Quite a while ago I wrote a little piece about how being a slave helps you enjoy pain and I’ve been thinking a bit about what I said way back then.
If you’re like me and can’t be bothered to do the clicky-click if there’s no chocolate dangling on the end of your mouse to spur you on, the nutshell version of what I said is that non-masochistic people start ‘enjoying’ pain when they’ve got someone to endure it for.
There was a time when I used to find certain levels of pain ‘enjoyable’ in the sense that it gave me purpose. The “I have a purpose feeling” only comes from when the other person truly enjoys giving you a bit of slap and tickle though. If you know they’re just going through the motions or you get a whiff of, ‘Do I have to?’ from them, then you both start thinking, ‘What the fuck are we doing?’ and the enjoyment factor goes straight out the window.
In addition to ‘purpose enjoyment’, there were also some cases when being beaten gave me ‘entertainment enjoyment’, as in, ‘I’m bored, want to beat on my ass for a while?’ The enjoyment in this tends to disappear very quickly though when I realise that pain hurts and there are other less painful ways of being entertained.
By and far though, the thing I get the most satisfaction from is ‘endurance enjoyment’. It comes directly from my ridiculous competitiveness that I blame on my I-don’t-give-a-shit-what-you’ve-done father who I wanted nothing from but a bit of approval or at least a half-mumbled, ‘You did good’. I was driven by trying to get a reaction from him and as a result nothing I ever did seemed to be ‘good enough’ and I just kept (keep) pushing myself.
(I understand he was pressed for time shagging every bit of pussy that he could lay his hands on, but ya’know that kind of ignoring tends to scar kids a bit.)
I used to be almost desperate for the ‘approval’ of someone – anyone. I suppose in many ways, the whole bdsm thing was a great way for me to set up a huge set of challenges that would result in satisfaction, pride and pleasure for my owner, which would then see me receive the holy grail of fulfilment: approval.
When you want the approval, you are willing to do anything – painful or not.
Herein lies my problem: M has made things entirely too easy for me.
He drops compliments, support and approval like grains of sand in the desert and he does it effortlessly like it was second nature to him. Getting a, “That’s wonderful sweetie, I think your achievement/idea/result is fantastic” from him is not like extracting a tooth without anaesthetic, it’s like having a cup of coffee in the morning – normal, effortless and a part of everyday.
He’s a rare jewel this one.
So, pain for me now is just pain. It’s not a source of enjoyment, a source of entertainment or a much-needed source of approval. I know I can get approval in so many other ways with him, so I don’t have the drive, the need to do the ouchie in order to get a ‘good girl’ and a pat on the head from him.
But what about doing ouchie stuff simply for the ‘highs’ of pain that everyone goes on about?
I’m not quite sure what an endorphin rush feels like. Is it like feeling tipsy? Is it like a sugar rush from a block of chocolate and a bottle of coke?
The only thing I’ve felt after having large needles stuck through my skin or nearly losing a nipple to a bull whip is, ‘Thank fuck that is over!!”
Where the fuck is my slave’s high?
The only thing I feel after an endurance run is nausea and, “My legs are about to drop off!!”
Where the fuck is my runner’s high?
It’s relief that I feel. It’s the removal of the sense of impending doom that was hanging over me. I’m not soaring like a kite or buzzy, I’m just glad to have lived through the experience.
It reminds me disturbingly like my mountain-climbing ‘experience’ in Japan when I went up a mountain with my ex-hubby carrying nothing. Night fell when we were still way up the mountain, we got lost and we started to panic. Fortunately we stumbled across another hiker with a torch and made it back down with him. Then I proceeded to give my ex-hubby a blowjob in the car park because I was *that* relieved to have made it down the fucking mountain alive.
I think I may also have provided a bj after I climbed Uluru because it scared the complete fuck out of me and I thought I’d never get down again.
(Actually, I’m not sure how post-climbing bjs tie into this story, but I’m sure everyone enjoys a random bj story at any time of the day.)
So yeah…. What I’m trying to explain here is my lack of interest these days in things of an ouchie manner. I might be able to work myself into a need for an ‘entertainment enjoyment’ beating every now and then, but the other enjoyments are not really driving forces these days.
If you’ve been thinking to yourself that it’s been ages since I was beaten, you’d be right, but it’s not for a bad reason that beating has taken a backseat in my life.
It’s because the person driving my car is just a whole lot better than anyone who has sat in the driver’s seat before.