I’ve written this before but it still holds true. It’s quite possible that my principle kink is fear and that the pain is only there to make the fear real. The pain I experience ensures that, next time I book a session, I will be that little bit more nervous, be wound that little bit tighter and be flying that little bit higher on the adrenaline the memory of it forces through my veins.
There’s a danger inherent in all this: the more something becomes part of ‘prior experience’ rather than part of ‘frightening unknown’ the less real is the fear associated with it. As this happens, I need to delve further into the darker side of BDSM to pull up monsters I haven’t seen before. To be properly frightening, the monsters need to be new or, at the very least, bigger, fiercer versions of those previously encountered. This sense of escalation, of a mountain being climbed, of (yes, I’m going to use the “J” word) a ‘journey’ deeper into a dark and forbidding place is an important part of my experience of BDSM at the moment. Of course, the lack of an obvious end to the journey, of any perception of a final destination, creates its own sense of fear. And that’s all good.
Consider some of the situations I’ve deliberately set up in order to create these new monsters:
Having only ever sessioned with female Dommes I set up a situation where I was to be beaten by a man I had never met and about whom I knew almost nothing.
I arranged for Elita to meet me in an unfamiliar dungeon where, without once talking to me or removing my blindfold, she was going to flog me and cane me until SHE decided I’d had enough then send me off to the airport in a taxi.
I stripped and tied myself to the floor of a dungeon and waited, nerves jangling, for Elita and her man to arrive and play out a kidnap scene.
I set up a scene where Elita was going to kick me in the testicles, an act till then absolutely nailed onto the very top of my hard limits list.
Setting up these sessions and others like them earned me, in each case, a few weeks of feeling somehow more alive, delicious anticipation gradually turning to fear and, in the more extreme cases, to a real sense of dread as the session inched ever closer. I find that to be this much in touch with my body and its psychological and physiological preparations for what is to come both erotic and stimulating.
People familiar with my blog will be saying “Oh, God, what’s he gone and done now?” recognising that, having got to this point, this post needs a revelation.
And indeed it has one.
My sessions with Elita have included her man on three occasions. Each time seemed shockingly brutal and left me deeply affected for days afterwards. Look in Elita’s twitter timeline if you want to see what this man can do with a cane. At some point over the next few months a session with Elita is going to get blown off course by his arrival. But consider this:
I don’t know which session.
I don’t know whether he’ll be there when I arrive instead of her, appear half way though, or only arrive at the end when I’m getting ready to leave.
I don’t know what he is going to do to me or, for that matter, to her.
I just know it will be hard, hurt a lot and shake me to my core.
And, for someone for whom fear is a stimulant, that makes it all just perfect.
I mean, really fucking scary.
Oh, shit! What have I done?
See? It’s working already.