Sunday, September 26, 2010
I do not think I'll ever be able to explain why I love pain so much. My Friend doesn't understand it. God love him, he is definitely able to deliver it, but I don't think he gets it. And how can I explain what I don't get either? I can't explain why a wave of lust rolls over me, sitting in my cubicle, typing away, when I think of my bruises or being sore. I have nothing beyond, "It's who I am...it's how I was built..."
Can someone give an actual, logical explanantion for being aroused by lingerie or a certain type of porn or flowers or jewelry? Some people want to have their neck kissed. Is it really different?
By that same token, I have no explanation for why I bursted into tears when My Friend doused me with ice cold water in the shower. The man has spent hour upon hour abusing and violating my body. He has left bruises and welts, he has made me scream and cry, he has refused to stop until I've begged and sometimes not even then. He has called me just about every name you can think of. He has slapped my face. And I have never, ever doubted for a minute, during any of that, his love, his devotion, his passion or his caring. But all I could think of, as I stood in the corner of the shower, was how thoughtless and mean and cruel this action was and how out of character that seemed for him. And for the first time, in 22 weeks, he asked me "Are you mad at me?" and I said Yes. The man has beaten me with one of those rods that you use to close your window blinds. It hurts beyond just about any other kind of pain. (He heard it's the closest simulation to a cane you can fine) but THIS, some cold water, is what finally pissed me off.
And I have absolutely no idea why that is. If I can't explain it to myself, how could I ever explain it to someone else?
Recently, he began delving deep into our local kink community. I have delved in very lightly, mainly tagging along with him a couple times. I dont have the time and honestly, for whatever reason, do not find the entire thing as appealing as he does. But in the end, I'll obviously go where I'm told. But here again, is where the paradox comes into play. These woman, on a stage, bound, beaten, hurt w/ electrical implements, all different methods of discipline and bondage. And they scream, they curse, they cry out and when it's over who is there to comfort and consol them? The people who have been torturing them. It's absolutely the most bizarre and beautiful thing. And it touches me in a way I can't describe either!!
And I only feel the pull of that contradiction in myself in hindsight. Only examining my own situation, away from him, fully clothed and vertical, do I wonder about the fact that nothing is more comforting, after an hour of what can only be defined as abuse of my body, than when he grabs a handful of my hair and pulls me to him, to kiss me on the forehead. And he always seems amazed that I don't hold any grudges. I don't resent him. I'm not angry with him. I never doubt his love for me. And doesn't logic dictate that I should?!?!? But I don't.
Maybe it's a screw loose in my brain. Maybe it's absolutely the exact same thing as a housewife in Topeka who likes her neck kissed. Maybe it's some sort of acting out from a trauma long ago, God knows I've got the abandonment issues. Someone told him that a lot of women are acting out past behavior and hoping for a (different)happy ending.
I can't define it, I can't make sense of it, but in pain, bruised and battered, trusting him completely, I feel like I found my happy ending. Just don't ask me to explain it!