If you’ve read this blog, you probably know that over the summer I was in a monogamous relationship with a sadistic BDSM top. Obviously kink was a pretty big part of our sex life, but I’ve been ambivalent about applying various kinky labels to myself, or even describing myself as “kinky”.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved kink. Initially I was nervous and intimidated by just about everything, especially anything having to do with pain. Sam was a wonderful lover though, and within a month he was beating me with floggers that I’d initially looked all wide eyed and worried, thinking that I’d never want to be hit with that. Turns out I was really, deliciously, fantastically wrong.
Even so, I still balk from a lot of labels. Just because I like pain during sex doesn’t mean I’m a masochist. My pain tolerance is pretty low, I think, and there’s a lot I can’t take, so I can’t be, right? I mean, not really. It seems I have a lot of thoughts about what it really means to be kinky, even though Sam would scoff and roll his eyes at the thought of kinksters who think there’s One Twoo Way for kink. But the picture in my head of what makes a kinkster doesn’t come from these pretentious, holier than thou types. Quite the opposite, they come from people like Holly Pervocracy and Ozymandias and Thomas Millar and Clarisse Thorn. People for whom kink is such an integral part of their sex lives, who, like Clarisse, have a need for it that can diverge completely from their need for sex. That’s not what kink is, for me. For me it’s just a way to have fantastic sex, and something I enjoyed very much, but really did more or less out of a desire to be GGG for my new boyfriend, and out of curiosity. I don’t really have a great need or craving for it myself, after all, so I’m not really kinky.
At least, that’s what I thought. But lately…
Lately I’ve been craving pain with sex. My mind has been filled with fantasies painful bites and fingernails raking harshly down my skin. I want to be wrestled into submission and dragged around by my hair. I want to be hit. I want to feel the sting of a leather flogger coming down on my back. Last post I talked about a recent hookup. The sex had been fantastic, and near the end he started spanking me. Before Sam, I didn’t care much for spankings, but this time I went wild, even though in a small corner of my brain I was thinking “Come on, you can hit me harder than that.”
So I’m starting to think that maybe I am kinky, and that maybe I am a masochist. I’m still not sure, but maybe. The logical path from here would be to go forth and find some kinky tops and get down with my kinky self and collect a few more data points to nail down my self-identity. The problem is, I really don’t think I can do that.
I’m a person who wears her heart on her sleeve. I form attachments quickly and as a result it’s easy for me to get hurt. I’m usually pretty okay with this; I’ve learned to roll with the punches for the most part, and having emotional attachment is just better for me than not. I still have some barriers though, and I still do put up walls, but I didn’t know this before this summer. I didn’t realize I had these walls until I was with Sam and he tore every last one of them down.
It seems kink has a way of making me vulnerable and honest and open and raw. Sam would whisper in my ear as I was coming out of subspace. He’d say “Good girl” and “Mine” and “I love you.” And when he did my soul would whisper back “Yours” and “I love you too.” The vulnerability that came from wearing a collar that he put around my neck and obeying him experiencing the pain made my feelings for him run much deeper and much sooner than was normal. So when he said “We’re through” and “I don’t love you,” it tore me apart more deeply than I thought possible for such a short relationship. Things are getting a little bit better now, but I’ve still not recovered, and things still get a little bit ugly sometimes.
So for me, sex might not form intense attachments, but kink certainly does, so I have to be careful in a way I don’t have to with vanilla casual sex. I do feel an intense desire for kink, though, so perhaps that means I can assume these labels I have balked from. Maybe I am “really” a kinky, submissive masochist. It’s certainly something to think about.