A Reluctant Masochist

Pain makes me wet. It is a fact. And it is a fact I avoid. I'm not sure why this is a harder issue for me to accept than the submission thing, but I think perhaps it is because when someone says "do something" and I don't want to, I say "no." It is hard to abuse the submission thing. But when someone hits me and it feels wrong, but I'm already in a submissive space, I endure, and the cost of that endurance is very high. I feel worthless and abused.

I'm very clearly only a masochist is tightly defined ways. I'll never eroticize a blister or a sprain. It is easiest to embrace pain and surrender in liminal moments. Once I define a sensation as "pain" I say "ow." If it is the borders on the edges of pain, but not quite yet there, I soften.

I think my ex's mixture of pain with sternness really undercut my acceptance of pain. When we were living together, it was all about disapproval. About him demanding of me my surrender as his right. I never felt like it was 'fair' I was a submissive because I got so little out of it, and he took so much. Always pushing farther and harder and rarely giving the elements I craved.

With my ex, I could only handle more when either we were playing a scene (which we rarely, rarely did--he didn't like the 'drama' portions), or on very rare occasions when I had free reign and could be bratty. The fact of being bratty meant that I knew he didn't disapprove of me--he disapproved of a character I was playing, making it much easier to handle.

I've actually been known to crave it on several occasions, even once with my ex. When I first moved back to Seattle, before I had fully accepted that, at least on some level, I swim in darker waters, I ended up with a man from a local activists group, who claimed I 'smelled kinky.' (And the man with the good sniffer got me into the kinky waters for a few years.) Anyway, after dropping about 10,000 hints that all his friends were kinky, but of course, he wasn't into that, I finally said "are you really as vanilla as you're claiming to be?" and, of course, he wasn't.

The first time he spanked me, I said I didn't want any permanent marks. But his fingerprints remained on my psyche. Wondrous. Gentle, tender yet firm and demanding. And then he'd intermingle it with ice and clothespins, and to this day, those vie with raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.

The only time I ever got there with with my ex happened this fall when we were lovers, but denying it. He, for the first time, stopped because he didn't want to push me too far and I wanted to scream "More!" He had his hand on my back and tenderly rubbed my back while he spanked me hard. But he had a tenderness then that was unusual for him. I think it shocked both of us--a glimpse of how we might have been in an alternative coupling. Loving and lovely. And we tried to recreate that moment, but we never did. It felt like I was melting and yearning and relaxing into his arms. I didn't even realize it would register as 'pain' if I were in a different mindset.

It is almost like the process of surrender moves the world from the crisp, sharp edges of HDTV to the soft melding of a Renoir painting. I can feel the muscles in my face soften. I imagine if you looked at me, my features would be muddy. Then, when it works well, pain comes in and inscribes the bright lines of a Jackson Pollack onto a Monet landscape. But when it doesn't work well, instead of opening new landscapes it just shuts me down and I'm back to play sudoku in my head, trying to endure and feeling worthless and unlovable.

My ex, who dated self-identified "slaves," said I was the most submissive woman he'd ever dated, and I was far, far more masochistic than I ever admitted to myself. I don't know how stable that observation is. But I wish I could clearly mark the switch, or at least know what triggers it more precisely.

John seems to know his way around my triggers very well. A couple of times, I've been able to melt my defenses a smidgen, meeting his gaze and graze. It feels like, if things worked out, I might be able to learn to relish it, instead of feeling like 'this isn't fair."

What the hell is wrong with me?

I always fuck everything up. Somehow or other, everything I touch is either bad for me, or I mess it up. I don't understand how. I'm not clear enough, or I'm too clear.

John wanted me to be able to joyfully be a masochist, and maybe what he wanted and what I thought he wanted were different, but I couldn't do it. And it left this hole in my heart. And so, Maginot line style, I forced myself to do that with Ben, and that just numbed my soul. I met someone for a 2nd date this week and I had a drink (big mistake) and talked too much and he disappeared (and if you frenchkiss someone good-bye--I think it is kind to drop an e-mail and say "I think we are looking for different things").

And then Steven. Oh, god. Oh, god. How the hell did I mess that one up? But I did. And now I'm crying and that is making the sunscreen run in my eyes, which is making me cry worse. When the hell did I get too old to cry without sunscreen running in my eyes?

Steven wanted to get together yesterday and I was scared it would be till Monday when he'd send me another e-mail and basically said I couldn't sleep with him last night--I needed to know it wouldn't be just for a night. And then today it seems like I miscommunicated or didn't understand or something. But he says it is over. Period. Clean break. And I'm left with sunscreen in my eyes.

It seems the only man that can tolerate me is my ex. And I just don't think he is healthy for me.

Wow!

So, Steven and I seem to have come to an understanding, which is that I will continue to see other people (as will he), and we both love each other and want to be with each other right now. I seriously doubt I could sleep with someone else at the same time that Steven and I are involved. And he knows I would want to peruse the possibility of finding a soul mate, when such a thing becomes possible. (We talked really openly about this. Plus, he knows this URL. It amazes me I'm comfy with him reading what I'm thinking and he seems to be comfy with the fact that I have the blog. I have a sneaking suspicioun he wouldn’t find this blog boring—I’m always intrigued when someone writes about me—Hi Steven!). So we’ll let the future take care of itself in whatever way it does. But in this moment, here and now, Wow!

We spent most of Saturday in bed, or around the bed, or backed against the wall, or, well, you get the point. And this hosting site doesn’t allow ‘obscenity.’ But wow! Who knew all of this could be, actually, fun?

Steven used several things on me that I would have thought I couldn’t handle. Especially a riding crop and a TENS (that is some sort of electrical thing) unit. At 30% that was delightful. At 70% it was odd and close to something that might be defined at pain. Really intense but not misery creating. It fell into that transitional place that is difficult to define.

Originally, he had me standing, and that brought out all my fears. All the things I hate about wiitwd and being that way. He was SO sweet. He undressed me that way I love—carefully unwrapping me, like a present. Telling me I wasn’t supposed to help. Kissing every square inch of my body. But when he flogged my legs and butt, very lightly I just got so tense. I wasn’t there anymore. I was enduring for my ex. Then he started flogging my shoulders and I just relaxed. Softening into his presence, I could unwind and let go of what has happened. And I actually enjoyed it. Later, he had me tied, spread-eagle, to the bed, and I just wanted more and more and more and more. I handled everything—even the pointy end of the TENS unit running all over. I wanted him to devour me.

It made me realize how much my relationship with my ex wasn’t healthy for me. I won’t say it was ‘abusive’ because he would have stopped if I said so. I was a full and consenting party, and I accept responsibility for that. But I really grew to dread everything except snuggling.

Now, I should say, my ex gave me several wonderful gifts—most especially the self-esteem to finally leave him. He continually built me up as a human being, even if I felt torn down as a submissive. For the most part, he thought I was beautiful (if a little plumper than he’d like, and he wanted me to dress in less conservative, more revealing, sexier clothing). More importantly, he relished in my mind. Instead of hiding my mind, feeling like it was something someone would overlook if I was lucky, he taught me how much fun it could be.

But, we were not well matched in the erotic world, and I think we both knew it from the beginning. From the start, we agreed that I would compromise by not having many limits in the bedroom and he would compromise by not demanding obedience outside the bedroom. I was OK with that because it didn't feel like I was denying my erotic self and we clicked on a vanilla level.

The biggest problem, for me, is that he liked me scared. And he was angry whenever he moved towards sexual relations. This made me feel like I'd done something wrong--I wasn't good enough the way I was. And he managed to make me scared, which I don't enjoy. The more scared I was, the more turned on he was. (There were other problems too—most especially his belief that I shouldn’t have any sexual needs and that all my needs should be met by the pleasure of pleasing him--I’m just not wired that way. While he finally came to accept that I just got bitchy if I wasn’t having regular orgasms, he always treated that like a chore that I was allowed to handle after I’d done the important stuff of pleasing him, when he was groggy and didn’t really care anyway. I’m not quite sure why I put up with it for as long as I did, but that’s another issue.)

Anyhoo—I used to act. I’m actually pretty good at it. I even got a couple of leads in local theatre productions. Stanislavski--all the way. It wasn’t an attempt to manipulate things on my part (although it may have had a similar effect) but, I couldn’t ‘act’ scared. I could just be scared. It is hard to explain, but every time something happens, I have a choice as to how I respond--do I take the red pill or the blue pill? The blue pill is simple--I focus on the present moment. I take a slow breath in and out, focus on my breathing, listen to my heart beat, and know that I’m OK and I’ll be OK. The red pill is different. I don’t focus on my breathing. Instead, I focus on my helplessness. My inability to make the situation different. I breathe too fast and lose control. And I get scared. And as soon as I start there, I get more scared.

By a certain point with the ex, I was having panic attacks a couple of times a week. It was actually a routine that grew to work for both of us--he’d get off on my panic attack, then he’d comfort me and I'd love the comforting. The problem was, a panic attack leaves a chemical residue in my body, where I feel more helpless and jittery until I’ve had a good night’s sleep and it did something weird to my self-concept, so going to that place on a regular basis, it made me even more susceptible to it.

Sex with my ex was like a bad fight with my folks. I hated it. I really did. But it was home. Not everyone likes their home. I’d put up with bad vanilla sex my whole life--it wasn’t worse than that because at least it was honest, and I was home. It was the way the world was supposed to be, right? I just drew a bad hand, and this is what a relationship looks like if you are in the kinky world. I’m finally learning, that is what a bad relationship looks like in the kinky world, but it has left traces on my soul and scripts in my head that I don’t want to replay for the rest of my life. Steven actually talked with me about it (in part, because he knows my secrets--he knows my fears and he is so lovely with them), and I think he will help me let go of those scripts. Who knew all this could be fun too?

Being Tamed

Steven (ignore the last post--everything changed, again) said everything I’ve ever wanted to have said to me, most importantly that he wasn’t looking for a relationship, hadn’t wanted to find one, but he wanted to be with me and had to come at it from my end of things. He also thinks I’m “magnificent” and that I make him feel like he hasn’t felt for years. He actually said something like “how would we live together? There’s so much energy that we’d use it all up!” The fact that he is thinking those thoughts, and saying them outloud, is really lovely. I wasn’t sure for the first minute that we met, but then he put his arm around me and turned me towards the table to ask which seat I’d would prefer and it felt natural, like coming home.

After dinner we went for a walk in the park, and he kissed me. And kissed me. And kissed me. And for that moment, I was tamed.

I love my bouncy, bubbly energy. I love the spontaneity and joy and playfulness. But under that, and only occasionally, there is a completely different girl down there. She isn’t sophisticated or smart, or witty or clever or cynical. She doesn’t need any of those. She looks up into his eyes and knows she is safe and protected and she doesn’t need any of the skills she uses to try and survive in the world. All she needs is his arm around her, telling her she is safe.

Every time I get to that place, it surprises me, and it certainly surprised Steven—he said several times during dinner “You are the most unlikely submissive” and “are you sure you’re a submissive?” And then he knew absolutely. I know where I belong.

Steven really likes me, and I want to be careful I don’t lead him on because I need a little more time to get where he is at, but I believe I’m headed in that direction. I really enjoy his company and he can tame me and he would cherish me. I’ve never been cherished. So I really want to give this a chance. I'm excited!

The Salchow

I started skating too old to ever be good at it, but young enough to think I might be OK and be thrilled by the ride.

For a year, I whizzed through things at a speed that dazzled me. Stroking. Cross-overs. Back crossovers. Mohawks. 3 turns. Two-foot spin. One-foot spin. Waltz jump. Shoot the duck. Patch (in the old day, we did figure 8s for 45 minutes at a time). Salchow.

I never did the salchow. The salchow wrecked ice-skating for me. I spent 6 months miserable about my inability to do a salchow; where I had once seen achievement, now I just saw failure.

In order to do a salchow, you start with a 3 turn (which is a sudden half turn--you are going one way on the ice and all of sudden your blade makes a little 3 and turns itself the other way while you are still in the same position, headed the same direction--it makes a 3 (on its side) on the ice). Normally, you'd check the rotation so that you stopped spinning, but with a salchow, you don't--you let your body start to spin in a somewhat uncontrolled fashion. Then you take you use that momentum to hurl yourself up and over the standing foot, doing a full turn onto the free leg. (Someone has a better description.)

If you ask me, I can do this jump on land. No problem. Easy. I can explain the physics of it. I know how it works. I can feel the 3-turn and I can feel the jump out of the 3-turn in my bones. What I can't do is this damn jump.

You have a fraction of a second to do this jump. You have to do the timing correctly. If you hesitate, you've lost that 3-turn and have to start over again.

You cannot talk yourself into it. Your brain will never get you there. Your muscles have to trust it. Crave it. You cannot have fear and successfully land it. The problem is, without having landed it, your muscles clench because they don't know it is safe. All day long, your muscles keep you safe. As you start to slip in the rain, they so "no--let's keep you right up." That muscle-memory makes it possible to do so much without having to think about it. Anti-skid brakes for our lives. It is an amazing system. But I can't turn it off. I can force myself to do the 3-turn a hundred times in an afternoon. I can force myself to release rotation and spin. I can let go of that much control. But I can't get that final piece. I've tried.

There are 2 ways I could actually do the salchow. I landed one once, when I was at a friend's wedding and I was drunk. The alcohol 'inhibited my inhibitions' as someone might say. But I don't want to be using alcohol like that too much (and it isn't practical--ice-skating rinks don't serve or allow alcohol, except at private parties). Or I could learn pair's skating and have a man throw me into the jump. Practically speaking, I doubt seriously that any coach would encourage a pair to do a throw salchow when the lady couldn't land it on her own. But that very much appeals to me.

I hope that this doesn't remain a metaphor for my erotic life and I can learn the pair jump that I could never do on my own.

Dominance & Surrender

I had a pang of regret stuck in traffic yesterday. In many ways, I am doing with Ben what I couldn't do with John. My inability to do it with John may be why we couldn't work. Why, oh why? I care about John much more than I think I will care about Ben, and even if Ben and I work on a sexual level, we would not have the emotional intimacy that John and I exuded in every interaction.

But I realized--John never dominated me. John would say "I'm going to whip you this week" and I'd say "Oh! Too fast" and then he'd pull away. He wouldn't talk me through my hesitation, he wouldn't guide or convince or insist. He suggested, and if I couldn't go along with the suggestion, he relented (although I think he resented it). No cajoling. No looking in my eyes and saying "baby--you know this is right. You need to give yourself to me." I wish I could have given John that without needing reassurance, without needing to be dominated, without needing, on some level, to not have a choice in the matter. I think, ultimately, John wasn't really into the D/s--just the SM, and I swim in the D/s waters. SM is just a way of exploring the D/s.

Ben, on the other hand, hasn't worked to have any intimacy on an emotional level. We haven't talked about our families, our hurts, our vulnerabilities. He doesn't know where my insecurities are, or where I've been hurt or what I want to be when I grow up, or that I still don't think of myself as grown up. None of that. But he looks in my eyes and says "you know you will give yourself to me" and I do. I so wish I could have it all, but maybe the universe doesn't work that way.

Ah... surrender

I layer my moods as carefully as I layer my makeup. We are meeting just after work--I'm in the field today so I go casual: jeans and a casual top, with a wonderbra. In the parking lot I slip into boots with 4" heels give me the sexy-but-casual-look I covet. (He is 6 feet, so that puts me a couple of inches shorter--I always check a man's height and aim for at least 3" shorter.) As I put on powder, I listen to "Here I am"--a pop song with an unusual beat that I always listen to before dates. (Am I the only one with a 'feel sexy' playlist on my podcast? Of course I don't call it that, in case someone starts browsing, but that's what my 'purchased' list is for.) "Here I Am" has an unusual beat and rhythms, and a message that is so apropos to me as a human, it is rather stunning really: "Something calling from deep inside me, voice I knew but I would not hear. For so long I have tried to hide me." And then the release: "Here I am; ready for your love...I'll never run away." So it builds confidence and reminds me that to be vulnerable you have to be strong. Real surrender can only come from a place of strength, where you are matched and respected and then dominated.

After "Here I am" comes "Because The Night." (I've actually practiced this enough so that if I'm ever doing karaoke, on a date, I wouldn't embarrass myself.) It seems almost like a cheesy love song, but the Patti Smith imprimatur gives it a little more darkness. And it is pure sex. "Take me now baby, here as I am. ... Desirous hunger is the fire I breathe. ... Come on now try to understand, the way I feel under your command."

He, we'll call this one Ben (yes names have been changed for anonymity--not fair to blog about people who could be identified without them knowing about it!), is understated. One of the banker types that hit Seattle during the dot.com boom and didn't leave, but the East Coast patina hasn't disappeared yet. His picture is smiling and more casual, so I don't quite recognize him on my way into the bar. He recognizes me and we passionately discuss politics for a good 45 minutes while the first of two very expensive drinks ($64 for 2 drinks each! Ouch! He paid and I was grateful) starts to relax my inhibitions.

My brain suddenly reels to an e-mail exchange we had. He understood my bifurcation where my body is totally turned on even as my soul rebels and I'm unaware that I'm even enjoying what is happening, and how I need someone to dance with both, to bring my soul along for the ride. And I started blushing, and lowered my gaze. He played with my hand, and noticed I got quiet. He commented on the look of total, beautiful weakness in my eyes. He suggested we meet in private next time and almost kissed me. I wasn't ready for sex--he said fine--"work out the limits you need, because you know darn well that I'll be the only one paying attention to them. There's no way you would keep limits in mind. You will completely surrender. I can see it in your eyes."

As we left he almost kissed me, came in for the kiss, felt my anticipation, knew he could have kissed me any way he wanted and then barely grazed my lips. And I went to the ladies room to 'freshen up,' which, in this case, was a euphemism for wringing out my panties.

And the conundrum enters. I've never been promiscuous. Ben says "it isn't just about sex, but you get only one chance to set the right tone in the beginning" and I believe that there is a 20% chance that would actually be true. But, would it kill me if it were just about sex? I've never really had a fling. Yes, I'll get hurt (again), but hell, I'm close to sleeping with the ex. I haven't kissed anyone since early September with "the man that smote me." My ex isn't satisfying sex and it is well-worn territory. I protected myself with John--we never kissed, and yet losing him (not that I should even count is as 'losing') hurt more than I could have ever imagined. Mike is so sweet, but he looks up to me. He needs my advice and my guidance. (He is going through a crisis at work very similar to one I went through after my first job after.) He wants validation. He needs to know that he can survive standing up to his parents. ]Occasionally he'll make suggestions but he hasn't kissed me after 3 dates and so much conversation--I like to talk more than most people, but after 7 hours of flirting in his apartment, the history of European economist systems starts to lose its pull! I just don't see him being able to match me, to challenge me, to open me. (The Portland guy bored me on the phone--there are blue collar guys with real intellectual interests and blue color guys who watch Faux news and he was in the latter category. Good man, but no chemistry for me.)

And frankly, my panties have never been so wet from a meet and a drink. I had to throw my jeans in the dirty clothes. And all from a little hand-footsie (handsie?) and a graze of the lips. I know his name (I saw his last name on his Amex) and I could figure out where he works. Chances are, we'd meet at a hotel room in the city (and I'd insist on the name and room number beforehand) and have a safecall worked out. But I don't see him doing anything to betray my trust. He gets off on that look in my eyes. He'd push me hard. Very hard. Harder than I think I could go. But not so hard as to snap me out of surrender mode and into flight mode.

I'm actually embarrassed by my 'number' because I've slept with so few men. (Of course, I'm a Clinton gal in more ways than one, which means I don't count oral in that number. I'm sure I've blown less than 20 guys, but I don't know the exact number. Real sex though? 4! Should be more like 10-14 given my age.) So what the hell? Maybe I just need to take sex a little less seriously and be a little less careful with my heart. It will die for lack of oxygen if it doesn't get out for some air soon!

Maybe we could celebrate my birthday a couple of weeks late. I could tell him "I don't need any more stuff. This isn't about a present or a cake. I got that already on my birthday. Just one thing was missing..." Yes--that seems right. But maybe I'll chicken out before he gets around to e-mailing...

WD-40 for my Emotional Armor

"Sometimes you're happy, sometimes you're sad. And the world goes round."

So, I had to let John go. I was one of the first two people he met in this world, and he, rightfully, wants a chance to play and not be tied down. He also wants to do piercings, extreme play, far more extreme than I could ever do. And part of me wants to scream 'are you insane? do you know how rarely it is to have this emotional connection? this intellectual connection? How rare and precious to find that with the BDSM?" But I know he needs to go there and he won't be happy until he explores it himself and figures out what he wants. So painful and I find myself again looking for ways to look at how I protect myself and at what cost.

It seems like there is this cost/benefit issue--the more I protect myself, the less open I am and the less open I am, the less attractive I am. For some reason, in the past 2 months I've decided "to hell with it--I'm going for it." And I met these two amazing men. And I have felt so bereft by their loss. Intellectually, I am trying to force, seduce, and tantalize myself to stay open, and I can feel every part of me saying "are you insane? This roller-coaster yet again? I can't do it."

I don't know where the right balance lies. Intellectually I'd rather go through the pain of opening, mourning and learning to be open again, but I just don't know how strong I actually am.

Someone To Watch Over Me....

The ad I run on the kinky website is superlative. I say that not only because I can become occasionally enamored of my own posts, but because women write to say I've articulated what they've always felt and men write saying "Like you, I have no interest in long distance, but wow--you're going to make some man very lucky." A co-owner of the local S&M club contacted me, and he has many more-experienced women, but clearly my ad intrigued him.

Unfortunately, it is a double-edged sword--a man last week was 'shocked' I would say 'slow down.' He was edging perilously close to cybering, and I want someone in flesh and blood. Cybering might be great for someone you already loved who was away, but for me it would only ever be for that. But then he earnestly exclaimed "But I feel like I've known you my whole life, I've been searching for you my whole life, you are my lost half." Which may have been a line, but I believe it has a kernel of truth to it (especially as he then deleted his profile from the site). The problem, of course, is that I didn't feel like I knew him at all. He knew me from my ad--his was 3 sentences.

But this one man, John, this gem of a human. We haven't met yet, and I don't allow myself to fall for men I haven't met. It is foolish (and look what happened the last time I fell for a man, and I'd met him!). Nevertheless, as Joni Mitchell might say "Help me, I think I'm falling..."

I look up to him, a rarity for me. For several years I've attempted to convince myself that I don't have to look up to a man because there are so few that I honestly look up to. I didn't respect the choices my ex was making, and that, fundamentally, is one of the 2 reasons we had to break up (the other is that his erotic mind craved all darkness and I thrive on an interplay between darkness and tenderness). I believe that this inability to look up to most men is egotistical, obnoxious, and self-centered. So I tried to wish it out of existence. Problem, though is that it is true.

John, is so clearly smarter than me, which I adore. (If he didn't appreciate my mind, it would be problematic, but he does.) As we talk, I'm learning things about myself. The quality of our conversations is like nothing I've ever seen. I've never met a man who could match me on that level. If we do hit it off, well, I think we could compile our e-mails into a book. He has only recently come to terms with wiitwd, and I still have much angst. But the angst on both sides is linked to some of the fundamental philosophical questions plaguing gen Xers, the interplay of sexuality and power, of what Eros looks like for both of us.

He had me do one small thing for him last night, and it was a complete surrender. And much of my protective defenses melted in that moment. All of which terrifies me. But his tenderness, his cherishment (is that a word?), his care. Maybe I'm just being a silly girl, but once again, this is worth risking the possibility of getting hurt.

The one strength I've developed in the last few months is the ability to open up to someone, get hurt, accept that, and move on without allowing pieces of emotional armour to ensnare their way into and around my heart. I seem to open more and more with each connection and loss. I don't know how or where that strength is coming from. In the past, I believed I could only open myself up to a limited number of men before it made me hard and bitter, but now it feels like I'm opening more deeply with each person, allowing myself not to run from the emotional pain, and letting go of any recriminations. Compared to my past declarations that "I'm strong"--this is a very different strength. This strength to be vulnerable is an energy that I find enriching. The only cost is allowing myself to feel the pain fully in the present moment.