I have a lovely friend, tavia, who I met through this blog. We exchange emails about life and relationships and she has always been very supportive about my choices and my writing. Recently, she did me the honour of downloading my books and I received a squee-inducing email from her this morning saying how much she is enjoying revisiting the story and how juicy the pain scenes are (thank you, tavia, not only for the email, but for the blog topic!)
Pain and I have an interesting relationship. I enjoy reading and writing about pain or painful experiences quite a lot (as long as there are no needles…or pointy things…I was watching The Martian last night and that scene with the antenna…phew…I couldn’t cope…lol.)
I’ve mentioned before that I always try and internalise pain. I don’t make a lot of noise, but you’ll see the crease between my eyebrows:
then the focus to push everything down (and the smile generally disappears):
but then there are the times when stuff is just too ouchie and it comes out (and I’m usually annoyed with myself when that happens):
I’ve never self-harmed or gone out of my way to seek it out, but it is something that I’ve always considered part of any M/s relationship I’ve been involved in. Along with restrictions (movement, choices, access to food/money/time etc.,) it is one of the basic mechanisms that you can use to control someone. Unfortunately, pain, for me, loses some of its appeal if it’s simply pain for pain’s sake. Giving me a beating ‘because I’m a slave’ doesn’t really gel. I process things a lot better if there is a purpose.
Pain for punishment, I get. Pain because slave, I don’t.
Personally, I really don’t see how either person can get something out of a beating if there is no purpose. It’s not really something you can do to simply pass the time between seasons of Game of Thrones.
M will sometimes say to me, ‘I’m going to beat your ass today’ and being the bad slave I am, I ask, ‘Why?’ His standard answer is, ‘because you’re a slave.’ And my response to that is generally to make him a batch of scones to distract his thoughts from my ass and to the delectable cranberry-filled delights in front of him (true story today…hehehe.)
I’m big on motivations. I really, really like to know why people do things and what makes them tick. After ten years, a break-up, a reunion, a switcheroo of roles and enough discussions/fights/arguments between us that my eye twitches merely at the thought of the time I’ve spent giving him the silent treatment (I can be sooo childish…), M still confuses the fuck out of me. To me, ‘because you’re a slave’ isn’t a motivation. I want to know why he wants to do it, and if he doesn’t really want to do it, just don’t, okay? Just don’t even mention it, okay? because it just messes with my head.
Of course, that’s probably why he does it to begin with.