. What stuff, who guy, where, why, how could you?
That’s the thing. If you want to get hurt, but can’t handle it, your subconscious takes control once in a while. Usually when drunk or tired or both. It’s such a strong desire. It takes control, even if we won’t recognize it.
I remember, when a teenager and drunk with my very best friend L, offering my arm to her to carve with a fork. I remember actually anticipating the pain like she would ever hurt me the way I wanted her to. Now I can say it. It’s pretty obvious isn’t it? I was offering my arm, after all. I was anticipating the pain. So, I did want it. But I always blamed it on mental disorder, the anxious self-destuctiveness of youth. To hurt someone is bad. To want to be hurt is equally, if not more so, bad, because who in their right mind would want something like that? Who in their right mind would let anyone do that to them?
It took me all this time to realize that what I want is perfectly acceptable. It’s part of who I am, what I feel, how I’m situated in life. It is not actual hurt when it’s done right. It leaves no emotional scars. That’s the big difference. Taking it under my control. The craving for pain. Not letting it run me.
I sometimes still fail. I’m hung-up on my old behaviours like everyone else. It’s hard to disingage myself from the thought and action patterns that I’ve used all my life to represent who I am – to myself.
I am the wild one. I am insatiable, undeniable, untied, unbound, wild, ravenous, self-destructive, don’t give a damn, not safe to play with, bad. The last one, I think, is the key. I am bad. Is that the story I tell myself? But to whom I am bad? I am eager to please, often too emphathetic, stepping rather over my own desires than those of others. I am the picture that the magnificently self-reflectory feminist professor Hugo Schwyzer paints here, in his old blog Young women, sensitivity, sociopaths, and remote controls: a pop psychology reflection. I wish I was able to mute my feelings, sometimes. And that’s exactly what I’ve done when I’ve let loose. And it’s all only been bad for me.
So, I am actually not the bad one but the lost one?
I do actually understand what is behind my craving for pain, for domination. Would you like to know what I think? Well, of course, you wouldn’t be reading this if you weren’t a bit interested about my pervy little secrets. Here goes.
I wish to be kept safe. I demand to be forcefully bound, so I know I am safe. To me, being bound like this, in BDSM context, is the ultimate sign of affection. I am always trying to wiggle myself out of engagements, intimacy, promises that bound me. I am always trying my boundaries, knocking off heart shaped boxes as I go. I can only believe I am truly loved and treasured if I am given strict boundaries. If I am challenged.
For me submission is not being weak. It’s about being so strong, that for someone to be worth me succumbing to, for someone to be able to hold me down, s/he has to be unbelievably strong and thus trustworthy. If s/he is willing to take the pain, to face the consequenses, to carry the whole load for the two of us, I am willing to submit. If s/he makes me. That is what I need. Give me a safe place. Give me a place where I can let go.
So, we had gone through the self-destructive ways of our youth, and I had already come to think of the BF as maybe toying with the same shame and mistrust in his own feelings that I had. And then the BF said the eye-opening line.
Plucking eyebrows is nice. Everybody says it hurts, but I kinda like the pain.
It is always the small thing that give you away. Could he be any more clear? Still, I believe he can only truly let it out of his mouth, because he doesn’t yet accept it. Sounds like he is blurting out everything he wants, and when I react on what he says in a recognicing manner, he pulls away and shows some slight dismay of how I take his words. It might be obvious to you, that I didn’t freak, or state how weird and unlikely and pervy it is to say you like pain. I said Well, maybe you’re kind of into BDSM, then. There was a silence, after. Oddly enough, I felt no embarrasment. I guess I am closing in on being okay with what I need. Ain’t that a feat!
I still wish I could help him realize that maybe wanting to be hurt doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t make you mentally handicapped. It doesn’t even make you a person who always gets hurts. If you accept your need and harness it. Here’s the bottom line, the one I wanted to talk about. The line between actual hurting and the hurting we crave.
It is a bad thing if you let people hurt you emotionally. Physical assault always leaves marks on the mind as well. It’s crucial that the partner you are engaging with is trustworthy and respects your boundaries, what ever they may be. What I’ve done is just another way to behave like the insufferable newbie sub guys who just want someone to enact their darkest fantasies for them, and do them, as so eloquently described in Lady Lubyanka’s place. I’ve put people in a place where they unbeknownst to them are playing a role in fulfilling me needs. Also, they have been people not very much concerned with other people’s safety, emotional or physical well-being, so they deserved to be used, but it is still wrong.
Aftercare sounds like such a clinical word because (I hope) every loving couple cuddles and talks about what just happened in their own right. But I’ve taken to it since we’ve been playing more. He might sometimes need to make sure that I was honestly enjoying, and not just suffering. I might sometimes need to know why he did something or tell him what I thought or how vulnerable I feel. We both need to feel and hear the love is still there, that the hurt was only a game we played. That I was actually not for real. It isn’t enough for either of us to stop at the orgasm. Sex doesn’t really stop there. It stops there no more than it starts when penis hits the vag. There is so much more to sex. And there is definately so much more to being hurt in the right way, by the right hands and with the right affection.
I didn’t like the spitting, which I started this blog post with, because I’d already come and we weren’t playing anymore. It just felt too much like a rejection or a comment on my new taste. Yuck. So, I explained to Wonderboy that if it turns him on, he can continue doing it, but only when we’re playing. He hast to make it a part of our play, it can not be an isolated action. It just leaves too much to analyze. And, as we all know, I will get carried away with that if I get the slightest chance. I voiced my feelings, why and how, and left it for him to concern. After all, I believe he is strong and vigilant enough, both emotionally and physically, to negotiate the lines later on, when I’m not so verbal in the heat of the moment.
I’ve noticed that if I spit on his cock while pleasuring him, it always twitches and gets harder with delight. As also, if I’m choking or gag on him. So, I know it’s a thing he likes. It counters usually to me also starting to like it. But only if he’s acting in a sexual way. If he’s disingaged, too tired or whatnot, it doesn’t work because then he would just be doing it for me. And I never want him doing anything like that for me! I want him to do what he likes with me. That’s the whole point. It’s a tough pickle, ain’t it?
My sister had a delightful insight yesterday. You can keep up you pervy ways with kids just as well. Just put the handcuffs in a drawer.
We might just do that. For now the proverbial handcuffs are dangling from my neck, for all to see.