Please don’t hurt the…masochist???

I value the relationships I have formed within the BDSM community. It is not only that we have the commonality of kink, it is that being a pervert means that you smite the artifice of sexual Gerrymandering.

I am living a charmed life in some ways. My lifestyle as an “Out Kinky Pervert” actually was pivotal in landing me my current job. I am out to everyone who knows me, and I am pleased about that. I have done a lifestyle mash-up with kink and theater, kink and employment, kink and my social life. This makes for awesome stories. And a pretty groovy life. Most importantly, I have made friends who, outside of BDSM, it is highly unlikely I’d ever have known.

Two friends of mine fall into this category. Lady Thendara and her husband, Mustang, are the kind of loving and happy couple you’d see at dinner, going to a movie, shopping, whatever and have no idea that, when they “got hitched”, he was actually in full pony gear, and proudly pulled his bride in a pony cart.

Well, that was the ceremony for “kink family” at least.

We should all have the freedom to play our heart's desire.

Grant us all the freedom to play our heart's desire.

I was the caterer for that phenomenal soirée, and it was pretty awesome to be a part of such a singular event. There is nothing that makes me smile quite like the memory of drawing up a menu that included appetizers, a carving station, beverages and…pony-treats. Think quartered apples, (but NO green ones!) and whole carrot sticks alongside people-sized crudité .

I feel so blessed to have folks in my life who are an example of a couple who have found kinky compatibility and share their joy with others. I am happy in their company whether playing Scrabble, enjoying play-time in a Dungeon, gossiping over dinner or wriggling in bondage.

I’ve played with the both of them before. Mustang is a switchy player both in and out of his Pony Headspace. And Lady Thendara has enough experience on both sides of the crop to be a double threat. Female Switches, y’all!! Much like the Wu-Tang clan, they ain’t nothing to fuck with.

I was a bit apprehensive when Thendara invited me to visit with them for the weekend, despite the fact I really wanted to. Of late I have been having some pretty radical internal conflicts about my role in BDSM. Partially this is the same shit I grind myself through whenever I’m single for a while. But playing with a couple, for me, has its own wistfulness. It can underscore my being single…here I am, alone, and there they are, all happy and blah blah blah… but mostly it was my fear of not being “enough.”

As a masochist, I can play very heavily. The operative word in that sentence being the modifier. I can, but that does not mean I will. And it doesn’t always mean I want to. Being a submissive or a slave sometimes means subsuming your will, and then you better be down to take one for the sake of your service-oriented ass.

Many people see that highly-charged over-the-top play-style and assume that is the way that I play all of the time. But it isn’t. It is just what people remember and talk about at the next Munch. My “heavy bottoming” has terms, conditions, infrastructure, caverns caves sinkholes and fucking punji-pits within. And you can’t see that. All you see is me being thrown to the ground and shocked with dog collars, poked with a few dozen needles, brutally anally assaulted, OR groveling and licking the boots of a man I’d just met.

But these are the exception, rather than the rule, and I am ill-suited, right now, for heavy play. Because I have no one to whom I can turn for the unpredictable repair process I need to “come back” from that edge. And for me to want to take that pain, I realize I need that emotional connection.

I’m not a clinical masochist…just a twisted slavish masochistic sex-pervert.

Yet I live in apprehension of the thought of disappointing my friends.

So, I scurry around the edges and hope that my Dom Charming will soon ride in in his gleaming creaking leathers and sweep me off of my quivering feet.

But I couldn’t resist the sunny warmth of my friend’s offer to play, and the instantaneous relaxing of the bands of anxiety circling my heart when I blurted out that I really can’t do any heavy play and Thendara laughed.

“We’re service tops, sweetie! It’s all good!”

Oh. Right. You WANT me to enjoy myself.

Fuck yeah.

So, right now, I have something better than obsessing and moping, and that is letting myself enjoy the company of friends, knowing that they are looking forward to seeing me, and that it is OK to say “Be gentle, care for me, and hold me after.” and they will do that, with love and affection.

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  1. Panthera Pardus on February 8, 2009 at 11:43 AM

    Absolutely perfect, this post. *nods* I can take heavy shit too, but I can’t _always_ take heavy shit.

    And female switches? Oh, hells yeah, we can be nasty. See…I _know_ what that instrument of destruction feels like, I know what it feels like when I hit you _there_ with it, and I get as much of a rush when you’re yelping from it as I do when _I’m_ yelping from it. *grin*

    • mollena on February 8, 2009 at 3:55 PM

      Plus, women are far less likely to be moved by tears. Most men, even if they are super sadistic, either see tears as kinda hot and that arousal can redirect their energy, or see it as a marker for the need to shift gears. I think women have an empathy level that MAY lead them to be more gentle, or may well lead them to feel “Oh, honey, yeah, that hurts, don’t it? Lets have another 6 of those…”

      Thanks for reading and for commenting, sweetie!